Siblings, part 2

A couple of notes first:
- I have changed the main characters name to Sam.  I was torn between Tom and Sam in the beginning.  I decided on Sam originally, but because I was writing on my tiny iPhone screen in the middle of the night, my sleep deprived brain switched part way through.  Anyway.  It's been changed to Sam.
- I have given it a (lame) working title so that I don't have to keep calling it "Story".
- You can find part 1 here.
 - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Sam gathered his sweatshirt and his backpack as the plane taxied toward the gate. He powered up his cell phone as he joined the slow rush to the front of the plane. Up the jet-way, through the halls, across the lobby, down the escalator, through the sliding glass doors and past the cluster of bundled mid-westerners waiting patiently for their loved ones to appear. Since moving to California a decade ago, Sam had followed this path dozens of times. It always felt like coming home.

After grabbing his single piece of luggage from the carousel, Sam found a quiet corner and checked his phone. He wasn't surprised to find a message from his mother.

“Sam, honey, I'm going to be a little bit late. The traffic must be bad today. I left right at 3 o'clock, but I'm still about 20 minutes away. I'm sorry. I'll be there soon. Start thinking about where you want to go for dinner. Love you.” Sam checked his watch with a sigh. 4:36. If Mom said she was 20 minutes away, it was surely more like 30.

waiting inside. call when you get here. He sent the text to his mother and flipped his phone shut. It didn't make any sense to stand out in the cold waiting. He didn't see any open chairs, so he sat on the floor, propped up against his suitcase. He leaned his head back against the wall and idly watched the stream of people trickle by.

In his travels, Sam had come to realize that although people were largely the same everywhere, it was the details that set the regions apart. He figured he could identify the airports he frequented most often just by observing the beings who populated it. Vegas had the college kids and the retirees, both equally enthralled by the siren call of the slots. Denver had scuffed cowboy boots and worn jeans, much like Houston, but without the barely concealed defiance of the Lone Star State. Los Angeles had the movie stars, both real and imagined, shielded from the masses by their wrap around shades and their Ugg boots. But it was in Minneapolis where Sam found his people. There was something about these folks with their Scandi-who-vian stoicism and their flannel-lined barn jackets that resonated with him, no matter how long he was away.

One little girl, perhaps 3 years old, caught Sam's eye. She leaned forward slightly as she clung to the hand of the woman next to her. Her eyes were riveted on the top of the escalator. Although she stood perfectly still, the air around her seemed to crackle with potential energy. A man in a tan overcoat appeared at the top of the escalator, and she exploded into motion. “Dad-dy! Dad-dy! Dad-dy!” she chanted as she raced circles around the woman's legs. Perhaps it was the little girl's long, dark hair, or maybe it was her enthusiasm, but something about this little firecracker made him think of his sister.

As a small child, Karen could dominate any room. In a family of tow-heads, her dark, eastern European looks drew you in, but it was the radiance of her personality that captivated. Thick eye-lashes framed eyes that sparkled with untold jokes, and ruby lips curled into a perpetual grin. Her sturdy toddler limbs never ceased their quest for adventure. Even in sleep she moved endlessly, flailing her limbs in response to dream stimuli.  Sam remembered being exhausted following afternoons of "baby-wrangling" while his parents worked in the garden.

Sam was startled from his reverie by the buzz of his cell phone. “Hi, Mom,” he said. “Where are you?” He gathered his bags and headed toward the exit. An icy breeze swept over him as he stepped through the sliding glass doors.

“Hi, Sammy. I'm just pulling into the pick-up loop. Are you ready? 'Cuz you know how much I hate it when those security guys wave their flashlights at me.”

“Yeah, Mom. I'm ready.” He bit his tongue to stop himself from commenting on exactly how long he'd been ready. “Look for me at baggage claim 2. Are you in the Tahoe?”

“Of course, sweetie. What else would I be driving? Oh! I see you!” The line went dead in his ear as a maroon Tahoe pulled up to the curb in front of him. He waved to his mother through the windshield and opened the door to throw his bags into the back seat. He climbed into the passenger seat and leaned over to give his mother an awkward hug over the center console.

“I'm so glad you're here, Sam. I don't know what I'd do without you.” His mother held on to him for an extra beat and then let go abruptly. She grabbed the steering wheel and turned to check her blind-spot, but not before he noticed that she seemed to be blinking back tears.

“Well.” She said, emphatically. “So, are you hungry?”

“I could eat,” Sam said. “What do you feel like?”

“What about that Italian place I told you about? Some of the girls at work were raving about it again yesterday.” His mom paused. “But we'll need to make a quick stop first. I asked Karen to join us for dinner.”

