OK, I Hear You

I've been told I need to update this thing more frequently.  I'm humbled many of you find my boring life and random musings so interesting.  When I responded to a friend that I don't have a lot of interesting things going on, and very little time to blog about the mundane, her response was simple--short and boring is fine!  And more pictures would be good.  So, for all my Facebook-averse, blog-following friends, this is for you!  I will try to update this more frequently.

I can't believe it's August.  We escaped St. Louis' oppressive heat for a week to enjoy Lake Michigan.  This was a special week-we invited my parents and we spent the week with them and Mike's mom.  Abby was surrounded by her grandparents (us) and three great-parents.  Here's a picture of her on the beach:

A real highlight of the week was spending some quality time with good friends.  Here's a picture of us with our friends of longstanding duration (see, I didn't say "old"), Tim and Jeanne:

Good friends, good times.  I love summer.  Hope you all are grabbing some good times and making some memories on your end.  More soon, I promise.

It's Crazy What a Minute Can Do

Everything's different
With my head in the clouds
I hit this corner 
With my foot on the gas 
I started sliding, I lose it 
Everything's different just like that 


           -So Damn Lucky, Dave Matthews Band


Mike and I were at Lambert-St. Louis International Airport on April 22 when it took a direct hit from an F-4 tornado.  One minute were were ambling about, waiting for friends to arrive from London via O'Hare, and the next dust, glass and debris was swirling through the lower level of the parking garage, through the glass doors by which we were standing, and Mike was yelling at me to run.  So I ran.  I remember something whizzing by my head, maybe a suitcase or a ceiling tile, and I looked behind me to make sure he was still there.  "Don't look at me, run!"  So I ran.  Less than 30 seconds, less than 50 yards.  But it seemed an eternity.  


I grew up with the reality of severe weather and tornadoes.  The drills at school.  The warning sirens.  Go to the basement or the most interior room of your house, away from windows.  I know the drill.  But I have never been in a tornado.  To say that it was terrifying is almost an understatement.   Yes, it was terrifying, but it's more than that.  It's awe-inspiring and humbling to witness first-hand how vulnerable you are to the forces of nature.  As much as you may be prepared for it, or even aware it is approaching, you're pretty much at the mercy of the circumstances of the storm and where you happen to be when it strikes.  And we were at Lambert.


I'm going to pause here and offer up the fact that I have been a government employee.  Two years as a state appellate court clerk, 6 years as a city attorney.  I am not a government basher.  I know that most government employees are hard-working and loyal.  I have spent enough hours in kevlar, riding around with cops in bad neighborhoods in the middle of the night, to appreciate the selflessness and courage of most of our men and women in blue.  But all that said, I found the lack of warning, coordination or leadership at Lambert to be appalling.    As much as the post-tornado spin has focused on the miracle that there were no serious injuries or loss of life, I can attest to the fact that that was the result of either luck or the grace of God.  It was not because of any procedures in place at Lambert.  We were there 20 minutes before the tornado hit, and heard none of the announcements that were supposedly made.  And if there were any announcements, why were so many people on the upper concourse when the glass came showering down, including TSA workers manning the security checkpoints?  And have you seen the Youtube video of all the people in the east terminal standing by the windows, watching the clouds swirl by?  


In the aftermath of the storm, and amidst the chaos, there were some moments I will never forget.  Little Emilynn, cut from the car glass which imploded around her as she waited for her Daddy to come home.  The missionary nurse, bound for Haiti, who took care of her.  The panic which ensued every time someone screamed that another tornado was coming (the Starbucks workers were particularly dramatic, running from the store screaming, "we're gonna die").  People cowering in the bathrooms.  


If there is one thing, the one defining thing, that I will never forget about that night, it is my husband.  Calm and rational, I often mistake his even keel as emotional detachment.   But you can count on him.  If the shit goes down, you want him with you.  Armed with an iPad and a since-childhood fascination with meteorology, he declared the weather coast clear and decided we needed to get out of the airport pronto, lest we be stranded there all night.  Honestly, at this point I would have followed him into a fire, so we made for the Jeep and exited the garage through the taxi-only exit and made our way home via back roads (the highways were closed due to all the downed power lines and overturned trucks).

