My Quilt Square

I visited my grandma today.

It was a spur of the moment decision; I happened to be in the neighborhood and had a few extra minutes, so I stopped by.  Because it was a last minute thing I didn't follow my normal routine of visiting her.  Usually I stop by Starbucks and pick up some coffee - decaf, because it's always so late in the day.  But today, sadly sans coffee, I followed the now familiar turns and lowered the volume of my radio out of respect for anyone else who happened to be around.  I parked in my usual spot and walked the short distance, wondering, as always, why I even bothered to lock my car. After all, it's not as though my little, red Bug would be out of my sight.

And then, with a quick glance to Grandma's neighbors, I lowered myself to the ground.  "Sorry I don't have any coffee for you," I said, and I touched a hand to her headstone.

This is usually the point when I say (out loud, because I think she would get a kick out of it), "Pour one out for my homegirl," and tip the coffee cup upside down.  We share that coffee as I talk about what's going on in my life.  I alternate between taking sips and pouring some beside her name, and I always feel a gentle swell of pleasure in the knowledge that my love of coffee is something that came from her and Grandpa.  It is not groundbreaking or earth shattering.  It will never save a life or change the world, but it is a part of the legacy I have inherited from her.

I've been thinking about that word a lot lately.  Legacy.  I'll spare you the sordid details, but "legacy" has been something of a hot topic in some recent drama.  Truthfully, "drama" doesn't at all capture the reality of the pain caused, but that's not currently my story to tell.

Legacy, though, that is mine, though I share it with many.  Legacy is like a blanket - a quilt - which lays over many, offering warmth and comfort, and unique in each individual space.  I've been inspecting my quilt square, trying to see clearly which pieces of each of my grandparents have made it into my little portion.

Mama Bear from The Berenstain Bears and Mama's New Job.  LOVE those quilts!

So today I sat at my grandma's graveside and I thought.

I thought about the moment my grandpa mentioned Grandma's great love of Christmas, when my brother leaned over to me and whispered, "That's where we get it."

I thought about jumping excitedly onto the couch when Granddaddy was GOING TO TELL HIS MICKEY MOUSE STORIES!!!!  And then laughing years later when kids I babysat asked me to please tell a Mickey Mouse story? 

I thought about Mimi and her sense of humor - the moment during our Easter service when she just could. not. handle. the way someone was chanting.  She and I covered our mouths with our hands and laughed and laughed and laughed as silently as possible.  Even now I get a flash of that memory when I notice something ridiculous.

I thought about Grandpa's great love of family, the way you can tell he is soaking up the chaos around him when we're all together, and I remembered moments at family events when I just looked around, in awe of and grateful for all these crazy people around me.

Webster's dictionary describes "legacy" in the following way:

I am going to ignore the first definition, because my family has taught me that while money is nice and helpful and certainly not evil, it is by no means the most important thing in life.  So let's move on to the second definition:

Something transmitted by or received from an ancestor or predecessor or from the past.

This.  Yes.

This resonates with me.  Because when I think of my legacy, I don't think of property or money - unless we're joking about how our inheritance was used to buy Beanie Babies.  

Wait!  This is actually my legacy! ;)

No.  Money, properties, or things are not a part of the quilt laid over me.  My legacy is a strong sense of justice, loyalty, and family.  It is a goofy and silly sense of humor, and a sardonic delight in the ridiculous.  It is standing in front of people and feeling comfortable speaking to them.  It is yelling at other drivers.  It is whistling - a lot.  It is a tendency to assume that I know exactly what's best, even when I have no idea what's actually going on.  It is caring about my appearance.  It is wanting to know who is in church this morning - not to judge...just to know.   It is taking everything so hard.  It is being incredibly self-critical.  It is my storytelling.  It is the sound of my exhale when dismissing something.  It is the shape of my mouth and the slope of my nose.  It is the sound of my laugh.

My quilt square is not perfect, but it keeps me warm.  

And I love it dearly.

Photo credit: Aunt Judy Braun

Adventures in Party-Going -- OR -- Don't Ever Trust A Chatty Bank Teller

The bank teller smiled and began printing out my receipts.  I smiled back and gave my normal answer to the typical and thoughtless question of, "How are you doing today?"

"Oh, I'm fine, thank you." Winsome smile.  "How are you?"

