The Greatest Gift, Part 2

I mailed the birthday card on my last day in the office before The Awesome Husband and I left for vacation.  This was intentional ... if I'd done it sooner, I knew I'd be watching the mail carefully (likely TOO carefully) for a possible reply and would, no question, slowly drive myself to wonder if I'd made a mistake by reaching out at all.  I *HAD* let her Christmas card go unanswered for 6 months after all.  It was totally possible that I'd missed my opportunity.

We started by visiting my parents and largely avoiding the July 4th holiday.  The next morning, we drove to Monterey, stowed our bags at our hotel and visited the touristy places.   I'd remembered a specific on-the-wharf place that had amazingly tender squid dishes, and we found it with very little trouble.  The service was great but, sadly, the food was not as good as my memory told me.

We were driving back to the hotel when The Awesome Husband saw a storefront that he wanted to take a photo of.  One of the major dinners we'd enjoy while on vacation was in Yountville at a private outdoor table at a well-known destination for food-lovers - The French Laundry.  The storefront that had been spotted in Monterey was the Del Mar French Laundry and a far cry from where we'd be dining.

The Awesome Husband asked me to pull over and I managed to drive behind the rather dilapidated building and waited while he walked around to the front to take the picture he'd upload to our fellow diners, as a laugh.

I must have been charging my cell phone because when it rang, I didn't have to hunt for it.  I checked at the display to see if I knew the caller and ,while the number was unfamiliar, the area code was not.  I answered it right away, figuring it could be any of the hotels we would be saying at, restaurants we'd be visiting or (possibly) the REAL French Laundry calling to ask about a few special requests I'd made on the sly to surprise The Awesome Husband as a belated birthday gift.

"Hello?" I answered, in my best business voice.  "Hello - Julie?  It's Karin."

My throat tightened and I blurted out "my God it IS Karin!  Happy Birthday, Karin!!!"  In true fashion, she brushed off that it was her birthday and wanted to know - honestly - how I was doing.  She didn't specifically ask about my Parkinson's, but I knew that's what she was asking.  In the flurry of conversation that followed, I learned that her oldest daughter was a teenager, that her parents and siblings were all visiting per her father's request for his 80th birthday and she was hoping we had a spare space in our travel plan to visit them.

It was about this time that The Awesome Husband came walking around the corner, having successfully taken his photo.  Karin and I came up with a plan for a visit Sunday morning, and as we said our goodbyes, the tears started to really flow.

Oh it was just awful.  I would *just* start to get it together, and then I'd think about how much time I had wasted, how much of a coward I'd been, the amount of pain I'd caused ... and I'd be right back to being a big, snotty mess.  For those of a certain age, you may think about watching Mary Tyler Moore on the Dick Van Dyke Show, where she played the part of Laura Petrie.  Laura had a cry that was funny to watch but  heartbreaking to listen to.

And it wasn't just the 6-minute drive back to the hotel.  It was literally HOURS.  We'd be unpacking or researching our next location to visit and I'd feel this wave of guilt and love and forgiveness and ... it would start all over again.  So my hope was that I'd get myself composed over the next day and a half.  It'd be nice if I wasn't a total basket case when we visited.

The Greatest Gift, Part 1

I won't do this justice.  It may take me several efforts before I capture this correctly.  If (ok, WHEN) I decide to try this again, I'll just name it "The Greatest Gift, Rewrite".  Here goes ...

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I've always made friends easily.  I can make small talk to break the ice with the best of 'em, and from then on, it's mostly a matter of being interested and active listening.  If we don't hit it off, hey - no harm, no foul.

As for friends who really REALLY know me (and whom I'm not related to or married to), that's another matter.  There's Tim, for sure.  We hit it off immediately and have been great friends ever since.  But even that's not going back to my school-age days.  No, school-age friends would number five.  And school-age friends whom I kept in contact with well after graduation would number two.  And school-age friends whom I kept in contact with until I moved East would number one.

