Peace Meal

I'm Just Sayin'...

2009-10-14T22:13:00.004-04:00

“I hate to be the one to tell you this, but….” I totally missed the rest of what she said, because I got hung on that opening phrase. I’ve heard it before, and it never seems that the person hates to be telling you what they are telling you. I think the person that starts a conversation with “I hate to be the one to tell you this…” is the person who loves nothing more than to “tell you this.” As a matter of fact, they almost killed themselves in their rush to be the one to tell you whatever God awful news they have.

It hit me in that instant, there are universal opening phrases, or qualifiers, that we hear, and use, all the time. Why is this so? I think we are constantly engaged in an epic battle between what is on our mind and what comes out of our mouth. We’ve been taught to censor ourselves, yet, the urge to say what we want to say can almost be overwhelming. When we can’t take it anymore we reach for the starting phrase, the qualifier, and proceed to spill our guts.

For instance, “No offense, but…” When someone says that to you, prepare to be offended. I mean, they’ve said right there they are about to say something that will offend you, but you are to turn off your sensitivities and disregard any message that follows. Of course, your response, being the polite soul you are, is “none taken,” as you shoot imaginary daggers from your eyes.

The phrase “Everyone is okay…” indicates a future auto repair bill containing no fewer than three zeros, and an injury of at least one of the automobile passengers that surfaces a few days later which, indeed, indicates everyone wasn’t okay. Good thing there was a swap of phone numbers with that uninsured driver.

In the doctor’s office, “you’ll feel a little pinch…” is followed by a stab of metal into your skin. Now, I don’t know about you, but I’ve never felt a pinch like the one they are talking about. They should really say, you’ll feel a little stab of metal piercing through your skin that will leave an incredible bruise that you get to explain away for weeks to come.

“In all honesty…” this one is perhaps the most troubling of the qualifiers. Am I to assume without that lead in, that everything you’ve said to me heretofore has been baloney?

“I don’t mean to hurt your feelings, but, …” then don’t. See “No offense, but…” above.

“I have good news and bad news…” I can almost hear the cha chink of the emotional roller coaster chain in my head when this one is uttered. At least most people do the courtesy of asking which you’d rather have first. To me, it’s a no brainer…the bad news first. Getting the bad news first gives me a feeling of control over what news is to come, and I get to end on a bright note...bonus. One might find this phrase uttered as such: the bad news is - your teenage daughter is pregnant, the good news is - they’re naming it after you; or from your auto mechanic the bad news is - your repair will be over two grand, but, the good news is he wasn’t the one who got your teenage daughter pregnant. The more I think about it, I can probably count on one hand the case where the good news was actually good news. It’s more like bad news followed by mediocre news.

“It probably goes without saying” that I’m not above using the qualifier myself, I’ve done it plenty…I’m just sayin’…

Great Expectations

2009-06-15T00:20:00.004-04:00

Sometimes I think we expect a little too much out of our household products. Or maybe, the product is just a little too eager to please.

Take Triscuit crackers, for example. I thought, when I was purchasing the delicious Triscuit crackers, my motivation was to have a vehicle with which to enjoy some overpriced cheese.

I discovered, as I opened the box, perhaps I had an ulterior motive behind this purchase. The back of the box read, “A Tasty Romance Awaits.” “The unique flavor, the satisfying crunch…Triscuit is just the kind of break your day needs. Go ahead. Enjoy the comforting flavor of Triscuit Reduced Fat with the delicious parings below or create your own favorite.”

Well, there it was, in black and white…the packaging was telling me, practically ordering me, to have a Triscuit nooner. Who knew a cracker could be so seductive and comforting at the same time? Not to mention, salty.

Apparently, we expect a lot out of our personal hygiene products as well. Awhile back, I was applying my favorite antiperspirant, when something caught my eye. “Now with more deodorancy!” it boasted. More deodorancy? More? I had no idea my deodorancy needs were being so inadequately met prior to this upgrade.

