Reflecting on the "F" Word

It's been a particularly emotional couple of weeks for me and that's saying something given that I'm always emotional. I think it's fair to say the "F" word was the source of my emotion overload. Yes, family has a way of affecting us like nothing else can. It can bring out the best in us and the worst. It can be a source of great joy and utter misery. We may relish the laughter of shared memories, and at the same time struggle with the disappointment of unmet expectations. We can take comfort in the power of forgiveness, or live with the bitterness of unresolved issues. Family is a big bundle of crazy that we can't imagine (though sometimes we wish we were) living without.

My family has tapped into my every emotion in the past two weeks. It started with Rob and Ian traveling to Mexico City on a week long church mission trip. I was concerned for their safety, proud of their willingness to serve, and a bit envious that the two of them were spending that special time together. I also was lonely. With communications limited to three brief text messages, for the first time in my marriage I acutely felt Rob's absence.
I discovered I missed my husband. While it sounds terrible, I confess that I'm not someone who pines for my spouse when we're apart. With phone calls and email and Facebook updates, it's hard to feel truly separated. But when Rob wasn't here and I couldn't call him and didn't know how he and Ian were, and there was no opportunity to share and take comfort in the mere the presence of the person with whom I share my life, my heart hurt. I was reminded of how much I love him and how blessed I am. Missing him was good for me.

Two days after Ian and Rob returned home, I left for three days, thereby maintaining the warm fuzzies that came from missing them. I headed to the mecca of Waretown, NJ along Barnegat Bay for a getaway with my parents and sister, brother-in-law and nephew who were home from Colorado for their semiannual visit. Time with my sister Dawn was spent laughing at painful memories of falling off my bike, competing in plank challenges (which I won both times), swatting green head flies on the boat while crabbing, and playing numerous games of Bananagrams (of which I am the champion). Unfortunately, on the first night of our visit, my mom learned that her sister Janet had died, nearly two years to the day that her sister Glenna passed away. My mom was one of five girls in her family. There are only two of them left, and this causes my mom considerable grief and pain.

When Irving Berlin wrote "Sisters, sisters, there were never such devoted sisters" he clearly had my mom and my aunts in mind. There existed a bond between those women that I've never seen before and likely never will experience personally. Interestingly, the closeness they shared is is in sharp contrast to the relationships my aunts often had with others, whether it be their husbands or their own children. In fact, in my Aunt Janet's obituary, there was no mention of her oldest son. They stopped talking decades ago, evidence of how easily relationships can be destroyed by an unwillingness to forgive and forget.

Last summer's photo.
We forgot to take one this year.

Irving Berlin did not write a song about my sister and me. While there is no bitterness or underlying root cause for the distance between us (literally and figuratively), I must confess to a level of disappointment with the way things are versus the way I'd like them to be. I would like Dawn to move home (or within reasonable driving distance). I would like Dawn to at least want to move home. I would like her to be sad when it's time to say goodbye. I would like it if we would start telling each other "I love you." While I don't expect to achieve the level of closeness my mom had with her sisters, I know Dawn and I could have more, but I don't know how to get us there.

Dawn's visit home coincided with my church's annual mission trip to western North Carolina. A truly family affair, this trip brings together all ages for a week of work and fellowship that has to be experienced because no description can do it justice. Obviously I did not go on the trip this year because I wanted to spend time with my sister. Abby, however, more than adequately represented the MacShimer family.

Abby on the roofing site with her MPC family.

Since she returned home on Saturday evening, I've lost count of the number of times Abby wished she were back in Banner Elk. For the first time in her life, Abby, who thinks a 30 minute car ride is torture, was sad to see a nine-hour car ride end (she had traveled with friends). Despite the fact that she was leaving for Avalon on Sunday to spend time with three girls from school, Abby actually seemed weepy when she repeated for the umpteenth time that she "didn't want to be home," but wished she could return to NC (which makes me sad, though I'm trying not to take it personally).

Car ride buddies (plus the Hicks girls)

The Sunday church service following Banner Elk is always wonderful. Those who went on the trip wear their matching t-shirts. We watch a slide show of photos from the week. The praise band (which for the first time included Abby on guitar!) plays the same music, and a few individuals on the trip share their experience in place of a traditional sermon. Naturally, I cried during several parts of the service, partly because I was disappointed to have missed being there, and partly because I was overwhelmed with love for my church family. While the church, like our flesh and blood family, has its own issues, the grace and forgiveness that we extend to one another provides a foundation for the strongest relationships I've ever known. And I don't know if it's a "Christian thing" or if we're just lucky, but my MPC brothers and sisters so openly share their love. There's no awkwardness in a hug. There's no discomfort in saying "I love you." What a gift!