And when I write "school-age", the five would be from high school.  And the "post-graduation" two would be the five from high school minus the three who moved away, got married, went to college or whom I just lost touch with.  And those two?  I have known since Kindergarten.  So for REALLY close school-age friends, we're talking about - no exaggeration - a forty-year friendship.

Of those two, one started making really bad choices and decisions and I was finding myself feeling dread when she'd call.  She asked me to do favors for her that I was pretty uncomfortable with and, when things came to a head one day, instead of being sad at the loss of a very long friendship, I found myself feeling ... relief.  The person I had been friends with for so long had changed so dramatically and became someone I would have likely never wanted to know.

But the other one?  I introduced her to her husband, whom I was friends with in a different circle.  I met their firstborn child when she was less than 48 hours old ... and I held their second child at hour 8.  I had my doubts that our friendship wouldn't change with the addition of her having children - and yes, it DID change - but we could still be our goofy selves.  We could still have talks on the phone (something a lot of parents simply cannot achieve due to the constant interruption of a child in need).  She was still interesting and funny and had interests that didn't involve children.

So when it came time for me to move, I spent the days packing or shipping or finding bubble-wrap and crafting, in my head, a way to somehow say I was leaving.  And - I failed * every * single * time*.  It wasn't as though we talked every day or saw each other every week ... but the idea that I wouldn't have the ability to see her at the drop of a hat made me feel ill.  And when the time came?  I chickened out.  I bailed.  I slunk away and when I DID finally call to say "hey - new address!!", I hung up afterwards knowing I had deeply hurt my closest friend and would likely never hear from her again.

When Christmas arrived a few months later, I received a card from her parents ... but not from her.  I sent one, holding out hope that I had simply misread her reaction to my move - and my not telling her face-to-face about the move - but deep down, I knew what she likely was feeling.  After all, 35 plus of friendship had BETTER teach you how to read the other person.

And then life got complicated.  The search for employment took about 11 months longer than I'd expected, the Awesome Boyfriend became the Awesome Live-In Boyfriend, I became employed again but needed to learn a whole new sector (from technology to education), and - just for added drama - there was, of course, my Parkinson's diagnosis.

Each year, without fail, I would get a Christmas card from her parents with a note that would say something like "hope you're doing well", or "haven't heard from you" or "miss your updates" ... but what was I gonna say?  I'd send them a card, too, but .... well how would YOU write "love my job, gonna get married, have Parkinson's, happy new year!"?  So I simply would write my name and send it off, knowing they deserved better.  Knowing she deserved better.  And there I was - in the foreign situation of really not knowing how to break the ice.

Christmas 2012 came around and, out of the blue, I opened a photo card to see the smile I'd known since walking into Mrs. Denzer's Kindergarten classroom.  I stared at the card, studying the familiar ornaments on their tree (knowing she was alright with random decor placement but that such a thing would keep him up at night) and, still in a daze, flipped the card over to see a whole page of text!  Ages and hobbies of children, vacation news, job updates, boards and committees she was on ... not personalized to me but I drank it in, sat back, and ... cried. I still didn't have any way of writing "love my job, got married, have Parkinson's, happy new year!"  I made a mental note to reach out when I was able to write something informative, sensitive, comprehensive, and not pity-inducing.  This was gonna take some time.

It would take me six months to work up the courage, and two hours to write a Reader's Digest of my life without her in it.  With our birthdays being 12 days apart and with Summer Vacation looming, I purchased a card, folded my two-page letter (which I boldly included my email and phone number and a note we'd be visiting my parents for the next two weeks), sealed the card, and dropped it in the mail.  I went home and packed for our travels, not mentioning to the Awesome Husband what I'd done, so as to save myself from any embarrassment should she not call or write.

My Family Tree Must Have Knotts

This was the year we weren't going to jam.  Last year - we couldn't possibly duplicate that effort.  Over 40 flavors and more than 420 jars ... *whew*.  Sure, we raised something like $2,300 for the Parkinson's Disease and Movement Disorders Center - I'm VERY proud of that - but still, 2013 was gonna be our year off.  We even booked two weeks of travel that involved the weekends we traditionally jam.  2013 - Travel.  NOT Jam.

