Tacky Questions

Normally I am one of those people that tries to give people the benefit of the doubt, to assume that they are not ill-intentioned. Sometimes though there are those moments when I have to bite my tongue to not say something cutting and sarcastic, in particular I am often amazed at what some people will ask without seeming to comprehend how insensitive or even hurtful they are being.

So, here is my vent against all the tacky people, my personal insensitive question hall of fame:

To anyone who has had a loved one die of lung cancer: "Did they smoke?"

Please do not ask this, it may make you feel better about their death knowing that they were responsible for their own disease, but to the person experiencing the loss it makes no difference. It does not offer any comfort, and really what is the point now? Is it siupposed to be OK that they died if they smoked and somehow not OK if they didn't? What I would like to say in response to this question: "Yes they did, thanks for asking, you know that makes me feel so much better because now I know they deserved to die."

Upon hearing that my friend had lost a baby: "Was it their first child or do they already have kids?"

Huh? So, if you already have kids this one doesn't count? I feel like people are always trying to find a way to diminish the sadness of something. You know what, whether it is child number one or ten this sucks, don't diminish it. My sarcastic response: "No they have other children, good point you have there, wait here while I go run and tell them they have no reason to feel bad about losing this one."

To anyone who has adopted a child: This comes in assorted versions but goes along the general lines of "Do you still want children of your own?" , "Couldn't you have children of your own?" or "Did you try to have children of your own?"

This is offensive for multiple reasons, it assumes that adopted kids are second choice, like giving birth is always the preferred method for creating a family but even beyond that it also assumes that the child who is adopted is not "their own" exactly whose are they then? For reasons of my own I will not delve into here this idea that families related by blood are somehow superior to those that are not just infuriates me. Did you not "choose" to create a family with your spouse? Do you love him less? Also, please don't tell someone who has adopted that they will probably get pregnant soon, I don't care how many people you know or have heard of that this has happened to. See above reasons if you want to know why. My sarcastic response: "So whose exactly is this child ?" or if I am feeling particularly snarky: "You know my husband and I have sex like bunnies but we just can't seem to pop one of our own out, we'll just have to settle for these second rate kids." I have several friends who have adopted who can elaborate on this issue much better than I can, but I get indignant on their behalf just the same.

To anyone who has been married five years or more: "So why don't you guys have kids?"

It is probably safe to assume that for most people who want to have children once they have been married for a few years they probably will have done so, so if you know a married couple who have been together for a while and they don't have children they either a) don't want children and the reason is none of your business b) have tried to have children and have been unsuccessful in which case you are raising all sorts of stuff that again is none of your business or c) they don't know why they don't have children and again you are raising issues that are none of your business. The overall tone of the question also suggests that there is something wrong with you in some way for not having children. I am afraid that this question just hits too close to home for me and I have no sarcastic response, I have gotten it so many times you would think I would but it always catches me off guard and I end up stammering something about " it just didn't happen for us "or "not God's plan".

This is where this post digresses. I cannot help but explore this last one a little more. I have been married to my husband for 17 1/2 years now. At one point, like most people, I just assumed I would have kids. It didn't just happen for us. So, I have spent a long time dealing with not being a Mom, how I feel about that, whether we should pursue adoption or fertility treatments or just be OK with not being parents. I have struggled with guilt, and if I deserve to be a Mom or if I am just meant to pursue other things in life. I have been all over the spectrum on how I feel. I wish I could say I just knew one way or the other what was best but I don't. I do not feel like there is a camp for me, I am not a part of the tried everything camp or the adoption camp or the I just know I am not meant to have kids camp. I wish someone would start a people who just have never felt absolutely certain what was right so the choice was just made for them because so much time had passed camp but if there is one I have not found it. It is inevitable that it is when I seem to have gotten to some place of peace that I get blind-sided by one of these type of questions. It is not a straightforward thing to answer for me. It is complex and emotional and the answer is not even clear to me. I am the woman who cries at the Mother's Day and Baby Dedication services not just because I wish I had that but more because I know I have missed something in life and I just don't feel like I have been able to take that step to say I am supposed to be a Mom. So your question that seems so benevolent to you is like a loaded gun that opens up that part of me that struggles with this.