As I reflect on the experiences of the past two weeks, I realize how blessed I am to have more than one family who loves me. If you've been separated from a loved one, I pray for reconciliation and healing. The bonds of family should not be so easily broken.

Imagining a Temporary Reprieve from Adulthood

Today's one of those days when I don't want to be a grown up. I don't want to deal with those fairly

Real life. Look crappy. Cat ignores me.

mundane adult issues that are commonplace to us working parents of teenagers and pets. Stuff like:

• Arranging for a tile pick up so the contractor can finish the kitchen. 
• Picking up Lily from her meet and greet at the Barker Lounge, a doggie daycare facility where I can take her when the cleaners are at the house and board her when we go out of town.
• Going out of town this weekend for our annual church retreat. Ian wants to stay home to work instead. Old enough to stay home alone? Sure. Do I trust him. Absolutely. Do I trust everyone he knows not to show up at the door with illegal goods in hand? No. Call neighbor, recent college grad now living at home. He'll hang with Ian and Lily, One problem solved.
• Figuring out when to schedule Lily for dog training. I'll be in Italy with the Silvertones for two of the six Saturday classes. Can Rob take her on those days, or will Phillies' games be an issue? It's that time already...
• Having that damn gum ball tree removed. It's the only tree left in the front yard and it's the one I've always hated the most. There goes another grand.
• Deciding if we want to take in an 18-year-old refugee whose father and brother were killed by the Taliban. My parents think I should give up the dog because she's causing too much stress; imagine if I bring someone into our home who doesn't speak English. Hard to explain why the things that cause stress and major adjustments to our lives can also be the greatest gifts. 
• Learning to vent elsewhere.
• Managing the gender issues that frustrate me in the workplace.
• Ian's first tutoring session and the college search process. Hoping we can get those SAT scores up just a couple hundred points. May make all the difference where merit scholarships are concerned. Villanova may not be the obvious choice after all. What fun these next 12 months will bring.
• Working out? Don't see fitting it in tonight. That's three nights in a row. I really should work out on the weekends, but I think of that as my vacation time. And since working out isn't something I want to do, I'm definitely not doing it on vacation. 
• Making dinner.
• Doing laundry.
• Figuring out how to get a crap load of work done before March 27, especially when all I want to do is cry, sleep, and write about my issues.

Goofy college girls. Not a care in the world.

So, I'd like to give up being a grown up for a few hours. Maybe days. Oh, who am I kidding? I'd like to be college-age again for at least a week, month, maybe a year.  Let's imagine I'm 19 and a sophomore at some competitive private liberal arts college in the South. One that turns out great writers.

8:00 a.m.: I've just woken from a recurring nightmare in which I'm late for a final exam, for a class that I forgot to attend for the entire semester.

I don't bother with my hair; a baseball cap will suffice. I pull on yoga pants and I don't iron my wrinkled shirt. Do I even own an iron?

Given that breakfast is my favorite meal of the day, I hit the cafeteria and make myself a Belgium waffle, top it with fresh strawberries, maybe a dollop of whipped cream. No longer a freshman, no longer fearing the freshmen 15.

9:30 a.m.: Dramatic liturgy class. Looking forward to tonight's rehearsal for the musical. Surprised and delighted with my leading role!

11:00 a.m. Photography class. My digital skills are really developing (no pun intended). Definitely going to enter that photo contest.

Noon: Cheeseburger, fries, vanilla shake. I'll pay for it later. Someday I'll probably learn that I'm lactose intolerant.

1:00 p.m. Catch up on DVRd episodes of American Idol. I can't figure out why everyone disses this show. First, it's the only talent competition that's created bona fide stars, and second, Harry Connick Jr. is the man. So funny, charming, smart and talented. Not hard on the eyes, either. Actually, I'm dating this guy named Rob who has a lot of the same qualities. He could be a keeper. Rob, not Harry. I think Harry's taken.

2:00 p.m. A nap. A quick nap. I always say that, but it's always at least an hour or two.

