After Forty Years of Marriage, She Tries A New Recipe For Hamburger Hot Dish by Leo Dangel
"How did you like it?" she asked.
"It's all right," he said.
"This is the third time I cooked it this way. Why can't you ever say if you like something?"
"Well if I didn't like it, I wouldn't eat it," he said.
"You never can say anything I cook tastes good."
"I don't know why all the time you think I have to say it's good. I eat it, don't I?"
"I don't think you have to say all the time it's good, but once in awhile you could say you like it."
"It's all right," he said.
Well, I realized I needed to count my many blessings after venting to Amy and James about my Thanksgiving frustrations with an ever-imperfect family. After all, in addition to the usual family holiday madness, we DO have some clinical insanity to deal with, and as I told James, it was nearly heartbreaking to watch Jon so heavily medicated that it was all he could do to munch slowly on his dinner, let alone hold any kind of conversation. Then there was Grandma, who not having attended church herself since she was put in rehab for overusing anti-depressants, first offended my practically atheist uncle by asking him to pray and then passed over her daughter, my mom, to the only other man, my father whom she despises, to make sure that the representative patriarch was praying for the sins of our heathen family, which could only chuckle nervously at the awkwardness. Still reeling from the variety of feelings that invoked, I reached over for a spoonful of Katherine's sweet potato pudding, deciding that, on Thanksgiving and after losing 26 pounds, it would probably be okay to cheat a little. My dad tut-tutted me, at which point I barked perhaps a bit overreactively, worried (irrationally) that my lifelong rebellion against my parents' constant pressure about my weight would revisit and somehow send me on a reversal landslide back to my original weight if he went any further. In the end, though, I've decided that with a few exceptions, Thanksgiving never is truly Thanksgiving in ANY family without a little family dysfunction, let alone an officially dysfunctional one like ours. And as I was just writing the other day, I AM proud of us all for managing to figure out how to cope with it better than we used to...
But Bob Dylan saved the day for me. After Katherine gathered her ex-husband and chicks to go to the beach house, and once my dad and Matt convinced Jon it was time for him to go back to his new home so they could hightail it home to Murrieta, my mom and I settled in on the couch in my uncle's empty house to watch No Direction Home, the most recent Dylan documentary. I had been trying to convince my mom since the day before to trek out to Irvine to see the new film inspired by Dylan's music and life, I'm Not There, so I figured it would help her see how interesting another movie about his life would be. When Joan Baez came on, her interest was officially piqued and we got out the paper to find the showtime. I couldn't help chuckling about my mom and her former pretentions to be a hippie when the film made Joan's ardent self-belief look a little silly, but I was mostly proud of us for being so cool as to give the holiday to Grand Master Dylan.
And I am grateful for more than Dylan this year. Even the holiday was an improvement on last year's ridiculous, maudlin display when I rushed through an airport with tears streaming down my face only to learn I'd missed a flight I had lied to everyone to try to catch to see someone who really didn't want to see me, which was followed by an awkwardly silent dinner with Mom as I choked back tears she didn't want to hear about and my brothers and Dad boycotted the meal altogether upstairs, locked in their rooms.
I am grateful for a job that I love, where I work with kids who GET me and need me and laugh with me. I am grateful that it also happens to be the first job that is paying enough for me to live reasonably comfortable, even despite all of the money that is funneled into paying off last year's foolhardy debts and a new car, Sophie, who I also love and appreciate dearly. I am grateful for a year of more great musical feasts thanks to monthly music subscriptions and even finally a renewed concert schedule that went on hiatus for far too long.
Most of all, though, of course, I am grateful for loved ones that make life worth living with their conversation, laughter, shared experiences, and patience.
The Orange by Wendy Cope
At lunchtime I bought a huge orange
The size of it made us all laugh.
I peeled it and shared it with Robert and Dave—
They got quarters and I had a half.
And that orange it made me so happy,
As ordinary things often do
Just lately. The shopping. A walk in the park
This is peace and contentment. It’s new.
The rest of the day was quite easy.
I did all my jobs on my list
And enjoyed them and had some time over.
I love you. I’m glad I exist.
Sunday, November 25, 2007
Saturday, November 17, 2007
Taking Time for Myself
I was supposed to run another OCSL tournament this weekend since Sal, the president who got me my job at Godinez and position as OCSL vice president was out of town for the second tournament of the season, but I called Steve on Thursday, my co-vice president and begged for a half-day reprieve so I could go with Mom to visit Jon at his halfway home in Southeast Los Angeles.