My takeaway from all of this.  First, you are really on your own in any disaster.  Rely on your own judgment.  Don't expect anyone to protect you.  After 30 seconds, it was apparent that the TSA workers at Lambert, while armed with walkie talkies, are only prepared to deal with double-parked cars and too much shampoo in a carry-on bag.  Probably unfair, but that's my impression.  Second, be aware of your surroundings if there is any threat of severe weather.  I always try to park in the lower level of the parking garage when picking up international travelers, with their extra luggage, but we made a real effort to do so that night because of the weather.  Good thing.  Third, be wary of picking Ellen and Piers up at the airport.  Blizzards, tornadoes and assassinations seem to ensue every time they travel.  Finally, if Mike tells you to run, run.  Don't look back, just run.

The Best and the Worst of Times

This post is inspired by the death of my best friend's mom two weeks ago.  She died in the house which was my second home during my senior year of high school, a house that holds so many memories for me, good and bad, but mostly very, very good.  Sleepovers, confidences, endless chatter, riotous laughter.  I got seriously drunk for the first time in that house.  The hospital bed which was set up in the living room was almost exactly over the spot where I spilled a glass of red wine in 1982.  An epic moment, made all the more traumatic by the fact that the carpet was light blue.  Of course it was, no one spills red wine on maroon carpet.  But, she still loved me.  At least, she kept telling me that.  Love will redeem anything and everything.  She nurtured me when I was young and confused.  I nurtured her when she was sick and dying.  You have to pay the kindness forward, it's really all that holds everything together when things go very, very wrong.

I was pondering all of these things, and letting my mind roam, as I sat with her in the darkness in the hours before she died.  Her oxygen machine made a quiet, gurgling sound.  Her childhood friend had come to be with her and I thought, what a gift it is to have a friend for a lifetime.  A friend who will come to your deathbed and help change your diapers.  A friend that will stand at the foot of your bed and sing hymns with a beautiful voice rendered hoarse because of severe asthma triggered by her horrible allergy to your dog.  Is this really friendship, or something deeper than friendship?  Sisterhood, perhaps.  The dying woman's biological sister was nowhere to be seen.  But her friend was here, as were many other friends who sat with her, held her hand, prayed with her, and laughed with her in her final days.

This woman's daughter amazes me, and I thought about her in those quiet hours.  An only child of divorced parents, the burden of her mother's illness fell squarely on her.  The task of her care is physically daunting and emotionally draining.  She has a busy life, demanding career and new fiance an ocean away from this, her childhood home.  And yet, here she is, putting it all aside, exhausting herself to give her mother the thing she wants most--to die in her own house, surrounded by her cherished things and the people who love her.  How to describe my feelings for this amazing daughter?  Pride?  Awe?  I thought about how this would be the way I want to die--in my house with its familiar scents and sounds, surrounded by the softness of my own linens and the voices and laughter of the people I love.  It is such a gift to be able to die this way, a gift that depends entirely upon the ability and willingness of others to care for you.

The house was quiet when I woke up around 4:30.  I knew it was over, I felt the stillness as soon as I opened my eyes.  I slipped downstairs to confirm what I knew in my heart.  I climbed the stairs to gently wake the amazing daughter, my dear friend, to tell her that her mom was gone.  It's a blessing, really, when someone who has been suffering is at peace.  We know that, we tell ourselves that, but we still cry.  So we cried, we held each other for a quiet moment in the darkness before dawn, then we did what needed to be done.  Phone calls.  Paperwork.  Medication purge.  All of the myriad of small tasks which fend off the immediate crush of grief.  The gift of minutiae that allows you to process the loss in a manageable way.   My friend lost her mom, a loss which is almost incomprehensible to me.  I witnessed my husband's grief in his father's dying days, an agonizing, inconsolable grief.  In many ways my own grief was experienced through a prism--my own sadness over the suffering and death of this wonderful man I loved as a father, and the gut-wrenching pain I felt watching my husband endure that loss.   I was reminded of this, as many of my saddest moments were witnessing Ellen's tears, or when I noticed the visible signs of the strain she was under.  Wanting so much to take some of this burden from her, but knowing that was impossible.

So, I kept the vigil, there in the dark.  And as a life slipped away, the best of what life has to offer was revealed.  The love of a child for a parent.  The enduring love and friendship of two women who played together as little girls. The gift of faith, and the peace it can bring to your life.  Realizing what a profound blessing it is to have my own dear friend to walk through life with, with all of its joy and pain, and the unspoken acknowledgment that we'll always be there for each other.  