The knot in Sam's stomach pulled just a little tighter.

(to be continued)

Obama in Baltimore: Gut Reaction

1.  Maybe it's just because it was so painful to listen to Bush, but I love listening to Obama's speeches.

2.  I have heard lots of people either celebrating or freaking out over the "smack down" that was delivered at that conference.  I'm sorry, but I don't see it.  Sure, I was impressed by the way Obama stood in front that whole group and attempted to answer their questions.  Given today's political climate, I have to imagine that took some guts.  But he didn't seem overly confrontational or aggressive to me.  I dunno.  I guess I was expecting more after the hype.

3.  That being said,  I LOVED this line (and it could be applied to congressional members on both sides):
"We have to close the gap between rhetoric and reality."
He spoke about political leaders' habits of "demonizing the other side".  That demonization is exactly why I can't have a political conversation with my father-in-law.  His understanding of what is going on has been so colored by rhetoric and talking points that it's impossible to find the real issue underneath it all.  And I'm sure he thinks the same about my point of view.  We're just a specific example of what is happening on a national level, and nothing is going to get done unless we can overcome that obstacle.

One last comment:
Toward the end of the speech one of the audience members interrupted with "You're lying to us now." (or something close to that...)  Seriously, guys.  Don't you remember the uproar that happened the last time one of you did that?  Not only are you setting yourself up for another media spanking, it just makes you seem like you have the self-control of a toddler.  C'mon.  Grow up.

Watch the video or read the complete transcript for yourself.

Story, Pt 1

"Excuse me, sir," the flight attendant said apologetically, "but you're going to have to turn off your laptop for landing."

Tom glanced up from his computer. "What? Oh, sure. Sorry. Just... one second..." His words trailed off as he resumed typing.

"Sir. I really must insist that you turn your computer off immediately. The captain has already begun his descent." The flight attendant's voice held the slightest hint of frost now. "Tray tables and seat backs should already be returned to their fully upright positions and..."

"Yeah, yeah. I know. Tray tables. Seat backs. Carry ons. I'm on it." Tom hit the save button one last time and clicked the laptop closed. After tucking his computer safely into its case and stowing it dutifully under the seat in front of him, he leaned back against his fully upright seat back and looked out the window. Here and there, wide expanses of white had replaced the lakes that dotted the landscape in warmer months. "You could almost believe there really are 10,000," he thought to himself.

In the deepening gloom, I-35 sparkled with diamonds on one side and rubies on the other. He wondered if one of those diamonds was his mother, on her way to meet him at the airport. Knowing her, it was much more likely that she was still 30 minutes away, and he would have plenty of time to deplane, collect his luggage, and freeze nearly to death while he waited. She just couldn't seem to remember that it took 2 full hours to get to the airport from home, and he couldn't seem to remember to pack a warm enough coat for waiting comfortably. This was why he preferred to visit during the summer months.

The landing gear rumbled below as the ground rushed up to meet them. The voice on the overhead speakers ran through the usual litany of connecting gates and formulaic thanks, but Tom barely heard it. Despite having his glorified word processor banished to safe storage, he was once again consumed with his composition. "The counselor said to keep it short," he reminded himself. "Use 'I' statements. Be specific."

As he tried to recall what he had already written, the lump returned to his throat. Fear again threatened to overwhelm him, just as it had when he'd hung up after the first of a series of increasingly desperate phone calls from his mother. "Please just let her be okay," he muttered under his breath. "She's the only sister I've got."

Tom gathered his sweatshirt and his backpack as the plane taxied toward the gate. He powered his cell phone on as he joined the slow rush to the front of the plane.

(to be continued)

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Open Letter to the Universe

Dear Universe,

Each morning for the past week I have awoken physically refreshed but mentally exhausted. My dreams have been long, mundane, and repetitive. In one, I spent hours digging through my closet trying to find the right outfit for some occasion. In another I was trying to complete a series of simple chores that just wouldn't get/stay done. The sun comes up, the alarm goes off, and I feel like I need a nap before I've even gotten out of bed.

I'm sure that these mildly anxious dreams are a product of the mildly increased stress in my life over the past couple of weeks. I know they are my mind's way of blowing off steam. But I've gotta tell you, it's NOT helping.

So, dear Universe, I am making this humble request of you... Could I please, please, please have a confidence building dream one of these nights? A dream in which a beloved family member comes to me with words of praise or encouragement? Or perhaps a dream in which I successfully accomplish my task on the first try? I'd even settle for a dream in which my teeth stayed in my mouth, my eyes opened on command, or my clothes stayed on my body as I walked on stage to perform in a play for which I was fully prepared. Any one of these things would be quite welcome.