Reach for a Kleenex and you’ll be amazed… “Say goodbye to the stiff upper lip…Tell calm, cool and collected to take a hike. Whoop it up! Laugh, scream, cry and holler! And when tons of stuff stuffs up your nose, blow it loud and blow it proud! Show your heart and show some tears…of joy and sorrow, in awe and pride.” Well, dang, this product covers every possible need imaginable…though, I’m not sure that I’ve ever seen anyone scream with a tissue in hand…

It doesn’t end there. My laundry detergent touts the fragrance in bold letters on the bottle, “After The Rain.” Now, I don’t know about you, but all I smell after the rain are dead worms. Not a selling point for perfuming my laundry…not an odor I care to have wafting up throughout the day.

I know most people wouldn’t think twice about such things. Maybe it’s because I’m a “choosy mom that chooses Jif” that I care.

The Age of Loss

2009-05-25T02:41:00.003-04:00

Unfortunately, I’m getting to be that age where loss is happening with increasing frequency in my life and the lives of those I hold dear. While incredibly sad, each passing has given me the opportunity to reflect on how precious life is, and to cherish the here and now. It brings into focus what qualities I value, and must have in my own life. I view that as a gift, given to us by those who have passed.

For my friends who are experiencing new loss, I grieve with you…and I long for the day where your sadness is replaced with happy memories.

My father passed away last year. I was honored to write and deliver the Eulogy, and I’m sharing it with you, so you might know a little about him…

As our family sat around discussing what we would share about dad with you today, we found that we had an abundance of material. That's just one of the many gifts my dad gave to us – a lifetime of good memories.

Through the hours of reminiscing, Jan relayed a passage that she felt described dad and his spirit perfectly. I think you'll agree...
Galatians 5:22
“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, long-suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law.”

His love for his wife, his family, his friends, his religion and his life were well known. The openness with which he expressed his love for all these, some may consider uncharacteristic for men of his generation. But, what a great gift he gave to us. He was a man who was in touch not only with his feelings, but the feelings of others.

We each remembered times when dad realized we needed some guidance or support and he was there. No matter how busy he was, and he was always really busy, he would put his work aside and take the time to talk with you.

He was a keen observer of his family. I remember, especially in my teen years, he would observe that I was struggling with an issue. Since he was always up working late at night, on payroll or a bid, and the house would otherwise be quiet…those were times that we'd talk. Often, he'd initiate the conversation and he'd do it by relaying a time in his life when he struggled with the same issue. He was more than willing to show his mistakes and how he learned from them, so that I might learn. His character allowed him to share those mistakes. He'd work you through your issue, without you even realizing it. He'd give you a hug and a kiss, remind you how much he loved you and send you off to bed.

When it came to child rearing, mom and dad were in a true partnership. What one said, the other upheld. Advice always came from a place of love, non-judgmental, which would inspire you to follow their advice. When you didn't, they didn't say “I told you so” instead, you thought to yourself “they told me so.”

He helped lead his children into a relationship with the Lord through his example. It was not unusual to see him sitting in his chair doing his devotions with his Bible and the Upper Room. He continued this practice all through his life, even when he was sick and in the hospital. He made sure that we grew up going to Sunday school and church, and he was always active at church.

People were always more important to him than material things. This, by the way, made it impossible to buy birthday, anniversary or Christmas gifts for him.

He gave of his time and his money, often helping others in difficult times.

Much like mom taught her sons how to be good husbands by teaching them practical life-skills, dad taught his daughters what qualities to look for in a husband. He did this by showing what a true partner is. He not only worked very hard at the business during the day and night, but he pitched in at home. His ability to load a dishwasher in the most efficient way was unmatched – you might have thought the dishwasher was full, but not so. He helped with the laundry, the cleaning, the yard work and often, much to our dismay…the grocery shopping. Any delusions that a tasty treat the children would enjoy were quickly dissipated when the crinkle of cellophane turned out to be windmill cookies. And that cake? Spanish bar cake. Fig Newton’s, anyone?

Dad was a word-smith, and his skill extended beyond the poetic, to the humorous. None of us escaped receiving a nickname. When the situation arose, an alliterative epithet would surely flow from his lips. Jan and Mom received the dubbing of “Daisy Dessert,” for their undeniable love of all things sweet. If you weren't able to find what you were looking for, he'd aid to your search by quipping “Little- Becky-Blind-Bat, I'm looking at it, but I can't see it.” I received the designation “Gate Mouth.” I never really understood why...? Doug was “Doog,” Keith was “Ace” and Paul, “McNabs.” One day, Paul was asked by a Gateways worker “what does your mom call your dad?,” and Paul answered…Shmoo. By far, that was the favorite of all the nicknames…the pet nickname that mom and dad had for each other. Shmoo, from the Lil Abner comics, meaning all good things to all people.

