This coming Labor Day, Andy and I will be doing one of those first-time-ever things: we will be meeting our future son-in-law’s parents. We like The Boy a whole lot. Given our firm belief that no one will ever be good enough for our children, he comes awfully close. Best of all (as observed by one of our children) isn’t just how he is when he is around us, but how our daughter is when she is around him. She is herself, but more so, in kind of a glow-y happy way. We are thrilled that he is with our daughter, and I am practicing already being the type of mother-in-law that I want to be.
I am just now coming to understand, though, that he does not come to us in isolation. He brings a family of his own, and we will be meeting them in a few days. In my church, I have one of these extended families. The now-married children met in our church as youth, and both sets of parents are part of this congregation. There are now young grandchildren in the mix, and it’s always fun to watch the grandparent/grandchildren reunions that occur weekly in the sanctuary. The grandparents laughingly refer to their relationship to each other, not as in-laws, but as outlaws.
I am getting a little nervous about our pending meeting, to my surprise. This new relationship will be important, and I wonder what it will be like. I know some things about them already. I know their professions and some of their interests. They live in a town about 5 hours away. I know some other, more important things about them. They are kind to my daughter and have welcomed her into their home. They raised a son who graduated college with honors, and who cares about those who are less fortunate than himself. And he loves my daughter, treats her well, and brings out the best in her.
Inlaws or outlaws, it doesn’t really matter to me. I know what to call them already: “family.”
Monday, August 29, 2011
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Almost
I almost died last week, I think. I was at a meeting in Nashville and had gone out for a morning walk. Needing to cross a very busy downtown street, I pushed the button to wait for the walk signal. I kept waiting as the cars whizzed by on the narrow street, their wheels nudging the curb. As I waited for what seemed like an interminably long light, I had time to be amazed at how fast Nashville drivers went on such a crowded street.
Finally, I saw the pedestrian across the street from me begin to cross. And thereby was my near-fatal mistake. I looked at him walking across the street and assumed that the light had changed. My foot swung into the street, into the path of oncoming traffic. At the last nanosecond before my weight shifted and I was committed to following that foot into the street, I realized that the cars were still coming at top speed. I fell backwards as a car barely grazed my shin. The light had not changed, but the man across the street had decided to duck between the cars. He looked at me oddly as I staggered, trying to regain my balance and my breath. And then he kept walking on his way.
How could I be so careless? My problem was that, only for a moment, I looked at the actions of the person across from me, rather than the light itself. Seems like that’s probably not the first time someone has gotten into trouble for that exact same reason. . .
Finally, I saw the pedestrian across the street from me begin to cross. And thereby was my near-fatal mistake. I looked at him walking across the street and assumed that the light had changed. My foot swung into the street, into the path of oncoming traffic. At the last nanosecond before my weight shifted and I was committed to following that foot into the street, I realized that the cars were still coming at top speed. I fell backwards as a car barely grazed my shin. The light had not changed, but the man across the street had decided to duck between the cars. He looked at me oddly as I staggered, trying to regain my balance and my breath. And then he kept walking on his way.
How could I be so careless? My problem was that, only for a moment, I looked at the actions of the person across from me, rather than the light itself. Seems like that’s probably not the first time someone has gotten into trouble for that exact same reason. . .
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
Laryngitis
Andy and I seem to have picked up a bug on our flights home. (My office staff has helpfully said I have “kennel cough,” from the flying kennels in the sky.) This morning, my throat was sore and my voice was gone.
Tuesday is usually my day for meetings, and being voiceless gave me a different perspective on the day. During a morning conference call, I listened as the conversation swirled around me. A member of my staff did an excellent job running the weekly staff meetings, while I added only a few whispered comments. By drinking lots of hot tea and using a restaurant-soft voice, I was able to converse across a table at lunch with a colleague. That conversation was enjoyable but perhaps a mistake, as my voice has skittered away once more. And so I am sitting here nursing my throat and consigned once again to listening more than speaking.
The racking coughs are annoying, as is having to wave wildly to catch someone’s attention. I can’t ask the dog if he wants to go out or ask a child to bring me a glass of water. (Nor can I interrupt an ongoing conversation, which is probably the most annoying thing of all.) There is a gathering tonight that I really wanted to attend, but I realize that I shouldn’t expose some of my favorite people to whatever gluck I have. Therefore, I’ll sit at home tonight, gesticulating wildly to the dog, the children, the husband, and probably even the television by the time the night is over.