I thank you in advance, dear Universe, for giving me a break and sending a dream that leaves me looking forward to my day.

Sincerely,
Sol

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Conversations with Firefox

Me: I heart you, Firefox. You're much better than Explorer! <3

FF: Yeah, I'm great. In fact, here's an update!

Me: Super.

Update is downloaded. Time passes.

Me: Thanks for your help, Firefox. You can close now. *clicking the X*

FF: OMG! Something is wrong! Firefox has closed!

Me: No, no. It's okay. I clicked...

FF: OMG!!1!! What should we do??

Me: No, really. I wad done...

FF: Do you want to sent an error report??

Me: ...


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Post MLK, Jr. Day Post

I can't help but wonder if kids today question why adults make such a big freakin' deal about skin color.  They have grown up in a much more accepting and blended world.  Their friends are different colors and nationalities.  Their experiences are much more varied than ours ever were.  Thanks to today's far-reaching media, they have been exposed to cultures and beliefs from around the world during those early, formative years when "normal" is defined.
 
Don't get me wrong.  I know that there is still plenty of hatred and racism out there.  I know that there are still kids being raised (intentionally or otherwise) to fear that which is different from themselves.  But if you have LIVED with an open mind from the beginning, instead of having to LEARN it later in life, wouldn't it seem silly to make such a big deal out of open-mindedness?

Please don't take this to mean that I think we should stop celebrating MLK, Jr. or the progress that has been made.  I'm just hoping that our remembrances don't stagnate to the point that future generations can't relate to them.  We can't spend so much time patting ourselves on the back for not remaining in the past that we forget how much further we have to go in the future.  Or something like that.

Thoughts on Being Sick

I don't get sick very often.  I remember being sick a normal amount when I was a kid.  Between the germs getting passed around at school and the germs my mom would bring home from the clinic where she worked, I would get the flu or strep throat fairly regularly.  As an adult, I have rarely caught anything worse than a mild head cold, despite spending most of my working hours surrounded by miniature germ factories.  I have never been paranoid about germs (I HATE that antibacterial hand sanitizer crap), and I honestly think that my willingness to be exposed to them now and again has helped me build up a kick-ass immune system.

That being said, I caught something this past weekend that kicked my butt in a big way.  It had some head cold-y like symptoms; sneezing, runny/stuffy nose, watery eyes, but the worst was the complete exhaustion.  I had to spend a significant amount of time resting to prepare myself for a walk from the bedroom to the living room.  I spent the majority of 4 days doing nothing but lying down.  I barely moved at all, thanks to my darling husband and his excellent nursing skills. 

I'm feeling much better now (Thanks for asking!).  On Monday morning I was able to get up and return to my regular schedule, feeling 100% normal.  This leaves me with one question:

How does my body know the difference between me lying around for 4 days sick and me lying around for 4 days because I'm a lazy bum?  If I had done that much sitting on the couch voluntarily, my joints and lower back would be in an uproar.  If I spend 1 Saturday lounging in front of the TV, my knees complain about it for the rest of the week.  But not a single joint had one word to say about my lack of movement while I was sick.  What's up with that?

The Curse of Imagination

I have a pretty active and vivid imagination.  Often, like when reading a good book, this is a talent that comes in handy.  I have seen many a movie on the big screen of my mind.  And those showings are pre-first run, baby!

Unfortunately, the ability to present oneself with a full color, real as life image has its drawbacks.  Like when I'm driving and someone does something stupid in front of me.  My over-active brain deftly follows the path that DIDN'T happen.  You know, the one where the guy didn't pull back into his own lane in time and we crashed head on and my car spun and flipped and ended in the ditch with me pinned... well, you get the idea.

Sometimes, I go with these imaginary images, just to see how I react.  What does it feel like?  Who do I turn to?  What do I do next?  It is an interesting study in who I am at any given moment.  And what better way to experience these things than in the safety of my own imagination, where I can turn off the images and restore reality with the flick of a switch (once I imagine it into being, of course).

There is one thing, one vision, that sneaks up on me and knocks the wind out of my sails every single time..  One that I can't shut off fast enough.  One in which I always fall apart, no variation.  That is the alternate reality in which something happens to my husband.  My own death, the end of the world, anything is easier for me to imagine than the idea of losing Mike.

Techno-savvy!

I am blogging from my iPhone! Is there nothing this lovely machine cannot do?