4:00 p.m. Writing for publication class. I like that this course covers publishing for old fashioned print media, as well as social media. Still psyched that my piece about Greek Rush was picked up by the Huffington Post. Now if only National Geographic would consider the photos and article I wrote about my experience in Ghana with my friend Ann. She's going to be a great doctor someday, I just know it.

5:30 p.m. Leftover pizza. Should probably start refrigerating the leftovers, rather than leaving them on the counter for days. But hey, hasn't killed me yet.

6:00 p.m. Rehearsal starts, only going till 9. An early night. Looking forward to meeting up with the girls later.

9:00 p.m. A quick glass of Boone's Farm with Kathie & Cathie, Lisa, Amy, the Karens, and Kim and Theresa. GDIs, all of us. Love these girls. I hope we're friends well into old age. Can't imagine getting old. Hard to imagine life much past this year. Can't believe one day soon I'll have a full-time job, I'll get married. Probably have kids. Definitely want a dog and a cat. And a shore house. Would love a shore house.

Can't wait till tomorrow. Same shit, different day. Lots of new stuff to learn. Ideas to share. Fun to be had. Talents to engage. Love this life.

Not So Cruel to Be Kind

One of the gifts I requested and received for Christmas was a magnifying/make-up mirror. As I grow older and face the distinct possibility probability that it's time to start applying spackle and paint on a regular basis, I thought it important that I had an accurate view of my true self. When I saw the price tag on this fancy mirror, however, I decided it wasn't worth that kind of money to see myself in what is never a flattering light. Therefore, over the weekend, I returned the high-end mirror and picked up a cheap plastic one. It requires me to squint to avoid a distorted view, but shows my flaws just the same. Let me tell you, examining your face magnified 10x is no way to spend a weekend. I nearly rushed out to the Vietnamese nail salon and apologized for assuming they were scamming me when they recommended a whole-face wax.

While self deprecation is always good for a laugh, as a rule, I'm not terribly hard on myself, though I know my blog would lead you to believe otherwise. I'd say I'm more "self-aware" than "self-critical." I'm pretty good at acknowledging my flaws and weaknesses and accepting myself for who I am. That's one of the few benefits of age. What I still haven't figured out, however, is to how to deal with the criticism of others.

The old Kim would have criticized
his misspelling of Critisize.

Criticism can take a variety of forms, from the obvious "you are so stupid," to the thinly veiled, "I wish you would think before you speak." Criticism can be blunt: "I love you, but you're really not a very nice person;" or couched in concern, "I'm worried about your children growing up without discipline." Criticism can even be communicated with nothing more than a tone of voice or the curtness of a reply. Regardless of how it's delivered, it hurts, and over time those hurts begin to scar both our sense of self and our relationships.

I doubt there's a single one of us who can claim to have never criticized another, even someone we love. But, I'm becoming more aware of its effects. Though I don't usually bother with New Year resolutions, this year I decided that I need to be kinder to others, especially those I care about. I have to decide if I'm truly offering what I like to call "constructive criticism," or if I'm finding fault "just because." I also have to consider how I'm delivering the message, based on the person on the receiving end. One of my children, for example, reacts with strong emotion to what they perceive to be criticism or "being yelled at." Being yelled at, by the way, almost never involves actual yelling or raising my voice, but that's the way it's perceived. Their reaction is usually anger, followed by profound hurt. It can be a challenge to not react in the moment so that both parties aren't frustrated and saddened by the exchange.

Our relationships might be overwhelming positive and full of love, but memories of being judged or scolded leave a definite mark. For example, I remember being criticized for things as unimportant as the cleanliness of my car or the clothes I chose to wear for Ian's baptism. And criticism (whether delivered or perceived) of the big things, like our parenting skills, cut particularly deep. To be criticized or seemingly disrespected by the people we love most leaves an ugly mark on what may otherwise be a wonderful relationship.

I think I take criticism so hard because I want nothing more than to please those who are important to me: my children, husband, parents, friends, boss, etc. I take great joy in those rare occasions when I clearly impress my spouse by adding something valuable to a conversation or managing a challenging situation all by myself (I'm such a big girl!). I still tell my parents about any success I have at work or something I manage to fix at home without my dad's help. This need for approval might be a Shimer girl thing. Even my sister -- who is considerably thicker-skinned than I am -- calls home after every performance evaluation (of course her evaluations result in bonuses worth more than half my salary). Just picking a good movie provides me with a sense of fulfillment.

