Here Comes the Bride . . . Again

Tonight I went to another wedding - not such an unusual event for me this summer. As always, the bride was beautiful and the vows were heartfelt. This time the ceremony was held in an old chapel and the couple was fortunate enough to be blessed with one of the few days of the entire summer that didn't crack ninety degrees. But these nuptials were different for another reason - the bride has been my daughter's best friend since sixth grade. I couldn't help but tear up watching these beautiful young women walk down the aisle. How was it possible? It didn't seem so long ago that I was attending their chorale concerts or chaperoning their senior party. Now, here I was watching one of them get married knowing my own child's turn was just around the corner.

I don't know why any of this should surprise me. My daughter still lives with us. I get daily reminders that she's not that little girl I sometimes fantasize about. I see the size of her shoes (not to mention her bra), I hear (I can't help it, her bed is on the other side of our wall) her late night conversations with members of the opposite sex, and I watch her drive off to a full-time job Monday through Friday. Despite those reminders, I still can't quite wrap my arms around the fact that she's a grown woman capable of making choices and decisions without seeking out her mother's approval.

I can't promise anything but maybe I'll be able to by the time she's the one with the veil.

Let It Rain

After having lived in a neighborhood that looks more like a field of hay than the lush suburban lawns I'm used to, I found myself breaking into a little jig at the sound of rain on my rooftop last night. Since we haven't had more than an inch or two of rain all summer, I think I can be forgiven for reacting in a lame, old Hollywood western settler kind of way. Besides, I don't think anyone saw me.

I've always been a sucker for a good thunderstorm; it didn't take a drought to make me appreciate rain. I've always loved the feel of a sun-shower's cool raindrops on sweaty skin; the persistent clatter on the skylight as the sheets of water fall off the roof; jumping puddles in strappy sandals. I could live without the worms that dot the driveway after a downpour but everything else about the skies opening up puts a smile on my face (as long as it doesn't wash away an outdoor party I've been planning for weeks).

What I love more than anything about a good old-fashioned thunderstorm is the feeling of gratitude that washes over me every time I experience one. There's nothing better than huddling under the covers, listening to the peals of thunder, knowing that I'm safely tucked inside my house. There's nothing sweeter than seeing lightning split the dark sky, knowing that I'm lucky enough to have shelter. Tucked inside the confines of my home, I can appreciate all of God's glory and all of nature's power as I drift off to sleep.

What could be better than that?

Make Me Laugh . . . Please

Maybe it's the state of the economy; maybe it's the heat.  I'm not quite sure what it is but I know there's nothing I appreciate more these days than a good laugh.  I don't consider myself a shallow person but forgive me for not racing off to see the latest thought-provoking film from Iran.  I do love to read but excuse my ignorance for not rushing out to the bookstore to buy the latest heart-wrenching bestseller that will send me into a depression for a week.  What I can get excited about is the prospect of hearty laughter.  Go ahead, be the first in line to see The Dark Knight Rises; I'll see you in the theater when that new Will Ferrell, Zach Galifinakis movie, The Campaign opens.

I always did appreciate a sense of humor.  If a perspective boyfriend laughed at one of George Carlin's routines or thought Mel Brooks' latest film was a work of genius, he was in.  I didn't waste my time on anyone who took life too seriously.  And I still try hard not to.  Life's challenges go down a whole lot easier with a smile on your face. Maybe that's why I have a couple of sitcom episodes at the ready on my DVR and usually end my day with an episode or two of The King of Queens or Everybody Loves Raymond on TVland.

If I'm distressed about the budget deficit, I turn on The Daily Show.  If I want to scream over the latest political scandal, I check out a Brian Regan CD from the library.  If my kids are driving me crazy, I read the latest Zits cartoon.

Getting a good laugh in the middle of all the insanity may not help but it sure as hell doesn't hurt.

A Tale of Two People

You come in contact with a lot of different people over the course of a lifetime. Some of them are thoughtful, generous and kind; you know, the ones you like to hang out with, the ones that make you feel good just being around them. Then, there are the other kind; the mean-spirited, quick-to- criticize, toxic people that infect any room they enter. After spending time this past weekend with one of the former, I've decided to: a) do my best to emulate that kind of behavior and b) make every effort to steer clear of those who don't.

Throwing a party can be stressful. If you're lucky, you get to do it with people like my new favorite person in the world, my nephew's new mother-in-law, Debbie. The morning of the shindig, she walked in the door, eager to do anything she could to help. If there was fruit to be skewered, she did that; if there were dishes to be done, she did that. And she did it all with a big smile on her face. Later, after the guests arrived, she interacted with everyone as if they were her new best friends. And they all wanted to be.

I said this was a tale of two people. The opposite side of this personality spectrum is a person I have to deal with on a regular basis. whose sharp tongue and condescending manner do nothing but make everyone around her feel bad about themselves. I wish she could spend a few minutes with Debbie. I'd like to think that she would pick up a few pointers on how to win friends and influence people but I'm pretty sure she would dismiss her as a phony do-gooder and go right back to the toxic behavior of which she seems so totally unaware.

I may have to continue dealing with people like the person who shall remain nameless but, when I do, I'm going to be asking myself one thing.

What would Debbie do?

