Crossing Paths: Part II

After our experience of running into people who are practically our neighbors at a college visit halfway across the United States, I started thinking about how these chance encounters play out. Sometimes I never see the people again, sometimes I develop lifelong friendships, and sometimes the situation is, for the moment, just really, really awkward.

When I first attended Michigan State University I lived in a residence hall where I made great friends; particularly my three roommates. When we left the residence hall we moved into an apartment together and had a nice little bond, although I eventually switched from being their roommate to Steve's.

One of the roommates was getting married shortly after I did, so the rest of us threw a bridal shower for her at my married housing apartment. Unbeknown to me, a stripper was hired to come and 'perform' at our little soiree. That, in and of itself, is a little weird and uncomfortable. I wasn't used to having a naked man dancing in my apartment (besides, Steve, I mean) and hiring a stripper seemed a little tacky. Which, no doubt, is why I wasn't told about it.

We heard a knock at the door and when I answered, there he stood. He was tall and attractive and for a moment I wasn't sure why a man in a shiny orange jogging suit was at my door. In response to my quizzical expression he announced that he was the stripper. Warning buzzers started going off in my head. Strange man! Bad fashion!

Stripper?

There was a lot of squealing and giggling going on around me although I was, for once in my life, speechless. Someone invited him in and instantly, the squealing stopped and the tension in the room was palpable. Thank God it wasn't just me who was uncomfortable. Maybe he wouldn't strip after all.

Two other women stared, wide-eyed, at the presently fully-clothed man standing in the middle of the living room. He stared back equally as wide-eyed.

Because it was so obvious that something very uncomfortable was going on (something besides having a stripper in my living room), someone must have asked what was wrong. It turned out that stripper man and the two staring women had all been childhood friends. They had grown up and played together in the same neighborhood. He had been one of their brother's best friends. And now here he was, about to bare all, literally, in front of them.

It seemed that once we knew of their association we could have let the guy off the hook with just a cordial handshake but apparently everyone else in the room felt the party must go on. I wasn't sure how they could do this! I didn't want to see the guy naked and I hadn't even grown up with him! What was wrong with these people?? He was going to take his clothes off in front of his childhood friends? I'm pretty sure my anxiety was off the charts just about then.

Apparently a job is a job and the next thing I knew his portable boom box was blaring and he was strutting around in my 10' x 10' living room, wriggling and thrusting out of his horrible orange jogging suit and down to his skivvies. Whew, okay. At least he was still wearing those.

And then off came the skivvies.

Oh. My. Gosh.

I didn't know which was worse, the shiny orange jogging suit, or him not wearing the shiny orange jogging suit.

I don't remember how long the whole stripping performance lasted. Probably not long since he was wearing only three pieces of clothing. I guess at some point he had to take off his shoes and socks but I don't recall him doing so in a slithery, seductive fashion. All I remember is that once his clothes were off he sat on my couch to catch up on old times with his former friends. Just sat there.

Buck naked.

I remember thinking, "Hey, get your naked ass off my furniture!! I don't know where it has been! And cover that thing uuuuupppppp!!!!"  I was miserable. Nobody else seemed to care. Apparently, once they saw him naked there wasn't anything else to do but reminisce about the old days. Because, sure, isn't that how everyone would respond?

How long this went on, I don't remember. But I recall being glad when he left. I couldn't shake the awkwardness of the women knowing him. Surely there was a pool of strippers who could have shown up at my apartment that night. Why did it end up being that one? And why, after the initial shock wore off, weren't these women more uncomfortable with it?!

Except for my original three roommates, who have remained lifelong friends, I don't think I ever saw the people involved in that awkward evening again. I don't know if stripper man ever got a more socially acceptable job or if he kept getting naked for his neighbors.

I do hope he retired the shiny orange jogging suit, though.

Crossing Paths: Part I

On the evening prior to our recent college visit at Michigan State, Anna and I had a what to wear conversation. Granted, on the shallow-to-deep spectrum this conversation barely registers but sometimes the matter just needs to be discussed. This particular conversation involved a decision about whether to look cute or be comfortable. Since we had packed so sparingly I wasn't sure there was a way to do both.

