Inappropriate Girl

Growing up in Jersey was wonderful, except for one small thing – you can’t pump your own damned gas. Full serve only. Why?

As long as you stay in state, you’re fine. Leave town and you’d better know what you’re doing. The first time I had to pump my own gas, I was in the middle of Pennsylvania with an empty tank and no clue how to fill it. I had to ask the guy behind me in line what I was supposed to do. Talk about embarrassing. 

Now I’m getting to teach my kids how to pump their own gas. You wouldn’t think that’s terribly complicated, but it is. Some machines need you to do this and that, and others want you to do some other thing. No consistency.

Beware, my child, the station by your grandparents’ house that spits the receipt out at you at such a high velocity that you’ll have to chase it down. Not the sort of advice you picture giving your child, but there we are.

If the pump tells you to pay inside, go on in and make pleasant small talk with the employees. They’ll probably be thrilled that you’re not bitching at them like some other customers unfortunately will.

Wash your windows and then be sure to wash your headlights and tail lights too, especially after winter storms. Never mind that whatever the road treatment crews put down did nothing to make your drive shorter or easier. It will stick to your car like glue. You need to see and be seen. Keep ’em clean.

Make sure your oil is changed on schedule. Having your engine die is no fun. Ask me. While you’re at it, let me tell you about the time I didn’t make sure my washer fluid was full before taking a post storm trip home during college. Trying to find the exit for Bruceton Mills with my head sticking out the window because my windshield was crusted with filth was not fun. You’ll have plenty of adventures in your lifetime. Skip that one, ok?

It’s the lot of little things that make up a lifetime. Teaching the kids those little lessons helps me notice just how much detail life holds on a daily basis. Things aren’t as boring as they seem. Seeing it through their eyes helps me appreciate the parts as well as the whole. 

I just wish I could say the same thing about teaching them how to park.

As crappy as this election is, one positive thing has come of it. I’ve seen more “get out the vote” efforts than in any other election. The eldest did her part today, canvassing local neighborhoods. It’s great to see a new generation embrace their place in the world.

Of all the ones I’ve seen, the Hamilton Cast’s voter videos are my favorite. “…and Peggy!” never gets old. 

Get out the Vote, Hamilton-style

My eldest turned 18 earlier this week. It took a few days until I witnessed her being an actual adult.

Today, she had a doctors appointment. I drove; she did the rest. Few things say “adulting” quite as much as doing your own damned paperwork.

One down, two to go. 

Growing up, I wasn’t much of a baseball fan. I have vague memories of going to a Yankees game with a friend, but that’s about it. 

All that changed when I was 16. I flipped on the tv after school, looking for something to watch while I did my homework. The baseball playoffs caught my eye. The year was 1986 and the New York Mets were playing the Houston Astros. I ended up being obsessed with the game to the point where I watched not only the rest of the game but the rest of that series and then the World Series.

Few things compare to the 1986 World Series for excitement. Watching the Mets beat the Boston Red Sox turned me into a lifelong baseball fan. 

Fast forward several years to when I fell in love with a Big Ugly Man Doll. Although he’s an Air Force brat, BUMD’s family hails from Chicago. They are Chicago Cubs fans through and through. It was to be an interfaith marriage. One problem though – how would we raise the children?

Finally we hammered out an agreement: we’d raise the kids to be Cubs fans.

For many years, this wasn’t a big deal. You root for the team, of course, but there wasn’t much to get excited about. Eventually we adopted the hometown Washington Nationals as our family team. Even so, being a Cubs fan is a serious committment. Every year might just be THE year. 

Last night, I was finally rewarded for my sacrifice at the alter. The Cubs won the World Series!! Finally the rest of the family knows the kind of joy I felt so many years ago when I first became a baseball fan! Patience is rewarded. 

Go Cubs!!

What am I to be?

To be or not to be. 

To thine own self be true. 

Any or all of these would be helpful quotes if only I could figure out who I am. I still don’t even know what I want to do when I grow up. At 46, that’s a bit of an issue – the growing up part, that is. It’s not that I’m not a grownup, it’s just that I’m not exactly through with growing up. 

My eldest observed the other day that I’m going through a late form of teenage rebellion. She’s not wrong. In the past few years, I’ve gotten two tattoos, put purple streaks into my (gray) hair, and have defied my mother’s wishes more times than I can count.

What I’m left believing is this: 

“What I must do is all that concerns me, not what people think. This rule,equally arduous in actual and intellectual life, may serve for the whole distinction between greatness and meanness. It is the harder, because you will always find those who think they know what is your duty better than you know it. It is easy in the world to live after the world’s opinion; it is easy in solitude to live after our own; but the great man is he who in the midst of the crowd keeps with perfect sweetness the independence of solitude.”

– Ralph Waldo Emerson

I first read this when I was a teenager. It’s taken me decades to start living it. In the end, the only person I need to please is myself. I can provide my family with unconditional love while still having my own opinions and letting them have theirs. Life is not an either/or venture.

The only way I’m going to be satisfied is to go with my gut and live my own life. It may be far from perfect, but it’s all that I have.

Let’s start with the fact that I didn’t even spell ‘inconsistency’ correctly the first time, shall we?

I am perhaps the least consistent person you’ll ever meet. I make a lot of plans but rarely follow through. It’s the word that should appear on my tombstone some day, except that I want to be cremated and have my ashes used in soil to plant a tree. Anyone who knows me can tell you that’s the dumbest idea ever, because I have a black thumb. I’ve never met a plant I couldn’t kill. One time, in college, I killed a plastic plant by dusting it. The poor thing just fell apart. It never had a chance. 

Still, I’m going to try to post every day in November.  Never, never, never give up, right? Or is it just one foot in front of the other? Repeating (some days faster than others). Just…keep…going.