The Eyes Have It

Until a couple of weeks ago, I had never had a real eye exam. Oh, sure, I had blown through that big chart on the back of the door during annual physicals and passed the peripheral flash test at the DMV but I had never scheduled an appointment at an optometrist's office. Lucky enough to have been born with 20/20 vision, I just never saw the need to seek out additional medical personnel, especially after we hooked up with that high-deductible insurance plan.

You would think I might have been tempted when I took a tennis ball to the face a few years ago, but even then I played the waiting game. Then, right around forty, my People magazine started to get a little fuzzy. Still, I resisted. What did that expensive eye doctor have that I couldn't get at my friendly neighborhood Costco? Nothing. Did he have a four-pack of readers that I could strategically place throughout my house? No, he did not.

And then my friend Linda, who just happens to work for an eye doctor, found out about my optical neglect. Her subtle hints started with lines like, "Sure, it's no big deal. You can wait for awhile. We're just talking about your eyes" and ended with horror stories of a client who had no idea he was walking around with glaucoma and was now in the company of a hard-working Golden Retriever named Rusty. Okay, I'm exaggerating just a little but she did make it her business to scare the crap out of me. And she did a pretty good job. When my own daughter found employment in an optometrist's office, I knew my excuses were over. I made the appointment.

Turns out everything is okay. I discovered there is no eye chart on the back of the door, it's all electronic now. I also discovered that I can't make up my mind which looks better, one or two, when the doctor flips the lever on that lens machine. I'm still using my Costco readers, despite being told I'd see a lot better if I switched to a prescription. I know I should but I don't know what I'd do with only one pair of glasses.

A few days after my exam, Linda and I were both invited to a graduation party. Now was my chance to tell her the good news. I had finally taken her advice. I was no longer an optometrist virgin. At last I would be off the hook. Or so I thought.

"You didn't have dilation?" she asked in horror. "They can't see the health of the eye without dilation. When are you going back for that?"

I will. I promise I will. Right after I schedule that dental appointment.

The Brown, Brown Grass of Home

I've lived in the Midwest for most of my life and I've gotten used to weather extremes. Well, that's not completely true. No one in their right mind can get used to 20 below zero wind chills and ten foot snow drifts. What I should have said is that I've accepted the fact that, as long as I'm crazy enough to get my mail delivered here, I know I'm going to have to put up with temperature swings that necessitate sweatshirts and shorts living in the same drawer.

I don't know if global warming is the culprit or not (if so, I apologize for using all those cans of aerosol hairspray), but this summer has been particularly brutal. I'm not one to complain about hot weather; I do enough of that between November and March. Usually, as long as I can duck into air conditioning every couple of hours, I'm good. But, after four consecutive 100 degree days, with humidity that would frizz Cher's hair, I'm crying uncle. I'm not saying I'm ready for the melodious rhythms of the snowplows; I'm just saying I'd like a day under 90.

Last summer, I don't think I had to water my plants more than a handful of days. Several times a week we were lucky enough to have a decent rainfall that guaranteed an abundance of cherry tomatoes as well as a lush lawn as green as the felt on a pool table. This summer, our flowers need to be doused two or three times a day just to have a fighting chance and the lawn is looking more and more like the baseline at Wimbledon after two weeks of play.

I wouldn't be quite this upset about the weather if it weren't for two things. I just spent several hundred dollars to go to a wedding in a beautiful state park and spent all of ten minutes outside the confines of the lodge and, this weekend, I'm about to host a large gathering in my backyard that is doomed to end up singing karaoke in my basement. Maybe there will be a few brave souls that venture out to toss the frisbee around. To them, I just want to say:

I'm sorry. And, please don't sue me if you cut your feet on the grass.

To Everything Turn, Turn, Turn

If everything does have a season, this is certainly the season for weddings. This weekend I attended my third in as many months and my second involving a child of a long time friend.  The best thing about this wedding was that I got to spend a weekend with a group of people I've known for thirty years.  I've written about them before because they're well worth writing about; four couples that have laughed and cried  through dating, marriages, births, job losses, deaths of parents and now this - watching the little people we created grow up and start their own families.

The wedding locale was beautiful, set in a rustic lodge in a state park.  We were all looking forward to a couple of days spent enjoying the great outdoors; hiking (if our knees held out), canoeing (if the river didn't smell like dead fish), and sitting out on the veranda enjoying a glass (or two) of wine  (no need to worry about working body parts for that one).  Funny how a little thing like 104 degree temperatures and 90% humidity will squelch any hopes for outside activity.  But what did we care?  We were together and we were going to have fun.

We hunkered down in the air conditioning, pitched in to help with wedding details, and did our best to hydrate.  (Doesn't frozen custard drowned in hot fudge help you stay hydrated?)  We also talked about everything from religion to tennis; job worries to vacation plans; doctor visits to movies.  When you know someone as long as we've known each other, there's a shorthand that takes over. You know you can be yourself; that there's nothing you can't share.  We'll call each other on whatever we have to, we'll lend a shoulder if anyone needs one, and we'll have a (gentle) laugh or two at each others' expense.   And, oh, yeah, we'll be there for each other no matter what.

As I watched our friends' daughter say her "I dos", I couldn't help noticing she seemed to have a great group of friends. They had all gone to high school and/or college together and seemed a tight-knit, supportive group that had a lot of fun in each others' company.

I can only hope they find a way to end up three decades from now with what we and their parents have - a circle of lifelong friends that can make you smile through just about anything.