The primary source of concern was footwear. I was debating wearing tennis shoes since we would be going on a walking tour of campus. Tennis shoes weren't really going to enhance the cuteness of any outfit I had brought along on the trip but they would make traipsing around on foot far less tiring. Ultimately, for me, comfort won out over style. Although I had made my decision, Anna was still debating what she would do. I said, (and I quote), "Well, it isn't like you are going to see anyone you know anyway."  Why this would matter, I'm not sure. But I said it.

Had I been writing a novel, this would have been a moment of foreshadowing.

The next day we arrived at the information session a little early. I was picking up literature and flitting around in my usual manner which involves unintential behaviors such as dropping things, running into people, and tripping. My family has come to expect this so they usually find ways to be as far away from me as possible. True to form, Anna and Steve were sitting down, pretending not to be with me. When I found and caught up with them, Anna commented that she thought she knew a girl in the room.

Oh right!

I thought she was kidding, picking up on my comment from the night before. But she said she was serious and pointed out a thin, dark haired girl. I couldn't help but notice that she had on cute flip-flops. As did her mother.

Oh sure, her mother opted for cute over comfort.

The presentation started and afterward we were divided into smaller groups, according to the color-coded dots on our nametags, for the walking tour. It happened that the girl Anna recognized was assigned to the same group we were. As we walked I kept trying, unsuccessfully, to read the future coed's nametag which stated both her name and hometown. Her long hair kept covering up the information despite my less than elegant attempts to see it but, I was able to catch a glimpse of her mother's nametag and noticed it said: Centennial, CO.

Really? People from Centennial, Colorado were at Michigan State on the same day, in June, for prospective student tour, that we were?  What are the odds of that happening?

It goes without saying that I struck up a conversation with the woman, more out of disbelief that this had really happened than anything else. Turns out the girl and Anna had attended middle school together. They had gone to different high schools but still recognized one another from a few years ago.

So there I stood at Michigan State University, looking like a geek in my tennis shoes, talking to a woman whose daughter goes to high school a mile from my house. Again I ask, what are the odds? When I mentioned that we would be going to the University of Michigan information session the next day they said they would also.

Of course they would.

I'm not the kind of person who can have something like that happen without wondering why. I realize that I might never see those people again. I probably won't ever know why our paths crossed, why they attended an information session at a university 1500 miles away from home on the very same day we did.

But not knowing doesn't keep me from wondering. Was there a reason? Was there something happening, cosmically, behind the scenes? Something more than reminding me of the importance of wearing cute shoes, I mean.

I'll probably never know.

Likewise I'll probably never know why a few months ago when I was at the grocery store I saw Anna's 3rd grade teacher, Miss Bowman. I hadn't seen her for several years although for a time she had been an important part of our family's special occasions. When Anna sang with the Colorado Children's Chorale we invited Miss Bowman to attend concerts. She had dinner with us and participated in other family events. We lost touch after her retirement but one day there she was in the check-out line at King Soopers. We spent a good amount of time visiting and catching up before going our separate ways. And then, the very next time I went to the grocery store...there she was...in the bread isle! We hardly had anything to say, having caught up just a week earlier, except to marvel at seeing one another again.

And then...just like that....I stopped seeing her.

Weird.

I'll probably never know the reason.

But, I'm sure there is one.

Shades of Blue

I'm trying to learn to be more tolerant of other people's perspectives. I really am. I don't always do such a great job. But, I'm trying.

We live in largely intolerant society and we are conditioned to be intolerant of other perspectives. It is a hard habit to break. Civilized communication seems to be fading as people shout, call names, and disparage. It really seems we could approach differences with a little more understanding.

In fact, I hesitate to use the word 'intolerant' because it concerns me that the anti-PC people reading this will be intolerant with the fact that I said 'intolerant' because somehow tolerance has taken on a negative connotation when used in the context of undertanding people other than ourselves. There seems to be something threatening in trying to see another person's perspective.

