A penny for your thoughts

To those of you who read my blog regularly (and thank you for that by the way) it is no secret that I love my husband dearly. He is a good man, a great dad and we get along famously. There are times however when I realize that Paul and I are polar opposites in so many ways.

He gets up early with a smile on his face; I stay in bed as long as I possibly can and grumble until the first jolt of caffeine hits my system. He loves the outdoors and Canadian winters; I think the indoors is highly under-rated and shiver from October until May. Paul thinks that footwear is designed for comfort and ankle support; I think that comfort is a secondary concern at best and that all of his boots and shoes should be burned for being so ugly.

Sometimes when I see him sitting quietly I'll ask him, "what are you thinking?" and he says "nothing". Wow! really? nothing? I cannot imagine what that's like. Some people have claimed that it's a "male thing" but I don't agree. I think that everyone is hard-wired differently. I am sure there are plenty of women who are able to quiet their minds and plenty of men who have minds that race a million miles an hour.

Paul and I can be having a lovely chat and after a five-second pause I will turn the conversation on its ear. We start talking about cars, I ask him if he bought eggs at the grocery store. "How the heck did you get to that?" he used to ask. A few times I tried to explain how my mind ended up moving from point A to point B and he just shook his head. He rarely asks anymore.

"Well, we were talking about how you liked the blue car in front of us and you asked if we should get something similar when our lease was up. That car has a bumper sticker on it that says Washington. I have always wanted to go to Washington but never got the chance. I have also really wanted to go to Europe but we haven't got there yet either. You used to live in Europe -- in Germany. We both like German food and I was thinking of making spaetzle some time next week. The recipe I use calls for eggs but we only have one left because I had and omelet yesterday which was yummy which made me think that maybe I could make omelets for brunch tomorrow morning. But, I won't be able to unless you picked up eggs. See... it makes perfect sense."

"You thought about all of that in 5 seconds?!"

"Yup!"

"Your mind is a very scary place, isn't it?"

It took a few years but I have learned to accept that Paul may indeed be sitting there thinking about absolutely nothing and he has discovered that my mind spins like a top for about eighteen hours a day. I think it is one of the reasons why people find it surprising that I teach yoga. 'Yoga seems so calm and peaceful,' they explain. 'And you're.... well.... '

There have been plenty of times when I struggle with yoga. There are days when my mind is going like a whirling Dervish and I wonder if it would not make more sense to go for a run with my iPod on full blast to settle down. Most often those are the days when yoga does me the most good. Focusing on my breath and on my alignment leaves little room for my mind to take a detour. I am not going to lie and say that I'm always successful. There have been plenty of mornings on my mat when I'm in Triangle position and I realized that mind is somewhere else completely: "what am I going to make the kids for supper? There is karate tonight and Mondays always mean a lot of homework so I need something quick but there is nothing defrosted and we don't have a microwave so I am going to have to get to the grocery store and, oh, I don't have enough gas in my car..."

One of my first yoga teachers told me that I had crazy monkey mind and that yoga would help me learn to quiet my thoughts and focus on the here and now. The image of a monkey jumping from branch to branch resonated with me so clearly that this instructor became one of my favorites. I learned so much from him because he understood my struggle. For me, yoga needed to start with the mind. I would often catch him out of the corner of my eye as he tapped his temple to remind me to focus. Nine times out of ten he was right and I had become distracted from what I was doing.

Ten years later I wonder what went on his mind. Was he able to find peace and quiet with his thoughts? Or, was he more like me and was that why he understood me so well? Maybe he was like Paul, calm of mind and married to someone with crazy monkey mind.

waiting in billund

This story was certainly more timely when I wrote it but I have not been posting them to my blog as quickly as I had planned. (On the flip side I am almost caught up on my past stories and will soon be posting them as I write).

The prompt was to write a story about nineteen year-old Abigail who was stuck in a European city following a volcano in Iceland. While she is waiting to get home she meets someone. The first line was given to us.

Here is what I came up with!

waiting in billund

“Hi, mom, I don’t think I’ll be able to get home for a few days. Can you send me some money?”

He watched her across the lounge as she listened to the voice on the other side of the line. She uttered a few uh-huh’s and yes mom’s before hanging up and dropped her forehead against the brick wall miming exhaustion. Earlier in the day he had noticed that her big, green eyes were looking a little tired but he knew that frustration was the more likely culprit behind her display.

