Posted on by cheryloreglia · 43 Comments

2020 The Road to Perdition

Photo by Nubia Navarro (nubikini) on Pexels.com

Okay, I feel like an absolute fool for writing, “Let’s Make 2020 Unresolute,” I mean really, could any year be more unresolute?

All I can say is hangnails seem much less annoying and never did I ever think I’d feel sorry for travel agents?

That’s all I got.

Alex Hagan says “for all the talk of 2020 vision over the past few years, it turns out we had some pretty significant cataracts,” and no toilet paper.

Speaking of toilet paper…

“Oh shit,” Kelley yells, “Shaggy needs to go out.”

I heard alarming sounds coming from his irritated bowels, I throw her the keys, “here, unlock the gate to the beach.”

She manages the lock and the dog simultaneously, Shaggy has anxiety issues, and is shaking like a leaf. Poor thing is feeling poorly.

Kelley tries coaxing him further onto the beach but he squats at her feeling shivering uncontrollably.

I run along the water’s edge, clapping my hands as if a teacher trying to get the attention of an unruly class, encouraging Shaggy to move so he can release his bowels. Oh, did I mention it’s raining? Sorry about the distasteful subject but there are only so many ways to describe the foulness of diarrhea. Right?

Shaggy’s has a delicate disposition, he’s Portuguese, and often assailed with intestinal issues. It’s a shitty business.

After a lot of encouragement, he’s successful, but needs a bath. Unfortunately, all the men have fled, an ice run they call it, and we’re left with three antsy kids in a rain storm (for which I’m trying to remain appreciative) and a sick dog. Merry Christmas.

Dragging my dog outside, I power wash the remaining residue to put it politely, but he’s not having it, and a mixture of remnants remain. Ugg. Where are the men when you need them?

Now I’m really grouchy and it’s about to get worse.

So we confine Shaggy to the lanai until the back up troops arrive.

But life takes you places you don’t always want to go (2020 in a nutshell).

I grab up my computer and spew out like three words, they all rhyme with shit, I was going for something so much more sophisticated for my final 2020 post. I notice not only the rambunctious children, but the dog is loudly announcing his displeasure about being enclosed, and although it only a little after noon I’m feeling enervated.

I put down my computer with annoyance, peek, okay glare, into the lanai and immediately realize we forgot to open the dog door to the outside! &#%&#@! You guessed it, there’s poop everywhere, on exercise mats, rugs, on the dog bed, and floor. All that racket was poor Shaggy trying to tell us he needed to go out.

My irritation increases exponentially.

Kelley mops the floor as I rinse off the rugs, mats with bleach, and run another load of shitty towels, dog bed covers, and rags through the laundry.

The men are getting ice, which is code for a trip to the local pub, and let me just say I’m getting a little thirsty myself.

This story is sort of appropriate because as Dave Barry puts it, “2020 was one long, howling, Category 5 crap storm.” Did you catch the crap storm part?

Let’s take a little ride down that rocky road to perdition shall we?

And so it begins…

in January of 2020, I was thoughtlessly moaning about resuming my classes, closing up the lake house, and praying the media could focus on something other than Trump’s impeachment? The good old days.

We hear inklings of some mysterious illness out of Wuhan, which we ignore because Trump hasn’t tweeted about it, and besides Billie Eilish is sweeping the Grammy Awards. Hello? The Huston Astros are cheating! What? And if that wasn’t enough, Harry and Meghan want to opt out of the royal circus. Don’t we all?

Larry and I are planning a wedding for our daughter Kelley in August, putting money down on a pilgrimage along the El Camino de Santiago, and planning a visit to Portugal to see our son Tony at the end of the summer. This is the year we both turn sixty and we are going big. Oh the places we will not go.

Then things start to get a little janky, Kobe Bryant dies in a helicopter crash, locust arrive in Africa, a volcano erupts in the Philippines, and an epic earthquakes shakes up Turkey. How can it get any worse?

You had to ask…

February stirs up the muddy water, while we’re impeaching and acquitting Trump, Larry and I fly to Texas to celebrate a friends sixtieth birthday, I come down with a mysterious flu upon our return? Corona or not, we’ll never know, because there are no available tests.

Two days after my fever breaks, while Pelosi and Trump are ripping up speeches and refusing handshakes (way before fist pumping was even a thing), I go back in the classroom to say good-bye to my students, and explain how we are going to gather from the comfort of our homes on a new platform called Zoom, just until they wrapped up this COVID19 snafu. A few weeks at the most.

Best laid plans…

As March rolls in there is a run on toilet paper and hand sanitizer? Who is hogging all the supplies? I’ll tell you who – putzes, that’s who. You can buy a roll on Etsy for like fifty dollars? I’m feeling smug about the bidets I installed years ago! Pelotons are now backordered for like a year, hugs have become an act of rebellion, people are wiping down their groceries, and afraid to touch their mail? Let’s not even get started on the Post Office.

