In Need of a Good De-Grinching

Aside from setting out a few Christmas-y dust collectors and loading up the tree with the dozens of ornaments we've collected over the years, I do not deck the halls for the holidays. I consider decorating to be a form of arts & crafts, which is among the many maternal skill sets I lack. I thought this shortcoming would become less important once the kids grew up, but alas, Abby has once again voiced her disappointment at our Grinch-like abode.

Truth be told, I feel rather Grinch-like and it's not just the depression that's keeping me green and grumpy. I've felt ho-hum about the holidays for years now. I'm not sure where things went wrong for me. Perhaps when the kids became too old for toys (or at least toys that don't cost hundreds of dollars)? Perhaps when I became too old for toys? Perhaps when Christmas getaways began taking the place of gift-giving? Perhaps when I decided the loneliness of a mere family of four at the holidays was too big a bummer to bother truly celebrating? Perhaps when the radio stations started playing Christmas music before Thanksgiving and the stores decorated for the holiday in October? Regardless of the cause, I've definitely lost the passion for Christmas, which means I'm obviously missing the reason for the season.

This year I'm going to try something different. In an attempt to beat the Grinch at his own game, I'm going to decorate my heart and soul with 25 daily gifts of love. Wow, that sounds super corny, but work with me here. I'm thinking that rather than an advent calendar counting down to Christmas with chocolates, I'm going to remind myself daily of all the gifts I already have in my life. One gift each day, recorded in my journal so I can reflect on it. And to share the love, which is the whole point of Christmas (remember?) from December 1-25 I'm also going to "gift" my family with simple reminders of why I love them. My hope is that I can think of 25 reasons for each of them this countdown will fill my heart with the joy of the season.

I'd love to hear about the special ways you celebrate Christmas/Hanukkah. And if you want to get together over the holidays, give a call. Time spent with friends is one of the greatest gifts of all!

The Lobster's Look at Relationships

"If this had been our first date, it would have also been our last," said my friend Johanna. 

Fair enough. You'd think that starting Memorial Day weekend with the lobster would have been a good idea, but it turned into a simply bizarre experience that felt considerably longer than its actual two hours. All either of us could say afterward was "What the hell?" There might have been a "WTF" thrown in there, too. Interestingly, however, as the days have passed, I've spent more time thinking about the lobster and trying to get to the root of its message.

If you haven't heard of The Lobster, allow me to provide a quick summary before diving in for a closer look (diving for lobster, get it?).

In The Lobster, the surprisingly versatile Colin Farrell, best known for so-so action adventure flicks before hitting a home run in In Bruges, plays David, a guy whose wife has fallen in love with someone else. Within moments of having his heart broken, we see him being escorted away by two guys dressed like waiters at a fine restaurant. They're there to take him to a Catskills-like hotel where he'll have 45 days to fall in love with one of the other guests. If it doesn't work out, he'll be turned into the animal of his choice. His brother, a dog, accompanies him. David decides he'd like to be a lobster because they live 100-years, are blue-blooded like aristocrats, and are extremely fertile.

Varying wildly between laugh-out loud absurdity and grim, disturbing and painful implications, The Lobster makes a harsh statement about the sins of being alone in our society. On his first night at the hotel, for example, David has one hand handcuffed behind his back. A reminder that we are not complete without another. Throughout his stay, scenes are performed for the guests that drive home the inherent dangers of being alone. Eating without a partner leads to choking to death. A woman walking without a man is raped.

The Lobster also comments on the differentiators that draw us to one another.
The ability to fall in love and get married may hinge on nothing more than a similar proclivity for nosebleeds, or the same physical defects, such as a limp or shortsightedness. Then there's the "survival of the fittest" aspect that comes into play with regular hunts in which the single guests are given a stun gun with which to take out the competition. For each fellow guest you put down, you're given an extra day in which to find love.

In another slap to society's face, we're rudely reminded how many of us will pretend to be someone we're not just to avoid being alone. Choosing to take up with a cruel woman, David plays the part of someone equally heartless until the illusion is shattered in one of the movie's most disturbing scenes (I won't spoil it for you in case you plan on seeing the film).

