Standing By The Punch-Bowl

I met a woman at a party the other night. I'm terribly insecure about meeting new people. Usually I clam up in any group larger than six. But over the past couple of years I've made the concerted effort to actually build social skills. There was nowhere to go but up from ground zero which, truly, was my starting-point.

Anyway, I'm at this party the other night and making polite small talk with a woman in the corner. Turns out our kids went to the same child-care center, she's originally from Minnesota, and she's trained as an anthropologist. The conversation lulled and we moved on to poke at the ice in our glasses.

I thought the conversation had gone quite well so I fought the urge to excuse myself before I said something silly. Instead I put a wide smile on my face and offered up the "Oh, you must know..." game. Oh, I said, you must know my dear friend Ms. Bizzlehopper (not her real name) to which the stranger responded with a ten minute diatribe about how Bizzlehopper had bees in her bonnet, was a complete nincompoop and an interpersonal ogre.

On the one hand, the stranger's comments left me feeling defensive on behalf of my friend, Bizzlehopper, and on the other hand I thought isn't that interesting. Here's a person trained to study human behavior yet when offered an opening like you must know my dear friend... she berates our mutual acquaintance rather than saying yes and moving on to another topic.

I felt a strong kinship to the moment itself. By no means am I throwing stones on the foot-in-mouth score. My house is made entirely of glass on that one.

But I have spent most of my adult life feeling inept at the art of small talk. Assuming everyone else was the equivalent of a Super-Hostess or Social-Olympian with easy conversation and funny stories while I'm tongue-tied and standing by the punch-bowl. This moment made me think maybe the group of mere mortals is more crowded than I thought.

I waited for the Bizzlehopper comments to arrive at their natural close, responded with a nod and mmm-hmmm, allowed the conversation lull and noticed out-loud Oh, look my glass is empty. If you'll excuse me...
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Currently Reading Reason: Why Liberals Will Win the Battle for America by Robert Reich
Currently Watching Slings and Arrows: The Complete Collection

My Daughter: The Closer

I shot this photo of Naomi when we were in the Denver Airport. I was reassembling our carry-ons and tying my shoe laces after the TSA checkpoint so Naomi took a moment to phone my mom.

Naomi hatched a plan to spend the night with her grandparents and phoned just to shore up the logistics. Oftentimes I think of Naomi as always giggling or goofing around by contrast this photo is all business. The kicker is that Naomi isn't even speaking to a live person in this photo she's just leaving a declarative voice-mail message.

Given her level of determination it came as no surprise to find my mom (aka Grandma Mel) at the arrival gate in Lincoln. We piled into mom's car. No explanation was required as they kicked me to the curb at our house. The day closed with Naomi tucked under the covers at her grandparents' for a good night's sleep. Done deal.

Children's Mouths Shouldn't Say

Me: How was your day at summer camp?

Naomi: Not so good.

Me: Really? How come?

Naomi: Alex said a bad word today.

Me: I'm sorry that happened.

Naomi: Yep, he said that bad word children’s mouths shouldn’t say. (She leans in to me here, looks around, and lowers her voice) You know, the s-h- word

Me: Oh, that’s too bad.

Naomi: Yeah, *sigh* he said shut-up. It was too bad.

Me: Yeah, *sigh* too bad.

You May Find Yourself

And you may ask yourself-well...how did I get here?
--Talking Heads

I popped open my car trunk the other day to grab my gym bag and noticed a dangling plastic yellow tag. Turns out it’s a trunk release. You yank on it in the event you’re trapped in the trunk of the car and need to get out.

Obviously this trunk release was installed at the factory. Otherwise someone thinks I lead a much more colorful or criminal life than I do. How flattering.

More appropriate, given my age and circumstance, than the trunk release itself was the reminder to run once I’m out of the trunk. Aaaaah, I feel so much safer.

So, how was your weekend?

It's the first question anyone asks you at the watercooler on Monday: So, how was your weekend? Today I can't respond without giggling. My Aunt Carol threw her annual Splash Party on Saturday. Water-guns, a two-lane Slip-n-Slide, beach balls, wading pools and sprinklers made for a super fun time. Naomi and I were completely jazzed to hang out with the gaggle of kids, and near-kids (aka grown ups) in attendance.

I snapped this photo after I dared the kids to strike their silliest pose. Let's just say I didn't have to ask twice because they busted out the silly poses very, very readily.

Having been a parent for six years now, I can say with some distinction that this was a group of the sweetest, most fun-loving, well behaved children quite possibly ever congregated in one place. Nothing stood in the way of this good time. No squabbling, no fighting, no crying nothing but an afternoon fully-loaded with sun screen and splashin' around. Afterwards Naomi and I climbed into the car just dawg-tired. We were running on fumes by that point but still giggled with glee the whole way home.

Thanks, Aunt Carol, for such a fun afternoon! And don't worry, that patch of grass under the Slip-n-Slide will grow back eventually.

The Presidential Race

Circa 1980 the job title I coveted wasn’t astronaut it was President. Put in its proper context my aspiration makes sense. My dad was running his first campaign. My first grade classroom staged a mock-election with the Carter-Regan ballot.

I was selected as one of two class speakers that Tuesday afternoon. We were to speak to the merits of the a candidate. I backed Regan. No lie. I had read the weekly reader, agreed with my grandparents (Republicans on both sides), and advocated my fellow seven-year-olds vote for him. I backed the guy whose first Presidential decision was to remove the solar panels from the roof of the White House. Huh. Go figure.

My dad, and Ronald Regan, both won their elections and, obviously, I decided I wanted to be President.