I have Zoom fatigue (I’m not making this up) and half my students are checked out.

Oh, and my other daughter is trying to buy the house across the street.

In April I’m trying to decide if I need to supplement my diet with vitamin B, C and D, maybe add some fish oil, I beginning to think life will never return to normal, and all I want to do is pop this fu.king bubble. Netflix and chill is all we have to do, of course we are drinking and eating to excess, my hair, teeth and nails are in shambles, and Dolly Parton’s popularity rises to a presidential level, maybe she should run?

Don’t get your hopes up because May is not any better, politics have polarized our communities more than ever, we’re sick of walking the neighborhood, fighting over the safety of beaches, teaching children remotely, debating the effectiveness of masks, missing our major league sports, and to make matters even more untenable, George Floyd dies at the hands of four Minnesota police men.

My daughter Kelley cancels her wedding, my daughter Julie sells her house, buys the one across the street, and moves in with us, along with her husband and three children while she’s renovating. We are forced to upgrade our internet, thank God toilet paper is back on the shelves, Larry and I turn 60 with drive-by celebrations. Not what I was planning.

I’m watching reruns of Bridget Jones Diary like nobodies business, hiding out at the lake house whenever possible, and dreaming about what it was like to go out to dinner. Remember when…

June have mercy on us. We seem to be flattening the curve for like two days, Black Lives Matter movement is in full swing, we’re threatening to defund our police, we have two old white men running for president, conspiracy theories are running amuck, and women are having their hair done in the backyard unless your name is Pelosi? What the hell is going on?

My school is providing professional development on correcting my unconscious bias, exposing systematic racism, and how to reformat our curriculum using Zoom. I’m exhausted, overwhelmed, and understanding oppression from a whole new perspective. Oh and my daughter Kelley moves home for a few months as her fiancé moves to the bubble in Florida to cover the NBA games. I now have four adult children, three grandchildren, and a highly anxious dog living under the insane same roof. I’m not, I’m just not going there.

Independence Day becomes an autonomous celebration in July, COVID 19 cases are on the rise in just about every country, making our boarders meaningless when it comes to real threats. Sweden is open, Shanghai is closed, and in the US every state is having a completely different experience of this heinous disease, some states have no restrictions, others are social distancing when alcohol isn’t involved, and both coasts are completely shut down. Why did we ever leave Kansas?

Not to be a doomsayer but…

In August, as usual California is on fire, literally, with rolling blackouts, so we just sit in our own sweat, with no television, no Zoom, and wonder if this is the Armageddon predicted in Revelations? Protests are raging across the country, Portland is out of control, and Trumps declares war on TikTok. What is going to entertain us?

Trump and Biden have a regretful debate, I think Chris Wallace won? I’m googling the benefits and detriments of Xanax as my daughter announces she’s having a micro wedding in November. Is there even enough time for me to order a dress?

Things only get worse in September, I initiate a new school year on Zoom, a platform simular to the Brady Bunch show, everyone is assigned a little box, but the students have complete control over their cameras (not ideal), which they choose to turn off for most of the class, needless to say I’m not up for the teacher of the year award.

Our beloved Ruth Bader Ginsburg dies, COVID patients are filling up our hospitals, our first responders are exhausted, and the use of masks has become a moral issue, but the race for a vaccine is in full swing. Oh and the postoffice has a complete nervous breakdown without the benefit of Xanax.

October is the month my son Dante rolled his car, miraculously survived, and if nothing else good comes out of this entire year I will have my son, and for that I am forever grateful. It was the first time I got a hair cut in almost a year, Trump tests positive for COVID19, and although there were more debates all I remember is the fly? I have 75 mini snickers bars to deal with (trick or treaters were a no show), and a couple thousand dollars worth of dresses to weed through for the mother of the bride, all delivered to my doorstep by Nordstrom, and our visa is shut down in response to my delirious spending. Larry is not pleased.

Is this year ever going to end?

November is bittersweet, my daughter Kelley gets married in a private ceremony with sixteen masked witnesses, following her around the church with our eyes. So 2020. We end up in a wine cave built in the 17th century for a seven course socially distanced meal, each course paired with an exceptional wine, I’m serious. My son Tony and his girlfriend Thilita arrive just in time to join the celebration after a two week quarantine in the Dominican Republic, and this is the first time in more than a year that all my children are together. I’m so overjoyed they all follow us home. I’m feeling an internet upgrade in our future?

Duke’s mayonnaise is now the third most popular condiment in the world (because we have to make our own sandwiches) and California goes into another major lockdown. Oh joy! There is the longest election in recorded history, as I say good-bye to my son Tony who returns to Portugal I still don’t know who won? I start bawling as I watch him walk away, and cry all the way home from the airport, for my boy, for the lives we once had, for all the suffering, I may never stop.

