Pete and I have been blessed with the most delightful daughter-in-law. Not only is she beautiful and wise but extremely quick-witted. At the moment, she is also very pregnant.
I've been kind of concerned for her, since she works in downtown LA and takes the bus to work and home each day - not the most comfortable mode of transportation in her condition. I have volunteered to be her personal chauffeur for the duration, driving her to work and picking her up. I reminded her again of my offer the other night. She thought for a moment as if visualizing this and then said, "Yes, and I could sit in the back seat and ask you the meaning of life."
I laugh out loud every time I think about it!
Monday, November 26, 2007
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
Laugh Lines
I was talking to my daughter Rebecca a while back and relating to her an incident that Pete and I had found hysterically funny. After we had finished laughing together she said to me, "Mom, my favorite sound in the whole world is the sound of you and Dad laughing."
I thought of that frequently over the next few days. For most of our lives both Pete and I have not laughed enough. We are pretty intense people; sometimes, I'd have to admit, we are almost pathologically intense. Add to that a decade of life in Germany, a culture that isn't exactly known for it's lightheartedness and sense of humor, and well, you can see why our laugh lines were developmentally delayed. This kind of focus, though, has it's downside - that of losing some of the peripheral vision that brings balance to life.
The last decade has brought a lot of progress, though. Now I'd say we do laugh a lot. Oftentimes we find ourselves laughing over something before we ever get out of bed in the morning. One of the things age teaches you is that you have less control over things than you thought you did. Your well-intentioned intensity is pretty much useless in a lot of situations. And there's a ream of truth to the admonition to "don't worry, be happy". I'm proud to say that Pete has some of the happiest and most beautiful wrinkles around his eyes - those that come from smiling a LOT.
So from the funny video on Ocean Spray's website to the hilarious email a friend forwarded to me to the turkey-wrestling woman on the TV commercial we're finding our laughs all over the place these days. We're making up for lost time...
I thought of that frequently over the next few days. For most of our lives both Pete and I have not laughed enough. We are pretty intense people; sometimes, I'd have to admit, we are almost pathologically intense. Add to that a decade of life in Germany, a culture that isn't exactly known for it's lightheartedness and sense of humor, and well, you can see why our laugh lines were developmentally delayed. This kind of focus, though, has it's downside - that of losing some of the peripheral vision that brings balance to life.
The last decade has brought a lot of progress, though. Now I'd say we do laugh a lot. Oftentimes we find ourselves laughing over something before we ever get out of bed in the morning. One of the things age teaches you is that you have less control over things than you thought you did. Your well-intentioned intensity is pretty much useless in a lot of situations. And there's a ream of truth to the admonition to "don't worry, be happy". I'm proud to say that Pete has some of the happiest and most beautiful wrinkles around his eyes - those that come from smiling a LOT.
So from the funny video on Ocean Spray's website to the hilarious email a friend forwarded to me to the turkey-wrestling woman on the TV commercial we're finding our laughs all over the place these days. We're making up for lost time...
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
A 30 Cent Treasure
I was reading a book (Mrs. Miniver) the other day and the author (Jan Struthers) used the word "prestidigitation". It was fairly obvious from the context what the meaning was but I looked it up just to be sure ("sleight of hand"). There were a number of other words in the book that I had to look up and I can only conclude that the vocabulary level in pre-WWII England was much higher than in the US today.
I found the book in the used book room at the Alhambra library and it was marked $0.30. It is a first American edition (published 1939) and I was delighted to find it. I'd read references to this book many times but had never read it myself. It is an absolutely delightful book and one I'll re-read at regular intervals. By the way, if you've seen the movie - well, read the book.
One of the things I love about reading is finding a thought put into words in a way that resonates so deeply with my own experience but which I had never put into words or perhaps even conscious thought. It is so satisfying when someone else hits the nail on the head for you! Or when the author presents a picture that communicates an idea in the perfect way. Here's one from Mrs. Miniver:
As she walked past a cab rank in Pont Street Mrs. Miniver heard a very fat taxi-driver with a bottle nose saying to a very old taxi-driver with a rheumy eye: "They say it's all a question of your subconscious mind."