He was alright.  His feet were hurting.  He was pretty sure he fractured his finger but he decided against going to the doctor because, after all, what can they do about fingers except ice and tape?  He was having surgery next week.  Oh, it was alright, just a part of life.  He wasn't looking forward to being laid up in bed for recovery, tough.  This would be knee surgery.  Yeah, knee surgery wouldn't be too fun, you know.  But it's cool, it's alright.  No big deal.  "Oh, hey, next week we're having a little kick-off party here.  It'll be really fun: we're going to block off the parking lot, we'll set up tents and tables and have food and stuff.  It will be really low-key, like an open house.  You should stop by."

A party?  I thought it sounded great, so I said, "Sure!  I'll tell the people at my office, and we'll check it out." 

I walked back to the office and told the others about the kick-off party.

"Umm...We should go."
"There will probably be free stuff."
"I wonder who is catering..."
"Yeah, let's be sure to do it!"

The week passed and yesterday, at about 3:15, I realized it was the day of the party.  No one else in the office could make it - people were very busy - but I decided I would brave it on my own.

"Be sure to bring back stuff for us!"
"Do you want a bag?" - "A bag??  I'm not showing up with a bag to bring back goodies.  Sheesh.  Honestly."

Shaking my head at the idea of bringing a bag to put goodies in, I walked the short distance to the bank, without a second thought to my outfit: yoga pants, an Oxnard Fire t-shirt, tennis shoes, and a neon green running jacket.  After all, I was only heading to an outdoor open house.  No biggie.

I saw the Country Catering truck in the parking lot and smiled.  At least the food would be good.  I couldn't see any tents or tables, though, but that didn't concern me because I am a doofus.  I kept heading toward the bank.

As I walked closer I noticed the people around me seemed very well-dressed.

Very well-dressed.

I suddenly started thinking about my workout clothes.  Steph.  Turn around.  I ignored the little voice in my head.  No, I told myself.  This can be salvaged.  Just act like you belong and you'll be fine.  I saw people had name-tags, so I figured I would go inside, get a name-tag, make a charming little joke about being under-dressed, and then hob nob with a few people before grabbing whatever stuff they had and heading back to the office. 

I was inside the bank, which was full to overflowing with formally attired grown-ups, and had just grabbed a sandwich and was looking around to see who I should talk to about getting a name-tag when someone coughed into a microphone.

"Umm, excuse me?  Is this thing even working?  Yes, everyone.  Everyone!  EXCUSE ME!"  Alarmed laugh.  "Yes, it's time for us all to go outside for the ribbon cutting ceremony."

At first no one moved.  People shrugged and went back to their conversations.  Then I saw a cheerful-looking woman holding a Corona move to the door.  People began moving out, and before I could find a plate for my sandwich I was hustled out the door.

"So, are you here to put out a fire in case one gets started?" A woman asked me.
"Oh, no, haha my office sent me over to represent them at this little shindig."
"Oh, good for you!"

I nodded - incredibly confused by that little exchange - and walked out the door, into the parking lot.  I walked between two parked cars, and was going to keep walking away when from out of nowhere people were suddenly filling in the space around me.  There was nowhere to turn, except back toward the bank.  Stuck, still holding my sandwich, I tried to pay attention to what was being said.

The same woman who had directed us outside was saying something about the bank, how it was opening, blah blah blah, the mayor of Goleta will say a few things.  Mayor?

The mayor.  Of course.  And there I was in my lime green workout clothes.  Awesome.  I clapped by patting my free hand on the top of my sandwich holding hand and ignored the confused glances that were being sent my way.  The mayor said some things, people tittered and chuckled, and then as I thought I would be able to make my escape, more people spoke.  Just as I was in the process of imagining myself in a really lovely pencil skirt and blouse - with rocking heels, of course - the man next to me raised his hand and smiled at the people.  Every face was turned toward us.  I turned and smiled at him, barely able to hold back the laugh that was building inside me.


I leaned against the car I was standing next to so people could see him.  What, exactly, was this car I was leaning against?  It was certainly smooth...Oh!  A Lamborghini.  Neat.  Why not?  There was a Porsche on my other side.

I leaned to the guy standing beside me and whispered, "My office sent the wrong representative to this thing."  He laughed, but I could see what he was really thinking:  This is obviously some person who walked by and is here for the food.

I looked down to see the sandwich still held in my hand.

I smiled - because the newspaper was there taking pictures - and kept my chin lifted.  I laughed when people made jokes.  I nodded sympathetically as people prophesied the amazing things this bank would do in the community.  And then, just as soon as the pictures were taken, the words were spoken, and the people were ushered back inside, I walked briskly away, holding my sandwich.

I was back in my office by 4:15.

