CoupleWorld

I'm days away from "being in my forties" and you want to know what I'm sick of? I'm sick of not going with anybody. I was at an outdoor dinner party the other night when my friend's neighbor walked up to say hi. It went something like this:

neighbor: just wanted to stop over and say hi.
friend: hey neighbor, you remember Becki.
neighbor: sure, hi Becki. with Jim, right?
friend: and Sharon.
neighbor: now who do you go with?
sharon: (pointing) him, my husband Bill.
friend: and this is Jennifer.
neighbor: (looks around, no more boys) silence.

Don't get me wrong. I was really happy to be there. It's an annual tradition that I very much look forward to and treasure. One thing married folk probably don't notice is that if you're not "The Johnsons" or "The Smiths" you rarely get invited to stuff like that. Dinner parties of three, five or seven don't happen much. If you are part of a couple then you get to go out with couples, have drinks with couples, bar-b-que with couples. Couples do that. Couples couple. The Smiths rarely invite The Jennifer over for the evening. It's nobody's fault. It just is.

I have a mental list of people I would be friends with if I were a we. I have one imaginary tradition in my mind of the couple we'd go to the Civic Theater with (we would all have season tickets). I know what meal I would make if ? and I had The Johnsons over. I actually have a bottle of wine I will open some day when The Smiths drop by for an evening of board games. I even listen to the podcast called "The Dinner Party Download" faithfully so I'll be ready. Unfortunately, The Jones don't invite The Jennifer on vacation to Cancun. They just don't :(

I have fantastic friends, both married and unmarried. I have awesome traditions and adventures and evenings out and vacations. I'm very lucky to be loved by so many interesting and hilarious people. I just want to be loved by one more. The one man who holds the key to CoupleWorld.

My dream evening would go something like this: Making reservations for four (not sure why, I've never gone anywhere that required a reservation in my life!). Being dropped off at the door because it's raining (romantic evenings always include some rain). Having a coffee with Irish Cream for dessert even though I had a few glasses of wine with dinner (my dream relies on my husband being the designated driver for some reason even though I rarely drink at all). Chatting about the highlights of the evening on the way home (laugh and sigh). Sharing the sink while we brush our teeth. Then spooning. Is that too much to ask?

Condoms, Condoms, Condoms

This time last year I was completely freaking out about an article featuring me that was coming out in our local paper. I was asked to be interviewed by the writer of the profile section. She had talked to me for several hours, talked to some friends and co-workers, sent out photographers four different times and asked for a stack of my own pictures as well. It had been an intense process and I was completely second guessing my decision to have participated.

I literally felt like I was placing my life is this woman's hands. I know this sounds dramatic. I just never had any idea how vulnerable I would feel about anyone else telling my story. Someone else's interpretation of me for public consumption- Yikes! And I knew I wasn't going to get to see the article until the paper hit my front stoop. No chance for my "helpful suggestions, edits and/or corrections".

I had no idea how my life, boiled down to a few paragraphs and pictures, would come across. I was much more afraid about how that kind of reflection would feel to me than what anyone else would think.

I've often wondered how friends describe me to a stranger. I'd hate to be a fly on the wall for that. Would it be all physical attributes? What traits of my personality would be worthy enough to include in a basic description? I thought I had a pretty good idea of how I come across to others but I had never really tested that theory. I was self aware enough to wonder whether or not I was really self aware.

So Sunday came and I popped out to the front porch, held my breath, picked up the paper and started shuffling. All I could see was that the cover photo they chose was much bigger than I had expected (unlike the above copy, the original was also crystal clear). It was taken of me sitting at a table strewn with materials from my work and a little stackable pamphlet holder. At the time I was the Executive Director of an HIV/AIDS prevention organization. Three rows of brochures are all you can really see besides me- each one with the title “condoms”. The only legible words  in the whole photo are condoms, condoms, condoms. I hadn't even noticed them sitting there. Now the first thing my Gramma was going to see would be CONDOMS.

So instead of bringing her the article I decided to mail it to her so I didn't have to witness her first response. I was right though; I got the condom comment first. The second thing she noticed was that there were no pictures of her featured and no stories about her told. What are you going to do? But like I said, for me, this wasn't about her opinion of the article; it was about how it made me feel.

While the behind the scenes prep was happening I kept questioning whether or not I have done enough with the opportunities I had been given. I was taking pause to consider whether or not I had used my talents and gifts tirelessly and for the glory of God. I was worried that my sad stories would over shadow the glorious moments in my life. I wondered what the writer would conclude from this peek into my private life.

