2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 5 of 31

Is it...

In the silver purse?

No.

In the houndstooth bag?

No.

In the houndstooth bag's:
Front pockets?  
Side pockets?  
Inside pockets?

No.  No.  NO.

OK.  Reboot.
Then it has to be in the car.

Between the seats?

No.

Under the floormats?

No.

Under the seats?

NO.

OK.  Now with most things, the moment I quit looking for them...
they present themselves.
Maybe I should try that strategy
because my other option is to
COMPLETELY FREAK OUT THAT I'VE BEEN WITHOUT 
MY SCHOOL ID AND ELECTRONIC KEY FOR A WEEK.

Yes, I've had to bum entrances into the building each morning.
I've had to text, call, and parking lot stalk my friends to get inside.
I've had to walk around the school instead of
cutting through a few simple rooms to get to my destination.

OK.  So, maybeeeee, it is jumbled in one of my messy desk drawers at school.

No.  No.  And, NO.

OK.  So, maybeeeee, it is in a store at the mall.
We were there two weekends ago and I distinctly remember
adding it to my diaper bag before leaving
(because yes, Virginia, some stores do honor teachers
by providing additional discounts...eh-hem, J.Crew).
Really?  
I don't want to call each and every store we traipsed through.
Gee.  Who has the time?

IT'LL TURN UP; I JUST KNOW IT.

OK.   So, today I was packing my houndstooth bag to run a few errands...and...

THE ID CARD WAS POLITELY LYING 
FACE-UP IN THE 
BOTTOM 
OF 
MY 
BAG.  

Last week, I looked there a dozen times.  No dice.
Why today?
Because today, I wasn't stressed out while looking...
today, I was open for blessing instead of pushing my own agenda...
today, I savored 'the find' as if I had won the lottery.

Tomorrow, I can go to school when I want,
open all the right doors,
and not have to expend valuable energy
taking more steps than I need to.

It DID turn up; I just knew it would.

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 4

 So, last night, my husband and I had a movie date.  It was "game on" the moment our remote landed on the first "Sex in the City" flick.  If you're part of their cult following (and everyone who is knows that the show is much more about the girls' relationships than sex...), you know this cinematic event is significant in the series' life because this is where the myth of Carrie and Big as a couple finally gets put to rest.

Well, kind of.

I'll admit: for many years, Big and Carrie were real people in my life because their rocky relationship connected each episode, season, and viewer.  We all wanted editorialist, Carrie, to actually find love with the elusive Big.  {It just seemed right, like Saturday morning coffee breaks.}  The movie's no exception.  They finally decide to get married, Carrie plans a fittingly stylish ceremony against Big's wishes, and then Big stands her up, sitting across the street in his signature black limo to place the call.  Events unfold, details come to light, and the rest of the movie is spent weaving their lives back together through a rich tapestry of stories but never once do they actually see each other until...

This one moment that takes my breath away each time.  {In fact, it's like so many high school sporting events that come down to last-second decisions.  The space goes quiet (amidst the deafening noise), time slows, and everything in the periphery fades.}

Carrie, in the last hour as owner of the new apartment she was supposed to call home with Big, hysterically races over to pick up the remainded pair of designer pumps she had nearly forgotten there.  She opens the door of the dream closet Big had built especially for her, and there he is, in customary sharp black suit, crisp white shirt, and striking black tie, holding her blue satin delights wistfully.  He turns, giving his trademark puppy eyes, and they run to each other...embracing like a century had passed.  He drops to one knee, proposes properly this time, and places the diamond-brooched shoe on her left foot.

Oh, are you kidding me!!??!  How poetic---in her favorite space, a closet that will fit her extravagant wardrobe.  Yessssssssssssss!  Finally.  My heart cries out with each viewing.  Breathe.

Smiling like it had been me picked up in my dream closet by my dream guy, my husband looked over and laughed.  I almost didn't see him; I was so in the zone.

"Have you ever connected with something so deeply you're there?" I asked.  {Educators know this, of course, as empathy...}

"No," he replied, "this really isn't my type of movie.  You know it's just a movie, right?"

That's just it.  I do---it is a movie---but my history of connecting with the characters and with Big and Carrie's on-again, off-again romance made me part of the story.  And, it's a good feeling to be actively involved in stories.  Stories that move.  Stories that unite.  Stories that take my breath away time and again.

You know the type?

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 3

So, today was full of typical Saturday fare...  My husband kept Reid busy so I could sleep in, we dilly-dallied around until it was time to make the weekly pilgrimage to Super Target for groceries (and everything else I'm invited to 'need' while there); then for kicks, this week, we added lunch at McDonald's. 

Now I know, that may sound funny.  I mean, we have a two-year old.  So, McDonald's shouldn't be a stretch.  And, it really isn't.  But, typically we hit the drive-thru (and like bad parents) pass our toddler back bits of burger and fingerfuls of fries while we finish the trip home.

