rose-colored

There's something comforting about seeing elderly couples walk down the street holding hands.  I am in awe of couples that have been married 50 years. Maybe jealous is the correct word. I would need to live to at least 102 to make that happen, and that would mean getting married this year. At this point, I think the likelihood of either is pretty slim.

What I have noticed though is how many couples who were couples in high school, college or just years ago are getting back together. With social networking sites working overtime connecting people with people from their past, marrying your childhood sweetheart seems a bit more commonplace.  If you juxtapose meeting someone new on a dating site like eHarmony, JDate, Match, Chemistry, or Catholic Match, it's a bit like going to the grocery store and looking for what you want...and whom you find attractive, not necessarily about shared interests.

There's no history or no reference of youth. There may be pluses to that, but it seems that when couples from the past reunite or even those couples who have been together for a long time, a rose-colored glasses phenomenon takes place. The extra 15 pounds or laugh lines or bald spot that have occurred over time aren't noticed quite so much. If you're over 45 and not looking like your 25 year old self, and a bit reticent about injectibles, looking back might bring you into the future.

A friend of mine's mother used to say after the announcement of a couple's divorce, "well, they didn't grow up together." Years later I've come to understand her words more fully - the couple's frame of reference is greater, there's a foundation that only happens over time, and there's a better understanding of why your spouse is the way (s)he is, and maybe there's a patience and tolerance that's learned after a few decades together.

with a plop

On the totem pole of life's problems, this one's very low. I am a bit embarrassed to say how disorienting yesterday was for me, but I'm owning it. After coming home through what seemed like one of those rainstorms where you could imagine a flash flood sweeping Park Avenue, I stood in my kitchen drying off. I was going through the mail while waiting for an important call. Oh, and for the record, and just so you understand my reaction, my cell number was the only number I gave to this person to call me.

PLOP

Before I knew it my Blackberry fell in Lucy's water bowl. Seriously? The accuracy of it surprised me. She's a 10 pound dog with a small bowl. I grabbed it out of the water - all the while cursing like I can do on occasion - took the back off, pulled out the battery and sim card, put it on a towel, turned it over, got out the blow dryer, and prayed.

After giving the device a blow dry, I prayed again (now thinking maybe the Tea Party has had a serious effect on me), put the battery in and waited for the connection to happen. It charged up, powered on, message markers blinked, it even vibrated with voicemails. But the keyboard wasn't responding. More drying and I even put the Blackberry in a ziplock with one of those moisture remover packets overnight.

Here's the kicker - I woke up several times during the night expecting to see my Blackberry charging on my bedside table. I never realized how many times I wake up to check it. What could possibly be sent to me in the middle of the night that I need to wake up and put on my glasses to read? I think I have a problem.

The withdrawal continued throughout the next day, until I was able to go to Verizon. Pleasantly surprised that I bought the insurance, the salesman told me to call the insurance company and they'd overnight me a new Blackberry. One more night of waking up to no emails, texts, BBMS or voicemails, but I found I slept through the night. I actually had a great night sleep.

Fast forward to the next day, today, and the phone arrives. I set it up, which took a little time since it's a newer model and unfortunately I didn't have all my information backed up. Mostly just had to recreate my BBM list. Tonight, as it all seems to be be back to normal, I had a thought: should I leave it out of the bedroom permanently?

nude

This post started off as a light and meaningful story about a conversation I had with my son a couple of days ago about nail polish. We were watching a commercial for a color called nude and as I watched not thinking anything except that's a nice color, he said out loud racist. Racist? He looked at me and asked, why is that color considered nude, when that's not nude for everyone? Something that I've accepted as fact all my life was now being questioned and contested by my almost 16 year old.

We have several examples of one nude being the universal skin color: pantyhose, Band-Aids, and for the longest time make-up foundation was only available in a few shades. So now we've added nail polish to the list.  For me, it's not about the lack of shades or the insensitivity to naming these shades. At the moment I heard racist, I realized the education my son is receiving - at home and in school - is working. He's being taught to see the other point of view, realize there's more than one side to a story, be empathic and challenge the norm. It was one of those parent moments we wait for and hope for.

So that's the abbreviated post I was originally going with until I read the horrendous news story coming out of Jackson, Mississippi about the brutal beating and murder of James Craig Anderson. It's impossible for me to understand how a group of teenagers can have as much hate as it takes to beat and run over a 49-year-old black man solely because of the color of his skin. 

Who are these kids? Who are their parents? What are they learning in school? How do we live in a country where a teenager in NY sees how unfair the name of a nail polish is and in the same country have a teenager who can utter the words let's go f*#k with some n#*%ers and proceed to kill a man without remorse? 

If he gets what he deserves, he'll be in jail for a double life sentence. If he had gotten what he deserved, it would have been an education.