Which is really sort of crazy if you think about it. Most of us want to be heard and understood but, if I write you off as an idiot because you hold a different perspective from mine and I don't try to see things from your point of view, and you do the same to me, we won't ever understand one another or change the world for the better because we are only seeing the world from one angle. But what if the world could be equally as good from another angle?

If I say the sky is one color and you say the sky is another color, does the color of the sky change or does our perception of the color of the sky change? And does it matter what color the sky is, or is the important point that I understand why you think the sky is one color while I think it is another.

An example.

A number of years ago Steve's oldest brother, Bruce, decided to get married. This was a surprise  since we were pretty sure he was a confirmed bachelor. But, one day he up and got engaged and ruined that theory.

A flurry of planning went into effect and Bruce asked Steve to stand up as his Best Man. Then Bruce asked if Charles and Parker would be Junior Groomsmen. I wasn't really sure what a Junior Groomsman was (just a Groomsman who hadn't hit puberty, I guessed) but we agreed to let them fill that role. Anna was asked to be a Flower Girl. Bruce apologized for not being able to find a suitable part for me to play. I assured him that my hands were full being the Mother of the Wedding Party and just making sure everyone had on underwear.

My children. Not the wedding guests.

Anyway, Bruce asked Steve and the boys to go to a tuxedo shop in Colorado to get measured for their wedding attire. Bruce said the tuxedos he had chosen were sky blue. When Steve relayed this information to me I expressed my horror. "SKY BLUE? You are wearing sky blue tuxedos??? With platform shoes and ruffled shirts as well?"  I couldn't contain my opinion that sky blue tuxedos were definately a wedding fashion 'don't!'   But, it wasn't my wedding.

We went to the tuxedo shop for measurements and while there, the sales clerk showed us a photograph of the chosen tuxedos. I started laughing when I saw the photo of a lovely, classy, grey tuxedo (on an impossibly handsome model, of course). Sky blue?

And then it dawned on me. I live in Colorado where almost every day the sky is a bright, crisp, beautiful blue. Bruce, on the other hand, lives in Michigan where, due to being surrounded by lakes, the atmospheric conditions create clouds and grey, overcast skies on most days. When he said 'sky blue' he meant Michigan sky blue. When I heard 'sky blue' I thought Colorado sky blue.

Same words; different meanings.

Now granted, the color of wedding attire isn't as significant as the issues heating up our current culture wars but it does make me think about my response to what other people say. If I just listen and try to understand what color sky they are talking about and why they see the sky that color, instead of rushing to an immediate judgement, I might be pleasantly surprised by what I find.

My sky blue probably won't ever be grey. It probably won't ever be my choice for what color the sky should be. I probably won't ever even like grey as a color for they sky and should it be brought to a vote, I certainly wouldn't vote for grey. But I probably don't have to scream, and mock, and disparage you if you do like grey. Defining what color sky blue is for you isn't my job.

But then, neither is making sure you have on underwear.

Travelogue: The Last Leg

Following our visit to Michigan State, we had scheduled a tour at the University of Michigan. All this scheduling and making reservations was starting to wear on me. Thus far not much on the trip had been spontaneous and while we had been having a lot of fun, I was ready for a little less structure. Nevertheless, we were looking forward to visiting U of M. Neither Steve nor I had spent much time there when we were younger and we were all curious to see if it would be a good fit for Anna.

It was another gloriously beautiful day and, while U of M was different from MSU, we enjoyed the tour of campus. Our rosy-cheeked guide picked up the enthusiasm where I’d left off previously so exuberance remained in good supply. Anna was impressed with the campus and we ended the tour by finding a delicious Mediterranean restaurant. In all it was another lovely, informative, and delightful day.

We had planned to move on to the western coast of Michigan to explore the Grand Traverse Bay area the following day. This was where our planning had ended. We didn’t know where our final few days would take us and we were open to just seeing what seemed interesting.

