I'm Too Old for Wristbands

I went to a concert last night with my husband and some friends and

came away with a few important revelations.

I'm not at all disappointed that I'm too old to be doing stuff at midnight on a Wednesday. I like that I can, I'm glad to be in a city that offers it to me, and I may still do it occasionally. But, I have come to realize that sleeping is awesome and I like it way more than lots of other stuff.  When given the option, more often that not, the better choice for me will be to sleep rather than stand in a crowded room of hot, questionably bathed people bent on bumping into me, and badly singing the tunes I was hoping to listen to the band play.  Also, stop putting sticky paper wristbands on me! I'm too old for that crap. Revelation Number 1.

[As a sub-set of this revelation I'll reiterate that night baseball is puzzling. I still enjoy the games, but I'm stuck on the idea that baseball should be played in the sun. You don't get sleepy at the end of a day game. Just sayin'.]

The second revelation comes from something I've been mulling for some time: I don't want to win. I am so, so, so argumentative (read that as "rabid") about some things that some who know me might think that impossible. But it's not. It has struck me that I do not, not at all, want everyone to agree with me. Think about it: What if you won and everyone was a Republican? What if everyone was a Rangers fan or a vegan? What if every single person on the planet threw in the towel and said - 'OK. Jesus. Right on. I'm all in!' I would have no friends with differing opinions, there would be no Jews or monks or Muslims, no fun in sports rivalry, no one to learn anything new from. Can you imagine it? Yuck! The world would be a boring, terrible place. So Revelation Number 2 is I'm not just glad for our differences in theory. I am deeply glad, truly, for everyone who thinks differently than I do.

The third revelation should belong to my husband and children, which is: Revelation Number 2 does not apply to you. That is all.

The fourth? Anyone who is not a Cub fan, I'm looking right at you, Michael: Number 2 does not apply to you, either.

And finally: I want to live, which is a revelation only insofar as I've now articulated it to myself. This one goes in hand-in-hand with the first two. I've spent a lot of my life focusing on the micro - this argument, this moment, winning this battle. And I've insisted to myself against any doubt that all those little bits were important and I needed to stay there and dig there to make stand. I'll cede that those moments belonged to those moments and they brought me here, so they were all valid in their time. But now, I find it so much less necessary to battle than to relax a bit and enjoy what I can of the day without war. Of course, if I can effect a change for the better by my work, I will, no question. The shove against the wall, however, seems less important to me. I'd rather turn the corner and find the sun.

It might be a perfect day for baseball.

Picture a Turkey Staring at a Beautiful, Delicate Bird.

Wherein I am the turkey, an aging one, and it's all good.

The poster on my bedroom wall growing up was funny.  As I grew older I knew there was deeper meaning, or maybe an inside joke,  I just wasn't wise enough to really get it. Now, I realize I've been living with it and by it all my life.

Picture a turkey staring at a beautiful, delicate bird. The caption: "To thine own self be true."

Good advice that has served me well at every age.

Now, as the curls grey and the smiles wrinkle, I find the more immersed I am in the roles of my age, the more myself I have become. And I'm enjoying every bit of it, not worried or wallowed as some my age might be. I'm a different kind of beautiful, not concerned with how I 'should' look, rather happy with how I do look. I'm a better kind of passionate, informed and directed at results. I'm an intentional wife, a devoted mom, a well-practiced professional. I don't have all the answers, but I don't have to. I'm my own version, flawed and still trying, succeeding some times, knowing there's always a next day to repaint the sky. I am confident and relieved to be so.

I am blessed again and again with the love of my family and the kindness of my friends. I have no where to turn because all that I need is here beside me and what is mine is truly mine, because I have gathered it all as my own self. What is lost belongs to the wind anyway. There is a watch over me which is whole and constant.

It's a good, good life, with lots to sweet and taste. And, still, among all the many things I savor in my better-wine years, lessons from my mother linger on my palate.

Picture a turkey staring at a beautiful, delicate bird. "To thine own self be true."

This Is What I Do

I didn't ask for permission to post the picture with their faces, which are beaming, so here are the (quite adorable) shoes of a beautiful family, happily sitting on the swing of their new front porch. This is what I do for a living.

'You match shoes to front porches?' you ask. 'Yes.'

I match moms to kitchens and dads to yards and children to secret cubbies on the second floor. I match retired people to the house near their grandkids and I match the Bickersons to the object of their agreement.

I am the pathfinder to Home and the keeper of the American Dream. It's not a bad gig.

It takes care and thought and constant development. I am a professional. I may not be the best (but probably I am... honestly?... I am... others are great, too, but really I'm pretty kickass). I strive and am determined. The days can be long, seemingly endless, and I work when others are at rest.

With all that, my job has allowed me to be at nearly every performance my children have ever had, to take my mom to the doctor's office, to still read the paper version of the paper. I get hugged at the end of the day, pretty often. I am treated like family in homes all over the city, and I get to be in, see, and show off all the great bits and pieces of my beloved hometown. What more could a gal want?

I love my job.