So we find ourselves once again in December, immunizations have arrived just as COVID19 is pitching a hissy fit, my husband sleeps on the couch after an extremely long “ice run,” Shaggy continues to have the trots, the vacuum cleaner died, and that highly anticipated rain storm fizzled out like the Forth of July. The grand children have opened what seems like ten thousand gifts, perhaps it’s only a few dozen, but each with 30,000 parts. The house is as you would have expected – total mayhem, just how we like it.

Can you imagine the theme parties they’ll have in twenty years depicting 2020? People will show up in pajama bottoms with a business casual top, carrying a bag of Ruffles Potato Chips, cold beer, wearing fuzzy slippers, with a mask hanging from one ear, and overgrown hair. Bahaha.

Larry and I just finished the mini series Undoing, great cast, super suspenseful, and I won’t spoil it, but it’s such a fitting ending for our dear, sweet, psychopathic year, 2020, if only it could be undone.

Matthew McConaughey says “We read, we wrote, we prayed, we cried, we listened, we screamed, we spoke out, we marched, we helped others in need. But how much do we change for good?” Only time will tell…

So as we bid a much anticipated adieu to 2020, I’ll be ever so careful with my wishes for 2021, may our biggest issue be hangnails and bossy travel agents!

Thanks for Living in the Gap with me this year, it’s been a doozy, here’s to a really Happy New Year!

PS The Dog recovered, I did not.

PSS Jeff Bezos made more money this year then the last five put together, you’re welcome.

Anecdotes:

  • Just a note to my readers, I love you, I appreciate you, and I’m ever so grateful to share this crazy journey with you. Thank you for reading, commenting, and noodling this life with me, warmly, C
  • “I heard someone say, “It’s December! Maybe 2020 saved the best for last.” I’m not sure whether to be hopeful or nervous about that.” Steve Maraboli
  • “I stopped using twitter because it’s like a bunch of mental patients throwing shit at each other.” Joe Rogan
  • “This year’s vintage is best enjoyed this year. Let’s begin.” Gina Barreca

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 20 Comments

Bring Us Goodness and Light

Photo by Marta Branco on Pexels.com

Do You See What I See

“Winter collapsed on us this year,” says Emily Fridlund, leaving us exhausted, spent, and on our knees. Here we are on the brink of the winter solstice, the height of a worldwide pandemic, and praise be to God the end of 2020. Historically this time of year people celebrate the coming of light, a rebirth if you will, one in which good overcomes bad, sadly our celebrations have become more consumeristic in nature, it’s as if our spirituality is sheltering in place, and we’ve locked down our opportunity for birth, death, and renewal.

The one thing Amazon can’t deliver. 

On this most hallowed and blessed of days I’m lamenting reflecting on our true gifts as human beings, the ones we were born with, the ones God created existentially for the benefit of others. In the wisdom of all things good and holy, it turns out we are wonderfully made, albeit with unique callings, dour obstacles, unwonted abilities, and let’s be honest, a few deviant tendencies. 

I remember one winter not long ago, warding off feelings of remarkable worthlessness, it crept up on me like the night, shrouding me in darkness, and try as I may I couldn’t shake this sense of gloom. The struggle was real. As far as I know these feelings were baseless, I had four “active” children, a fine specimen of man, a cozy home…what was wrong with me?

I was failing to thrive, blind to the possibilities, tired and small, too weak to deflect the opinions of others, beliefs I deemed hostile to my way of being in the world. I was lost if you will in my own little crypt but I was covering well.

Then someone came along and turned on a light, she probably doesn’t know to this day how her suggestion saved my sorry ass. After an arduous process, I found myself, and as if Christmas on steroids luminescence came back into my world. 

This is why we need to be brave, heroic, if not for ourselves, for each other. “Sometimes you save people with your words or with acts of kindness. Other times people save you. That’s what we were meant to do on this earth,” says Richelle E. Goodrich.

As I was crawling out of my crypt, I became addicted to writing, and although my family was perplexed, I couldn’t stop. As Allison Marie Conway says, “the pressure builds and builds as with any addiction, until you can no longer manipulate your mind or body away from what you most desire.” Conway goes on to say, “what I know in the pit of my stomach, at the center of anything inside me that could ever be considered holy, is that if there is to be life there has to be words.” Amen sister. 

That’s the beauty of it, as it turns out you are exactly what the world needs at this precise moment in time, it says so in Esther, “this is the moment for which you have been created.” That’s why you’re here, to say yes to the thing only you can do, and for most of us that comes after a slew of failures, but your destiny will rise, and you’ll be drawn towards your fate as the wisemen to the star of Bethlehem.

Do You Hear What I Hear

I believe our purpose is time sensitive like taxes and avocados, because to everything there is a season, a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance, a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing, a time to search and a time to count as lost, a time to keep and a time to discard. That little piece of advice was written two thousand years ago, and it’s still applicable, holy guacamole. 