Meanwhile, we were keeping up with what was happening at home. Parker had flown back to Colorado and we had been getting updates about the wildfires from both the boys and the news. It was such a sad story. Beautiful Colorado with vibrant blue skies and fragrant green forests was being roasted by multiple forest fires and soaring three digit temperatures. Homes were burning, animals were flooding shelters, acres of forest were being destroyed. I cried every time I heard the news. I couldn’t do anything to stop the fires but my soul was troubled by it all. I called some friends, whose home I knew was only a wind shift away from being in the fire’s path, to find out how they were faring. They had prepared as best they could, putting things they considered valuable in storage and waiting to see what each moment would bring. I was on vacation but I was hearing news of the heat. And the fire. And the smoke.

Nero kept coming to mind.

We spent the following day in the Traverse City area and that evening over a dinner of cherry pie (we were in Traverse City, afterall!) there was a certain look in each of our eyes. A look that said it was time to go home. Although we had planned to have a few more 'unplanned' days on the road, we all agreed that we had done what we wanted to do and seen what we wanted to see. Our hearts now just wanted to return to our beloved Colorado, scorched and hot as it was.

It didn’t make a lot of sense. Longings of the heart often don’t. I wanted to see my man-children, my cats, and my home, feeling especially thankful for what I have when so many had lost so much.

The next morning we pointed our little Jeep west and searched its interior for a recorded book to listen to. Oddly, the only thing we could find was Fahrenheit 451. The hours and miles passed while we listened to Guy Montag wrestle with himself as firemen burned books. On day two, we crossed over the Colorado border just the sun was going down. A smoky haze filled the sky, creating an intense orange sunset, and we were content to be back where we belong.

We had accomplished a lot on our two-week road trip. Our travels were safe, we had ample time to laugh, Steve found places he did and did not want to pursue art, Anna had two additional colleges to consider, we’d seen Steve’s father, and eaten more than our share of fudge. The weather had been perfect, I’d whined only a little, and our joy containers were full to the brim.

In the end, though, we had come back to what we love most. Although currently as hot as hell, this is our little bit of heaven.

Travelogue: On The Banks of the Red Cedar

The view of Mackinac Island as our ferry boat pulled away looked like this.

Which made leaving on such a bright and beautiful day hard to do. But, we boarded out ferry boat and set out for 'the mainland.'  I laughed when I heard people call the lower peninsula that. Regardless, we got back to the boat dock, retrieved our luggage, and set out for the slightly less scenic suburbs of Detroit.

Steve's dad lives in Northville. Not exactly 'the hood,' Northville is far enough removed from Detroit that you don't really notice the devistation the last few years have taken on the city. Northville is a sleepy little town; quiet, and quaint in its own right. At 88, Steve's father still lives in the home their family moved into over forty years ago. He drives locally a bit, gardens, mows his own yard, shovels his own snow, and takes care of all his own business. He's happy and self-sufficient, doesn't complain, and is generally delightful to be around.

I refer to him as the 'Anti-Mommie Dearest.'

While visiting him, we also took Anna on  a college visit to Michigan State University. Steve and I both graduated from MSU so the trip to campus was fun and nostalgic at the same time. During the walking tour I think I might have gotten a little excited and animated as I offered stories about my former MSU days. Other people on the tour started distancing themselves from me and smiling in that not-so-friendly-would-you-please-shut-up sort of way. But I still had trouble containing my enthusiasm.

It might have hit its peak when we entered Erickson Hall and I started gushing about it. "Oh look, its Erickson Hall!" Anna was a little confused by my display of emotion over Erickson Hall since it is one of the more benign buildings on campus. But, that is where I had spent many hours earning my Master's degree and being in it brought back good memories.

In fact, being on campus left me with very warm and genuinely positive feelings. I realized, as we walked through areas of campus I haven't seen in several years, that this is where my life had taken a significant turn for the better.

My first year of higher education had been at a small liberal arts college where I was absolutely miserable. Prior to my freshman year I had been able to neatly contain my feelings about a painful childhood and my father's suicide. But, during that first year of college, cracks formed in my emotional container and before long the fear and sadness hurt started escaping, slowly at first, and then later in a near hemorrhage.