Munching on salads, fried chicken, and cheeseburgers galore at our oval table, my husband made an interesting observation: I thought all McDonald's stores have a Play Place.  Didn't they used to?  This one doesn't...  And, that idea turned my mind into a veritable card catalog of all the franchise locations I've driven by, stopped at, or driven through in the past few years.  You know what?  It's true.

In my Midwestern metropolitan area, the big push right now with McDonald's restaurants is rebuilding.  The company will close a store, tear it down, rebuild a modern one complete with the tandem coffee house (sorry, it'll never be Starbucks!), and then open it six weeks later full of up-to-date amenities like lounge chairs and fireplaces.  But, the one amenity which doesn't resurface is the Play Place.  In fact, I can only think of one store right now (and that's up near my hometown) that still offers the space.  Evidently, its number hasn't come up yet...

Reid doesn't even know to associate McDonald's with playing after dinner like I so lovingly did as a small child.  Some of my fondest memories include when my grandparents would take all my cousins at the same time once each year for dinner and playing at McDonald's.  For him, Chick-Fil-A is the new McDonald's because the posh play area is integral to the restaurant's design and overall company mission to serve families the best they can.  We never do the drive-thru at Chick-Fil-A because it's far more fun to eat inside  In honest terms, skipping the play area afterward would be darn near unacceptable.

So, why do places that claim to be for kids cut out the kid-friendly amenities?  An inquisitive slice for this Saturday...

Write on,
b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 2

This morning on the way to school I actually listened to the radio.  Uneventfully, the weather report started at the top of the hour.  In fact, I almost wasn’t paying attention…more focused on my  upcoming activities.  Blah, blah, blah.

“Today will be cloudy with tornadoes expected.” 

No cursory “thunderstorms expected.”  No noncommittal “chance of severe storms.”  No blanket statement  “threatening weather.”  TORNADOES.  And, once you throw that idea out there…forget about it.  It’s a foregone conclusion that funnels, wind, unwelcome hail, and that disturbing freight train sound will all be in your neck of the woods posthaste. 

The storm chasers; they practically rejoice at the prospect of atmospheric instability.  They’d have a parade and then take the day to stalk it if they could. 

The school kids; they go berserk at the possibility of storms.  They’d announce 23 times it’s raining, watch at the window until the scenery became too real, and then crouch into position last-minute (but would probably rather be at home with their mommies!).

The teachers; they harbor fear that the storm will actually hit while they’re in class.  They’d be responsible not only for the kids’ physical safety but also their emotional well-being.  (Simultaneously terrified---if they’d admit it---that this is how it’s all going to end.)

“Today will be cloudy with tornadoes expected.” 

I mean, who says something like that?  In the Midwest, that’s akin to yelling “FIRE!” in a crowded theatre.  Most of us have probably seen one, hidden from one, or know someone who’s lost everything in one.  We know the score: they're terrifying.  

Now, it's true: in most cases a tornado watch ends up to be nothing and more often then not (in my experience), a tornado warning draws the same result. In fact, we play the odds that the National Weather Service may be overstating their case because we’re ‘just-think-positive’ kind of people with a meteorologic history of all bark, no bite.  But, then again, there is always that chance that if we ignore expert advice, our flattened neighborhoods will end up on morning news shows like so many other areas devastated before and the possibility of loss transcending mere objects is highly probable. 

 

“Today will be cloudy with tornadoes expected.”

Tomorrow, I hope to hear about snow instead---not the scary spring storms that on a typical year should be weeks away...

Write on, 

b

2012 Slice-of-Life Story Challenge | 1

It all started with a girl in a hurry.

Neatly stacked, two pans of lasagna chilled in the refrigerator for the teacher dinner that evening.  She jimmed them out of the crammed space and cautiously carried them out of the apartment to the car.

“The back, yes.  The back.  It would be better for these pans to be in the back of the Jeep,” she declared with split-second reasoning.  A flat space welcomed the cookie sheet base of the two perched casseroles.

“Careful on the ramps and around the curves,” the girl reminded herself driving quickly down the straight stretches to make up for it.  “The lasagna could slosh and spill.  Then, it would be no good to bake for my meal.”

Speed.  Drive-thru.  Stoplight.  Traffic line-ups.....and a wish.

(A wish that she'd drive into the parking lot at the same time as a colleague who could let her in the building.  The electronic key lost in last weekend's purse shuffle really served to annoy.)

Pulling up beside a newly parked Ford, the girl bolted out of her car to keep her peer from waiting as she unloaded each dinner detail and made plans to  maneuver everything inside.  The last step...the lift gate; which, without fanfare (or really any preparation), swung open.

A flash of light.  