I blame the visit to the open air market.  And the plums that were there.  They were ... perfect.  Deep color, no soft spots, amazingly fragrant.  I can't speak for the Amazing Husband but that's when I started to crumble.  My own mother was of no help.  "The Blackberry Vanilla.  Definitely my favorite.  Looking forward to more of that next year."  Terrific ... THANKS Mom.

We returned home (after astonishingly good AND not-so-good meals, overwhelming kindnesses by total strangers and a renewed friendship ... I'll write more about those experiences in due time) and unpacked.  The plums weren't foremost on my mind, as there was plenty to be done that DIDN'T involve jamming.  Like - sending jams to old dear friends.  The packing, wrapping, labeling .... all second nature really.  And heck, we HAD jars still from last year.  We had flavorings.  We had everything but fruit.

"Ok well", I started, "we can make Blackberry Vanilla and ... and ... maybe Strawberry something.  Nothing overly detailed or messy.  Strawberry Pomegranate, maybe."

And then there was the purchase of more jars.  "I picked up 7 more packs", said the Awesome Husband.  I was just as bad, managing to buy 6lbs of cherries when I went to the store (forgetting the lemons I had intended to buy in the first place).

Soooooo this last Saturday, in the year we WEREN'T gonna jam at all, we made 5 flavors packed away in 52 jars.  And today?  Today when I was gonna lay low and try to let my body adjust to new medications and crappy sleep cycles and boring days at work?  Today I purchased 12 more packs of jars (plus 2 packs of quart-sized ones ... ya' know, just in case).  And I noticed my local farm has announced the arrival of peaches.

I think I should research my family tree ... see if there are any "Knotts" or "Smuckers" in it.

A Low "Ha!"

I haven't written much - or, really, at all - about the incredible two week vacation that the Awesome Fiance and I took this summer.  We've been back for over a month now so it's probably time to revisit it.

I could write about the travel experience itself but the airline (I'll call it "Untied") would probably put me on the "no-fly" list after reading my tirade.  I'd have to create new, more descriptive words beyond "dunder-headed ass clown" and "inept corporate maggot" ... and I'm just not feeling all that creative today.

I could write about this being the ONLY time in my life I've actually taken two whole weeks from work for vacation.  Yes, I had a sabbatical, which was 6 weeks, but in all the 29 years I've been employed, I've never taken two solid weeks of vacation.

I could write about the food ... OH.  MY.  LORD.  THE.  FOOD. ... but that'll probably just make me hungry and I probably wouldn't be able to describe some of the dishes to the level of deliciousness they deserve.

I think I'll write about my overall take-away from the first portion of our two weeks.  The "Family" portion.

Ya' know that family you see on occasion when traveling?  Grandparents, grown children, grandkids ... dining together, smiling and laughing, posing for goofy photos, etc?  The clan that piles out from the minivan and walks into the mall, maybe wearing similar teeshirts ... or the multi-generational gathering on the beach - a few are reading, some are splashing about in the water, the youngest members are creating elaborate piles of sand?  Well, I was part of that family as a child.  My best friend really did have the perfect family and I spent countless hours as an extended, adopted family member.  Oh, they were SO much better than my real family.

Dad was a teacher, an avid weekend golfer, and liked to take rides on his motorcycle.  Mom, also a teacher, liked to go on walks, spend time with her family, and be outdoors.  Son - the youngest member of the family - was into all things bicycle.  Daughter - my best friend - was everything I wasn't ... graceful, very pretty, delicate.  They'd include me on short weekend getaways and I'd see a family who REALLY enjoyed being together.  Parents who had conversations about news and politics and things that didn't involve work or animals or relatives.  Children who played nicely together and went to the movies together - not because they were told to but because they wanted to.  For me, it was surreal.

It was also fake.