Not knowing what to do, I opted to transfer to a different school. I wanted a place large enough to offer a level of anonymity and an opportunity to evaluate my life. I chose MSU and after moving there, the healing started. It would take many more years to come to terms with the past, but it was there that I began to understand who I am, apart from who I'd been told I was. It was there that I learned to laugh. To find joy and to relax into living. It was there that I started to know and like the young woman I'd become. Ultimately I earned a Bachelor's degree, a Master's degree, met and married my husband, and started unpacking the rather large set of emotional baggage I'd carried through early life.

The other people on our campus tour couldn't have known all that though. What they saw was an overzealous alumna who, seemingly, had forgotten to medicate before the visit. I tried to care what they thought.

But, I couldn't.

A little part of me was home.

Next stop: The University of Michigan

Travelogue: The Straits of Mackinac

We said goodbye to  Door County and travelled north through the lush, tree-lined roads of Wisconsin entering Michigan through the Upper Peninsula. It was a leisurely and lovely drive. But, it had been several hours of driving and when we got to Mackinaw City we were hungry so, after checking into our hotel, we set out to find some dinner. The clouds were, admittedly, ominous and pretty much screamed rain but when Steve suggested driving to find a place to eat I insisted that after being cooped up in the car for several hours I could not fathom driving anywhere else. My family exchanged glances that included the tiniest hint of eye-rolling and we set out on foot. Needless to say, it started raining. Hard. My gracious and compassionate family probably didn’t mock me at all as we walked back to the hotel while getting drenched.

The next morning we boarded our ferry boat for Mackinac Island. It was a beautiful, crystal clear day as we zipped across the straits, Charles in tow. While relaxing on the boat, and admiring the water, I practiced my multi-tasking skills by eavesdropping on the man sitting in front of me. He was explaining to another man that he and his wife had just gotten married and, being older, they had invited their children and grandchildren on a ‘family honeymoon.’ Now, they were headed to Mackinac Island for the, ‘real honeymoon.’  I listened to his story and thought to myself that it was a rather charming story. No "Somewhere In Time," perhaps, but sweet anyway. My reverie ended with me thinking about how darling it was that a nice older couple like that could find happiness so late in life. A few minutes later I was snapped back to reality when I realized that they were probably my age. Well...there you have it. The story wasn’t any less sweet after that revelation. It was just one of many reminders of how frequently I forget my age. I silently wished them many years of happiness as we exited the ferry.

Once on the island we checked into our hotel and then opted to take advantage of the perfect and uncharacteristic weather. Spectacular blue skies, seventy degree temps, and low humidity made me forget I was in Michigan. Often overcast and muggy, Michigan weather was  behaving a bit more like Colorado! No complaints from us.  But, we certainly didn't want to waste the 'too good to be true' day so we rented bicycles and pedaled around the island. Parker and Anna chose a tandem bike for their journey, making easy work of the ride.

Toward the end of the ride we switched.

Along the way we made a few stops to enjoy the beach and for Parker to instruct Anna in the fine art of skipping stones. Parker is an accomplished stone skipper and while I'm not entirely sure how that will serve him throughout his life, Anna just never quite qot the hang of it. Her stones landed with a loud thud about a foot in front of her. Good thing she has singing to fall back on.

Following our delightful bike ride we opted out of the weird tourist shops although I admit we did sample some fudge. We made up a ruse about needing to sample all the fudge shops in order to find the best one. Good thing we are so clever. None of the other zillion tourists to Mackinc Island have done that before, I'm sure!  

Charles was awarded the job of 'Fudge Judge'  and I'm fairly certain we were deemed the day's most annoying tourists. And really, who could argue?

Having had our fill of fudge, we set out on a hike to the highest point on the island which afforded spectacular and praise worthy views like this.

And this.

We ended our day sitting by the water, sipping on Mackinc Island Fudge Stout, appreciating our good fortune, and pretty much loving life.

The next morning we watched as the sleepy little island awoke slowly and then starting bustling with tourists. By then it was time for us to go. We said goodbye and moved on to our next stop:

Grandpa's House, Northville, MI.