I don't know that I will ever trust that teller.  Ever.  Again.  Who knows at what fancy event I'll end up under-dressed next?

But the sandwich was good. 

My Blog's Name - FINALLY Explained

I've been thinking the past few days about why I named my blog "A Life of Fiction."  It's always been clear to me, but I know it may not be clear to everyone else. 

You see, I have a fairly strange and bizarre life.  Sometimes I think I actually do lead a life of fiction; at times there is no other way my life could be described.  In college I developed a theory about why this is so. 

I appreciate the little things. 

That's all it comes down to.  I take such delight in the lttle things, feel such exultation in small miracles, find such joy in embracing the ridiculous, have such fun in laughing at the bizarre that I tend to be a magnet for amazingly big deals.  Lately, unfortunately, I haven't been embracing the little things.  It's been sad.  I've gotten caught up in life and all its details that somehow I have somehow missed out on what I love so much about LIFE.  In a weird way, I seem to have been so caught up in looking at the forest that I haven't been able to notice the trees.

I am happy to notice how that has been changing as of late.  I think I first noticed it when the other day I checked my Twitter feed and saw that a friend had tweeted 'I'll never get married in a castle. I couldn't bear to hear the pastor say "I'm sorry, but the princess is in another castle".'  I busted up laughing.  It touched the nerd in me, and shot me back to a youth spent playing Nintendo (and watching my brothers and the neighbor play Nintendo). 

It is so nice to be taking joy in the little things again.

And I was pleased to feel that it wasn't just a fleeting thing.  When I climbed into my car the other day I discovered that my CD player had suddenly decided to play twice as fast as normal.  I found amazing joy in hearing SheDaisy sing like the Chipmunks.  I wished someone was with me to share in the moment.  I wanted to laugh with someone.  And then later, at my parents' house, I heard my sister say, "Wait...Is this Later Gater?"  I walked into the living room and saw my family - including my 6-year-old brother - watching the SyFy channel.  They were all totally engrossed.  And the fact that my sister could identify the movie made me smile.  And the evening only got better...My little sister came home from gymnastics and had to get in the shower.  We were all doing our own thing and I suddenly said, "Is that Ginny?"  We listened, and sure enough, Ginny was singing in the shower.  It wasn't one of her usual, tweeny-bopper songs she makes up, but was an operatic scale.  Cat and I looked at each other and laughed.  Topped off by watching Bones with my parents and sister, it was a great day. 

I could feel myself appreciating the little things again.  Which is good, because this morning I had a bizarre phone conversation, and it would have been terribly sad if I hadn't been able to appreciate it. 

Here's a little background information:

-About 2 weeks ago I got a phone call from someone asking me if I was the number for roof repairs.  I said no, and was told some unliscensed roofer had inadvertently put my phone number down instead of his.
-I have been recieving plenty of phone messages since then from people asking if I could fix their roof.
-I kind of feel badly for the roofer, but then I think, He/She put my phone number down...Mayhap it's a good thing that these poor people aren't getting their roofs fixed by him/her.

So here is the conversation I had this morning:
Me: Hello?
Her: Hi.  I am calling to see if you could repair my roof?
Me: Oh, no.  I am so sorry.  I'm not the roof repairer.
Her: No?  Darn.  I really need to get some leaks fixed.  The ad says, "Best prices roof repairs." Is this your number? [says my number]
Me: Yeah, I know...You aren't the first person to call me about this.  But I don't do roof repairs.  Sorry!
Her: Darn it.  I was starting to look forward to having a hot female roofer come to my house.
Me: .....
Her: Really, I would appreciate that more than seeing a man.
Me: tinkling laugh [really, I was just unsure of what to say]
Her: Well, that's disappointing.
Me: Oh, I am sorry about that.  Hey, do you know what company you were trying to call?
Her: It just doesn't say a name.  Sooo...What do you do?  You sound nice.
Me: Uhh...I work with kids.
Her: Well, I have a couple of those.
Me: Oh, neat.
Her: I also have puppies.  Do you work with them?  I can't control them either.  Well, I had puppies but then the puppies had puppies.
Me: [non-comitally] Oh, wow.
Her: [probably picking up on the fact that I was starting to get a little nervous that she would randomly call me back sometime in the future] Well, you probably want to get your phone number taken out of the paper, huh?
Me: Yeah, thanks for the info.
Her: Thank you for sounding so wonderful.  Have a really lovely day.
Me: Thanks!  You too! [hang up]

Yeah...I think I lead a life of fiction.  And, honestly, I love it.