And that was what dad was, “All good things to all people.”

Drunken Focus

2009-04-30T15:36:00.003-04:00

Drunk people have amazing focus. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. At a dinner party the sloppy drunk will usually pick a victim and have amazing drunken focus on them.

Years ago, at a business party no less, I experienced this phenomena first hand. I have to say it’s partly my fault. Extreme drunks at a party are like a train wreck, you can’t look away. Watching them over the course of an evening is kind of like a roller coaster ride – will they physically do something totally inappropriate, will they confess their undying love to anyone within ear shot, will they barf?

Drink in hand; he scanned the room with his glassy eyes, head bobbling. Gravity was seriously a challenge. Wondering whether his career will be in the dumper after this party, I continued to watch him attempt to weave through the crowd. Yeah, that’s the bosses’ wife – oh, narrow miss for her. Wonder who he’s looking for? What’s he drinking? Vodka? That’s not going to be pretty tomorrow.

And then…it happened…accidental eye contact. Damn it! Oh, now the target is clear.

Quickly I focus my gaze on those close to me…attempting to join into the conversation already in progress. It’s hopeless. Drunken focus has taken over. Drunken focus doesn’t care if you are engaged in a conversation…it’s unimportant to the drunken focus mission.

And then it happens, he’s on me like white on rice. Drink sloshing and cubes tinkling, the unavoidable encounter…

“Hey, Barb” he slurred.

“Hey, Mark…” I replied.

“So, like, your last name is Friedman, right?” he said.

“Yup,” I said.

[is his zipper half down?]

“So, that’s a Jewish last name…right?”

[oh, hang on, here we go]

“Well, I guess somewhere along the line it was, but I’m not Jewish.” I said.

“Yeah, I thought it was a Jewish name.” he states as he glances around

(Insert pregnant pause accompanied by more drinking here)

I watch the swaying with interest while he collects his thoughts.

“So, then, do you guys celebrate Christmas or Hannukkah?” he inquires loudly

“Well, we aren’t Jewish, Mark, so… we celebrate Christmas.

“But Friedman is a Jewish last name.” he states

“It can be, but it can also be a German last name. I’m not Jewish, Mark.”

He swigs…and contemplates…

“So, tell me, do you guys celebrate Christmas or Hannukkah?”

[oh my God get me out of here]

I glance over at Bob who is chuckling…and no help. I shoot him the whole “big eye” help-me-out-here-look. Nope. Too much fun. Carry on.

“So, you’re not Jewish?” he inquires

“Right, I’m not Jewish.” I confirm

“Your name is Friedman, but you’re not Jewish.” he repeats

[by Jove, I think he’s got it!]

“Right, Mark. My last name is Friedman, but I’m not Jewish.” I firmly state.

He looks around and takes another swig.

“So, do you celebrate Christmas or Hannukkah?” he asks

“Both. Both, Mark. We celebrate both.” I said.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” he says...as he stumbles away toward his next victim.

Pieces of Me

2009-04-28T18:06:00.004-04:00

“I’m having a birthday party at my house…a pool party…make sure your moms call my mom so she knows who all is coming.” I stood there, in the hallway at my elementary school while she passed out the invitations. One by one, all our friends were invited. All our friends…but me. It was in that instant that I consciously decided the person that I would and would not be - forever. I realized that sometimes we can cause crushing grief to another with either a conscious on unconscious action. I vowed that I would never knowingly inflict that kind of pain on another.

I know it sounds a little strange to start the self-actualization process in the fourth grade, but as the twin of a mentally retarded and autistic brother, I was privy to a lot of ‘humanity’ early on. I spent a lot of time observing and analyzing behavior…trying desperately to make sense of it all.

When I was about thirteen, I found a poem that spoke to me. It asked the question ‘who will you be in this life?’ Will you be the kind of person that builds things up, or tears them down? During adolescence, there is certainly a lot of tearing down that occurs and again, I decided I would be the type of person that builds things up. I just couldn’t see living a life of stirring the pot.