Our purpose could be to simply validate the lost, I realize that’s a big job, as most of us are navigationally challenged, but this leaves the potential for success untapped. I wanted to say as plentiful as the stars, but I’ve been using that metaphor to excess, tis the season.

The thing is we all know who to turn to when we need to chat, when we’re confused, or confounded. We know where to find sympathy, solace, and solidarity – most of whom are located on our favorites list.

I know who’s most likely to pop a bottle of wine and watch an old movie.

I know who will grab a sympathy pedicure when I’m grouchy, who’s willing to go for a long ass hike, and who’s willing to blow their diet on a MacDonald’s biscuit, egg, cheese, and sausage sandwich for those especially difficult occasions.

I also know when I’m in hostile territory, when it’s best to keep my thoughts to myself, and stage a low profile. This particular skill was a latent development, I’m still learning, but Rome wasn’t built in a day. Right?

The very confusing point I’m trying to extrapolate is we never know when we’ll be called, or what exactly is needed, sometimes it’s the worst examples of humanity who are most in need of our love, and I admit I have failed to recognize this time and again, especially with myself.

The thing is when you get it right, you can “count all joy,” because you feel all lite up, like a sparkler, but that’s another holiday.

Do You Know What I know 

I hear our collective sighs this year, and like all emotions, it’s a signal. Sighing is a long, deep breath, it begins with a normal breath, then you take a second breath before you exhale (in case you were confused with moaning, that’s much worse). If we were to interpret our sighs we would discover that people associate sighing with feelings of sadness, or exhaustion, frustration. Sighs are often unintentional expressions of a plan that needs to be discarded, creating a pause before it can be replaced by a novel initiative, or in our case an immunization. That’s so 2020 in a nutshell. 

Did you just get the shivers? Me too. 

Bring Us Goodness and Light

Hamilton Wright Mabie says blessed is the season which engages the whole world in a conspiracy of love. Honestly, there is nothing in the world so ridiculously contagious as laughter and good cheer. So our Yuletide challenge for all of us is to slip into our best selves, listen, approve, forgive, share, validate, permit, uplift, glean, support, confirm, justify, bear, brace, and carry each other. For it says in Galatians that we are to bear each others burdens and love one another. When we realize love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things we’ll realize how fearfully and wonderfully we are made. This is Christmas, the presence of humanity, all wrapped up in each other. 

Merry Christmas to all, I’m Living in the Gap, wrapping reality, bring some tape.

Anecdotes:

  • “Trust is not a gasoline-soaked blanket that succumbs to the matches of betrayal, never able to be used for its warmth again; it’s a tapestry that wears thin in places, but can be patched over if you have the right materials, circumstances, and patience to repair it. If you don’t, you’re always the one who feels the coldest when winter comes.” A.J. Darkholme
  • “Thank goodness for the first snow, it was a reminder–no matter how old you became and how much you’d seen, things could still be new if you were willing to believe they still mattered.” Candace Bushnell
  • “Now is the time of fresh starts. This is the season that makes everything new. There is a longstanding rumor that Spring is the time of renewal, but that’s only if you ignore the depressing clutter and din of the season. All that flowering and budding and birthing— the messy youthfulness of Spring actually verges on squalor. Spring is too busy, too full of itself, too much like a 20-year-old to be the best time for reflection, re-grouping, and starting fresh. For that you need December. You need to have lived through the mindless biological imperatives of your life (to bud, and flower, and show off) before you can see that a landscape of new fallen snow is THE REAL YOU. December has the clarity, the simplicity, and the silence you need for the best FRESH START of your life.” Vivian Swift

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 18 Comments

It’s Raining, it’s Pouring, the Old Men are Snoring…

Me I will throw away.
Me sufficient for the day
The sticky self that clings
Adhesions on the wings
To love and adventure,
To go on the grand tour
A man must be free
From self-necessity

By Patrick Kavanagh

A stretch of time at the lake always unwinds me, softens my outlook, entreats me with such comfort it’s as if I slathered lotion on my dry chapped skin and crawled into bed. I feel nourished.

I can smell the dampness all around me, and the heavy fog hovers over my mountain as if aged breasts, heavy with unshed rain. If only I could reach through the mist and touch the muted sun I would know warmth.

I like to wake up slowly, enjoy a quiet stretch in which to think, linger between the soft sheets, read a few pages of whatever book is left on my nightstand, before engaging with the world.

Larry’s browsing the newspaper on his computer as I walk into the living room, stop for a spry kiss, before procuring my coffee. Up at the lake I don’t get bedside service as Larry allows me to sleep as long as I want. It’s now 7:05 am and he’s calling me sleepyhead?

I hear him say as I fill my favorite mug, “you remember how everyone was predicting a baby boom after the pandemic?”

I take my first sip, and say, “Yes, I was hoping for more grandchildren.”

“Well, that’s not happening.”

“Really? Why?”

“Couples are getting tired of each other.”