Meeting someone who's only a day away from becoming her animal of choice, we learn that, on that last day, guests are permitted to do anything they want. It is strongly suggested, however, that they don't choose a walk in the fields or having sex since those are things you can do as an animal. Yes, The Lobster is about as subtle as dropping an anvil on the head.

And did I mention that if one of the hotel's lucky new couples begins to fight or have issues they throw a child into the mix since that usually takes some of the attention away from the problem? No commentary being made there.

Now, lest the audience think that all of society believes in the necessity of love and partnerships, The Lobster introduces the loners. When David decides to flee from this dystopian nightmare, he takes off into the woods where he meets a counterculture group of individuals who refuse to play by society's rules. But rather than offering a humane, enlightened view of human relationships, the loners have equally morbid and disturbing rules of their own. Conversations with other loners are permitted, but anyone caught flirting or falling in love may have their lips slashed or tongues cut out. Seriously, this movie is not for the faint of heart.

Without giving away the ending, which frankly, I'm not entirely sure I understand, I will say that David meets someone. And that shortsightedness plays a role, both literally and figuratively.

The Lobster is one of those rare movies that I can neither recommend nor tell you to avoid at all costs. While I wasn't particularly happy to have spent the first couple hours of my Memorial Day weekend watching this absurd/painful commentary, I must say it's certainly stuck with me and that it continues to offer revelations and insights that are worth pondering. If nothing else, I would encourage you to see it so I have someone else to ponder it with me.

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.

I'll Tell You What I Think of Her!

I made several important discoveries last weekend:

• Politics and beer do not mix. 
• Politics and your high school listserv do not mix. 
• Church ladies can have one hell of a good time playing Bananagrams and drinking wine. 
• Every visit to my parents' house sends me home with more stuff than I came with.
• If "Her" is a harbinger of things to come, we're all in seriously sad shape. 

That little white thing in his ear? That's Her.

So I saw Her. The new movie with wackadoodle Joaquin Phoenix who puts on a great performance
as Theodore Twombly, a complex, soulful man who makes his living writing touching, personal letters for other people. Set in Los Angeles in the not-so-distant future,Theodore has experienced the break-up of his marriage and isn't taking it so well. But then he installs his technology's the new operating system (Samantha, voiced by Scarlett Johansson), and suddenly things are looking brighter. For those of you who haven't seen the commercials or trailer for Her, you should know that Theodore develops a relationship with Samantha. 

I saw this movie with my friend Cathie who frequently muttered, "This is so bizarre." Or maybe she said "weird," or "disturbing," or "strange." Any of those adjectives fit. But I would also call it "fascinating." It's rather unusual to see a movie these days that starts you actively thinking about some major aspects of human existence. Walking out of the theater, I had a series of essay/dissertation/thesis/analysis/review topics just ripe for the picking:

• Communication and culture
• Human relationships in the 21st century
• Technology and what it means to be human
• Artificial intelligence: A bridge to artificial relationships?
• A way with words, but unable to communicate
• Desire and physical touch in an age of technologically-based relationships
• When artificial intelligence evolves
• The mysteries of the human heart

If you're looking for an essay topic for your course in psychology, sociology, technology, culture, communications, sexuality or anthropology, let me know.

Even before seeing Her, I've recently found myself giving a good deal of thought to the technological inventions of the past few decades. More specifically, I've been thinking about the cost of these so-called "advances." It's actually very easy to point to the setbacks of nearly everything we've created:

• Cell phones = distracted drivers = increased traffic accidents (National Safety Council estimates that 24% of all motor vehicle crashes involve cell phone use)
• Video games = sedentary behavior = increase in childhood obesity (US Dept of Health & Human Services reports that the number of adolescents who are overweight has tripled since 1980)
• Social media/texting/email = less face-to-face interaction = a failure to authentically connect and form relationships, difficulty in recognizing true emotion (great article in Forbes magazine)
• Constant access to wireless networks = dramatic increase in energy consumption = negative affect on our environment
• The Internet = never having to ponder, imagine, create = scattered, superficial, distracted thought 

Don't get me wrong; there are a hell of a lot of positives to all of our inventions, and I have to admit that I'm almost as addicted to technology as the rest of the world (though I don't feel the need to sleep with my iPhone or check it every 10 minutes while I'm awake). I seriously wonder, however, what my teenage son and I would fight about if it wasn't for computers, the Xbox, the iPhone and the Internet. I guess there's always the issue of towels on the floor, clean clothes to put away, a dishwasher to empty, and trash to discard of.

