Thought I'd be the One

When we learned that we were to be grandparents the fantasies began. Besides the baby's parents I thought I'd be the favorite person in the world. I'd do the cuddling at our house and hand out the cookies. But no, it was not to be. Grandpa Jeff is preferred by Easton over all others. Sad for me. But, how can I be jealous when I see the amazing bond between the two of them? They speak a language known only to them. It's like this secret club that only boys can join. At this point they're being very selective with admission of new members. I'm on the waiting list...

Maybe the next one, if there is a next one, will like me best. I can hope, can't I?

Amazing Women

What an interesting evening. Was invited to a friend's house to snack and drink wine with women I didn't know. We ranged in age from 30-60, married, single, divorced, liberal, conservative, agnostic, fundie, we were all over the board. The common theme was that we each knew the hostess. What a wonderful time we had sharing stories of love and loss, sex toy parties experiences, and upcoming adventures. One of the highlights of the evening was the bottle of port infused with chocolate. Truly amazing. The best part of the night, however, was when someone actually acknowledged how unlikely it was that we would all come together and be so open to share and not judge, and how much we liked each other and want to be together again.

We have to get together in August before Colleen leaves for her year-long writing fellowship at the University of Michigan and a trip to Turkey. We need one more night before Sarah's wedding in September.

Who knows if we'll ever be in one place again. But if we aren't that's okay, we had tonight and it was wonderful.

Ever Vigilant

This is a true story, every word. Who could make this stuff up?

We're out to dinner with Tosca, our writer friend, and I didn't want to miss a moment of precious time with her. So I waited to use the bathroom until we got to Target, yes the very Target at which I used to work.

I select the first stall, not my favorite, but it was kind of urgent at this point. (Don't you have a favorite stall at the places you frequent most often? It really is just me?) Come to the end of my business when I notice there's no paper. Really, no paper at all. No little scraps stuck to the roll, nothing.

Take a breath, be calm, something will come to you. You'd be surprised what comes to your mind at that point. In my purse is not a scrap of tissue, maybe a reciept or two, but seriously now. There's someone moving about in another stall, but by the time I make a decision she's on her way out the door. Aha! There's my cell phone and the number to the store is in my directory. That could work, I could call the operator, ask for the Guest Service Team Lead and then explain my predicament. Josh the manager is cool enough and all, but no. So I wait.

Someone in a red shirt and khaki's, the standard Target ensemble, flits past the door to my stall. "Jen?" No response.

"Jen Crowther is that you?"

"No."

"You don't know me, but this is Kristin, I used to work here. There's no toilet paper in this stall."

Silence.

Finally she asked if she could bring me some. Oh, I was so relieved. Only a moment of awkward as we washed our hands at the same time.

We shopped and as we got in the car Jeff wanted to know what happened that took me so long in the bathroom. He said an elderly couple came and went since I had gone in and he wondered what happened in there. I told him the story and he was incredulous, "You mean you don't check before you go in?"

"No, I trust Target, they check the bathroom every hour."

He just laughed, that knowing chuckle a mockery to my naivety. He freely admitted to checking the stall at work and if there isn't paper he goes to another bathroom. Isn't that yours to deal with if you find it? "Oh no," he said, "you have to go tell Betty and that would just be weird. It'd be like talking to your Mom about using the bathroom." Isn't that better than the hot young chicks you work with? He said he just doesn't talk to anyone about missing paper, he just keeps moving on.

So, there you have it. All the problems in the world come down to one man.

Independence Day

Our city was nuts with fireworks this year. For two solid nights you could barely breath for the sulphur in the air. What's funny is that anything that lifts off the ground or reports is illegal in Lincoln.

Here's my gripe, ready? We are not celebrating the 4th of July. We are celebrating our independence from oppression. Try to remember to offer a hearty, "Happy Independence Day!"

Smack On the Bottom

Easton, our beloved and adorable grandson, has discovered the refigerator. We have the kind with the freezer on the bottom. He's just the right height to 'help' get out ice cubes and then play in them for as long as we'll let him. Combine that with a dog who loves ice cubes and it's difficult to find the fish sticks with so much help! I'll try to get a picture to share. Truly adorable.

Thanks to Kristi for helping me think of something to write about. You're right, lettuce doesn't mold. Glad that's settled.

Overkill!!!

Writers are story tellers in our hearts. We can't wait for something interesting to happen in our lives so we can process it for a few minutes, days, weeks, and then share it with someone else.

Story telling is an ancient tradition that has transformed cultures. Unfortunately we no longer sit around a communal fire each night to cook our meals. We don't gather at the town well to draw water and share stories. In my circle we don't quilt, or raise barns, or even have a large family gathering as often as I would like.

Thus we are relegated to electronic communication. The problem is the loss of inflection. We can't twist the words ever so slightly to imply sarcasm, or indicate our enthusiasm for the climax of the tale by increasing the tempo. We are left with italics, bold-face type, and exclamation points. All sad imitations of the great art of the story told live.

This communicative style has crept into my work place. I had an IM conversation with a coworker with whom I was having a disagreement. This discourse was so distressing that I printed it to save, to show others what a jerk he had been and how righteous I was in not stooping to his level. The third party I handed it to for review looked at me in all seriousness and said, "Don't ever have a conversation like that again over IM." Why not, I wanted to know. He pointed out that because of the way I've learned to talk to people via IM doesn't leave me smelling like a rose in this situation. Sure enough, there were exclamation points all over the place!

He also reminded me, that just like I had done, the other party probably printed and saved the conversation. That's not a good thing.

Once a Day

My darling husband Jeff says one funny thing per day. It's not like he plans it, life just happens that way.

Saturday we were camped out in lawn chairs on the main street of town watching classic and hot rod cars cruise by. Americruise comes to Lincoln every June and it's a blast. A 1930s Chrysler painted a lovely cameo pink rolls by. Jeff says, "Oh look, the first Mary Kay car."

He's too cute.