I don’t want to sound rude so I say, “is that a fact?” What I want to say is “no shit Sherlock.”

“They have a list of suggestions here for spicing up your sex life.”

“They do not!”

He laughs, scans the lists, and says, “sex toys are outselling Pelotons.”

“I’d rather have a Peloton.”

I get the look, “and they suggest finding new locations for that sort of activity.”

“What? No bed, no missionary position, scandalous. Honey do you want some toast?”

“As a matter of fact, kitchen islands are very popular.”

“What kind of publication are you reading?”

“The Wall Street Journal.”

“No way?”

“I’m just reading you the news. Could you get me a refill?”

“Anything to keep you out of the kitchen!”

Grabbing his mug I allow my insecurities to emerge from the cracks of our verbal volley, sprouting like weeds. Are you bored? Am I boring? Can we “roundup” these feelings?

Passing off the steaming brew, I move to the window overlooking the lake to watch a flock of pelicans floating in the calm water, for a moment my aged eyes thought they were a reflection of the white clouds on the smooth surface. It’s always exciting when the pelicans return from the coast, as I consider the underlying issues surfacing in our society during this forced quarantine, I can’t help but consider how this universal boredom is really a reflection of our COVID culture, spread organically from person to person.

We’re tired of the isolation, the restrictions, and predictable routines.

Maybe the pelicans are on to something? They summer on the coast, have one child (they allow siblicide, a Cain and Abel sort of thing, but that’s another blog), and return to the warm lake where food is plentiful for the winter.

It seems locational changes can help with boredom. I glance back at the granite countertop.

Larry breaks into my thoughts and says, “Motorhomes are hot right now, people are traveling all over the country, can’t go to Italy might as well go to Idaho.” He lobes the conversation into the back court.

“I heard rents in San Francisco have dropped like 35 percent?” I bump it along with a forearm assist.

“Just read in the the Post that the pandemic has revived suburban luxury markets across the country, places like Greenwich, Stillwater, and Monticito are booming.” Awe, a decoy.

“People can work remote so they’re leaving the chaos of the crowded cities for the quaint villages and towns, that makes sense.” I return with a cross court shot.

“We’ll never leave Campbell.” He spikes it.

“Never.” That’s a wipe.

Having been in a settled relationship for decades gives us a unique advantage because we’ve already overcome being bored with each other, many a time I might add.

As you know I excel at being stale, but a willingness to try something new, take a risk, maybe a trip to Idaho is all Larry. He’s always brought a sense of adventure to our relationship and for this I am grateful. I realize I have to continue developing my own interests because boredom is not about my spouse, it’s a reflection of my own interests, or lack there of.

Larry says, “want to go for a walk?”

“It’s supposed to rain.”

“That’s not lethal.”

I say, “let me grab my rubber boots,” look at me, agreeing to a walk with the prospect of rain, that seems risky?

As we’re starting our second loop drops start to fall from the laden clouds, I lift the hood of my jacket and pull it over my hair, shoving my cold hands deep into my pockets. I feel the tattered remains of a tissue along with two twenty dollar bills that Jill gave me last week so I wouldn’t be stranded. I consider the comfort of real money in my hand, as opposed to credit cards, security should be tangible.

Scanning the horizon, it’s the trees that pose the most startling change for me, winter has striped them of their leaves, so now the distant mountain comes into view, aspects of which where formerly concealed. It’s like aging, as the garnets of our youth fall away (I did not say garments), I’m able to see into the distance without distractions, and in my opinion, the view only increases in value. I marvel how the seasonal shifts mare the landscape, naked limbs, moist soil, the intimacy of the clouds caressing the rugged mountain. Life is sensual.

In a way limitations become gifts as we age, I mean now that I’ve reconciled myself with death (well at least the fact it’s our only option), I’m free to live with less burdens. We carry so much into adulthood, as if our value were based on our possessions, the status of our relationships, and those bills in my pocket. The restrictions are false but nevertheless I fear the thought of leaving them behind. I wonder if I’ll feel the same about the COVID restrictions once they’re lifted?

Sylvia Townsend Warner says, “it is best as one grows older to strip oneself of possessions, to shed oneself downward like a tree, to be almost wholly earth before one dies.” If we met in real life, Sylvia and I would not be friends.

We return to the house, wet, saturated, the sun still out of reach.

I’m Living in the Gap, avoiding the boredom, reaching for more.

Anecdotes:

  • “The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.” Robert Frost“
  • Wisdom comes with winters” Oscar Wilde
  • “Strange to be almost fifty, no? I feel like I just understood how to be young.” “Yes! It’s like the last day in a foreign country. You finally figure out where to get coffee, and drinks, and a good steak. And then you have to leave. And you won’t ever be back.” Andrew Sean Greer

Posted on by cheryloreglia · 26 Comments

Who Matters?

Is change really possible or is that just an oxymoron? The older I get the more I doubt my ability to significantly alter or even modify my inherently stubborn nature.