So I sat down and read it, had my sisters read it and then I reread it. Spoke with my friends who had read it and we all concluded basically the same thing. The article reflected a refreshing sense of balance in my life - with the positives outweighing the negatives by a hair. I learned that day that to be comfortable I only need a hair.

Finally, May I make a suggestion? Repeat the process! Everyone deserves the gift that I have been given- a refection of who you are through someone else’s eyes. 40 felt like a really good time to look back and to look forward but especially to look around. Find out what your family, friends and co-workers have to say about your life so far. Get a gifted writer you trust to put it all together. Spend time going through your stashes of photos and decide which ones speak most profoundly to your life story. Plan a photo shoot reflecting the things that are most important to you right now. As Vanilla Ice says, “Stop, Collaborate and Listen”. It does the body good, real good.

Original article can be found at http://www.mlive.com/living/grand-rapids/index.ssf/2009/06/profile_hivaids_powerhouse_jen.html
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That's All Folks!

I love Looney Tunes, Merry Melodies, Bugs Bunny, Warner Brothers Cartoons- whatever you want to call them. They are fantastic! Even the gratuitously violent ones. This is the one instance that I figure, "They didn't turn me into a violent maniac, Mady's going to love them as much as I do". Thank you YouTube for keeping the dream alive.

When I was a kid I would spoon with my dad on the couch, my head cupped by his upper arm and pit, tune in some LT and laugh my head off. Of course most of the jokes were over my head so I would take my cues from him. If he laughed, I laughed louder. Many of our family's jokes were based on those cartoons. The combo of Chuck Jones' directing and Mel Blanc's voices- genius.

When I was in college, majoring in Music Education, I was absolutely stunned by how many pieces of classical music I was familiar with. I aced music history. Thank you Looney Tunes. And my first trip to the opera was fantastical. I could hum along, not the same words but the melody was there thanks to Porky Pig.

After college I moved to Washington D.C. Sometime during my second year there I learned that there was a Warner Brothers store in one of the malls. I was like a kid walking into a candy store. All of my heroes were there! Hello Sylvester. Nice to see you Tweety. It's been too long, good ol' Yosemite Sam. And then I saw it- a black and blue checkered, wool lined, floppy eared men's hat. All our friends were embroidered on the front. My dad had to have it.

I pictured him proudly wearing it to work. All the guys (mostly relatives) would be so jealous. My dad spent 25 years out in the cold all winter pouring cement slabs. He deserved a toasty, cool hat to top off his look which included lots of layers, snow pants and his ever present dickey. I could hardly wait to come home for Christmas.

When the big day arrived and he opened my gift he reacted just as I had hoped. He loved it! I think he actually beamed. I'd like to believe he was thinking back, as I was, to our days snuggling on the couch. He wore it to work the very next day. And the day after that. And the day after that. On the forth day the unimaginable occurred. He came home early from work. Went to take a nap and suddenly died of a heart attack. He wore and worked in that hat for 3.5 days. I had hoped it would be for 35 years.

Happy Father's Day Dad. I miss you very much.

A Little Light-Hearted Fun, Anyone?

Asked someone to marry you? Guilty, I guess. I once told someone that if he asked me to marry him I would say yes. Does that count? 

Ever kissed someone of the same sex? Guilty. One serious kiss, under a tree, the summer after 8th grade. She was a really messed up girl who had been terribly abused. I didn't see it coming.

Danced on a table in a bar? Innocent. I've seen too many America's Funny Videos to even try.

Ever told a lie? Guilty. 

Had feelings for someone whom you can’t have back? Guilty. And he bought a house a mile away from me after living across the country for years.

Kissed a picture? Guilty. Paul Young calender. I even have a picture of me kissing the picture. "Every Time You Go Away" should start playing in the background right now.

Slept in until 5 PM? Innocent. I think my latest was 2 PM and I woke up so disoriented I didn't know what to do with myself.

Fallen asleep at work/school? Guilty. If I was having a 7 PM meeting at my office after working all day I would sometimes snooze on the couch in the reception area after everyone left at 5.

Held a snake? Guilty. And I hated it. The tail came poking out between my legs and I nearly ran back to my car.

Been suspended from school? Innocent. I even waved at the principal once as I was leaving the school to skip the rest of the day to go shopping for prom dresses.

Worked at a fast food restaurant? Guilty. I worked at Arby's on the Indiana Toll Road. Lots of slimy truckers to contend with all day. I asked one guy if he would like cream or sugar with his coffee. He replied, "Just swish your little finger in there for a minute and that'll be enough sweetness for me". I wanted to throw up!

