She Thinks

First, I have to stop.  Stop moving.  Stop doing.  Stop being…busy.

Sometimes I feel like I’m in perpetual motion.  Always moving – but hopefully – moving forward.

Then there comes a time in every day when the movement begins to slow.  And eventually…I can stop.

And then I can start relaxing.

I really don’t have a hard time relaxing.  It comes easily and naturally once I stop.

But…and there’s a BIG BUT…I can’t relax for too long.

I get bored.

Maybe that’s because I equate relaxing to all things restful.

Things like reading or watching TV or even knitting (which is only a winter relaxing activity because it just seems to only make sense during cold, cloudy days) are restful and relaxing for me…but all that sitting makes me bored after an hour or two.

Unless of course I imbibe in a glass of wine, or other available “calming” substances (yes…it is what you’re thinking).  Then…I can relax for many more hours at a time.

But eventually, I still get fidgety.  I start thinking about all of the things I should, could, must be doing when I stop relaxing.  And once that happens, I end up chucking the whole relaxing thing and go into perpetual motion once again.

Maybe my problem is that I don’t do anything requiring physical movement while relaxing.  I know people who have hobbies that require actual movement and physical effort, like hiking mountains, or doing Yoga or baking batches of cupcakes…and they consider that stuff relaxing!  While I consider that stuff physical labor.

There are also people who find it relaxing to exercise (God Forbid), and for the life of me…I don’t get that one at all.   There is absolutely NOTHING restful or relaxing about exercising to me.  It’s pure and simple physical labor and it is exhausting!

I know!  It would seem to be a good fit for me with the whole perpetual motion thing and all…but I’m all about getting shit done…not just movement for movement’s sake.

I also equate relaxing to comfort.  Comfortable clothes (which I call my “grubbies”), comfort food (give me a burrito and I’m in total relaxation mode) and comfortable activities like lying on the couch reading or watching TV.

I mean really, if I’m gonna stop moving for awhile, I might as well do it in comfort!

And rest.

Otherwise, what’s the point of relaxing?

I do actually.  Both look and sound like my Mother.

OY.

When I was younger I was always mistaken for my mom on the phone.  Once in awhile that was fun (as in tricking sales people to thinking I was her and getting her appreciation for fending them off).   But as a teenager, when someone would call and ASSUME I was my mother, I would always make it sound like it was a HUGE imposition, and respond in a dull teenage drawl with “NO…it’s not Del, it’s just Cindy…I’ll go get her” and stomp off to get my mom (‘cause we weren’t allowed to shout to tell her there was someone on the phone).

But mostly I hated it when people told me I looked like my mom.  Don’t get me wrong.  She was the cutest mom of all the mom’s I knew, and looking like her was not such a bad roll of the dice (no offense to my dad…but we all know I did better on that one!).    I was just trying to figure out who I was, and what my look was going to be…and sometimes it felt like I was just a carbon copy of her…only 4 inches taller and many pounds heavier (she was a teeny little thing, damn her).

As I’ve gotten older however, I’ve realized I look more and more like her every day, and it doesn’t much bother me anymore.

In fact, I kinda like it.

I have short blonde hair like she did (we never did find out her “true” color…but we’re never gonna find out mine either, so what the hell).  And, a round face like she did.  And small, thin lips…and virtually no eyelids (like her), but somehow…it seems to be working better for me these days.

But mostly…I have the same hands.  I look down at my hands now, and see my mom’s.  I used to love her hands.  They were small and warm and loving.  And now I think I have them too.

(Luckily I haven’t inherited the arthritis that bent her fingers and restricted her ability to use them effectively, but I always thought they were beautiful nonetheless.)

The thing that used to irk the hell out of me, though, is when she ended up in my head…and her words ended up coming out my mouth.

What the hell was that all about?

I’d be in the middle of a conversation with someone and out of the blue would come one of my mother’s “isms.”

There were hundreds of them.

I remember once (when Ally was about 3 years old) I was trying to explain something to her and she kept asking “Why?” every time I gave her an answer (like EVERY 3 year old on the planet)…and without hesitation, out came the mother of all of my mother’s “isms” …”Because, there’s no bones in ice cream!”

OMG!  Where did that come from?  My mother used to say that to me and my brother ALL the time when she didn’t want to give us any more of an explanation.

Me:            Mom, can I go to Nancy’s to sleep over this weekend?

Mom:            No honey…not this weekend.

Me:            Why not?  I don’t have anything else planned.

Mom:            It’s just not a good weekend honey.

Me:            But why?

Mom:            Because there’s no bones in ice cream…that’s why!

END…OF…DISCUSSION.

I was so outraged that I had used this tedious, outrageous tactic on my own little girl that I stopped my conversation with Ally…picked up the phone, called my mother and shouted “GET OUT OF MY HEAD WOMAN!”