One foil-covered baking dish flew through the air… 

SPLAT.  Meat sauce on leggings.  Meat sauce on shoes.  Meat sauce on asphalt.  Noodly layers askew.  Now for a millisecond, she wondered if anyone witnessed this embarrassing gaffe.  But those thoughts were quickly preempted by musings of how fast the disheveled dinner could be reconfigured.  With speedy, tomato-stained hands she found out.

“Awwwwww.  Can I help you?”  her key-holding colleague asked empathetically while getting an actual glimpse of this real-life cautionary tale,

“No, not at all,” she recovered, “I’m just rushing around this morning.”

And this girl in a hurry learned, yet again, the virtue of slow and steady wins the race.

Write on, 

b

Epilogue:

The lasagna was saved and baked beautifully.  She fed all her guests and even had a half-pan left over.  No one was any wiser; only the security officers who may have caught the debacle on tape. :) 

My twenty-seventh slice-of-life story...

You know those moments where you feel like your soul is about to leap out of its tent and your heart handsprings around inside your chest?  The kind that connects you...in some strange way...to yourself?  I experienced this last weekend and I'm still smiling. 

Sunday morning's routine was, well, routine.  Drive to church, drop Reid off at the toddler class, traipse up to the balcony where we slide into 'our row' a few minutes late, greet others, sit down, sing hymns, listen to special music...but, this time, 'even keel' ended here.

A silver-haired soloist strutted up a few steps to the front and the orchestra began with jaunty, fancy chords.  {If I would've been playing "Name that Tune", I would've been in the finals on this one.}  "EVERY VALLEY SHALL BE EXALTED!!!" my very heart wailed with joy and even a little pride*.  (*yes, pride at church...)  The tenor, with depth and intensity, launched into a familiar chorus from "Messiah," the famous seventeenth century Handel oratorio. 

You know that moment when you might be mere seconds away from making a complete fool of yourself by blurting something embarrassing out in a quiet room?

Yep.  That's me.  I almost sang.  You see, I know all these lyrics.  I know where the soloist paints pictures by how he crafts each word of "the crooooooked straight and the rough places plain."  I know the piano accompaniment and how its mood matches the biblical text's content from Isaiah 40.  I know all these things because, growing up, my Mennonite church performed Handel's "Messiah" each December and I sat between my mom, my aunt, and my grandmother in the choir loft (because with years of experience they knew the ins and outs) as we'd appreciate the beauty of each solo number and rise to perform the many choral pieces.  These memories weave together my family, my faith, my love of music, and my ear for magical harmonies.

Sunday my heart swelled and my fingers tapped rhythmically with my toes as the soloist ended "Every Valley..." and transitioned into "And the Glory," which any "Messiah" maven knows is the first whole-choir number of the oratorio and begins exclusively with my beloved alto section.  Even though it's been a decade since I participated in my home churches' rendition, the four-part harmonies and lyrical scriptures are written on my heart like details of Reid's birth day or our wedding day.  They are me.  They are my past.  My present.  My future.  They're what I want to share with Reid as he grows his own musical memories.

Out of nowhere, my routine Sunday transcended time and space. And, I'll admit---it felt good to experience heart handsprings and it's still laughable how much energy I had to expend to control myself while enjoying these two numbers.  But, as my soul connected past to present and future, I felt love and joy.  I felt energized.  I felt grounded.

I felt like me.

Write on,
b

My twenty-sixth slice-of-life story...

What is enough?

Teetering on tiptoes, I reached overhead...into unknown compartments stuffed with, well, stuff...to find the dry ingredients for chocolate chip cookies Sunday afternoon.  In a slight sweat, my pulse raced in anticipation of almost-empty bags of flour and sugar.  (After all, it has been a long time since those items had resurfaced on my weekly shopping list and I just promised my toddler we'd make a special treat.)

"Uhhhh;  I hope we have enough," my sing-songy voice rose and then fell pancake-flat as my normally heavy canisters felt dauntingly light.

"What is enough?" Reid asked, not skipping a beat.

Like a unbalanced seesaw, my thoughts soared and bottomed out.  Philosophical response or easy
one...philosophical one or easy one?  The great parental debate.

"Enough is when you have exactly what you need," I replied sensing an immediate connection to his query..

"Enough," my little parrot chimed in.

Measuring out first the sugars and then the flour in full, I felt blessed beyond our mother-son baking experience.  For months now we've been in a small, temporary apartment while we search for a new house.  For as many days and nights, my husband and I have been at odds over where we'll grow our family.  For many mealtimes, I've grumbled about not having all my utensils and bakeware and containers with matching lids for leftovers because most of our housewares are in storage.  And, for many daydreams, I've pictured us...walking out of this experience fulfilled and richer for the struggle.

Even though our situation isn't exactly what I want right now, our needs are met.  We're warm.  We're clothed.  We're together.  {We're not stressed out by cleaning because our apartment is so small.}  We have just the ingredients we need.  Enough.

Write on,
b