During high school and then into college I decided not only would I not do harm to another person, but I would try to make every moment with them the only moment that mattered. Other people are so very important to me, and what others have to share is priceless. I love to listen to my friends and I value our differences as much as our similarities. We miss so much if we don’t take the time to scratch beyond the surface.

During college, with my father’s ailing health and us moving away from our hometown, I began the process of actively appreciating life…not taking a day with another for granted or anything for granted for that matter. This goes for appreciating the inherent beauty in a sunset, a tear, an emotion, the turn of a phrase, laughter. This is not to say that I’m not above getting caught up in life’s little annoyances. Rather, I operate under the assumption that life is good, people are good, and in any given situation, my glass is half full. I try and live in the moments that make up our lives …be really…present.

I believe we are here to serve each other, to do what we can to make other’s lives better. I try to be as open and as giving as possible with all of my friends. Once I’m your friend, there isn’t much I won’t do for you.

I feel so very fortunate to have such terrific friends, both old and new. Recently, I’ve had three “old” yet new friends, who have touched my life, each in their own way. One, shared a story about how I offered them support during a difficult time over 23 years ago. I had forgotten that I had done so, but they hadn’t. Furthermore, they were generous enough to remind and thank me – and for that, I’ll always be grateful. The other, has recognized a desire in me to write and encouraged me to start this blog. A writer himself, he’s serving as a mentor, and without that encouragement, I never would have tried my hand. The third, is someone I admire for their fortitude through difficult times and their unreal ability to listen and encourage. Their support has filled my heart up and blesses me each and every day.

These various pieces of me have served me well through the years, as they served my father well during his lifetime. He had over 300 people attend his calling hours, and every one of them – every one – had a story about how he personally touched their lives. And it wasn’t the general, “he was a great guy.” It was “he was a great guy and here’s exactly how he touched my life…”.

I can only hope that, when all is said and done, I’ll have someone say that to my children about me…

With A Side Of Murphy's Slaw

2009-04-21T16:56:00.004-04:00

Mommy, I had some Murphy’s Slaw today. My peanut butter bread fell and landed butter side down.

–Joel Friedman, age 4

It never fails. Technology will let you down just when you need it the most. Doesn’t matter what your age, or what your circumstance, it will happen to you.

We’ve all been there – an unexpected car repair that equals or exceeds the amount of your tax refund. A house full of “c” batteries in a power outage, but the flashlight takes “d”.

Yes, it’s Murphy’s law in action, when you need an object the most, it will fail. I’m speaking from experience here. Recent experience, like…this morning recent.

Today started like any other. Made the coffee, grabbed the newspaper, and the morning began. Sufficiently stoked on my coffee, I decided to hop on the laptop and update my status on Facebook. Because that’s important. Oh, what witty insight could I share? Digging deep, I went to “Barb Friedman reminds everyone ‘mom always said don’t play ball in the house.’” Yes, a Brady Bunch quote. Don’t judge me.

I continued the now famous routine of showering and getting the kids ready for school, alarm free this time. Score. Sun is shining… “what a great day it will be”, I think. Running through my mental checklist of things I need to do, I get on our pc and discover that there is now no internet connection. [Insert game show wah, wah here].

Of course. Naturally. Why not?

I drop to my knees and assume the IS position. Years of working in an Information Services department was not lost on me. I can unplug and plug in phone and cable modem lines with the best of them. Wading through the dust and under-desk funk, I proceed to do just that. Smug in my ‘mad’ technology skills, I wait the suggested two minutes before re-plugging. 1 min. 49…close enough. I have a day to get on with here…

I hook everything back up…and…nothing. [Insert Brady Bunch waha, waha, waha, here]

As I grab the phone to make the inevitable call to Time Warner’s technical service department, I’m reminded of the sheer corporate genius of said cable giant. You see, we have bundled services…including digital phone. Pick up the phone and…nothing. It most certainly cuts down on calls from annoying customers needing assistance.

No matter, I grab the cell phone and start dialing the number, yes, I know it by heart. Glances at clock – oh, goody, I have four minutes before I need to start running kids to school. I’m sure I can complete a technical service call in four minutes. As I contemplate making the call later, one ringy dingy, two ringy dingys…and then the message…”we are currently experiencing a complete outage for our entire service area for our internet and phone customers. If you have a separate issue that requires attention…” And, there it was. “Yeah, we know, don’t call us – we’re workin’ on it.”

