Not So Fast

Okay, maybe I'm not as ready to shut myself off from the rest of humanity as I thought I was. As I mentioned in my last posting, like it or not I was heading off to a black tie gala celebrating the end of the annual film festival co-founded by my husband. Forced to put my my trip to Walden Pond on hold, I struggled to strap myself into the only pair of high heels that my aching feet could tolerate and headed off to face the enemy.

It took awhile for me to get into the swing of things. I was definitely out of practice. As I stood in the lobby waiting for the event to get started, all I could think about was how much I wanted to take off my shoes. It's funny how little you can enjoy in life when your feet hurt. Once we sat down, I started to appreciate the proceedings. I got to see hard-working artists receive awards, I got reacquainted with volunteers I'd met in previous years and I enjoyed a meal I didn't have to cook or clean up. I was even treated to a rousing rendition of "Eye of the Tiger" by longtime rocker Jim Peterik. When the ceremony was over around ten, I had every intention of heading home but to my surprise I ended up attending the after party at a local hotel. Never sitting (and finally barefoot) I engaged in spirited conversations about politics, travel, the arts and the state of the world. And you know what? I had a good time. What I feared would be a superficial evening of meaningless small talk with people I didn't really want to spend time with turned into an entertaining night sharing ideas with people I'd like to get to know better. Maybe my address book (or should I now say Facebook page) could stand to add a few new names. And maybe I need to be reminded every now and then, that there is an intelligent, interesting person hiding inside that bathrobe. And she's definitely looking for a comfortable pair of heels.

All By Myself

It's official. I'm turning into a hermit. I thought my difficulty with last weekend's trip to a local watering hole to see my husband's band play was due entirely to my long-running distaste for the bar scene. Turns out, it's socializing in any environment that irritates me. Case in point: tonight I attended a couple of screenings of independent films appearing at our town's third annual film festival. This was something that I would have enjoyed immensely a few years ago. Having always loved movies, I would have jumped at the chance to hang out with people who make them and in previous years I did. But tonight all I could think about was how chilly it was in the theater, how uncomfortable the seats were and how much I would rather be home in my own bed watching a movie on TV.

I can't understand it. I used to be such an extrovert. Strangers were friends I hadn't met yet. But lately, while I still enjoy hosting friends and family in my own home, I'm not so crazy about putting on nice duds and venturing out for any kind of event. (This, however, does not seem to pertain to the possibility of return trips to Italy). Whatever is bothering me about hanging out with a crowd, I'd better get over it before tomorrow. That's when the festival is celebrating its big closing gala.

Do you think anyone will notice if I wear my slippers?

If the Suit Fits . . .

When exactly did my son turn into a man? Over the last few weeks, something has changed. Although he's been a legal adult for almost a year his usual wardrobe of cargo shorts and baseball caps had me believing that he was still my little boy. Yes, there have been times when he almost crushed me as he moved in for a hug but then I'd remember that he was always strong for his age. Yes, his feet have been dangling off the edge of the couch for some time but I'm shrinking so everyone is taller than I am. Despite the changes in his body, the rest of him still seemed so young, it was easy to be fooled into thinking that he would never grow up. And then it happened. He started remembering to mow the lawn. He would call and ask if I needed anything from the store. He started saving money. He enrolled in school and actually went to classes. Scary stuff.

Tonight, his dad and I got to spend some time with him. Not only did he not object to going out to eat with us, he picked up the tab! After that, he and his father took off without me to look for a suit. By the time I caught up with them, Josh was heading into the dressing room. Seeing him enter in a t-shirt and jeans and come out in full business gear almost made me cry. He looked ready to conquer the world. And for the first time in a long time, I think he just might.

Party Girl

I never was much into the whole bar scene. Even when I was single, a time of which I have very little recollection, I never felt comfortable in a dark, noisy room full of inebriated strangers. While I have come to appreciate the benefits of a dark room, I'm still not a fan of hanging out in an environment where the primary objective is getting wasted and/or laid. So how was it that last night I ended up spending the better part of the evening at Miss Kitty's Saloon? I'll tell you. I was being a dutiful wife playing the role of groupie to my husband's rock band alter ego.

As you might imagine, Miss Kitty's is a classy joint. the kind of place Sheryl Crow must have been envisioning when she wrote All I Wanna Do. When I arrived, just before nine, the regulars were already settled into their assigned bar stools. Most seemed oblivious to the musicians crammed into a 10 x 12 corner of the narrow room. The newbies, those of us with a vested interest in the aforementioned musicians, pulled up a chair at one of the dozen tables and ordered a beer. (Okay, some of us ordered a Diet Coke since some of us haven't had a beer since college). As I watched my husband and his friends wailing away, I couldn't help but be aware of the irony. Hadn't I gotten married to avoid all of this? The music was good and it was fun to get out but when I started yawning, I had to admit some things hadn't changed. I still preferred being at home, in my jammies, reading a good book to being out on a Saturday night with a bunch of rowdy people I don't know. But as long as my better half wants to play piano man, you'll probably find me in the front row cheering him on. At least until the end of the second set.