Stolen from a store? Guilty. Hooks Drug Store. Around 10 years old. Mom sent me to buy some aspirin. I stuck them in my pocket to try on some sunglasses. Then I picked up a few other things, checked out and left the store. When I realized I had the aspirin AND the money in my pocket, I went back into the store to buy some candy with the money. Got caught. Cried my eyes out. Never stole again.

Done something you regret? Guilty. Who hasn’t? I kept a pretty big secret for a long time. Just told a few people recently. It felt good.

Laughed until something you were drinking came out your nose? Guilty. In 7th grade, with my best peeps Wendy and Brad. More than once. But, more often than that, I've made others laugh in this manner.

Caught a snowflake on your tongue? Guilty. And have taught others. Mady is great at it.

Kissed in the rain? Guilty. But the guy turned out to be gay so it wasn't too steamy.

Sat on a roof top? Guilty. Heritage Hill for the 4th of July. I still can't believe no one fell off. There was a lot of wine, lots.

Kissed someone you shouldn’t? Guilty, I guess. No, I choose Innocent. Kissing is good even if it's not the right person. I often find myself puckering when I see someone kiss on TV even. I'm a natural :)

Sang in the shower? Innocent. But my Uncle Tommy would give full blown concerts!! 

Been pushed into a pool with all your clothes on? Not sure. But I do remember having contests with my sisters to see who could take their suits off the fastest while underwater. I think Annie was the champ!

Shaved your head? Innocent. But my sister did. She looked a little cancer/chic.

Had a boxing membership? Innocent. I'm a hugger not a hitter.

Made a girlfriend cry? Guilty. And it sucks.

Been in a band? Guilty. Does a Praise Band count? My lifelong dream is to sing harmony in a local band, especially now that bars are smoke-free. Anyone looking for a kick ass backup singer??

Shot a gun? Guilty. My mom sold off part of our land to have a shooting range built. . . right next to the tavern! She then bought a gun and made me go over and shoot it. I screamed so loud that everyone in the place thought I had killed someone. Never again.

Donated Blood? Guilty. But it took 7 pokes to get a vein and I'm never going back. Sorry!

Eaten alligator meat? Guilty. Tried it a few times. In Singapore, the Bahamas and a wild game place in Denver. Tastes like chicken.

Eaten cheesecake? Guilty. Are you kidding me? New York style, Chicago, frozen, on a stick, jello brand, cherry, blueberry, pumpkin, white chocolate raspberry truffle, peanut butter . . . But the Pièce de Résistance would have to be the Red Velvet Cheesecake from The Cheesecake Factory I had a few weeks ago. A slice of heaven!

Still love someone you shouldn’t? Innocent. Not in love. sad face

Have/had a tattoo? Guilty. After a bout with cancer I got a tattoo of an angel on my shoulder, hovering over my scar.

Liked someone, but will never tell who? Innocent. I'm a pretty open book kind of person. 

Been too honest? Guilty.

Ruined a surprise? Innocent. But made myself sick trying so hard not to blow it.

Erased someone in your friends list? Guilty. Not all friends turn out to be so friendly, if you know what I mean.

Joined a pageant? Innocent. But I've always wanted to learn to tap dance and twirl a baton.

Had communication with your ex? Guilty.  But it really felt good to get some closure. Even 14 years later.

Been told that you’re handsome or beautiful by someone who totally meant what they said? Guilty. Had a guy sing "You Are So Beautiful to Me" once. One of the sweetest moments of my life. Thanks Doug :)

And Two Makes 15

Two years ago I was diagnosed with malignant melanoma. I had gone to my doctor for a physical. She didn't like the look of a mole on my back so she referred me to a dermatologist. A few weeks later, on a Friday, at about 6:30 p.m., I got a call from Dr. Hammond's office. It was the secretary, sounding very rushed. She read off the biopsy results like a grocery list. "It says here that you have malignant melanoma. The doctor doesn't have time to talk to you right now but you can give him a call next week". The only thing I could think to ask was, "Does that mean I have cancer?" She said, "Yes and have a good weekend." I was stunned, feeling very ignorant and helpless. Who shares news like that by phone, from a  non-medical person, on a Friday night??

I can totally relate to George on Seinfeld when he got test results back and was told they were negative and he went ballistic- "Oh my God, I'm gonna die. The test is negative."  Until two years ago I've always thought the word benign sounded as bad or worse than malignant- "Oh my God, I'm going to die. The tumor is benign!!" But besides the way a few words sounded, I had no knowledge of the language of cancer. And nothing makes me feel more out of control than a lack of knowledge.