I almost surrendered the time for myself and my family (after all, I woke up feeling more nervous than I expected about the prospect of visiting Jon) when Jeanna shoved me in the judges' room and seemed to indicate I was running it on my own. At first I started to call to cancel with Mom, but after I got the first round of ballots off, I realized that there was someone there capable of running it and decided to insist on taking the day that Steve had promised me.
I'm so glad I did. When Jon seemed unwilling to leave with us and uncommunicative, I started to worry as I watched him get understandably edgy when my mom started to tut at him, hoping to guilt him out for not spending time with us after we drove so far to be with him. I sensed he just needed some time to himself (I found out right before we left that my dad came out yesterday to take him to a car show all day long in Los Angeles), so I cut through Mom's stifling to calmly ask him without a sign of pressure in my voice if he thought he'd want to go out for dinner and/or a movie later on if my mom and I first went to kill some time together downtown Los Angeles.
I really needed to get home to grade, but in a split second, I decided my mom would enjoy time with me in town and I needed a break, too, plus I'd still get the brother time I had set out to get, without crowding him out. After getting a half-commitment from Jon, I talked my mom down from being practical and boring (she wanted to go home to get Grandma her groceries and didn't want to waste my gas, thinking Jon wouldn't ever end up wanting to spend time with us anyway). We headed to Westwood after a brief driving tour to satiate our long-held curiosity about the fashion district (somehow didn't seem worth the hassle of parking in the end). Refreshed by the morning victory weighing of -26 pounds, I stayed strong while drooling as I watched Mom eat a cookie ice cream sandwich from Diddy Reese's, compensating with a sugarless green iced tea. Then I lumped my previous reservations and swiped the debit card at Urban Outfitter's for the Charlie Brown Christmas tree I want to set up for the delight of myself and my students in my classroom before walking my mom to the Borders so she could use my teacher discount to buy a friend a Christmas gift...where I caved and finally bought Stephen Colbert's latest literary gem. I pulled out an old Fairmont Christmas present gift certificate and was surprised to find $15 still on it.
We finally made our way back to Jon around 3 and he was eager to come, apologizing and regretful when he found out what we had done without him. We consoled his self-recriminations by promising to drive him to the garment district in the coming weeks, and then headed to the El Monte outdoor shopping mall, which was a perfect example of these little neighborhoods in Southern California that sometimes feel like instant transports to different countries. We soaked up the discount shopping at La Casa Barata (which I at first translated for them as "Cheap House" before agreeing with Mom when she suggested "Discount Store" was a better translation) and other Latino swapmart-type clothing stores before heading to eat dinner, where I treated Mom and Jon since Mom and I both didn't have our cell phones and couldn't call to activate the credit card she had just received in the mail after losing her old one (yes, I blame HER for my absent-mindedness, though she is MUCH less willing to admit that she suffers from the malady).
Everything felt good, even though I have to admit I'm a little too tired today to appreciate how perfectly everything seemed to click. It's starting to dawn on me now, though still fuzzily, as I struggle to keep my eyes open after grading 10 essays while watching a bad movie with Katherine: I'm starting to learn how to draw appropriate boundaries with my work so it doesn't consume me altogether and so I can genuinely enjoy my family, which I am better appreciating in spite of, even because of, our many dysfunctions and differences. Seeing Jonny's new digs finally set my heart at rest, too, which before was relying too much on my sometimes defeatist mother's depictions: yes, the neighborhood doesn't feel as safe as the Stepford tract housing air of Murrieta and his apartment, shared with four other people, isn't as impeccably-designed as my Mom's house, but he's in an environment that has the structure he needs right now, where he can take classes and be with people who aren't going to make him feel so much like a burden or outsider. And Mom is so much more happy now that she isn't dealing with the unreasonable stress of trying to sleep through Jon's midnight rants and dismantling of the house; she doesn't snap when we confront our differences about religion and the role of love as we individually see it. Which brings me to my last source of gratitude tonight: I'm grateful for the love I can show through my teaching and coaching and through trying to help friends when they need it, but I was reminded tonight that my own life and blood needs me probably more than those other people and things...and I actually know how to help them probably better than I know how to teach or befriend, because I have known them since I breathed my first breath... I miss romantic love sometimes, but somehow tonight I'm feeling how much more important is my family's love.