Slowly Abby lifted her head from the wall and turned to him with a bright smile on her face. As she walked back and sat on the seat across from him he found it hard to believe that it had been only thirty-six hours since they first met. Sure everyone else in the airport – hell everyone else in the world – was cursing the ash from a distant volcano, but he was praying for more time stranded with this girl.

She flopped down in the chair in front of him. “So…. my mom is freaking out. She actually talked about having my grandma come back and get me until the flight advisory is lifted.”

Kyle’s stomach tightened with anxiety but he tried not to let it show on his face. “What did you say?”

“I told her it was ridiculous. It is a three-hour drive each way from their town to the airport. There is no way that she should be away from grandpa for another six hours.” He noticed the sadness in her eyes as she mentioned her ailing grandfather and he got up and shifted across the aisle to sit in the seat beside her. He hesitated for a moment before putting his arm around her but she settled against him immediately and lay her head down on his shoulder. Quietly he took a breath and smelt a faint trace of mint in her shampoo. He fought the urge to kiss the top of her head knowing it was way too soon but at the same time he was painfully aware that his time with her was drawing to a close.

Feeling her sigh he closed his arm around her a little tighter. “You ok?”

“Yeah. I was just realizing that I will never see him again. He is old and the doctors say he only has a few months left. This trip was an amazing chance to see Denmark but it was really about saying goodbye.”

“I am sure it made him happy to see you,” Kyle said quietly. “I am sure that these last two weeks were as important to him as they were to you.” Last night she had told him about the dozens of hours she had spent sitting on the end of her grandfather’s bed looking at photos as he regaled her with tales of his youth and his time in the army.

“I know it sounds funny – because I just met you – but I wish you could meet him,” she said as she sat up and turned to face him. “I think you would really like him.”

“I’m sure I would.”

In fact, the idea didn't seem funny to Kyle at all. He would love to meet anyone who was so important to the girl beside him. He would love to rent an old car and travel the countryside with her to visit the home where her mother had grown up, to walk in on her arm and to enjoy a meal with her family.

When Kyle arrived at the airport yesterday morning nothing seemed more important to him than getting back to his classes in Toronto but this girl had caused his priorities to shift. He had noticed her immediately. She was sitting cross-legged on the blue vinyl bench with her nose deep in a book. She had curly blond hair that was pulled up into a sloppy pony-tail and she was twirling one stray lock absently around her finger. After a brief argument with the frazzled attendant at the ticket counter he had flopped down on the bench across from her.

She looked up at him and smiled. “No one is going anywhere today. I kinda feel bad for her; you are the first person in an hour that did not yell at her.”

He pointed at the Canadian flag sewn on her tattered backpack. “Are you going to Toronto as well?”

“Yeah. My mom made me put that on my bag. She said that people would be nicer to me if they knew I was Canadian. You are the first person that it has worked on.”

They talked on-and-off all night as flight after flight was cancelled. They watched travelers come and go and for a while they had placed bets on which ones would lose their temper and which ones would politely take a seat in the waiting area. They took turns napping on the vinyl bench while the other kept an eye on the luggage. Their “first date” had been a picnic of stale sandwiches and lukewarm coffee on the floor of the departures lounge.

In thirty-six short hours he discovered that Abigail Nichols was a promising photographer who was starting design school in the fall. She was a free-spirit who loved adventure and chaos much to the chagrin of her straight-laced mother. She loved coffee and chocolate and her nose crinkled when she laughed. In short, he discovered that he loved her.

Family -- finding the right blend

Last week I was showing off pictures of my grandson to a group of friends. The ladies oooh'd and aaah'd as I bragged about how big he was and how he has learned to walk at only ten months. As far as I am concerned he is the cutest, most talented little boy on the planet.

In the small group was a friend-of-a-friend that I have only met a few times. "Your grandson?" she asked. "You don't seem old enough to have a grandson!"

I was thrilled at this observation and wondered why don't I talk to this woman more often. She is clearly brilliant!

I gave a quick explanation of my family situation. My oldest daughter is from my husbands' first marriage and she had a child when she was quite young.

"So he's not really your grandson then," she said.

Immediately I remembered why this woman and I didn't get along. "Of course he is. He is my daughter's son." Perhaps it was the tone of my voice but the conversation ended quickly.