I know now that my seemingly perfect adopted family ... was not.  Dad, it seemed, waited until the children were grown and on their own, and then got on his motorcycle and rode away.  Mom developed an eating disorder and handled her divorce as 'tho everything was fine when, clearly, it was not.  Little brother got married *WAY* too young but to a wonderful woman who nursed him back to health for a year after a very nearly deadly motocross accident.  And best friend, who had aspirations on being a psychologist, instead became a grumpy, gloomy, unhappy stay-at home mom who shielded her own small children from their "awful" Grandfather ... even as she herself continued the cycle of cheating on - and eventually leaving - her own spouse.  I stopped being a part of her life after her second child.  We just didn't have anything in common anymore and I got tired of trying to set up the lunch date that clearly was never to be.  We had a mutual friend who kept me updated on her activities and, last I heard, her two oldest children asked to move in with their father because they were tired of being told how awful both he AND their own Grandfather was.

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So while, as a child, I had my seemingly perfect family and my real one, as an adult I knew that my real one was so much better than "perfect".  It was flawed, but flawed in a way I understood.  The members (myself most assuredly included) were maddening, but in a comfortable way.  We have family logic for the things we do - twisted as it is but it is, at least, logic of some sort.  And, as the airplane drifted towards our family getaway home for the week, I thought that I was ready for the quirks and actions and whatnot that were likely to come ... flaws and maddening members and twisted logic and all.

Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh I was mistaken.

It's an exaggeration, to be sure, that I spent the WHOLE week closing screens, sliding glass doors, turning off lights, turning on ceiling fans, drawing drapes, turning on the air conditioner, and locking front doors.  It's an exaggeration, certainly, that the week was spent washing the same dishes, clearing the same table, drying the same glasses, closing the same freezer doors, and wiping the same counter-top surface.  It's an exaggeration, yes, that my island time was filled with folding towels and doing laundry and explaining how air conditioning works and sharing that, while I was sorry the upstairs was 76 degrees (aka "super cold") in the mornings, our bedroom was still at 87 degrees at 11pm the night before because no one could be bothered to close a door or shut a window to keep the air temperature at a reasonable number - say, somewhere slightly lower than 80.

It did FEEL like the whole week was like that, but I know it wasn't.

"But remember", you say calmly.  "Remember that you were sharing the house with young children and you're not used to young children."

"And that's very true", I reply just as calmly.  "But what makes you think I was talking about the young children?"

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Ahhhhhhhhhhh but they are my people.  They are my family.  Are they perfect?  Ha!  No.  Thank heavens no, they are not perfect.

Yay Me!

I done good.

A few years back, for our first birthday(s) "together", I managed to *really* surprise The Awesome Fiance (then known as The Awesome Boyfriend) with a seemingly simple gift ... a lunch box.  It wasn't actually all that simple and involved some pretty good Internet search skills, quick fingers, and putting my trust in the seller of said lunchbox that the item was as pictured.  (It was.)  Anyway, the gift went over well and was greatly appreciated, judging from his reaction and from his writing about his memories with his original lunchbox on his blog.  (Anytime I think I write well, I visit his blog and know I'm not all that talented after all.  I DO WISH HE'D RETURN TO WRITING *ahem* ....... but that's not my decision to make.)

Since that birthday gift exchange, we've had a few occasions to exchange presents - anniversaries, Christmases, birthdays - and I've wished to be able to come to the same level as that original gift.  Which is not to say I've been phoning it in on the gifts I've given, but - for that particular gift anyway - I felt I'd peaked and wasn't measuring up.

I knew what I wanted to do for this birthday for a few months now - upgrade our flights on our Summer vacation.  It was gonna take creativity, a little deception, a LOT of luck, and some financial wrangling.  I mapped out the order of things I'd need to do so that I didn't miss any steps.  One wrong move and I'd wind up with a surplus of airline miles and no way to turn them in ... or, worse, seats but no miles to secure them with.