Isn’t that the most cynical thing you’ve ever heard? What’s wrong with me?

I know John Lennon died forty years ago, but it’s December, the hygge* month, our buddy Christ is coming, my daughter Kelley was born, and I’m being a total curmudgeon. But stay with me, I don’t want to go treasure hunting alone, and who knows what we will discover?

It’s not as if I’ve conducted a study, or have some highfalutin degree in behavior analysis, these are my rudimentary observations, as if a Monday morning quarterback who never played the game. Feel free to blow my theories to smithereens in the comments. That’ll be fun.

Here’s the thing, I have noticed that some people (we’ll not mention names), as a default mechanism, tend to discourage, criticize, and rebuke others. Not all three at once, but singly, or in heady combinations, mixed with a few innocuous comments as camouflage. It flows from some sort of scan for the negative type of mentality, and as if water without a dam, the words just flow. Yes, the double meaning is intentional. Bahaha

Please don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about. We all do this on occasion.

The problem is we act on our beliefs, and if they are egregious enough, negative actions will follow. Consider Mark David Chapman who was so enraged by John Lennon’s lifestyle, he felt compelled to get on a flight from Hawaii, lie in wait, after putting four bullets in John’s back, Mark sat there reading Catcher in the Rye until his arrest. I realize this is an extreme example, most people just ignore the people they don’t like, but indifference can be as potent as hatred, as we learned in WWII.

Then there are the Pollyanna types, who search for, and somehow find the smallest amount of good in everyone. I mean it could be the most obscure trait known to woman [inclusively], but they find it, and focus on it as if it were a noble characteristic. It could as minor as making eye contact with the family dog, not biting your nails at the table, or sporting tattoos without cuss words? Right? It’s the little things that count.

Most of us fall in between these two extremes, but trust me when I say no one lives in the middle, we lean to the left or right of the spectrum, no exceptions. Of course this might have something to do with how much sleep one has procured, how much wine has been consumed, or the current levels of stress in ones life, but that’s beside the point, because we all know our intrinsic nature, along with the characteristics that dominate our interactions with others. Own it.

The oddest thing about these observations is this; the person under scrutiny usually responds by affirming our initial beliefs about them, unless they’re Jesus or my sister. Read that again.

I mean why should I give a shit if I already know you think I’m inadequate? And by the way, it’s total bullshit if you think the other person doesn’t know your true feelings just because you’re oozing with false tolerance, forced charm, or ingenuous kindness Pinocchio.

Love and acceptance is felt on a cellular level, it’s intuitive, and if you’re the developmental equal of a slug, you’ll know.

I remember attending a work event in my early twenties (yes I can still remember that far back), still wet behind the ears, it was a new job, and I didn’t know very many people. I was wearing a snazzy suit and it felt as if I was playing dress up. I worked up the courage to approach a table with an empty seat and politely asked if I could join. Here’s the problem, I didn’t know the women who failed to get the job I was hired to do was sitting at that table. Yes she was, and me being a little sluggish, had no clue.

It’s funny, I can’t even remember her name, but her face is engraved in my memory, she said, in a rather nasty tone, “no that seat is saved for someone else.” Everyone at the table stared at me like I was a contagion.

I said as sweetly as possible, “okay,” quickly turning away before anyone noticed my beet read face. This is when another co-worker graciously grabbed an empty chair from another table and invited me to sit down.

With relief, I said, “thank you.”

The girl continued to glare at me from across the small table, I wasn’t completely ignorant, so I tried to avoid eye contact. Ten minutes into an awkward table vibe, she loudly expressed her irrational concern for my hair, she said, “you really need to get to the hair dresser, your roots are showing.”

I excused myself and went home.

I wonder how her roots are doing now? (not that I’m holding a grudge or anything)

Honestly, if you don’t like someone why should they try and be helpful, cooperative, considerate when they’re forced to be with you? It’s not going to change your opinion of them in the slightest, in fact I’ve noticed it has the exact opposite effect, as if your every action is tainted with their initial observations. It’s a destructive cycle and no one wins.

It’s easy to find corroborating evidence in support of our opinions, whether it be politics, people, or persuasions, because we reject what doesn’t fit, and make up the rest. We’re incredibly talented sleuths when it comes to substantiating our opinions of others but the truth is they are actually misdirected reflections of ourselves.

It’s a social virus, passed communally, and the super spreaders are the ones with the lowest self-esteem. So how do we protect ourselves from this contagion without a vaccine? Yeah, I went there.

Again, the reign of God is like a merchant man, seeking valuable pearls. Who, when he had found one pearl of great price, went and sold all that he had, and bought it. Matthew 13:45-46

We just found the pearl of great price, think about it, if people naturally confirm your beliefs about them, what if we stacked the deck in our favor? This is what your bartering for, if we want great marriages, friendships, relationships then we have to find the good in each other, and concentrate on that, as if our lives depended on it, because deep down we all want to matter. As Tony Dungy says your mind is more powerful than you think. What is down in the well comes up in the bucket. I love that!