What are your thoughts on the topic? If you had to give up one of the technologies listed above, could you do it? Which one would be easiest to live without?

And finally, let me know if you've seen Her. I'd love to know what you thought.

Ack! Young Love

All you do, don't tell Abby I'm writing about her. She's not on Facebook and doesn't really care enough about what I'm thinking to check out my blog on her own, so I think I'm safe as long as you don't blab. I'm writing about Abby for two reasons: 1) She's apparently set a new record; and 2) I can't think of anything else to write about.

If you know Abby, you're probably not surprised to hear that she set a record. You may be wondering if it's related to baking, duct tape design, clarinet, hula  hooping, soccer, softball or math. What you probably would never have guessed is that she has apparently broken the middle school record for the longest sixth grade relationship. Yep, you read that right. If you're surprised, imagine how her poor mother felt when she learned four five months ago that Abby has a boyfriend. Just weeks prior to this great reveal (thanks to her brother, of course), I had told a fellow mom that Abby was not in to boys. In fact I'm pretty sure I said something like "I don't think she even knows they exist." Yep, I was that mom. The clueless one saying "My kid would never..." Next thing you know I'll find out Ian's given up computer games in order to take on yard work.  

The good news is that I know Abby's "boyfriend." In fact, they met in church, like all 12-year-old couples should. And did I mention his mom is one of my best friends? And that she isn't shy about "checking on things?"  If she can't find out anything by snooping, she'll actually talk to her son to find out where things stand. In other words, "Are you and Abby still a couple? Have you kissed?" They haven't. That's what we're told and that's what we choose to believe. From all indications, sixth grade dating seems to consist of text messaging, instagram and holding hands while walking around the school track at lunchtime. There's very little talking and even less actual time spent in one another's company. Hence the success of their relationship.

So my Abby has a boyfriend. This explains a lot about the increased frequency with which she showers and brushes her hair. She hasn't changed how she dresses, however, (t-shirts and shorts), but I guess that look works for her. "I'm an athlete mom, not some girly girl," she explains. Point taken. While I'm totally relieved okay with the improvement in her personal hygiene, there's one change in my near-teenage daughter that I can tell is going to cause me great angst for the next five-plus years: her complete lack of interest in sharing anything personal with me.

How did a woman like me who shares everything with everybody, end up with a daughter who doesn't want to tell me squat? When I try to talk to her, I get one word responses that provide me with just enough information to consider the question answered. No attitude or sneering or complete silence involved, but absolutely no details either. For example, when I ask whether she and the boyfriend remain a couple, I get (with no eye contact whatsoever) "Mm hmm." When I suggest she might want to talk to me about him she responds with, "What do you want me to say? You already know him." It's quite clear that Abby will volunteer nothing over the next five-plus years, which means I better figure out the right questions to ask.

Upon further reflection, I should have expected this.

The Christmas when Abby was nine-years-old, I gave her a copy of the popular American Girl book, The Care and Keeping of You. This book offers a way out for those of us who don't want to have this conversation an ideal starting place for the mom/daughter conversation about changing bodies. It covers everything from deodorant and haircare to breasts and periods to friendship and healthy eating. When Abby received the book, I recall a grimace after which it was promptly forgotten. Or so I thought. The next day I suggested to Abby that we talk about it. From there, the conversation went something like this:

"I've already read it."

"All of it?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh. What did you think?" 

"I really didn't need to know all that."

We never did talk about that book. Thank goodness for 5th grade health class or Abby might find herself asking the boy at the bus stop what a period is when she gets to that place in Are You There God, It's Me Margaret? Yes, I did.