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The Greatest Lie

A large group had gathered. The high school students crowded together, jocks next to chess geeks next to stoners, having forgotten, if only for a moment, the sin of mingling with someone of the wrong clique.  The woman scanned their faces.  Some had already grown bored with the proceedings, their own personal dramas reclaiming their attention.  But the ones she had come for, the ones who needed to hear her message, were still watching.  She saw confusion, fear, and sympathy in the eyes of a few of the students, but the majority of them still held the defeated, disinterested gaze of people who know that their lives are going to go on, as mind-numbingly monotonous as ever, as soon as this brief interlude was over.

Time was running out.  As the guard grabbed her arms, the woman made eye contact with a girl in the crowd.  One eye stared back, thickly outlined in black.  The other was obscured by a lock of limp, blond hair.  The girl was an almost perfect picture of indifference, the only betrayal of emotion her teeth nibbling on her plum-colored lips.  The woman struggled against the guard and stretched toward the girl.

"It isn't true," she said.  She raked her gaze across this gathered pack of teenagers.  She could see frustration and anger swirling around them like a pre-dawn fog.  She could smell the insecurities oozing from their pores.  She could practically taste the fear that they worked so hard to hide, posing and posturing like strange dogs vying for the alpha position.  She struggled harder and raised her voice.

"They will tell you that high school is the best time of your life.  It isn't true."  The guard renewed his iron grip on her arms and began hauling her toward the door at the end of the hall.

"It gets so much better than this!" she screamed, desperate to connect with as many of these confused, conflicted individuals as she could.  "They are lying!  It gets so much better!"

The girl with the black eye-liner watched the guard half-pull, half-carry the screaming woman away and turned to the tall boy next to her.  "Huh.  That was weird."

 - - - - - - - -

I am driving to work with my iPod set to shuffle, as usual, when Sheryl Crow's "All I Wanna Do" comes on.  "And he's plain ugly to me.  And I wonder if he's ever had a day of fun in his whole life."  Suddenly I am struck by the memory of a dream.  It is as vivid in my mind as the asphalt in front of my car.  For the remainder of the journey, I compose "The Greatest Lie" in my mind. 

I remember being a high schooler, hearing some adult say how much they longed to return to their high school years.  "Those were the greatest days," they told me.  Although I don't remember the rest of the conversation, I do remember my exact thoughts.  "God, I hope not."  I am almost 32 years old now, and I have many fond memories of my high school years.  But I have never once wished that I was reliving them.  To this day, I cringe when I hear people tell teenagers how good they've got it.  I tell my students, "You think life is good now, but you just wait.  It gets even better."

Uninteresting Entry

I have nothing of any value to say. You should probably stop reading now.

Still here? Fine, but don't complain to me about the keyboard marks on your face from falling asleep 1/2 way through...

Here we are, midway through the first week of the new year. The new decade*, even. Personally, I can only hope that the rest of the year goes this well. I have managed to stick to my new schedule (about 97% successful), I have eaten healthier foods (not hard since I was starting from "popcorn and jalapeno poppers make a complete meal, right?"), and done some things I'm proud of already. So far, I'm taking names and kickin' butt in twenty ten.

That's what I'm calling it, by the way. "Two thousand, ten" is too clunky. I don't have the time or patience for that many syllables. "Saying 'Aught Ten" makes me feel like I should be wearing a bonnet and churning my own butter. Not to mention the fact that I think it's grammatically wrong. Wouldn't that mean 20010**? So I'm going with the short, sweet, and stunningly accurate "twenty ten". Has a nice solid ring to it, no?

Here's where I am tempted to wax poetically about all the things going on in my life, but since there's no reason why anyone but me would care, and since all I really want is a brief reminder of what was happening when I look back on today through the benefit of eagle-eyed hindsight, I'm going to just to a quick bullet point list and leave it at that.

• managed to get the diet back on track - frustrating to have to re-lose all the poundage I lost over the summer, but that's the price you pay for stuffing yourself like a Thanksgiving turkey and a Christmas goose all rolled up into one.
• gained even more students on top of the ones we got prior to the break - YAY.
• muscled through 3 masters essays - making this a serious priority and actually following through
• lined up several fun and exciting socializing events - D's retirement, K's job change, Sophia meeting, and the 4th annual Groundhog's Day extravaganza are all in the works
• followed through on my commitment to do good deeds

See? Lots of good. Not much bad. Throwing up lots of gratitude in the direction of the universe and reveling in each minute of Happy while I can. Here's hoping that your year is showering you with goodness, too.

* Screw that "the decade really starts at '01 because of there was no year zero" crap. My relationship with numbers is shaky enough without getting all technical about it. So there.

** Except with the verbiage. Then I'mma get all technical on you. That's just how I roll.