My family lovingly(?) refers to me as the "homeschooler". I love to research things I don't understand- start a binder, fill it with articles, book reviews, notes and pictures- fantastic! I have my laptop set up on my bed and look up stuff as I'm watching a show, reading a book, listening to a podcast. The best advise I ever got  was to immediately stop what I'm doing and look up a word when I read or hear one I don't understand.

So, at 6:32 p.m. I was off to look up malignant melanoma. The first thing I read was, "Melanoma is the deadliest form of skin cancer. Whether it's called malignant melanoma or simply melanoma, this cancer can metastasize (spread) rapidly." The only person I had ever known with melanoma was dead. Most people around me were as ignorant as I was about melanoma. Some friends thought of the news as not much more than a pimple, some thought it was a death sentence. Most responded like I did with a lot of questions. Everyone responded with lots of love and support.

What came next was pretty straight forward. I was referred to an oncologist who proceeded to remove about a softball size of skin and muscle from my back and several lymph nodes from my left armpit. Test results showed that the cancer had not spread so no further treatment was necessary. Follow-up has included lots of protection from the sun, regular full-body exams from the dermatologist and support from Gilda's Club.

Unfortunately, every exam has resulted in more biopsies. Including last week's two, I have had 15 suspicious spots removed. That's about five stitches each time, both under and on the surface of the skin- 150 or so total. My back and arms look like Frankenstein's monster. I see the doctor every three to six months and pray that she will utter the words, "Everything looks good. We'll see you in six months." I haven't heard those words yet.

Yesterday I got the call I've mentally prepared for everytime I have another biopsy. "We found abnormal cells. The cancer is back. Let's schedule surgery."  Two times out of 15. What are the odds of that?

He Didn't Even Comp the Chicken

When I was 15 my mom burned down our house- on purpose. She rigged up the clothes dryer, which was in the room right next door to my bedroom, so it would explode. I'll never forget that day. My dad was at work but because it was summer break, my mom, my three sisters and I were all home. My mom was acting a little strange, unusually happy/strange. She suggested we all take lunch to my dad and then do a little shopping. First of all, she NEVER took lunch to my dad and almost never took us shopping. So after surprising my dad with fast food, we headed to Kmart. While I was in the dressing room trying on swimsuits I heard an announcement over the P.A. I was asked to meet my mom at customer service right away. Since my mom had been acting so "funny" I thought she was playing a trick on me so I didn't come right away. When I finally saw her face, I knew nothing was going to be funny again for a long time.

The next thing I remember, we were approaching our house and I saw black smoke and bluish/reddish/orangish flames shooting out of the windows. The firefighters were on the roof cutting out a huge hole. By the time the fire was extinguished many people from town were standing in our front yard. Curiously, some folks were walking into MY house, random neighbors and strangers, to personally assess the damages. It felt like my world flipped upside down and someone had posted an Open House sign on our lawn without our permission.

Later that evening, with nothing but the dirty, sooty clothes on our backs, we ended up at my gramma's house. We were all in shock, feeling very overwhelmed, but hungry. At the time, I was working at a local bowling alley that had a kitchen so I called in an order of fried chicken and potatoes and told the boss I might not be in the next day. My gramma drove me to the place to pick up our food. Even though I was a stinky mess, everyone came out to hug me and offer their sympathies. When I was about to leave I grabbed my wallet and a co-worker said, "That'll be $26.50". Unexpectantly, I felt stunned. I paid the bill then got back in the car and said to my gramma, "He didn't even comp the chicken."

A few days passed. The insurance company delivered a very small trailer into our front yard. We would go on to live there for six months while our house was being gutted and then rebuilt. Then donations started showing up on the doorstep. Lots of very generous gifts of toiletries, pillows, blankets, jammies, food, etc. were given to us. But what was also delivered, mostly after dark, with no knock at the door was stuff like this: men's jeans with no zipper in a size 54' waist, a dilapidated, stained-up stroller (my youngest sister was six or seven at the time), gym shoes that had already been downgraded to someones lawn mowing shoes, broken toys. In other words, other people's trash. We then had the additional burden of loading this stuff up and hauling it to the dump. We couldn't just leave it out for the garbage truck to pick up- we didn't want to look ungrateful.

There are so many moments in my life that have passed by unnoticed and unremembered. That summer there were several important memories/lessons burned into my brain forever.

1. The lure of money and new stuff can make a crazy person do super crazy things. I'll never forget wading through the muck of what used to be my bedroom with a clipboard trying to write down everything I had lost- pictures, awards, my stuffed animal collection, audio tapes of the "radio programs" my sisters and I had recorded. My mom instructed me to write down stuff I wanted, even if I hadn't had it in my room, because "that's what the insurance company would want me to do."