Pho Goodness

Mike and I went to one of our favorite restaurants last night.  Pho Grand, in the South Grand neighborhood of St. Louis, is our go-to place on cold winter nights.  Few things will warm you up faster than a big, steaming bowl of Pho Ga.  Add a little quirt of sriracha hot sauce and lime juice, garnish with bean sprouts, cilantro, basil and culantro, and you've got an instant chill remedy.

We were happy to see the place packed last night.  A crowded restaurant has staying power.  We put in for a table, grabbed a couple of beers and headed upstairs to the "waiting room" to chat.  This is one place where I never mind a wait.  The atmosphere is pleasant and the service is friendly and efficient.  We're always greeted personally by the Trinhs, who ask us how we're doing and tell us they're glad to see us.  When's the last time that happened at your "neighborhood" Applebee's?

We've watched this stretch of South Grand come of age since we lived in the Shaw neighborhood in the late 80's, to become St. Louis' premier ethnic food destination.  In addition to Vietnamese, it is home to various Thai, Middle Eastern, Asian, Mexican and African restaurants and groceries, to name just a few.  We've been to many, and seem to spot something new every time we venture down.  We always say we're going to try something new next time, but we always seem to head back to Pho Grand!

Unfriending Grandma and Other Awkward Facebook Moments

What did we do before Facebook?  It's a dim memory, but there was a time in the not-so-distant past that you would not know what your friends were making for dinner unless you happened to call them while they were making dinner or, if you were lucky, they had invited you for dinner.  Your friends actually had to return from vacation before you saw their pictures, if you ever saw them at all.  In fact, you may not have even known that your friend went on vacation unless they asked you to take their dog or pick up their mail.  Family pictures and milestone moments were shared in annual holiday letters.  Remember those days?

Everyone, it seems, has a Facebook page.  My kids are on Facebook.  I am on Facebook, much to the chagrin of my kids (exacerbated when their friends start friending me).  Hell, my mom is on Facebook.  Personally, I think it's hilarious.  Our family banter lends itself very well to social media.  More on that later.  Even though we live close, it's fun to be able to share pictures and goings-on.  We've had a few tense Facebook moments, though.  My kids, and my daughter in particular, like to post random song lyrics as their status.  If these were quotes from The Sound of Music or a Shirley Temple movie, it wouldn't cause a stir.  But don't look for any "I have confidence in me" or "on the good ship Lollipop" statuses from my kids.  No, they like to quote songs that are dark and freaky.  Before my mother caught on to this, she would call or text me (yes, text-my mom's pretty tech savvy) to make sure everything was OK and confirm that the offspring in question hadn't, in fact, jumped off a bridge or robbed a liquor store.  Recently, my youngest "unfriended" Grandma.  Seriously, how do you unfriend your grandmother??  That's harsh!  My daughter unfriended Grandma, but then relented and refriended her.  Fortunately, my mom is good-natured and rolls with all these punches.  I think every kid should be required to friend their grandma on Facebook.  You shouldn't reveal anything on Facebook that you wouldn't want your grandma to know.  It's a good rule.

I previously mentioned our family banter.  I come from one of those families where the barbs can come fast and furious.  It's always (usually?) in good fun.  We resolved our sibling rivalry years ago.  Really.  A recent back and forth with my sister on Facebook quickly devolved into a tell-all about our childhood posters and apparel.  In the course of this dialogue, I outed her adoration of "Little" Jimmy Osmond.  She, in turn, threw me under the bus for my "poncho phase."

I admit it, I had a poncho.  I loved my poncho.  It was the 70's for God's sake.  What else was there to wear?  But I felt I had to defend myself.  My defense-I was only appeasing my crazy old aunt who had knitted it for me.  Perfect.  I'll just roll my long-dead, crazy aunt under the bus!  Uh, guess what?  My mom (did I tell you that my mom is on Facebook?) set the record straight.  Turns out that my beloved poncho was not, in fact, knitted by said dead, crazy aunt.  Rather, it was crafted by my still living, decidedly un-crazy aunt.  And guess what else?  Yes, she is on Facebook.

So now, I throw myself on the sword.  Aunt Karen, I loved my poncho!  I loved it then, and I yearn for it's 70's grooviness today.  If I had a modicum of craftiness I would love to knit another one.  Alas, I am bereft of any such ability.  I can knit, but I can't cast off.  Which means, basically, that I can knit so long as I don't stop.  It's my own private hell.   I hope you understand that my Facebook comments were really the bitter rantings of a woman with no artistic skills.