Two of my favorite critics.

I might be am most likely more sensitive than the average person, but the hurt I feel when on the receiving end of criticism has opened my eyes to the negative, lasting effect I can have when I am the one dishing it out. Hence, my vow to be kinder and gentler in the year to come so that no one ever tells me I'm "not a very nice person."

Making Christmas Merry in Mexco

Over the Christmas holiday, I had the good fortune to be in Riviera Maya, Mexico with my family -- Rob, the kids, my sister, her husband and son, and my parents. While my sister has been taking these Christmas vacations for years (she doesn't love us enough to come home from Denver for the holidays), this was a first for me and my clan. We left on Christmas morning, having opened what was supposed to be a very small number of gifts the night before. (Rob has trouble following directions and had way too many presents for me -- granted, I had asked suggested casually mentioned each item in the weeks leading up to the big day.) Despite having worshiped at church (those of you who did not witness MPC's 5 p.m. children's service missed out on an Oscar-worthy freakin' angel performance), gathered with friends for a couple hours of merriment, and exchanged gifts at home on Christmas Eve, it stopped feeling like Christmas the minute we reached Philly's airport. Arriving in Mexico did nothing to add to the spirit of the season. Maybe it was the signs that read "Merry Christmas and a Happy New Gift." I guess you have to give them credit for openly stating what is the true meaning of the holiday for many people.

Photos by Abby MacPherson

Once at the Riu Palace resort, my spirits were slightly buoyed by the Christmas tree and the manger scene in the lobby (and the Corona I had on the ride there probably helped, too), but as the day progressed I had serious doubts as to whether I would again take a trip over the holiday. The palm trees, clear blue water and 80 degree temperatures just didn't feel right. However, by the time my sister and her family arrived the next day, I had settled in quite nicely. It's amazing what you can deal with when you're forced to adjust to new surroundings. I know; you hate me right now.

Lest you think it was all sunshine and rainbows, I should tell you that it rained for most of one afternoon and a couple of evenings. Plus, Rob and I ended up sharing a bed with a teenager. Fortunately, we knew him or that would have been extra awkward. (The resort's definition of a suite differed from mine.) But besides that, there was no little family drama. The kids didn't rarely got on my nerves. I didn't fight with my sister at all. And having given up dairy products on the advice of my physician, I didn't even find myself doubled over in the bathroom at any point in the trip! The wine was lousy, but the pina coladas were drinkable, and I even discovered a new, more adult beverage -- the Caipirinha.

Other highlights of the trip included amazing sugar donuts at the buffet, surprisingly good pancakes, and mimosas every morning at breakfast. Oh, and the warm, magnificent water of the Caribbean Sea, a snorkeling expedition complete with sea turtles and a large stingray, and colorful sunrises and sunsets weren't too shabby either. As for entertainment, well, we brought along our gift for words, with the youngest family members delivering the biggest zingers. Here, in no particular order, are the most memorable lines from Viva la Vida 2013:

Nana, your arms are squishy; you need to work out. -- William, age 5

Ian, you can come to the pool with me because you're my friend and my cousin. -- William

I play the pan flute. -- Ian

It's like shooting fish in a barrel. -- A nationally competitive rifleman who then proceeded to miss his first three target shots with a BB gun during the resort's daily competition. (Side note: Ian turned out to be quite the marksman! He won the competition on our last day there, making Pop Pop very proud.)

Is B-E, "beh," a word? -- Ian, while playing Bananagrams

I'm not tired, just resting here on Pop Pop

I'm not tired, I'm just rubbing my eyes -- an exhausted William

They're in case I need to climb over something. -- Abby, in response to why she was wearing gym shorts under her dress

I don't like Abby so much anymore. -- William, after he and Abby had a "disagreement" over sand castle building.

Ten years ago I would have had that. -- My dad, upon missing yet another beach volleyball strike

I was looking for olives. -- William, when asked why he took so long at the buffet and came back with an empty plate

Fun Kim is coming out tonight! -- Brother-in-law Rob in response to Kim ordering a second drink

There's a fun Kim? -- Abby, in response to Uncle Rob

Ah yes, good stuff.