One random Saturday morning, the airline alerted me via email that the miles were in my account.  The email arrived at something like 4:30am and I read the message at 6am.  I reeeeeally wanted to sleep in but I knew I'd never forgive myself if I screwed this up (plus I didn't really have a backup plan if this fell through) so I dragged myself carefully from the bed and slowly walked from our bedroom to the living room.   Tabby looked at me from her bed as if to scold me for messing up her routine so I quietly sat down and, took a deep breath and crossed my fingers, logged into my airline account to see what, if anything, was available in the way of better seats on our flights.

As it turned out, being awake at that hour worked out quite well.  Seats were requested and granted and fingers were uncrossed.  Now, how to wrap them.  It's not as 'tho anything is done via actual paper anymore.  No one has actual airline tickets ... confirmations, yes but even those are likely electronic.

A quick search of words ("travel" and "folder") brought me to a vendor in Texas who had a collection of 1950s travel-focused items, including original airline-created travel folders.  If one was traveling in the 1950s, one worked with a travel agent, who would issue actual tickets, luggage tags, a fully-customized itinerary and a pen by the airline they'd be using, all bundled up in a folder specific to the region the flight was headed.  It was just dumb luck that the folder was created by the same airline we booked with going to the same area that we'd be venturing to.

From there, I found a few grocery items either associated with or containing the name of our destination, and appropriate wrapping to use to decorate the gifts with.  (I used a tablecloth that had decorations of our vacation spot.  Hey - sometimes ya' need to be creative.)  I swung by a clothing store for a "travel" themed shirt and contacted my local florist to recommend a vendor to provide me with the right flowers.

Well, it all came together.  Last night, The Awesome Fiance experienced his virtual vacation-themed birthday.  Everything worked out great and it was all appreciated.  It may not have been much to open/unwrap, but he mentioned a few times he saw the thoughtfulness I'd put into it and that ... well, that honestly was what I was REALLY hoping for.

We're now 364 days away from his next birthday.  I'll give myself a few months before I start thinking about what I'll do for it.

The Happy Medium

Feast or famine.  Joyful or Sad.  Open or closed.  Busy or peaceful.  Quiet or crazy.

I wonder how much energy the average human adult (if  there IS such a thing) spends trying to create balance in their lives.  We toil away at our jobs so as to afford vacations.  We drive like demons to get further into traffic to get home so we can rest.  We create projects or start on tasks that we hope will make our homes, or our systems, or our accounts, run more efficiently and never really notice when they are in place because we're working on the next task or project.

And, ironically, by the time we're REALLY ready to enjoy the fruits of our labors (no matter if it is a the end of a day, week, year or retirement age), we're too damn tired to look around and say "wow - this is nice".

I had a mini-experience like that recently.  I've had an off-and-on migraine for a couple o' days and, each time the "fog" lifted, I did as much as I could because I knew I was on borrowed time.  And boy, did I have things to celebrate, thanks to The Awesome Boyfriend.  Incredible reservations at an amazing place in a favorite city on what promises to be an unimaginably fun weekend ... and it was all I could do to say "wow that's great, Sweetheart.  Can you bring me an icepack?"

So today, before my day started to get moving, I got us great seats on the right flights at a darn nice fare.  It feels GREAT to be part of this process ... to participate in the planning more than just saying "what day is that again?  Where is this place?  What kinda dress code?"

And the bonus in this all ... the cherry on the sundae ... is that we'll likely have time to stop into a few favorite places of mine, visit a few new soon-to-be favorite places of ours, meet with old/new friends and share new/old stories ...

Memorial Day/Weekend never seemed so far away.  I'm gonna work like hell so I can hurry up and enjoy it.

Tabby Is Ready For Her Stay-Cation

In less than a week, we'll be taking a driving vacation across many states. (The "many states" part is still new for me. I'm from a place where one can drive for 9 hours straight and still be in the same state.) There is MUCH to be done before we depart.

Packing, for one thing. I honestly don't know if I have enough summer items that aren't "garden" wear ... light summery tops that I could wear to a cafe, for instance. I have a single pair of shorts. As in ONE. I don't have sandals of any kind. (I'm not a fan of open-toed shoes so this isn't a new thing and, up until this vacation, it hasn't mattered. But if I don't have sandals, I'll need to wear my short-heeled black pumps for "dressing up" and they kinda require nylons and heck - YOU try wearing nylons in summer heat. It's not fun.)