I closed up the phone, resigned that it is now up to better men to fix the problem while simultaneously recalling the three day digital cable outage of two weeks ago.

Thrilled that I have a ton of stuff to do that requires internet access, my thoughts turned to where I could score an internet connection in the meantime. The gym, Starbucks, Panera? Well, I am a little hungry. Perhaps Panera…

With my coffee, I’ll order a sandwich with a side of Murphy’s Slaw.

A Fortress Denied

2009-04-15T13:53:00.004-04:00

As any parent knows, there are precious few places in your house where you can be alone. The bathroom is pretty much the fortress of solitude, a parent cave if you will. As a matter of fact, I fully suspect my husband; we’ll call him "Bob"; has had a recliner/tv combo built into the ceiling that drops down at the push of a button. This being the only logical explanation for how long he spends in there doing his “business,” but, we’ll talk about Bob and his “business” another day.

With children, routine is also mandatory. We’ve had the same morning routine for almost 8 years. Bob gets up around 5 and while he is showering, I make coffee and read the paper. When he’s sufficiently used up all the hot water, I take my turn to shower and he eats breakfast. This allows for an authority figure to be available should one of the children wake up. Today, we tempted fate. The way the morning played out, Bob had to leave early and I ended up setting them up at the table with breakfast. I reminded them to not kill each other, and set off for the shower, setting the alarm system on the way. The jangle of spoons against bowls and morning cartoons settling nicely in my ears.

So, I ran upstairs and hopped in the shower (not sure why I hopped, just seemed the thing to do). The almost warm water was running, the smell of Irish Spring in the air and my thoughts drifting to the day ahead. I was reveling in the complete solitude experience, when all of a sudden, the water pressure drops…just slightly. Now, I know you know what I’m talking about here. There’s that instant when that happens, where the mind thinks, did the pressure really just drop? Am I imagining things? Cause if I’m not, I really need to ….move! Ah, yes….one of the minions flushed a toilet. Super. This flush, like so many others in it’s wake, has forced the dash played out so often – the darting to the other side of the shower, pressing oneself against the cold wall, waiting for the water to return to normal temperature. While I’m pressed against the wall with nothing to do but think, I find myself wondering why our toilet system and shower system are so interconnected? Shuddering at the implications, I slip my foot back to test the water. Okay, back to normal.

Where was I? Oh yes, solitude, Irish Spring, thoughts drifting to the day ahead…. “Moooooooom! Moooooooom! Mom!” Thinks, "I’m pretty sure I told them not to kill each other, so they’re fine." Seconds later, furious pounding at the door. Thinks, "bet *this* is important." I shut the water off…and the soothing sound of running water was instantly replaced with the sound of alarm system going off at full tilt. [Insert expletive here]. The tattler; we’ll call him "Joel"; is yelling through the door “the alarm is going off.” You’ll note, I could hear him yelling “mom” from downstairs over the running water, but not the alarm…gives one an idea of the decibels a 7 year old can emit. I grab a towel and wrap it around…realizing that it is one of the less preferred towels in the house. You know the kind, a little too thin, an inch too short, yeah – that one. I scramble for the door, hand slipping on the knob like a teen in a horror film. I manage to fling open the door and make a break for it. As I’m sprinting through the bedroom and hall, I’m amazed at how many thoughts can be in my head at the same time. Wondering how many years Joel will be on the psychiatrists couch over the lack of towel coverage and exactly HOW LONG has the alarm been going off, anyway? I take the stairs two by two and make my way to the landing. As I hit the landing, I’m reminded that I’m still soaking wet as I make my skid, then fall down to the floor. Where’s your precious towel now? All I can envision as I’m laying on the floor are the authorities arriving at any minute. I scramble up and as I’m entering the code, the phone rings. It’s the security company wanting to know if everything is okay. “Yeah, sure, never been better…here’s the code word, have a nice day.” I hang up the phone and look at the kids. Rachel still has a dripping spoon in her hand, dumbfounded, and Joel is laughing. I believe the score on the fall was a nine. I mumbled something about them getting ready for school and headed upstairs, towel and dignity barely in place.

Still shaking my head, I reenter the shower and wait for the flush.