I'm very fortunate to have friends of different ages. They each make my life richer and diverse and for that I am so grateful. But there's something to be said for friends of your generation.
Rick Springfield is coming to Fox Theatre for an "intimate concert," which just translates to that's the biggest venue he can fill anymore. I don't care, his was the very first concert I went to (I think I was ten) and I've seen him several more times throughout the years and I'm going again - and I'm dragging KC with me. I start to think of what friends of ours might be interested in going with us and I start imaging how different phone calls with different friends might go.
Our much younger friends:
"Hey! Rick Springfield is going to be in concert on April 9th; do you guys want to go with us!?"
"Rick Springfield. You know, Jessie's Girl. I've Done Everything For You. Dr. Noah Drake...."
"Yeah, he's probably on Spotify. Seriously, you've never even heard Jessie's Girl?!? Didn't you ever watch General Hospital when you were younger?"
"I don't know, like 1982."
"The year you were born? I see."
"Well yes, $90 is a lot of money for someone you've never heard of."
Our much older friends:
"Hey! Do you remember Rick Springfield?"
"Well yes, I liked his music. That's why I was calling - to see if you wanted to go to see him in concert."
"You're right. Very different from Led Zepplin."
"Well, he kind of looks like Eric Clapton...."
"Yes, $90 is a lot of money to pay, even when you like the music, so I understand."
My generational friends:
"Hey! Rick Springfield is going to be in concert on-"
"Yes, really! April-"
"I know. I had such a huge crush too. Remember rushing to my house after school so we could watch General Hospital?"
"I know, Dr. Noah Drake!"
"Remember when we were in high school and he did that concert at the farm over off of 5-Mile Road?"
"Yes, Corey Hart was his opening act! I forgot about that!"
"Anyway, April 9th. I think he's aged really well."
"Only $90!"
"It's a date! I can't wait!!"
And that's why generational friends are awesome.
Pepper and Pals: Musings from an ordinary woman with a job, husband, teenagers, animals and opinions.
Thursday, February 26, 2015
Thursday, February 12, 2015
Fruit salads.
I don't mean to brag, but I'm married to a pretty great guy. As I was reflecting on that fact earlier today, I realized I need to add the caveat, 'for me.' I'm married to a pretty great guy for me. I don't mean like I'm a 6 and my spouse is an 8 so I married 'up', I mean he and I are a really good match. I can think of a few people that would be absolutely miserable hitched to him. For starters, he's pretty dang anti-social; unless he's gotten to know you, then he's the life of the party. The trick is letting you actually get to know him. I have plenty of social butterfly friends for which that would be a deal breaker. Secondly, he's ridiculously tall. This makes dancing, skiing, and skating a thing of the past for me. I can only dance a song or two with him before my neck starts hurting because I have to tilt my head way back in order to look at him when we're that close. He has pretty much refused to ski or skate because, as he puts it, he "looks like Lurch" on skates or in ski boots. Another possible deal breaker for someone. So, he's not without his shortcomings. I say this preemptively for the story I'm about to tell.
My daughter announced the other night at dinner that she wants to marry a man just like her dad, but that it probably won't happen because her dad is perfect and there's no men in her generation that could measure up to how great he is. She continued on about how lucky I am to have a husband like him. I agreed (because I do agree) but then I asked her why I should be considered 'lucky'? Didn't I deserve that? She gave me the guilt-ridden, obligatory, "you're a great catch too, mom" but then continued to gush about her dad. He cooks, he's handy around the house, he's got a good job so he can take care of his family, he's handsome, he's funny, he loves his wife and kids, he likes animals, he's a good athlete.... this girl had a list! I realized that she sees KC through my rose-colored glasses and that worried me. It's taken 20+ years to get my rose-colored tint just right. This shit didn't just happen. It's taken a lot of work and commitment on both our parts. Behind-the-scenes arguments over the years that our kids never saw. Compromises that were made after they went to bed. Frustrations, tears, anger - these are the things that we went through but that made our relationship stronger. She didn't see that - she just saw her parents got along all the time with, what seemed, little effort. On one hand, I'm glad that my kids were raised in a home that they felt safe and knew their parents loved each other and them; on the other hand, I'm worried we made it look too easy and have set them, especially my list-making daughter, up for failure because they didn't see the effort that it sometimes took (and at times, still takes!) I love that KC is the yardstick for which Dear Daughter will measure her future suitors. The problem is she is using her dad today, not her dad 20 years ago, and that is really an apples to oranges comparison. Her dad was great and all 20 years ago but he was far from the perfect designation we would give him today. (I know what you're thinking and trust me, I realize and publicly acknowledge that I've also come a long way over the years.) There's no way any boy can live up to the KC that would be considered today's oranges but he might be able to measure up to the younger, apple version KC. The problem is how do we get Dear Daughter to believe apples turn into oranges without her settling for a lemon.