Needless to say she was both a bit shocked at my call, and a bit pleased that her w-is-do-m had rubbed off on me!

When Ally got older she researched the whole no bones in ice cream thing and found out that there’s gelatin (which is made out of bones or something) in ice cream, and blew the whole thing out of the water…and COULDN’T WAIT to tell my mom.

My favorite “Del-ism”, however, is one that’s now being used by hundreds, if not thousands, of people who came into our sphere of influence over the years.  It’s the “Tell the Pilot to Drive Carefully” ism.

I know.  Pilots don’t drive planes.

It was just her way of telling someone to have a safe flight.  But, somehow when she said it, it was more than that.  It was a safety net she threw over you to make sure absolutely nothing bad would happen to you on your trip.   And it always made me feel safer.

So I started to say it to absolutely everyone I knew who was going on an airplane.

As a family, we say it to each other (individually mind you) when we get on the plane.   It sounds like a little chorus of well-wishing as we make eye contact and softly utter the words Tell the Pilot to Drive Carefully simultaneously to each other.  (Brian always hated it but humored me by saying “TTPTDC” every time we flew).

I even used it at work within my company and it became a “thing” with my staff.  At first, I think they (the collective “they” over 23 years with the company) thought I was crazy.  But I gotta tell you, there wasn’t anyone who left on a business trip who didn’t make it into my office to get their own Tell the Pilot to Drive Carefully before venturing out to the airport.

And now, after all these years, it absolutely warms my heart to hear someone outside of my family (because my family members are just expected to say it), tell ME to Tell the Pilot To Drive Carefully when I’m leaving on a trip.

Yeah…I look and sound like my Mother, and there are still some times when I do a double take in the mirror or have to stop myself in the middle of a sentence, and recognize that the words I’m speaking could easily have come out of my mothers mouth (and probably did sometime during her life), but instead of wanting to change my look, or shout and get her out of my head…I find that I get this warm glow filling my heart instead.

In Loving Memory of Del Kram…I hope I look half as good as she did, and that she never leaves my head.

Screw zombies, it doesn’t matter what kind of apocalypse we’re in for, because I’m ready.  I have a fully stocked pantry with hundreds of canned goods, tons of extra water, enough toilet paper to last at least 6 months and a lifetime supply of chocolate, ‘cause really, who wants to stick around without toilet paper or chocolate?

No…I’m not a doomsday kinda gal, it’s just that I like to be prepared.

And I’m not the only one thinking about this stuff.  As I’m sure you’re aware, we’re only a couple of years away from the famed end of the Mayan calendar (December, 2012), which many believe marks the end of civilization as we know it.  I never thought about it much, but then I watched a multi-part special last year on the History Channel and it got me thinking about the possibilities of life ending on earth.

I mean…I really don’t believe it will all end on 12/21/2012, but after watching that show, I did find myself having an irresistible urge to run out to the store to buy a case of canned soup.

Honestly though, I don’t think the Mayans knew something we don’t know.  I think they just figured they had created a big enough template for us to follow…and we would be able to take it from here.  Or they just ran out of stone.

But nonetheless…it makes you wonder.

I mean…what will you be doing as we get closer to December, 2012?  Will you be worried?  Will you be stocking up on canned goods?  Water?  Toilet Paper? Chocolate?

Well I know I’ll be ready…and I’ll be doing it in style!

I recently bought some property down in Ridgway Colorado (just outside of Telluride, CO) which I must say, is one of the most beautiful places on earth.  The mountains, the valley, the people…are all amazing.

And…I just started building on it so that I can live there part of the year, and play host to my family and friends…’cause it’s a place ya just gotta share.

So I figure I’ll share it with a few dozen carefully chosen people for the end of the Mayan Calendar (and potentially…the end of civilization as we know it).

But we’re not gonna sit around waiting for the end.   WE’RE GONNA PARTY!!

Because it ALSO just happens to be my “triple 12 birthday” (12-12-12)…and I figure that calls for one big 12 day party!!!

And if it does all end, then we go happily, and probably…really really drunk.  With plenty of canned goods, water, toilet paper and chocolate in the pantry.

Unfortunately though, I’ll have to limit how many people can come to my party (because I just don’t have enough canned soup to feed everyone).

So I came up with a process for selecting who will be part of the chosen few…with some ground rules (’cause you always need ground rules):

1.    Applications for the now infamous 12-12-12 bash will be accepted beginning 6-12-12.

2.    A written test including just a few select multiple choice questions and an essay explaining why you should be part of the chosen few (no more than 500 words please) will be included as part of the application process.

3.    Bribes will be accepted (along with donations of canned soup).

God I hope civilization doesn’t end before then…it would really screw up my plans.