It is not the first time I have heard the argument. Whenever I mention that I have a daughter in her twenties and two others in elementary school I inevitably have to explain that my oldest was a 'signing bonus' when I married my husband. I have stopped trying to understand why people feel the need to point out that only the younger two are 'really' mine.

****

I was twenty-one when I met my husband. He told me he was legally separated and had a child on the night we met. It was not something I was looking for in a relationship but I fell in love fast and hard for this man and that was part of the package.

We were married two years later. At twenty-three I was too young to be a step-mom. I was too selfish, too self-involved and too stubborn. As the adult in that relationship I take full responsibility. I should have done a better job and my failure to do so is one of my life's biggest regrets. As Meghan grew up -- and I grew up too -- I learned to love her. Several years ago I apologized to Megs for our early relationship and she was gracious enough to accept it and clear the slate so we could start over. She is a tremendous young woman with a loving heart and I am blessed to have her in my life.

On a few occasions she has lived in our home and I now think of her as one of my kids. I would do anything to help her if she needed me. If she needed a kidney -- I would be one of the first ones in line.

***

One of the turning points in our relationship was the birth of my first child. When I got pregnant everyone warned me that it would cause problems. Meghan was eleven years old and used to being an only child. Everyone predicted this baby would only make waves.

In hindsight I realize that Meghan's mother deserves all the credit for making Gracie's birth a positive event for our family. She would send Meghan for visits with brochures, pamphlets and booklets about baby care that we could look at together. She encouraged Meghan to be excited about a new sibling. It seems like an obvious approach to parenting but I have heard far too many horror stories about ex-spouses who see the birth of a new child as a threat. I will always be grateful to Carolyn for her role in making our family stronger.

When Paul and I discussed names for the baby we had a brief discussion about surnames. In the end we decided to go with Paul's last name because we wanted all of our daughters to have the same last name. My girls have never referred to Meghan as a 'half-sister'. In fact they only heard the term recently and Kathryn looked confused when she asked me how anyone could be only "half a sister". An excellent point Kathryn!

When Gracie was born Meghan was the first person we called. She was thrilled to find out about her new sister. When I got out of the hospital Meghan's grandparents drove her down to meet Gracie and the look on her face said it all. She was in LOVE -- they were not half-sisters.

****

When Meghan turned thirteen her mom brought her and a few friends to Ottawa for a concert and an overnight stay in a hotel (I know, very cool). Paul and I invited Carolyn and the girls over for breakfast the next day so we could wish her well and she could introduce her little sister to her friends.

As we sipped on our coffee I asked Carolyn if this was weird. She understood what I meant and we had a quick laugh as she told me that all of the girls at the table were from blended families. Moms, step-moms, dads, step-dads were the new norm. Both Carolyn and I come from traditional families: both of us have parents who are still happily married. We were the exceptions to the rule!

****

About half of my friends are divorced. Some have since married men who have ex-wives and kids of their own. Among them I am still the exception. I am fortunate enough to be in a blended family that works. Have we had disagreements? Of course we have. But we have been able to work them out without the stress, drama (and expense) of family court.

As I talk to some of my friends about their divorces and separations I am often tempted to call Carolyn and thank her for being so reasonable over the years. Carolyn: if you are reading this, THANK YOU!!

****

When Meghan called to tell us she was expecting a baby we were surprised but thrilled. I love babies and I believe that a new little person to love is always good news. "You are going to be a grandpa" I told Paul.

Minutes later the phone rang and I answered it. It was Carolyn. "Hi Grandma" she said. "Am I a grandmother too?" I asked her (not wanting to take on a title that was rightfully hers) and she assured me that I was. I was honored and thrilled that she was willing to share the joy of being a Nana.

So, to the lady who pointed out that Rowan was not 'really' my grandson let me assure you that you are wrong. He is my grandson. In our blended family there are no 'halfs'.

the delivery (part 2)

Today story is part two of the tale I posted yesterday. If you did not read yesterday's story STOP and click here to get to part one!

*******

Lindsay fidgeted with the buttons on the blazer of her new wool pant-suit. It was hot, uncomfortable and had cost her the last three paycheques from the boutique but it was all worth it.

Today she slipped on the‘uniform’ and walked right past the receptionist at the firm without attracting so much as a second glance. Lindsay would look familiar enough after meeting the woman at the firm’s Christmas party but knew the receptionist would never be able to pinpoint her in her new office attire.