My daughter announced the other night at dinner that she wants to marry a man just like her dad, but that it probably won't happen because her dad is perfect and there's no men in her generation that could measure up to how great he is. She continued on about how lucky I am to have a husband like him. I agreed (because I do agree) but then I asked her why I should be considered 'lucky'? Didn't I deserve that? She gave me the guilt-ridden, obligatory, "you're a great catch too, mom" but then continued to gush about her dad. He cooks, he's handy around the house, he's got a good job so he can take care of his family, he's handsome, he's funny, he loves his wife and kids, he likes animals, he's a good athlete.... this girl had a list! I realized that she sees KC through my rose-colored glasses and that worried me. It's taken 20+ years to get my rose-colored tint just right. This shit didn't just happen. It's taken a lot of work and commitment on both our parts. Behind-the-scenes arguments over the years that our kids never saw. Compromises that were made after they went to bed. Frustrations, tears, anger - these are the things that we went through but that made our relationship stronger. She didn't see that - she just saw her parents got along all the time with, what seemed, little effort. On one hand, I'm glad that my kids were raised in a home that they felt safe and knew their parents loved each other and them; on the other hand, I'm worried we made it look too easy and have set them, especially my list-making daughter, up for failure because they didn't see the effort that it sometimes took (and at times, still takes!) I love that KC is the yardstick for which Dear Daughter will measure her future suitors. The problem is she is using her dad today, not her dad 20 years ago, and that is really an apples to oranges comparison. Her dad was great and all 20 years ago but he was far from the perfect designation we would give him today. (I know what you're thinking and trust me, I realize and publicly acknowledge that I've also come a long way over the years.) There's no way any boy can live up to the KC that would be considered today's oranges but he might be able to measure up to the younger, apple version KC. The problem is how do we get Dear Daughter to believe apples turn into oranges without her settling for a lemon.
Thursday, February 5, 2015
I think the bug guy saw me naked.
Since being diagnosed with MS, I am very routine-oriented. The body memory of how I do things every day keeps me on track when my cognitive memory fails me. So when KC is home, he throws my routine in a big ol' tailspin and I get very discombobulated. Which annoys me.
My husband is an early riser and he enjoys the morning from the minute he gets out of bed.
I am much slower to embrace the beauty of the day.
When he gets up, one of the first things KC does is goes around the house and opens all the blinds. Because we live where it's sunny 350 days a year, that means our house is flooded with daylight and sunshine. I do open the blinds, eventually, it's just much farther down my list of things to do. I prefer to gradually let the sunshine in as I become more acclimated to having my eyes open - not have them blasted all at once.
So, the fact that I don't open the blinds until after I've been awake and moving a while is part of my routine. We have a room separate from our bedroom where we get ready; my closet and the bathroom is part of this room. Having this setup was especially nice for my husband when he worked midnights; he would not be bothered while he was trying to sleep and now that I don't have to wake up with an alarm, it's particularly lovely for me when KC is getting ready. This room is one of the rooms that KC opens the blinds for when he's home and messing with how things get done every day. When I get out of the shower, I walk back and forth from my closet to the bathroom while I'm getting ready. This part of the routine involves me being naked or partially naked because I get dressed in stages. It's a very long explanation why and probably only makes sense to me. And since I'm usually home alone with the blinds closed, it really doesn't matter.
One Friday, not too long ago, KC was home and up-and-at-'em long long before I was. I got up and went straight to the shower before even talking to anyone. (It's just better that way for all involved.) I fell into my routine and started getting ready. Back and forth from the bathroom to the closet. Pretty soon I hear the doorbell ring and the dogs go nuts. We were expecting the satellite TV repairman, but not until the afternoon; why was he here three hours early? I hear KC go outside and talk to someone so I quickly get dressed and go to put the dogs outside so the man can work in peace without having his butt sniffed every time he bends over. (I really have tried to teach them manners, but at the end of the day, they're still dogs.) As I'm walking down the hall, KC comes back in.
I ask, "Why is the Dish guy here so early?"
Kasey replies, "Oh, that wasn't him, that was the exterminator. He just wanted to tell us he was here."
