Embracing the New Year

Earlier this week, my aunt married her love. She and her new husband have both experienced love and loss with their first spouses. Now they are embracing each other and their future together. Not only am I extremely happy for them, I am inspired by them.

I'm in search of inspiration right now. Tomorrow is my wedding anniversary and my divorce is still not final. My job search is in "crash and burn" mode. I keep getting soooo close and then something happens. The roller coaster of hopes up/hopes dashed is exhausting.
But the new year is almost here and I'm finding a lot to look forward to. Or more accurately, new things to be inspired by and about.

Happy New Year

A Garden Party

If you're old enough, you might remember Ricky Nelson. If you're really old, you might remember that he was a child of Ozzie and Harriet Nelson and they had a quaint little TV sitcom that still runs in syndication.

One of the benefits of being married to (and around a lot of) musical people is they know the stories behind the songs. They tend to study these things and memorize them. Even if they get them partially wrong, it's still more than I knew to begin with.

It's hard to go back. It's difficult to face old friends and acquaintances in a new reality.

Last year, the holiday season was a blur for me. I was newly separated, a raw little thing that could barely blurt out, "Merry Christmas" without dissolving into tears. This year, honestly I am still raw but the wound is scabbed over. I made a promise to myself that I would buck up and attend social gatherings when I was asked.

In 1971, Ricky Nelson was part of a Rock & Roll Revival concert at Madison Square Garden. The crowd wanted to hear his old songs and when he launched into newer material, he was booed. He left the stage.

"Garden Party" became a hit for him in 1972.

I went to a garden party to reminisce with my old friends
A chance to share old memories and play our songs again
When I got to the garden party, they all knew my name
No one recognized me, I didn't look the same

I've been to a couple of garden parties lately. Everyone is genuinely nice and happy to see me. But it's hard to shake the feeling of not singing the right song.

Ricky Nelson was a smart cookie with lyrics. He ended the song with:

But it's all right now. I've learned my lesson well.
You see, you can't please everyone, so you've got to please yourself.

A Public Official vs. A Public Figure

Oh, I am so disappointed that Tiger is a Cheetah...

(I'm also really disappointed that I wasn't smart enough or creative enough to come up with that headline before someone else.)

I go back and forth on this one.

Before you think I might have lost my morals and my mind, let me be clear -- anyone who cheats is a dog. A double-devil, dirty dog. A slimy, scum-of-the-earth, not worthy-of-breadscraps dog.

Here's where I'm unclear: We didn't elect him to anything. If Nike wants to give him a b'jillion dollars to represent their company and he does something (anything!) to violate that contract, well ... that's between him and Nike. If people throw tons of money to attend golf tournaments where he will play or have his name attached, I'm pretty sure the contract is ironclad and there's no clause that regulates his sex life.

Tiger is not a public official. He does not solicit public funds and he does not receive millions of dollars to run for office. He receives millions of dollars for running an empire where he is expected to play golf in an exceptional manner. Sure, he's also expected to be a role model -- something I'm sure none of us would sign up to be.

The saddest part of the aftermath is money will change hands. Tiger and his wife may renegotiate their pre-nup, mid-nup, post-nup contract. Any sponsorship contract he signs in the future is likely to have a strong "character" clause. Everyone will cast a little shadow of doubt with possible dubious behavior.

You can throw all the money around that you want. There's nothing like a wife chasing your car down the street with a golf club in her hand, bashing in the windshield and wishing (for a second) it was your head.

Bubble Wrap

Today I was waiting for a friend in Broad Ripple, a little village in the heart of our town. A parent left the stroller on the sidewalk and I noticed the label said, "Remove Child Before Folding."

Have we really come to that?

A couple of years ago, I was on a plane and they announced on the speaker that they would not be serving peanuts because a child on the flight had peanut allergies. They also asked that anyone not eat anything with peanuts during the flight.

Bad things happen.

A person who was scheduled to review photos with our parishioners was called away this week because his son was murdered for his pizza delivery money. Not too far from my neighborhood, a guy was walking his dog and ended up shot in the back, paralyzed from the waist down. This was for $20 and his cell phone which he gave up with no questions asked.

Fear is a fungus. Freaky accidents and violent crimes get the most attention because they are the most shocking and the most unusual. Yet, we all go crazy.

I know someone who wears a pistol strapped to her ankle at all times. In her daily errands and in her own home. It's terribly sad for me to think of her living in perpetual fear.

I know a couple of people from my childhood. They both have three children roughly the same age. For the record, I love all the people involved in this story. But to be honest, I am less nervous with the kids who are allowed to cross the street, crawl in my car, roll with my dog, etc. The other kids are delightful and I'm sure they have their own releases. From my limited view, I see the bubble-wrapped, "don't touch the dog" and "take your shoes off" kind of childhood. Even when my own parents tried to keep me safe, I flocked to my peers and their houses where children fell down, picked themselves up and moved on.

I worked downtown before our downtown was revitalized. For many years I walked 5 blocks to and from my parking spot. Gasp! I was unarmed. I used to beg to walk to school and occasionally my parents let me do it.

Here's what I believe and the statistics prove me out.

A child is more likely to be kidnapped by a non-custodial parent than a stranger.
A child is more likely to be molested by a family member than a stranger.
A woman is more likely to be raped by an acquaintance than a stranger.
Anyone is more likely to be killed by someone texting while driving than all of the above scenarios.

Most people are good. They will call 911 if something seems amiss. They will administer CPR or the Heimlich maneuver instead of stealing your wallet. They will risk their own lives to save yours.

In the 70s, a very young John Travolta starred in a movie, "The Boy in the Bubble."

I refuse to be the woman in the bubble.