Our neighbors have two young children: a toddler boy named James Michael and his little sister. I don't know anyone's name, other than James Michael's, and I only know his because when his mom or dad mean business, they say, "James Michael, come here now."
I saw mom and her kids today at Target. James Michael happily clutched a new toy, and mom gave me a little smile. Her boy wasn't having a meltdown, which surprised me because he loses his mind at least three times a day. James Michael wakes up cranky and irritated with the world. He only calms down when breakfast appears. Nap time presents an even greater challenge because, as unhappy as he is to wake up in the morning, he's even madder at the prospect of going back to sleep in the afternoon. After 10 minutes or so of howling, he passes out.
I think James Michael has issues with transitions. I can relate.
The third daily meltdown occurs at the dinner table. This one is pure mischief. Mom and dad frequently entertain. More evenings than not, the candles and grill are both lit, and all of the military kids are expected -- kindly and with a great deal of patient assistance -- to sit down and eat using their table manners. James Michael does fine with this until he can't take it any longer and stabs someone with his corn cob holder.
Successful meltdown number three.
I know so much about this family because, like us, they leave all of their windows open and eat three meals a day outside.
As I think about this, I realize James Michael's parents must think my name is "cute woman" and that my husband's name is "Matt?" They know by now that we love football, classical music, and that we genuinely believe we are hilarious. Oh, and that we are obsessed with stars and birds.
I hope, dear God, that they aren't counting my meltdowns.
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
Community
Matt's staff members are Joanne, June, Jessica, John ... and Mark. (Clearly, Matt was assigned this project, so Mark would be less lonely. Although ... Mark goes by his last name, which starts with an F, but then again, so does Matt's.)
I think I've had too much caffeine.
Joan and her husband Rick threw a dinner party for Jessica, a brand new bride. They invited the bossman and his new bride, too, and what a lovely, lovely time we had. Joan set up a cozy square table right in the middle of her garden, and Mark brought tiki torches to keep the bugs away. In fact, everyone brought something: cakes, party favors, bottles of wine, and much good humor. A considerable pile of all of our sandals and flip-flips formed by the garage door.
To eat barefoot in a garden under the Hawaii sky ... this was a magical night.
Joan used white and turquoise linens and china, and she made her own centerpiece with daylillies and something purple.
See? Here it is. Check out the starfish on the napkins. Mine is now sitting on my Bible on our coffee table, and I smile every time I see it.
My favorite part of the evening was when each of Jesse's friends (yes, believe it, the groom's name starts with a J) stood and toasted the couple, and then each of Jessica's friends and co-workers followed suit. Matt said things so kind, I teared up with pleasure and pride. I don't remember his exact words, except that he ended with, "Blessings to you both," and instead of guffawing or mumbling "Cheers," everyone sighed. I peeked at Jessica. Her tears ran right down her cheeks.
Pat, also an army officer, was my table mate. His parents live in College Park, less than five miles from our house in Orlando, and Pat went to Edgewater High School. What a delight to talk Florida. We chuckled about tourists complaining about the rain and recalled the old Double E stadium and wondered what was happening hurricane-wise in the Gulf.
Once Matt had eaten his second slice of cake, I tugged his elbow to go. No one wants to party with the boss, I'd told him on the way over, plus we old folks were getting tired. Much to my surprise, we couldn't get out of the house. Rick and Pat and Megan and June and Mark and Aurora ... everyone knew about my cancer, and no one wanted us to go without kind assurances and genuine offers to help. Rick put his arm around my shoulders as he shook Matt's hand. "I hope we'll be very close friends," he said.
The next morning, we headed up to North Shore. We passed Buttons at the 76 Station, and both he and Matt stopped their cars, got out, and started talking in the middle of the intersection. A bit later, we hooked up with Steve at the beach, a friend of Buttons', and he and Matt talked shop about boards.
I say all of this because of the C-word. Not cancer. Community. We have friends here in Hawaii. They are beautiful people, full of the wonderful mess of quirks that marks each of us. They are our community, at least the part that resides in the South Pacific.
Here is my Bible with the starfish. I smile when I look at it because it's beautiful. And because it gives me joy to think of the people in this place.
I think I've had too much caffeine.
Joan and her husband Rick threw a dinner party for Jessica, a brand new bride. They invited the bossman and his new bride, too, and what a lovely, lovely time we had. Joan set up a cozy square table right in the middle of her garden, and Mark brought tiki torches to keep the bugs away. In fact, everyone brought something: cakes, party favors, bottles of wine, and much good humor. A considerable pile of all of our sandals and flip-flips formed by the garage door.
To eat barefoot in a garden under the Hawaii sky ... this was a magical night.
Joan used white and turquoise linens and china, and she made her own centerpiece with daylillies and something purple.
See? Here it is. Check out the starfish on the napkins. Mine is now sitting on my Bible on our coffee table, and I smile every time I see it.
My favorite part of the evening was when each of Jesse's friends (yes, believe it, the groom's name starts with a J) stood and toasted the couple, and then each of Jessica's friends and co-workers followed suit. Matt said things so kind, I teared up with pleasure and pride. I don't remember his exact words, except that he ended with, "Blessings to you both," and instead of guffawing or mumbling "Cheers," everyone sighed. I peeked at Jessica. Her tears ran right down her cheeks.
Pat, also an army officer, was my table mate. His parents live in College Park, less than five miles from our house in Orlando, and Pat went to Edgewater High School. What a delight to talk Florida. We chuckled about tourists complaining about the rain and recalled the old Double E stadium and wondered what was happening hurricane-wise in the Gulf.
Once Matt had eaten his second slice of cake, I tugged his elbow to go. No one wants to party with the boss, I'd told him on the way over, plus we old folks were getting tired. Much to my surprise, we couldn't get out of the house. Rick and Pat and Megan and June and Mark and Aurora ... everyone knew about my cancer, and no one wanted us to go without kind assurances and genuine offers to help. Rick put his arm around my shoulders as he shook Matt's hand. "I hope we'll be very close friends," he said.
The next morning, we headed up to North Shore. We passed Buttons at the 76 Station, and both he and Matt stopped their cars, got out, and started talking in the middle of the intersection. A bit later, we hooked up with Steve at the beach, a friend of Buttons', and he and Matt talked shop about boards.
I say all of this because of the C-word. Not cancer. Community. We have friends here in Hawaii. They are beautiful people, full of the wonderful mess of quirks that marks each of us. They are our community, at least the part that resides in the South Pacific.
Here is my Bible with the starfish. I smile when I look at it because it's beautiful. And because it gives me joy to think of the people in this place.
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