On the plus side, I’ll get to practice the art of listening. My son has made me fresh vegetable soup, a blessed gift from him before he moves to Seattle next week. I will have an unexpected night at home, which is always a luxury. There are worse things than being a voiceless preacher . . . for a little while.
Tuesday is usually my day for meetings, and being voiceless gave me a different perspective on the day. During a morning conference call, I listened as the conversation swirled around me. A member of my staff did an excellent job running the weekly staff meetings, while I added only a few whispered comments. By drinking lots of hot tea and using a restaurant-soft voice, I was able to converse across a table at lunch with a colleague. That conversation was enjoyable but perhaps a mistake, as my voice has skittered away once more. And so I am sitting here nursing my throat and consigned once again to listening more than speaking.
The racking coughs are annoying, as is having to wave wildly to catch someone’s attention. I can’t ask the dog if he wants to go out or ask a child to bring me a glass of water. (Nor can I interrupt an ongoing conversation, which is probably the most annoying thing of all.) There is a gathering tonight that I really wanted to attend, but I realize that I shouldn’t expose some of my favorite people to whatever gluck I have. Therefore, I’ll sit at home tonight, gesticulating wildly to the dog, the children, the husband, and probably even the television by the time the night is over.
On the plus side, I’ll get to practice the art of listening. My son has made me fresh vegetable soup, a blessed gift from him before he moves to Seattle next week. I will have an unexpected night at home, which is always a luxury. There are worse things than being a voiceless preacher . . . for a little while.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Unplugged
The gift of vacation is always a wonderful thing. Now that our children are beginning to go their separate ways, our time all together is even more precious. This year, as always, was a wonderful mix of reacquainting ourselves with old memories even as we created new memories.
Part of what makes this time “vacation” for me is leaving my computer at home. For almost three weeks, I did not access email, voicemail, Facebook, or Google. I was unplugged. When I put away the computer before leaving town, I had a brief moment of panic. What if something monumental happened, and I missed it? What about all of the everyday connections that occur through these mediums? How would I access needed information without Google?
Here’s is what happened: nothing. My almost-three-weeks of internet unconnectedness did not harm my life in any way. True, there was a time when we were all watching television together and wondered whatever happened to one of the stars. Without immediate access to the answer, we wondered a little longer than we would have otherwise, but we survived.
Here is something else that happened: I got bored. There was no internet to surf idly, no word games to play, no news stories to read besides the morning paper. It has been a long time since I was truly bored, and I discovered that I liked it. I started conversations with real humans. I picked up books and sat still long enough to read them. I went walking. I watched the clouds shift in the sky. I thought thoughts that had nothing to do with much of anything. Being bored occasionally is a good thing, I remembered. If we don’t create empty spaces every now and then, how will new things find their way into our lives?
I’m back now, and re-plugged. It’s good to be reconnecting with my world, my work, and my friends. I am thankful for the many important relationships that I have, and I am thankful for new ways that this era gives us to connect with one another. I am thankful, also, for the chance to drop off the grid every now and then.
Part of what makes this time “vacation” for me is leaving my computer at home. For almost three weeks, I did not access email, voicemail, Facebook, or Google. I was unplugged. When I put away the computer before leaving town, I had a brief moment of panic. What if something monumental happened, and I missed it? What about all of the everyday connections that occur through these mediums? How would I access needed information without Google?
Here’s is what happened: nothing. My almost-three-weeks of internet unconnectedness did not harm my life in any way. True, there was a time when we were all watching television together and wondered whatever happened to one of the stars. Without immediate access to the answer, we wondered a little longer than we would have otherwise, but we survived.
Here is something else that happened: I got bored. There was no internet to surf idly, no word games to play, no news stories to read besides the morning paper. It has been a long time since I was truly bored, and I discovered that I liked it. I started conversations with real humans. I picked up books and sat still long enough to read them. I went walking. I watched the clouds shift in the sky. I thought thoughts that had nothing to do with much of anything. Being bored occasionally is a good thing, I remembered. If we don’t create empty spaces every now and then, how will new things find their way into our lives?
I’m back now, and re-plugged. It’s good to be reconnecting with my world, my work, and my friends. I am thankful for the many important relationships that I have, and I am thankful for new ways that this era gives us to connect with one another. I am thankful, also, for the chance to drop off the grid every now and then.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)