Start with the next person you come across, especially someone who needs to go to the hairdresser, let’s be hyper vigilant about our attitude, and resolve to find one thing about them that is positive (you might find two, in this case more is better). Stand back, because when you let someone know they matter, it alters the fabric of the world in which you exist, in which we all exist.

Is change really possible? Can we actually transform our hearts, become a people who are quick to praise, slow to find fault, and rather than complain we thank each other? Yes we can. Here’s to stocking the well with good cheer, hope, and love because you matter!

I’m Living in the Gap, scanning for good, and my heart grew three sizes today.

What do you think? Change? Is it possible? Leave a few thoughts in the comments.

*Hygge is a term used to denote a quality of coziness and comfortable conviviality that engenders a feeling of contentment or well-being. It’s trending.

Anecdotes:

  • Be the type of person you want to meet. Golden Flower
  • You are surrounded by endless possibilities with your potential being the sum total of your beliefs. Steven Redhead
  • Surround yourself with those conducive to you being your highest self. A.D. Posey
Posted on by cheryloreglia · 48 Comments

The Larry Factor

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[A risible reflection for entertainment purposes only, intentionally confounding, read at your own risk.]

I wake up, memories flood in, the time, the day, the season, the pandemic, the spike, the roommates, and praise be to God, the smell of coffee. At least I can smell. I tenderly stretch my aching body, yawn, blow my nose, and stare out the window with the only part of my anatomy that doesn’t hurt. It’s the same view from days, years, decades ago, and I never tire of it.

The view off my room is the patio, and it is the most beloved space on the property, where memories of family and friends are so intertwined with the landscape, they’ve become inseparable.

Holding a warm cup of coffee in my hand I allow the warmth from the cup to seep into my heavily treaded veins.

I have survived yet another day.

Can I just say Larry does not enter a room, he invades the once tranquil space as if a bull in a china cabinet (not to overuse an idiom), turning on the television, pushing back the drapes, switching on lights. If he didn’t bring me coffee, I’d bar his entry.

Larry slips into the wingback chair and says, “how you feeling this morning?” I believe that was followed by an inhuman smirk.

Very juvenile in my opinion.

Cheryl pauses before answering, gathering her composure, and says, “like I’ve been beaten with a baseball bat, repeatedly.”

“I remember that all too well.”

“Thanks for the warning pal.”

“Live and learn, that’s my motto.”

“I’ll be sure to remember that little piece of advice when you want to wax something. I stand on adage “do unto others what you would have them do unto you. I believe it’s attributed to Jesus?”

Was it really only yesterday, because it feels like another lifetime, when Larry and I found ourselves all alone. I admit it was a little eerie, as if the rapture had occurred, and we were left behind.

Dante was working out of town for a few days, Julie, Nic, and the grandkids were celebrating Thanksgiving with Nic’s family, Tony and Thalita were spending the evening with Adam and Kiana, and for a few brief hours, we found ourselves empty-nesters once again.

How much trouble could two people get into with only a few hours to kill?

You had to ask.

Here’s the most reliable version of what went down, okay it’s the only available account, and it’s fallibility is not up for debate.

Larry blasts into our room around 5:00 pm, all excited and animated, he hands me a glass of wine, and says, “Put that raunchy book down, because I booked us some massages, and we’re leaving in less than an hour.”

He does this sort of thing every now and then, claiming to know my innermost desires, and trust me, more often than not he doesn’t have a clue.

I say, “What? I want to go out to dinner, not have someone massage my generous flesh, and besides, I just did my hair.” I give my head a little shake for emphasis.

“Nice, we’ll go out to eat after, you’ll be all relaxed, then we’ll come home and rest (code for anything but rest).

“Honey, I really don’t want to get naked, let some stranger slather oil all over my body, and then go out to dinner. The CDC would not approve.”

“I already paid for it. I went over and checked it all out. It’s really clean, it’s legit, and they are struggling for business. Have a heart.”

“Really, now I have to be responsible for the viability of massage parlors? It’s not enough I’m single-handedly keeping Amazon in business.”

“You mentioned you had a stiff neck, I’m just trying to be helpful.”

I have no words.

This is why Larry is in sales. He does not take no for an answer. The next thing I know I’m lying face down, naked between warm sheets, waiting for my masseur.

Let me explain my trepidation, this is a Thai massage parlor, I’ve never had a Thai massage, and oddly enough Larry was mum on the subject. While we were filling out our paperwork he mentioned he wanted the Swedish massage (I’m Swedish, I could have done that for free, just sayin) but it was a Thai place, so I thought it was rude to ask for a massage style from another country?

“I’ll have the Thai massage,” I emphasize, “thank you.”