"He never does that. That's weird."
That's the truth. We have had the same monthly pest service company for almost 12 years and, unless he is spraying inside, which he hardly ever does, I can't remember a single time he rang the bell to just let me know he's here.
Then I hear him driving off.
"Wow, that was fast," Kasey says.
I go back to my bathroom and finish getting ready. But now I'm annoyed. Why would the bug guy let us know he was here? Just because he saw KC's car in the driveway, he decided to let us know he's here? Oh sure, he's going to be all professional with a man, but not with a woman. Such b.s.
I chide myself a little... I try to give him the benefit of the doubt, He knows KC's a cop, maybe he was worried about getting shot. Or maybe he wanted us to keep the dogs in the house when he's in the backyard. No, the dogs never bother him.
The more I think about it, the weirder it gets. He is always here a good 20 minutes, at least. Today he was here five. He wouldn't have even had to time to spray the backya... then it hits me. He had already sprayed the backyard when he rang the doorbell. While I was walking back and forth -naked- from the closet to the bathroom.
I come out to the kitchen and dramatically announce, "I think the bug guy saw me naked."
KC chuckles, "Why would you say that?"
"Because you're home and you screw up my routine. Thanks a lot." and I storm back to my bathroom.
Poor KC.
My husband is an early riser and he enjoys the morning from the minute he gets out of bed.
I am much slower to embrace the beauty of the day.
When he gets up, one of the first things KC does is goes around the house and opens all the blinds. Because we live where it's sunny 350 days a year, that means our house is flooded with daylight and sunshine. I do open the blinds, eventually, it's just much farther down my list of things to do. I prefer to gradually let the sunshine in as I become more acclimated to having my eyes open - not have them blasted all at once.
So, the fact that I don't open the blinds until after I've been awake and moving a while is part of my routine. We have a room separate from our bedroom where we get ready; my closet and the bathroom is part of this room. Having this setup was especially nice for my husband when he worked midnights; he would not be bothered while he was trying to sleep and now that I don't have to wake up with an alarm, it's particularly lovely for me when KC is getting ready. This room is one of the rooms that KC opens the blinds for when he's home and messing with how things get done every day. When I get out of the shower, I walk back and forth from my closet to the bathroom while I'm getting ready. This part of the routine involves me being naked or partially naked because I get dressed in stages. It's a very long explanation why and probably only makes sense to me. And since I'm usually home alone with the blinds closed, it really doesn't matter.
One Friday, not too long ago, KC was home and up-and-at-'em long long before I was. I got up and went straight to the shower before even talking to anyone. (It's just better that way for all involved.) I fell into my routine and started getting ready. Back and forth from the bathroom to the closet. Pretty soon I hear the doorbell ring and the dogs go nuts. We were expecting the satellite TV repairman, but not until the afternoon; why was he here three hours early? I hear KC go outside and talk to someone so I quickly get dressed and go to put the dogs outside so the man can work in peace without having his butt sniffed every time he bends over. (I really have tried to teach them manners, but at the end of the day, they're still dogs.) As I'm walking down the hall, KC comes back in.
I ask, "Why is the Dish guy here so early?"
Kasey replies, "Oh, that wasn't him, that was the exterminator. He just wanted to tell us he was here."
"He never does that. That's weird."
That's the truth. We have had the same monthly pest service company for almost 12 years and, unless he is spraying inside, which he hardly ever does, I can't remember a single time he rang the bell to just let me know he's here.
Then I hear him driving off.
"Wow, that was fast," Kasey says.
I go back to my bathroom and finish getting ready. But now I'm annoyed. Why would the bug guy let us know he was here? Just because he saw KC's car in the driveway, he decided to let us know he's here? Oh sure, he's going to be all professional with a man, but not with a woman. Such b.s.
I chide myself a little... I try to give him the benefit of the doubt, He knows KC's a cop, maybe he was worried about getting shot. Or maybe he wanted us to keep the dogs in the house when he's in the backyard. No, the dogs never bother him.
The more I think about it, the weirder it gets. He is always here a good 20 minutes, at least. Today he was here five. He wouldn't have even had to time to spray the backya... then it hits me. He had already sprayed the backyard when he rang the doorbell. While I was walking back and forth -naked- from the closet to the bathroom.
I come out to the kitchen and dramatically announce, "I think the bug guy saw me naked."
KC chuckles, "Why would you say that?"
"Because you're home and you screw up my routine. Thanks a lot." and I storm back to my bathroom.
Poor KC.
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