Enchanted, she put the incident into her pocket for Clem. It jostled, a bright pebble, against several others: she had had a rewarding day. And Clem, who had driven down to the country to lunch with a client, would be pretty certain to come back with some good stuff, too. This was the cream of marriage, this nightly turning out of the day's pocketful of memories, this deft habitual sharing of two pairs of eyes, two pairs of ears. It gave you, in a sense, almost a double life: though never, on the other hand, quite a single one.
Anyone who is married knows that habit of tucking away little incidents to share. I'd just never put it into words or a picture like she did, that of pebbles stored in the pocket. That's what good wordcrafters do, I guess, put a frame around pictures of life so we remember them or perhaps even become conscious of them.
I found the book in the used book room at the Alhambra library and it was marked $0.30. It is a first American edition (published 1939) and I was delighted to find it. I'd read references to this book many times but had never read it myself. It is an absolutely delightful book and one I'll re-read at regular intervals. By the way, if you've seen the movie - well, read the book.
One of the things I love about reading is finding a thought put into words in a way that resonates so deeply with my own experience but which I had never put into words or perhaps even conscious thought. It is so satisfying when someone else hits the nail on the head for you! Or when the author presents a picture that communicates an idea in the perfect way. Here's one from Mrs. Miniver:
As she walked past a cab rank in Pont Street Mrs. Miniver heard a very fat taxi-driver with a bottle nose saying to a very old taxi-driver with a rheumy eye: "They say it's all a question of your subconscious mind."
Enchanted, she put the incident into her pocket for Clem. It jostled, a bright pebble, against several others: she had had a rewarding day. And Clem, who had driven down to the country to lunch with a client, would be pretty certain to come back with some good stuff, too. This was the cream of marriage, this nightly turning out of the day's pocketful of memories, this deft habitual sharing of two pairs of eyes, two pairs of ears. It gave you, in a sense, almost a double life: though never, on the other hand, quite a single one.
Anyone who is married knows that habit of tucking away little incidents to share. I'd just never put it into words or a picture like she did, that of pebbles stored in the pocket. That's what good wordcrafters do, I guess, put a frame around pictures of life so we remember them or perhaps even become conscious of them.
Monday, October 29, 2007
LA Times
Five weeks in California. The days seem so long on the one hand but the weeks fly by - how can that be? The boxes are unpacked and stashed away and most moving-in projects are completed. Today I passed my California driver's test so I'm an official resident. That's the externals. The internal "moving in" isn't quite so measurable and has been harder than I expected. There can sometimes be a real disconnect between the "head" (thankfulness for all we've been blessed with) and the "heart" (feeling like life is suddenly formless and void without all the normal parameters and identity mirrors).
California factoid - distance measures are pretty meaningless here. We live only 4.9 miles from Joel and TeeTee's house. But consider that there are 29 stoplights along that stretch and the distance seems to grow exponentially, especially mornings and evenings. When looking up a destination on GoogleMaps it's not uncommon to see the travel time given as 20 minutes with "may take up to 1 hour and 30 minutes during peak travel times" in parentheses. I love their honesty!
It doesn't seem quite so strange to me now, though, to walk out of the house and see palm trees and mountains instead of corn fields and red barns. Yesterday the thermometer said 92 degrees so I'm trying to reconcile that with the end of October. The morning glories I planted in front of the house are sprouting like crazy and the lemon tree on the balcony is starting to bud and blossom. This is a whole new season of life but I'm not sure what defines "season" out here. Guess I'll just have to call it the "LA Times" of my life.
California factoid - distance measures are pretty meaningless here. We live only 4.9 miles from Joel and TeeTee's house. But consider that there are 29 stoplights along that stretch and the distance seems to grow exponentially, especially mornings and evenings. When looking up a destination on GoogleMaps it's not uncommon to see the travel time given as 20 minutes with "may take up to 1 hour and 30 minutes during peak travel times" in parentheses. I love their honesty!
It doesn't seem quite so strange to me now, though, to walk out of the house and see palm trees and mountains instead of corn fields and red barns. Yesterday the thermometer said 92 degrees so I'm trying to reconcile that with the end of October. The morning glories I planted in front of the house are sprouting like crazy and the lemon tree on the balcony is starting to bud and blossom. This is a whole new season of life but I'm not sure what defines "season" out here. Guess I'll just have to call it the "LA Times" of my life.
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