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Tag Archives: pride

Dante’s Missed Ring of Hell

17 Saturday Mar 2012

Posted by lifefromthestep in My Brand of Humor

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fish fry, humor, lent, pride

It’s Lent, which, in our household, means fish on Fridays.  Or at least no meat with legs.  Well, legs that don’t scuttle on the bottom of a body of water.  Yes, I realize there are a million arguments for why this is silly, but it’s a tradition we’ve adopted and we try to stick to it.

Several years ago there were fish fries all over our area.  The Moose, Eagles, and other animal-themed confraternities used the famed fish fry as a fundraiser and social event.  And we let them raise our funds.

The last two years, however, the fish fries have dried up.  Even the regular restaurants have become stingy with advertising fish specials on Fridays.

Why is the American Council of Bishops not meeting to discuss this?  Forget the Blunt Amendment!  How can we be good Catholics without Lenten fish fries?

This sad contextualization leads us to this particular Friday evening.  We headed out in search of a fish fry knowing that, as a last resort, we could seek refuge at a small-town dining establishment that offers fish on its menu.  My husband even hoped for a fish buffet.

No fish fries and no fish buffet.  Indeed, downgraded to a series of plated fish dinner specials.

We had been there no more than five minutes when I was reminded why this was our last resort.

The tables look like they came from inside recreational vehicles.  The chairs were designed when Americans were six inches shorter and fifty pounds lighter.  The whole restaurant feels like a mobile home that’s been gutted and outfitted with this fine dining furniture.

The walls are adorned with bronzish metal sculptures of flowers (lots of metal flowers in our area) and trains along with the occasional abstract metal shape, each of which bears a tag proclaiming the artist and a price.  Whose aunt makes those?  And have they ever sold one?  These grim reminders of our area’s lack of high culture and, let’s just be honest, taste, do nothing to minimize the grim reality of the tiny chairs and tables crammed together inside the flimsy walls.

The wait staff, on the other hand, tends to be robust, which makes the tiny aisles between tables more dangerous than interesting.

At least the wait staff are clearly distinguishable from the patrons.  Their t-shirts have sleeves.  And their shoes are close-toed.

Old men wearing flip flops.  Aging breasts improperly supported by equally aging bras.  The collective wardrobe the product of sweatshops across the developing world.  Undershirts worn as outerwear, and not by young women seeking to be sexy.  Everywhere proof that the American population leads a sedentary lifestyle that makes us vulnerable to clinical obesity.  Victims of this lifestyle consuming plates of fried fish.  An ambulance waiting in the parking lot with paddles charged.  I felt positively svelte.  And well-put-together.  It’s all relative.

I hate to sound like such a snob, but the visual hits were coming at me fast and furious and I hadn’t even brought my phone to be able to text my husband discreetly from across the table.  Where do texts go when you can’t send them?

Apparently your blog.

A trip to the restroom with our daughter.  A voice from the other stall asks, “Hello?” and, just before I, surprised, respond, the conversation continues and the occupant/interlocutor invites someone to join her for dinner.  When my daughter flushes, the response, with no shame, that, “yes, I’m in the bathroom.”

Virgil, where are you?  What ring are we in?  Can we please go back to the lake with souls trapped in the ice?  And can you ask Jesus if next Friday we can just eat whatever is in the fridge?

If it helps, I promise to fry the hell out of it.

 

 

Parental Pride

17 Tuesday Jan 2012

Posted by lifefromthestep in Parenting, Stepparenting, Uncategorized

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babies, kids, pride, project 365

A couple of social media happenings collided today that highlighted for me the full spectrum of my parenting experience.

My cousin, who had her first baby last week, sent an email to family and friends detailing the onset of labor, the fairly easy delivery and the happy, easy-going baby and placid first-time parents who now reside in their home.  Those happy hormones of early motherhood oozed through her email and the sheer joy of seeing a person that you and the person you used to love most in the world created together shone from every word.

I remember that feeling.  I have it still at various moments for the two children that my husband and I made together.  I’m not going to lie.  There’s some heavy narcissism wrapped up in that feeling.  Look what we’ve done and how wonderful it is.  Look how much they’re like us.  Isn’t that amazing?

For my children that we did not create together, I have also had moments of immense pride, but the narcissism is different.  I can take pride in having nurtured or influenced, but not in having created.  That was done before I was in the picture.    I think in many ways I have a purer pride in their achievements because I’m proud for them, not for me.

Which brings me to my second social media moment.  My aunt posted to Facebook today her pride as a mom that my cousin, a phenomenal trumpet player, has made it to the National Trumpet Competition semi-finals.  That’s a huge deal for a kid from a very small town.

I’m very happy for my cousin.  He’s earned it.  I’m happy for my aunt.  She’s earned it, too, with hours of listening to trumpet practice and hours spent driving to special trumpet lessons and various festivals and competitions, not to mention hours of role modeling a lifelong love of creating music.

But I couldn’t help but itch to respond how proud I am that my oldest has his first preliminary hearing for several felony counts tomorrow.  It’s a milestone in a man’s life.  Doesn’t your child’s baby book have a spot for those details? Hmmmm…….

When those miracles enter our lives through our act of loving another person, whether that entrance is through a birth canal or a marriage certificate, we start a lifelong love affair that is stronger than any we had anticipated to that point.  We see the hope and promise that youth offers.  I doubt many bring children into their lives looking forward to failure and despair.

I didn’t make my post to Facebook.  Facebook is for the lives we want to lead, not the ones we do.  And when reality gets too real in social media, the herd abandons its weakest members like a three-legged gazelle in a herd chased by lions.  Avert your eyes, children.  It’s not nice to stare.  And, ooooo, look at that cute little baby.  Isn’t s/he precious?  Look quick for the tattoo that marks it as the future felon.

Little too determinist?  And I don’t even like Calvin.  He just keeps turning back up like some bad damn theological penny.

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