2. Whenever possible, "comp the chicken". I try to remember how much of a negative impact that moment had for me. It could have been a memory of love and support, a story I would have repeated to everyone. "Do you know what my boss did, he said our money was no good here tonight. That was so cool!" Instead I remember it with a sting.

3. Give from the very best you have whenever you can. It felt like the donations given to us were a reflection of what people thought of us. No one knew my mom had started the fire. I didn't know it for many, many years. Almost no one knows it even now. Some people gave to us sacrificially. It was hard to be the recipient of charity from anyone, even at 15 years old, but it taught me great lessons about love. Lessons about what to do and what not to do.

My mom is gone now. She died in a car accident eight years ago. Although she did a lot of crazy things (I'm sure some more stories will surface in this blog), I'm amazed at how often her "crazy" taught me big important lessons. Not the method most parents use to "teach their children well", nevertheless there were tons of ah-ha moments in there. If I look closely, I know for sure- the crazy moments in life are the ones I learn from the most.

Fake It 'Til You Make It, Sista!

How many times have you thrown up? Most people can probably give a good estimate. It's that rare, gross, memorable event that, for most, adds up slowly over a lifetime. For me it's different. I've probably thrown up a hundred times since Christmas. I wake up most days nauseated and more often than not I get sick. I don't know why, my doctors don't know why. I've taken every medication made, had everything under the sun tested and probed and still no diagnosis. Sometimes it's a bonus day and I pass out too. The last time that happened I was running up a hill and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground groaning about a dislocated shoulder. I have no memory of falling- everything just went black.

Sometimes the symptoms subside throughout the day. Some days I feel sick but never get sick- if you know what I mean, and I think you do! So I'm constantly trying to evaluate my condition and trying to guess whether or not to push myself or rest. Most of the time I'm happy I pushed myself, sometimes I regret it, sometimes I stay home. Last Friday I pushed myself and regretted it.

Some friends and family and I had tickets to a Whitecaps baseball game. I felt cruddy all day long (see before picture) but really wanted to go. So I made myself get cleaned up (see after shot). I not only did the normal routine but I added a few extra steps (polished the nails, gooped up the hair, walked through a mist of my best perfume. . .) to try to psych myself into feeling top notch.

For awhile it worked. But when the game was over- it didn't. I had a major blowout. Right there in the ballpark, in the hall, in the parking lot, in the car. So gross and embarrassing. I wanted to die, literally.

My motto- "fake it til you make it" almost did the trick. It just didn't get me home. I guess I'll have to live with it, for now.

Lean into it, Jennifer

I have an ipod, a dvr, a computer- when my mind strays, I rewind in 30 second increments. When what I'm listening to is really good I repeat, now more easily and often than ever. I probably pause my favorite podcasts ten times before I get through them. Technology has ruined any rudimentary skill of concentration I ever used to have. I reach for the non-existent button on my car radio to replay some detail I missed. My niece, Madalynn, takes her little five year old finger and pushes the imaginary pause icon in the middle of page 10 on "Are You My Mother" so she can share a "really important" thought with me. So when I recently heard Anne Lamott speak in Grant, Michigan, I felt an unrelenting urge to pause and sometimes rewind her talk so my mind could catch up with the profound, funny, simple, deep, poetic and beautiful stories she shared.

People who inspire me most are those who know how to lift me out of my world by weaving a well-crafted story like a tapestry. I'm much more impressed by the way someone tells a story than the accuracy of that story. Not that folks would lie and exaggerate on purpose but if a story is told well, it's magical to me. Some of my favorite podcasts are all about good storytelling- This American Life, Studio 360, The Moth, Risk!, Slate's Culture Gabfest, Dinner Party Download, The Story, and any of Ricky Gervais' stuff. These programs send me off to my dreams every night now. I feel like a kid again- on one of those rare occasions where my dad would tell me a story until I fell asleep. He was a great storyteller!

I'm going to give storytelling a try through this blog. A lot of friends have told me that I have some interesting stories to tell. So, I'll attempt to weave a tapestry that has been my life so far and see what happens. Some stories will be sad, hopefully some will be funny and most of all I hope some will lift you out of your world for a minute and it will feel good.


Anne Lamott challenged us to "just write". Just make yourself write everyday and see what happens. So, welcome to my experiment. I'm going to lean into it- my past, my fears, my foibles and doubts and see what happens. If I try to write everyday for awhile, maybe a few good stories will emerge and I will share them here. Wish me good luck :)