I'm Done with Resolutions

Here it is, the 4th day of the year.  If this were like any other year, I would have already blown 8 of the 10 resolutions I had made for myself.  The two I would had kept thus far would have been the throwaways, like the goals you set for yourself in your annual reviews at work.  The no-brainers.  "I will breathe in and out on a consistent basis." "I will not steal a car at knife-point."   The others, I tend to break and I break them early.  I don't like to prolong the inevitable.  Let's just get on with the business of eating pizza, drinking beer and not exercising.

This year, I'm taking a different approach.  As I enter 2011, and my 47th year (or I guess technically my 48th year, as I will have my 47th birthday and I did live a year until I turned 1....oh, whatever), I'm feeling more introspective.  I'm less concerned with what I want to do (and not do), and more focused on the bigger picture.  Who I want to be.  How I want to feel.  What kind of a life I want to lead.  So, I've turned the whole "New Year's Resolution" thing into more of a thought process.  First, I thought about at least three things about the past year for which I am truly grateful.  Next, I tried to envision 3 things that I wish the coming year to hold.  As to the former, I'm grateful for the love of my family and friends, my health and my work.  As far as the coming year, I hope it holds in store the prospect of some inner peace as I deal with a toddler, a demanding career and the challenges of launching adult children into their independent lives (pray for me).  I'm hopeful we can work on some projects in our house which will preserve and enhance the space that is our refuge in this crazy world.  Finally, I envision carving out some time for myself.  Time to read, write, reflect or, on occasion, watch something really stupid on TV.  What I found interesting was how my "wish list" for 2011 relates to my 2010 "I'm grateful for" list.  That's really the rub--take what is most important to you, and try to make it better.  It's really hard to screw that up in 4 days.  Unless you do steal a car at knife-point.  

Do You Think Jesus Likes My Little Pony?

My granddaughter, Abby, is 2 1/2.  Her new obsessions are My Little Pony and Baby Jesus.  She loves My Little Pony because “they are pretty.”  She loves Jesus because “he is little.”  We attribute her fascination with “pretty” with the fact that she spends her days with my nieces, ages 7 and 5, in the care of my sister-in-law.  It’s a girly-girl household, full of princess dress-up clothes, Barbies and all things pink.  Her love of Jesus, I suppose, has its origins in her Baptist preschool and her new awareness of Christmas.  

We’re wrapping up a four-day visit with my mother-in-law, a devout Catholic whose house in Ordinary Time is a veritable shrine to the Virgin Mary.  During the Christmas season, the halls are decked with no less than a dozen nativity sets.  Baby Jesus reigns supreme!  Yesterday, Abby packed the Ponies into her new Pony Car (a gift from Santa) to “tour” all the nativities in Odie’s living room.  Along the way, “Pink Pony” became “best friends” with a wise man and a shepherd.  The sheep got a ride in the Pony Car.  After evicting a donkey and a camel, Pink Pony took his place by the manger to “say hi” to Baby Jesus.  The adoration of My Little Pony!

Wish I could say that all this Baby Jesus love has made Abby a happy little churchgoer.  Not so much.  I’m sure that some day I will laugh about today’s experience at Mass, where Abby proceeded to tell everyone in the last 5 rows of Little Flower Catholic Church that she pooped her diaper and that Nana was going to change her.  But it’s still a little raw at the moment!

First Things First

First, why a blog?  I barely have time to read the back of a cereal box, much less maintain a blog.  I don't travel extensively, so don't look for many posts featuring me in some glamorous location.  I rarely dine in fancy restaurants.  In fact, I can usually cook a better meal at home.  But, don't look for me to cook my way through any cookbook.  Seriously, who has time for that?  Frankly, I have no idea what I will write about.  That's part of the fun!

Next, what's with the name?  I admit it, I'm an epilogue person.  The first thing I did when I picked up the last Harry Potter book was flip to the epilogue.  I needed to know that it was all going to be OK in the end. There might be a lot of trauma contained in the 750 pages of the book, but please, please, please let Harry win in the end!  Epilogues put things in perspective.  My husband and I were talking the other day about some stressful topic or another, probably related to our kids, and he said he was just going to wait for the epilogue.  Perfect.  I hope our epilogue will reveal that this has all been a worthwhile venture.  

I love to write.  I guess that's the bottom line.  I don't know what I'll be writing about from day to day, but I'll try to keep it interesting.  There's usually something going on in my life.  For better and for worse, much of it is hilarious.  Thanks for reading!