I almost surrendered the time for myself and my family (after all, I woke up feeling more nervous than I expected about the prospect of visiting Jon) when Jeanna shoved me in the judges' room and seemed to indicate I was running it on my own. At first I started to call to cancel with Mom, but after I got the first round of ballots off, I realized that there was someone there capable of running it and decided to insist on taking the day that Steve had promised me.
I'm so glad I did. When Jon seemed unwilling to leave with us and uncommunicative, I started to worry as I watched him get understandably edgy when my mom started to tut at him, hoping to guilt him out for not spending time with us after we drove so far to be with him. I sensed he just needed some time to himself (I found out right before we left that my dad came out yesterday to take him to a car show all day long in Los Angeles), so I cut through Mom's stifling to calmly ask him without a sign of pressure in my voice if he thought he'd want to go out for dinner and/or a movie later on if my mom and I first went to kill some time together downtown Los Angeles.
I really needed to get home to grade, but in a split second, I decided my mom would enjoy time with me in town and I needed a break, too, plus I'd still get the brother time I had set out to get, without crowding him out. After getting a half-commitment from Jon, I talked my mom down from being practical and boring (she wanted to go home to get Grandma her groceries and didn't want to waste my gas, thinking Jon wouldn't ever end up wanting to spend time with us anyway). We headed to Westwood after a brief driving tour to satiate our long-held curiosity about the fashion district (somehow didn't seem worth the hassle of parking in the end). Refreshed by the morning victory weighing of -26 pounds, I stayed strong while drooling as I watched Mom eat a cookie ice cream sandwich from Diddy Reese's, compensating with a sugarless green iced tea. Then I lumped my previous reservations and swiped the debit card at Urban Outfitter's for the Charlie Brown Christmas tree I want to set up for the delight of myself and my students in my classroom before walking my mom to the Borders so she could use my teacher discount to buy a friend a Christmas gift...where I caved and finally bought Stephen Colbert's latest literary gem. I pulled out an old Fairmont Christmas present gift certificate and was surprised to find $15 still on it.
We finally made our way back to Jon around 3 and he was eager to come, apologizing and regretful when he found out what we had done without him. We consoled his self-recriminations by promising to drive him to the garment district in the coming weeks, and then headed to the El Monte outdoor shopping mall, which was a perfect example of these little neighborhoods in Southern California that sometimes feel like instant transports to different countries. We soaked up the discount shopping at La Casa Barata (which I at first translated for them as "Cheap House" before agreeing with Mom when she suggested "Discount Store" was a better translation) and other Latino swapmart-type clothing stores before heading to eat dinner, where I treated Mom and Jon since Mom and I both didn't have our cell phones and couldn't call to activate the credit card she had just received in the mail after losing her old one (yes, I blame HER for my absent-mindedness, though she is MUCH less willing to admit that she suffers from the malady).
Everything felt good, even though I have to admit I'm a little too tired today to appreciate how perfectly everything seemed to click. It's starting to dawn on me now, though still fuzzily, as I struggle to keep my eyes open after grading 10 essays while watching a bad movie with Katherine: I'm starting to learn how to draw appropriate boundaries with my work so it doesn't consume me altogether and so I can genuinely enjoy my family, which I am better appreciating in spite of, even because of, our many dysfunctions and differences. Seeing Jonny's new digs finally set my heart at rest, too, which before was relying too much on my sometimes defeatist mother's depictions: yes, the neighborhood doesn't feel as safe as the Stepford tract housing air of Murrieta and his apartment, shared with four other people, isn't as impeccably-designed as my Mom's house, but he's in an environment that has the structure he needs right now, where he can take classes and be with people who aren't going to make him feel so much like a burden or outsider. And Mom is so much more happy now that she isn't dealing with the unreasonable stress of trying to sleep through Jon's midnight rants and dismantling of the house; she doesn't snap when we confront our differences about religion and the role of love as we individually see it. Which brings me to my last source of gratitude tonight: I'm grateful for the love I can show through my teaching and coaching and through trying to help friends when they need it, but I was reminded tonight that my own life and blood needs me probably more than those other people and things...and I actually know how to help them probably better than I know how to teach or befriend, because I have known them since I breathed my first breath... I miss romantic love sometimes, but somehow tonight I'm feeling how much more important is my family's love.
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