Nostalgia

Remember when beer was such a novel thing that you had to talk about it how good it is on the bus?  I don't. But the young ladies behind me on the bus this evening were the poster-children for the newly 21 who struggle to name a beer that they like, but say things like "minimally hoppy" to describe their preference; they really should have considered going to college in Iowa if that is the case.  I was eavesdropping (and by eavesdropping I mean 'listening') to their conversations as I was reading a journal article (brushes knuckles on lapel) and felt compelled to take notes so as to record forever the things coming out of their mouths.  Things like, "I like beer that tastes like bread" and "I got another flat tire today, it's like the third one, and it just keeps going flat, I don't know what's wrong with it." 

It made my day, along with this gem of a text exchange between me and my boss:

Last night:
Boss: Let me know when ur avail again tmw to ck in
Me: Any time before 330 or after 7 is good

Tonight:
(my phone rings during class at 5:30).

Fin.

In all seriousness, what did make my day today was a phone call from my L'il Brudr!  It was only a few moments and I have never been so unable to think of things to say!  He sounds good, he sounds tired, he sounds like himself.  I think what weighs most on my mind is the importance of not forgetting that he is there: that every day when I do all of the normal, comfortable, luxurious things that I do because I'm not in a war, he is there. 

Ok, enough of the Dawson's Creek.  Just chillin' and eating chips and hummus for dinner.  Don't be jealous.

Oops...

....I totally thought I had something to blog about but I can't think of ANYTHING!  I did want to clarify that I harbor no ill-will for my friends who may have babies and/or put pictures of those babies on a mug and then give it to me as a gift.  It's just that three of those mugs staring at me when I opened the cupboard on Valentine's day (when the only valentines I received came from my parents and sister-in-law) was a little cruel even for my corporate holiday hating self.  I'm feeling much better now, and I didn't smash them, I would never do that.  But I did turn them facing the back of the cupboard.  Just for now. 

So yesterday was a long day, starting with an 8am meeting that two people couldn't make, two people showed up late for and myself.  Being more generous with people who are late is something I plan to work on in the future, like when I'm 80. 

Then a trip to an area high school for data collection, which was awesome.  I miss teaching, and I really miss teaching high schoolers. 

Then I had class where I received the best valentine ever: the professor said that an idea of mine was "brilliant."  BRILLIANT.  I can die now. 

Then I went swimming at the gym.

Then I went to mariachi rehearsal.  Playing in a mariachi band is a dream come true, one of those things I secretly wanted to do but thought would never happen (also in this category are things like getting married, finishing graduate school and going to Hawai'i.) 

Then I went and had nachos and beer with a good friend. 

So Crapentine's day wasn't as crappy as it started out, and I learned some things about myself in the process, things like: a holiday started by INSANE ROMANS to honor martyrs has no say in my value as a human. None.  Also, I am a morning person, which means I get up early but then I need to go to bed early.  I need to do a better job recognizing when I've reached my limits and can no longer make good choices or process information well.  Something that is totally devastating to me at 9pm is NBD at 6am. 

I hope you all had a (fill in the blank) day yesterday....I will happily receive your belated valentines in the form of 70% mark down chocolate from Walgreens if you wanna send me some. 

My plans

In honor of St. Valentine's day I'm smashing all of the mugs that people have given me with a picture of their baby on it. 

And then I'm eating nachos.

For my brother, on the eve of his deployment

I was crossing the street today and at the moment I stepped onto the curb a man walking with his cane caught his foot on a crack in the sidewalk and fell in front of me.  His cane dropped to the ground, his arms didn’t come up in time to catch himself, and he landed hard, partly on his face.  As I helped him up I saw the blood running from his forehead, catching on his bushy eyebrows and then dripping from his glasses onto his coat.  I asked him how he felt, worried that he had hit his head and he said, “stupid,” pulling a worn, folded handkerchief from his pocket and dabbing his forehead. Another passerby asked if he could call someone to come.  This elderly man, bleeding on a busy street corner, surrounded by well-intentioned yet clueless passersby, embarrassed to have fallen, said, “yes, call my sister.”

**********

I thought of the conspiratorial bond of brothers and sisters, how sometimes you want them to help you because you don’t want anyone else to know what happened. 

I think about the way you and I have an unspoken agreement about what is funny, what is serious, what is important and what we should and should not tell mom and dad. 

I think about our sameness and our difference and the ageless debate between nurture and nature.  I am glad for our similarities, and I’m glad for the departures.  But more than the genes and experiences that we share, I hope you are proud of me.  I am proud of you.