I told Rob that this whole Christmas vacation thing may prove to have been a bad idea, because I just know I'll the kids will expect to go somewhere every year. He said we'll just have to tell them that that's not going to be the case. And boy, was I were they bummed to hear that.

The trip concluded with a lovely six-hour stay in the Cancun airport when our flight was delayed, but we still made it home in time to bring in the New Year with friends. Happy New Year to you and yours!

Toes selfie

Pieces of Home

Before I begin, I have to apologize to all my Southern friends and friends with Southern friends. Last week's post about my social awkwardness offended more people than anything else I've written, including thoughts about race, sexuality and religion. That's saying something! Those of you who know me best know that I was aiming for humor when I commented on the geographic differences between women. It should go without saying that there are millions of intelligent and accomplished women across the country. When it comes to a sense of humor, however, well, that's another story. KIDDING! Let us stand united in our awesomeness! And now, let us give thanks for Thanksgiving ...

I enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner last week the same way I have enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner for all but one of my past 40+ years -- at my parents' house. There was one year in which I temporarily lost my mind and decided to host the meal myself. Thankfully, I regained my senses and that never happened again.

My mom and dad have lived in the same house on Old Orchard Drive practically since the day I was born. There was something about being there this year that felt different, however. It wasn't just the newly refinished hardwood floor and a new look for the old coffee table. It wasn't the fact that my mom didn't make her traditional lettuce with bacon dressing (which I never liked anyway), or that I discovered there have always been onions in the filling (not to be confused with stuffing). No, this year was different in the way I saw my childhood home. It was as if I was looking at it from outside myself. Like I was seeing it through the many stages of my life and my parents' lives. Alright, I can't put it into words. Just work with me.

I'm sure the loss we experienced in 2013 was a major contributor to the "visions" I had on Thursday. Most of you know that two of my aunts, my mom's sisters and best friends, passed away within six months of each other. And other older relatives dealt with their share of health-related issues. These experiences were an unwelcome reminder of my parents' age, a fact of life that many of my friends are also facing. While I generally prefer to ignore all the signs that tell me they won't live forever, my parents are pretty matter of fact about their stage of life. For years, my dad has had a hand-written letter prepared with his "wishes," along with a "guest list" of names of those who are to be invited to his funeral (you better not piss him off if you want to make the cut). He's currently working on handcrafted wooden boxes for the cremated ashes of my mom's two living sisters, and I think my mom has put in a request for hers as well. Yes, it's definitely becoming harder to ignore.

In light of this new reality I'm being forced to acknowledge, everything at "home" came with layers of meaning and memories this year. I didn't just pull a glass from the cupboard. Instead I opened the cupboard and noticed the variety of glasses and recalled them being in those very same locations 30 years ago. It meant trying to remember if those Philadelphia Eagles glasses were a collector set from the supermarket or the gas station. It meant looking at the characters on those colorful kiddie cups and having no clue who they are. This year, there was more than a touch of nostalgia in the selection of serving dishes and trivets.

This year, playing Monopoly with Ian and my sister wasn't just about beating her as payback for more than a decade of Monopoly abuse. This year there was something sentimental about how worn the board and the money had become from years of use. There were memories of painting the little green houses and gluing them to a poster board for a school project. There was the annual reminder from my mom that she hates playing board games because I never gave her a break from them when I was a kid.

Though every room on the main floor of my parents' ranch home has been redecorated since I moved out
nearly 20 years ago, the basement is exactly as I left it. The same wood paneling and the bar that my dad built. The old fashioned ice cream table and chairs that had been my grandparents'. The same archery trophies on the shelves. The same muzzle loader and deer antlers on the wall, albeit with a couple new deer and fox skins. The same furniture, including the couch that Rob and I destroyed with a few years worth of premarital snuggling. The same gazillion-page Volume Library from 1977. It was like stepping back in time.

More than just the flashback of memories, I found myself wondering, "What will we do with all of this when the time comes?" My ever-prepared dad has given me directions for a number of things, but what about the rest of it? Will I ever be able to get rid of that dish, this game, those photos, that table, this bed, those records? I'm fairly confident that I'll be able to toss the plastic floor plant and that useless downstairs couch, but what about the hundreds of other little things that each hold some kind of meaning? I was both nostalgic and miserable just thinking about it.

Hopefully I'll have my parents for another 20 years and I won't have to deal with any of this for a very long time. For now, I'm just thankful to have a childhood home filled with countless good memories.