Cleaning, for another. I'm not a fan of leaving home without cleaning it up first because (1) it means I'll return to home that hasn't been cleaned and (2) whomever cares for the home or pets or plants while I'm away will - of course - see (and judge) the uncleanliness.

(Sidenote: That "judge" thing above? That's crap and I know it's crap. Anyone who I trust enough to care for my home, pets or plants wouldn't pass judgement on the cleanliness or lack thereof of my home. Just like that cop who is pulled off on that side street isn't gonna start up his car and tail me for blocks on the off-chance I may speed. And yet, I still slow down and study the rear view mirror, questioning if the police car LOOKS like it's moving.)

Oh, and planning, for a third. The Awesome Boyfriend may be experienced in traveling to other states via car and stopping along the way and such, but this is a new thing for me and I want to be educated enough to say "I want to visit Town X to see the world's largest ball of used twine". Or, yanno, maybe something actually interesting.

So yes - we'll be leaving in (checks calendar) four days. Four short days. Three really, as we'll be departing early on that fourth. And two, honestly, because it's gonna take most of a day to pack, and sort, and recheck, and pack more, and unpack that stupid thing that I'll NEVER really wear, etc. And what, from the list of chores to be done both as stated above and still in my head, have I accomplished?

I've sorted out a weeks worth of cat treats and cat crunchies and written cute little cat instructions and set out the cat carrier (just in case she needs to be mobile) and restuffed her favorite toys with fresh cat nip and labeled what food happens on which day and in which bowl it gets served in.

In less than a week, the Awesome Boyfriend and I will be leaving on vacation and only one living being in our home is ready ... the cat, who actually is NOT going anywhere.

The untied way to fly.

I will never understand why people don't speak up when they don't feel they're being treated properly.

We all know - at least, those that travel know - that most airlines now charge for checking a bag. I've only had a bag go missing once - in Chicago in February for a business trip. It was completely the fault of the airline and the bag arrived 24 hours later. It was an inconvienence, but there was an easy-enough work around. I was in downtown Chicago ... if I needed anything, I had Miracle Mile at my fingertips.

I've just had the pleasure of paying a service charge to have an airline misplace my bag. As a customer, I played completely by their rules. I showed up more than an hour prior to departure. The bag in question was under their weight limit. I paid their small fee without comment because I was expecting it. The flight I was on was by no means full and it was non-stop. So when I was still waiting for my bag more than 45 minutes after landing, I was unpleased.

The ground crew at my destination was kind enough about the situation. They filed a report for me, gave me a target time, had my contact info and I told them they could just drop the bag off sans signature. I wasn't out for blood. I just wanted my stuff. It was a bummer, but it wasn't the end of my world.

The first target for bag arrival time came and went, with no one calling me as originally promised. Same with the second target time. When I called after the third target time had wooooshed by, I was still very courtious to the individual on the phone. This wasn't their fault, after all. They were the ones who were helping me. I did, however, warn them on the outset that I was unamused.

(You see - I believe if you give someone a target, especially a target that is a range, you should live up to it. I didn't suggest a time for the bag to arrive after all. This was their target. All I wanted them to do was honor it. That seems reasonable, right?)

The fourth target breezed by sans bag or anyone calling me and I was on the phone when the bag was found ... sitting all by itself on the deck I'd just been sadly glancing upon.

So it should come as no surprise that I had a few things to discuss when the airline sent me a "how was your trip" survey. I followed it up with a call to the customer service line today. In a few short minutes, I was told that the fee I had paid wasn't going to be refunded. After all, as the person on the phone told me, everyone else who had checked a bag had paid the same fee.

"Yes, that is true - but those people actually received their bag upon landing, right?" was my response.

There was a brief moment of silence, followed by an offer for a voucher at nearly double the baggage fee for the trouble the airline had caused me.

Score one for the customer.