So what's a mother to do with a daughter like Abby? Do I force the conversations knowing she'll avoid eye contact and shuffle her feet and behave as though I'm holding her against her will? Do I hope she's got it all figured out and that her friends are providing her with reliable information? (That was a joke.) Do I try to explain that "You don't really 'love him so much.' Here's what love is...?" (Good luck with that.) Do I ask our youth minister to speak to them, warning that God will strike them down should they ever lay a finger on each other?" (Seems like a good time for the scary version of God.)

I know, I know. You're reading this and admonishing me to talk to her, regardless of my her discomfort. Okay. You're right. I know you're right. I'm going to get right on it.

I just think it's prudent to give it another month to see if they're still a couple. These sixth grade relationships generally don't last very long.

 

For the Romantically Challenged on Valentine's Day

It's Valentine's Day. I'm thinking I should write something about love. Or romance. Or the Hallmark conglomerate. But I feel so unqualified to write on these topics. The thing is, I'm not the lovey-dovey or romantic type. And it's not just because I'm busy working, raising children, feeding our four-legged friends, taking care of a home, and trying to avoid outgrowing another pair of jeans. I think I've always been romance-averse. For example:

• I recall no childhood fondness for Disney princesses and princes on white steeds. I guess I never felt the need to be rescued.
• In high school, if the boy I liked sent me a love letter and it had any misspellings, the romance was over before it started. I think I may have circled the errors in red pen and returned to sender.
• As a young girl, I never fantasized about my wedding day which books, movies, and reality-based wedding shows would have you believe every girl grows up dreaming of.
• I don't love chocolate.
• Or champagne.
• I don't see the point of negligees. 
• Or decorative pillows on the bed.
• I don't need to snuggle afterward.
• I don't like to cook for my man. Or my kids, for that matter.
• I think greeting cards are stupidly expensive and I only buy them for my husband because he buys them for me.
• I once threatened to beat my husband if he ever bought me ridiculously over-priced roses on Valentine's Day.

Dear Lord, I'm like the Grinch who stole Valentine's Day!

I guess my only saving grace is that Rob and the kids know I love them because:

1. We tell each other "I love you" everyday.
2. We occasionally slow dance in the kitchen.
3. I regularly do the laundry and clean the house.
4. We're good huggers.

And, really, my husband gets off easy because I'm so low maintenance (at least where affection and romance are concerned).

For those of you who are making your loved one tiramisu, writing him or her a poem, or producing a special video love note, I salute you. May everyday be Valentine's Day in the rose-colored world you live in!

Feeling the Love

Aside from being swept off my feet (literally) by the Phanatic at a party last night, it's been a rough week for Kim (so rough that I'm referring to myself in the third person to avoid reliving the angst). We had the NJDOT debacle. The allergy attacks. The burdensome workload. The computer issues.

But there were a few shining lights:

1. Freakin' Angel Kim G. had a baby boy (Weston James) on Friday
2. Got my groove on to the Glee soundtrack thanks to a loan from Freakin' Angel Cathie
3. Spent most of Saturday with my Mom and Dad

Now anyone who has had a parent (that means you), knows that spending time with the folks is not always the highlight of our day/week/month. But yesterday was one of those wonderful days where I was feeling the love.

Why? Because my parents were thrilled to see me. You don't realize how infrequently someone is really thrilled to see you until someone is. Feeling so loved and appreciated is an amazing and unfortunately rare thing.

I'm incredibly blessed because my parents are so open about their feelings. They remind me often how proud they are of me. They seem to genuinely enjoy my company. They like my writing, they think I'm funny, and they tell me I'm beautiful. Yes, they're completely biased, but how tremendous is it to feel that much love?

I wonder, did they always love me this much and I'm just noticing now? Or is this new on their part?

I think it's a combination of things:

1. I'm no longer subjecting them to terroristic battles with my sister, tears over my latest broken heart, or dramatic meltdowns in which "I demand my rights." This makes me infinitely more lovable.
2. I no longer see them every day or even every week. There's certainly an element of absence making the heart grow fonder.
3. I don't think we're capable of recognizing and appreciating our parents' love until we're all grown up.
4. I'm a parent now, too.

As a mom, I pray that my children will someday recognize and feel deep within, the tremendous love I have for them. It's without question the greatest gift my parents have ever given me.