Moments ago she had seen Samantha at the cafe across the street and knew that this was her window to move. She strolled right past the receptionist and down the long corridor to Peter’s outer office and dropped the envelope on the desk.

She wished she could be a fly on the wall in Peter’s office this afternoon as he wracked his brain trying to figure out who was responsible. She knew that she would never be on the list of suspects. Peter had greatly under-estimated her trying to tuck her away in a dead-end job at the teen store. She may not be a candidate for Mensa but she was no fool – and she was definitely smarter than the dim-witted paralegal who believed that Peter could love her.

Peter did not love anyone. Lindsay had always known that.

the delivery

Today's story involves a character we met in week 2.

Peter and Lindsay Lahann are newly married. He is a partner in a law firm and she is the manager of a teen clothing store.

The last time around we focused on Lindsay and her step-daughter Sarah but this week's story focuses on Peter. Specifically I wondered why he was so happy about Lindsay's new job. Why was he so keen to keep Lindsay busy during the day?

*****

the delivery

“Samantha, would you come in here please.”

Peter closed the envelope and held it up as his assistant entered the office. “Where did you get this envelope?”

“It was on my desk when I came back from the coffee shop. I know that you were waiting for information about the Hall deposition so I brought it in with your coffee and left it on your desk.”

“Who signed for it?”

“I don’t know,” she said as she shrugged her shoulders. “I was out so I just assumed that one of the other assistants signed for me. Usually Sophie keeps an eye on things while I am away from my desk and I do the same for her.”

“Go ask Sophie who delivered it and when,” Peter said abruptly. Samantha looked confused but got up immediately and did as she was told.

As she closed the door behind her Peter opened the large envelope once again. It was a plain manila — not the type of package he would expect to receive legal documents in but Samantha was new and likely did not know better.

The glossy eight-by-ten photos fell onto his desk and he flipped through them once again. The first shot was of him and a woman eating lunch in the back corner of a dark restaurant; him holding hands with his lunch companion; a quick kiss on the sidewalk out front; and finally one of him and his companion walking hand-in-hand into a nearby hotel. He recognized the images immediately. They were taken last week, during his business trip to Boston with his paralegal.

He shook the envelope one more time and a small note fell out. It was red marker scrawled on yellow lined stationary. “Is this why the new wife is hidden away at the mall – so she won’t catch you in your escapades? “ There were no threats, no ultimatums but Peter felt a cold chill run up his spine.

Lindsay… They had been married for less than a year and he had been sure that everything was under control. When they first met she was his housekeeper and she had asked him about working at the firm when she tired of cleaning houses. He told her it was impossible because of the firm’s ethics policy but nothing was further from truth. While the firm specialized in sexual harassment and wrongful dismissal cases, at least half of his partners were currently married to former assistants and just as many were fucking other members of the staff behind their wives’ backs. It was an irony they frequently chuckled about over scotch and cigars.

He wondered if he should talk to the other partners to see if they too had received a mysterious envelope today. Maybe it was an attack on the firm: it was an idea that had merit.

It could also be his ex-wife. The bloody woman was trying to get more money for Sarah’s private school and dance competitions. At sixteen, his daughter was already costing him a fortune and college was still years away. He would not put it past that cut-throat lawyer Susan had hired to pull a stunt like this to get some leverage. Lord knows Susan had never forgiven him for all of the indiscretions during their marriage. To ruin his relationship with Lindsay, that would be icing on the cake.

Peter got angrier with every passing minute. He worked hard to orchestrate things so that Lindsay was removed from his day-to-day life. He had encouraged her to take a job so she would be unavailable for lunches with the other partners’ wives. He bit his tongue when she found the position at the mall as the assistant manager in a teen boutique. While the job was an embarrassment, he knew that Lindsay’s new younger friends and lunches at the food court would never interfere with his own lunch-hour plans.

No matter who was responsible for this special delivery he had to keep the whole matter as far away from Lindsay as possible. He could not afford another messy divorce or another alimony payment.

There was a quiet knock on the door and he looked up to find Samantha sticking her head around the corner. “Sophie said she did not sign for any envelopes this morning. I also went to talk to the receptionist and she has been at her desk all day. She has signed for five packages and none of them were for you.”

“Thanks,” he said with a sigh. This was definitely not good news. Whoever was playing this game was closer than he had imagined.

Want to know more? .... Part 2 has been posted