I’m escorted to a dimly lite room, I can’t help but notice the suspicious bars attached to the ceiling, the red walls, and naturally the only thought that occurs to me is dear God, run for your life! But I was taught to be polite in all situations and running from the room screaming like a banshee could be considered ill-mannered.

I am anything but relaxed as I remove my clothes, fold them neatly on the chair, silently cursing my husband, before slipping between the sheets.

A woman enters the room, she’s soft-spoken, in fact, I could hardly understand her, did she just ask if she could walk on my back? No, I must have heard that wrong?

She adjusts the sheets, slathers me with warm oil, and for a minute I believe I’m in heaven. Her touch is gentle, starting at my shoulders, working the slick oils into my neck and scalp. I’m going to have guido hair at dinner, but I no longer care, it feels so good.

Somewhere between heaven and hell I hear a peculiar noise as if someone is climbing on the furniture? Then I feel her bare feet descend on my spacious calves, not particularly comfortable, as she inches her way up my generous thighs, digging her vindictive toes into my unsuspecting muscle (it’s both painful and disturbing), slowly, with excruciating precision, she works her way over my voluptuous ass, and onto my back. It’s as if my body has become the Pacific Coast Trail? I’m finding it hard to breathe.

She follows these shenanigans with a new trick, worse than blazing trails along my spine, I hear her knuckles crack as she gets into position, before jamming her elbow so deeply into my shoulder muscle I could feel the skin on the other side of my body protrude. I lasted thirty seconds before screaming for mercy.

I’d have given up national secrets if I had any, as it was I spewed the password to my iPhone, and code for the keyless entry to the backdoor, it was incoherent rambling, but still.

This went on for an entire hour with the added bonus of her twisting my naked soma into a pretzel and then using her body weight to extend the pose. I’m just glad there are no cameras in the room? My trembling thigh perfectly aligned with my ear couldn’t have been a pretty sight.

Emily Weiss says, “I like a semi-stressful massage – one where I can really feel something being worked out.” Well let me just say I have been pulverized, the tension has been beaten out of me, I’m a human frappe.

I hear Larry’s voice waffling up from the lobby, they must be done torturing him, his voice sounds lighthearted. Did I hear him laughing?

My masochist masseur does a final deep tissue manipulation, she says, “thank you,” and quietly leaves the room. I freeze, is she really gone, my next thought, is there a lock on the door?

Testing the probability for self-propelled motion, I try to wiggle my toes without moaning, while calculating how much assistance I will need to get out of this damn bed.

I push through the pain, rollover, and gingerly sit up without fainting. Baby steps. I manage to slide my clean clothes over my oily limbs, and attempt to assemble my hair, which only makes it worse.

Opening the door slowly, I peek up and down the empty hall, as if I’m trying to escape from Alcatraz. Ms. Light as a Feather is nowhere in sight.

I tiptoe to the lobby, where Larry is relaxing on the couch, he says all sweet and relaxed, “ready to go honey?” His eyebrows lift ever so slightly as he takes in my burlesque style hair but wisely keeps his thoughts to himself.

I couldn’t get out of there fast enough.

Holding the door open so I can limp through, he says, “I paid your masseur her tip, so that’s all taken care of,” as if I was worried about rewarding such brutality? Did you know the latin word for tortura is to twist? Neither did I.

I remain silent. He paid someone to literally walk all over me? There has to be a message embedded in this situation but I’m in too much pain to retrieve it.

How do these things keep happening to me? There must be a common denominator. Are you thinking what I’m thinking? Exactly.

We’ll call it the Larry factor.

When we get in the car I look over at Mr. Relaxed and say, “that was the most painful experience of my life, worse than four natural child births, all put together. What the hell?”

He says, “yeah, that’s why I went with the Swedish massage, I had a Thai massage once, I was sore for days, that lady wanted me to cry uncle and I refused, she destroyed me, it was a battle of wills, and I won.”

“Did you now? A covert warning would have been nice, something subtle, like wildly slashing your hand across your neck when I said, ‘I’ll have the Thai massage.’ She pummeled and contorted my entire body for the better part of an hour, honey, I might need therapy?”

“Where should we go to dinner?”

“Somewhere with an expensive wine list.”

“Split a burger at Willard Hicks?”

“Sure.”

“The we can go home and rest.”

“Lord have mercy.”

I’m Living in the Gap, dealing with the Larry factor, and a whole new appreciation for a full house.

Anecdotes:

  • Epsom salt baths are better than any massage. Emilia Clarke
  • Costco is a passion. Costco is like a massage. Kris Jenner
  • I love to get a massage but I’m quite a baby with it. I don’t like them too hard or anyone walking on me or anything. When it’s good, it’s the best thing ever. When it’s bad, it’s an hour of absolute agony. Lara Stone
  • I do not live in my thighs or in my droopy butt. I live in joy and motion and coverups. I live in the nourishment of food and the sun and the warmth of the people who love me. Anne Lamott