Mechanical Difficulties

Today, I'm heading to the doctor. Since we've managed to meet our insurance deductible (thank you Josh's appendix), I've decided to find out if any of my multitude of aches and pains is anything serious. I haven't had a physical in a couple of years so I'm more than a little apprehensive. Of course, I imagine the worst with every headache or every time my back hurts. I won't cop to full-blown hypochondria but I'll admit to brushing up against it now and then. And, at fifty-seven, I've already watched several of my friends experience serious medical issues and sometimes I can't help wondering when it's going to be my turn.

I've always been a chicken when it comes to doctors. On this, I'm sure I'm not alone. The only thing that pushes me to make the appointment is the fear of being one of those statistics that "had a feeling something was wrong" and didn't do anything about it. I guess having a once-over every once in awhile by a member of the medical profession is the only way to prevent that. After all, if I can survive two C-sections and a root canal, I can handle being poked and prodded in a couple of very uncomfortable places. By tomorrow at this time, it'll all be over. Then, I'll have to start worrying about the colonoscopy that's in my near future. But that's another story.

All in the Family

I've always liked the people I work with at the tennis club and now I actually love one of them. Before you start thinking I've revealed some scandalous secret that you can someday blackmail me with, I should mention that two weeks ago we hired a new, young, very charming young man. My son.

While I'm thrilled to find another way to share our mutual love of tennis I'm more thrilled that he's again gainfully employed and spending a lot less time in front of the computer. His last job was serving at a local breakfast place. He made good money and it really helped him get more comfortable relating to the public since, surprisingly, very few strangers found their way to the bedroom in which he usually sequestered himself. Unfortunately, the restaurant succumbed to the economic downturn and my son found himself out of a job.

When I first mentioned the possibility of coming to work at the club, you can imagine his reaction. A twenty-one year old who doesn't jump at the chance to work with his mom? Shocking. But slowly, (as his bank account dwindled), he warmed to the idea. He would get a free membership to the only indoor tennis club in the area, co-ordinate his hours to his school schedule and make just enough money to keep him afloat. What could be wrong with that? Oh yeah. I'd be there.

Despite his misgivings, I think it's working out. His shifts only marginally overlap mine. When he works the late shift, he even gets time to do his homework. He's also discovered the joys of being paid to play tennis when one of the members fails to show up. Now, if he can just figure out what to call me in front of customers, all will be right with the world.

What's Wrong With This Picture?

I am not a morning person. After years of working and raising children, I thought my days of waking before the sun were finally over. Not so fast. At a time when I had envisioned taking classes, volunteering or traveling the world, I instead find myself working harder (and often earlier) than ever. I guess the worst economy since the Depression has derailed more than a few fantasies. It's not that I mind working. God knows my poor husband has done more than his share for almost thirty years. I just never thought my little part-time job would turn into a full time gig with no benefits and less pay than I was making twenty years ago. I remind myself how lucky I am to actually have a job but sometimes (especially around 6:30 a.m.) I don't feel very lucky. I just feel tired. My house is a disaster, we have every takeout menu in a fifteen mile radius and my husband and I always seem to be passing each other in the driveway. Italy seems very far away.

Don't Try This at Home

It's about this time of year that I fancy myself a better tennis player than I really am. After a summer of watching the best in the world at the French Open, Wimbledon and the U.S. Open, I start to believe that these many hours of watching tennis have somehow translated into an improvement in my own modest playing ability. What, you haven't heard of osmosis? Anyway, in one of these delusional moments, I made the mistake of saying yes to my twenty-one year old son when he said, "Hey, Mom, want to go hit the courts for awhile?" Okay, maybe it wasn't a mistake to say yes. It did get my sorry butt off the couch. But it sure wasn't my smartest move to do so at noon on an 85 degree day.

I wish I could say that my son took pity on his mom. Obviously, I didn't spend enough time working on developing his compassion. I think it was about the time that he realized that the color of my face was looking eerily like the strawberry Gatorade he was drinking that he decided to back off. After all, he wanted to beat me, not kill me. (I think). So while I hobbled off to find some shade, he continued to work on his serve. Watching his ability to deal with both the heat and the exertion, I couldn't help feeling envious. I didn't discover my love of tennis until I was almost twice his age, definitely past my physical prime and I now have to face the truth that I'm not likely to get any better at the sport I love than I am now. So, I guess I'll just have to be content with spending some time with my boy sharing a sport we both love. But next time, I plan on scheduling it when I can't fry an egg on the sidewalk. If that doesn't work out, there's always Wi. Indoor tennis and air conditioning. Sounds pretty good.

Friends

I know this isn't Thanksgiving but I'm feeling pretty grateful. After enjoying a beautiful end of summer day in the company of some of the best people I know, I'm definitely in the mood to count my blessings. Let's start with the weather. After living in Chicago for most of my life, I'm aware that hosting an outdoor event has to include a Plan B. On this sunny Sunday in September, Plan B was completely unnecessary. Except for the inconsiderate neighbor who chose the moment our party started to mow his lawn (but that's another story), the great outdoors couldn't have been more inviting. Then, there was the food. Hardly gourmet fare but somehow firing up the grill and sharing simple food with great friends beats fine dining anytime. Of course, a glass of wine and an ear of fresh sweet corn don't hurt. Finally, there was the company. I've known for a long time that my husband and I have an amazing group of friends. They are a source of love, support and encouragement and have been for almost three decades. Seeing them gathered together in our backyard, sharing stories of our pasts and hopes for our futures, was the best part of the whole day. No wonder I'm feeling so blessed.