I remember hearing or reading somewhere once (I don't remember where so I can't credit the source) that the best response to an inappropriate question is just to ask back "Why do you want to know?" I think that is perfect. It isn't rude or hurtful back which I may think I want to be but I really don't. Well intentioned people will have a response to it that will soften the previous poor question and may start a great conversation, those that are just being nosy will probably just shut up. I have yet to use it but I am keeping it in my head in hopes that the next time I hear a tacky question that is what will come out of my mouth. If I am guilty of asking you a tacky question please call me out on it, I want to know, you can ask me why I want to know and that will tell me I crossed over the line to tackiness.

I feel a little better now, need a good vent everyone once in a while.

The Way of the Cross

I have noticed something changing in how I look at the world. The problem of suffering is one of those great questions for theologians to debate, and the reason many say they do not believe in God. I confess that I am not immune to my share of railing against God when horrible, inexplicable things happen to people I care about, or when it seems like life is just too hard. Suffering sometimes made me believe in God less, and I sometimes say things like "if God really loved us wouldn't he want us to be happy, I want the people I love to be happy." But lately, I have started to see things differently. I have been noticing that some of the most beautiful, Christ-like moments between people happen in the midst of suffering; when someone willingly chooses to enter into the pain of another and sit there with them.

Don't get me wrong, I still hate suffering. I have a friend who is a Buddhist who told me that when they hear someone is going through something difficult they say "congratulations" because it means some positive change is coming or something will be learned. To that I say a big fat NO! I cannot wait for the day that the world is made right and suffering is gone, and I will always feel bad for people who are in pain even if I think they somehow are going to be better for it. I do not think I will ever get to the place where I will welcome suffering like a friend, but I have started to think that it may be in its midst that we come closest to the heart of God.

I am part of the prayer team at my church, so I hear about a lot of suffering. I also know that sometimes, even often, our prayers for the bad stuff to go away are not answered. Lately, instead of just asking God to end the suffering of others I have asked that God help me be someone who does not run away from the pain, but that I would allow myself to feel it and pray from that place. What do we do with all of this suffering as people of faith? For now my answer is, I want to be like the man that I saw last week.

I have a friend who lost a baby recently. She went for an ultrasound and they did not hear the heartbeat. She was about five months into her pregnancy. After they checked again, it was determined that the baby had died. My friend and her husband had to go to the hospital to induce labor and deliver the baby. They had to say hello and goodbye to this precious little girl all in one agonizing moment. There is no making sense of such things.

In the midst of this, one of the associate pastors from our church went to the hospital to be with them. This man, who I will just call Pastor has his own story that is not unlike my friends, he and his wife also lost a child in a similar way about two years ago. From what I was told, he was at the hospital with them throughout their stay there. He also came to the memorial service for the baby. When the service was over Pastor helped the baby's father to carry her small, pink, gingham coffin to the hearse. The sight of these two Dad's sharing the burden of that tiny coffin was excruciatingly beautiful. At the graveside, after she was lowered into the ground the baby's father began shoveling the dirt to cover her coffin. There was something in that act that just got me. I cannot pretend to know his thoughts, but all I could think was "this is the last thing this Dad can do for his little girl, and he is determined that he will be the one to do it." The father's teenage son joined in for a little while, and then Pastor asked if the Dad wanted his help. Again, these two fathers , who share the heartbreak of losing a baby shoveling dirt to cover a too tiny coffin was a moment of such pain and love woven together it felt voyeuristic to be there.

I know that I have no way of understanding the pain of this Mom and Dad, not being a Mom myself. Pastor does know. In the moment when he was told that someone else was going through what he knows to be the worst of life he chose to go back to that place in his heart and walk through it with someone else. I don't know what that was like for him, but as an outside witness to it I was humbled and I was changed.

Joy is an exquisite thing, with its leaping and laughter, a mountain top you where you wish you could stay and live forever. No one doubts the splendor of joy. Sorrow is more like the woods behind my grandparent's house where I liked to play as a child. From far away it looked scary and dark. You could only see its beauty once you were inside of it. It is a quiet beauty that grows in shadows and is covered in moss, but its roots grow deep and wide and there are trees you can climb up to get a glimpse of the sun.

Paris Postcards

You cannot really see it in that picture but I am holding my Windsor Castle umbrella above me and there is a rainbow behind me.  That photo was taken near the beginning of what was probably our favorite evening in Paris.  We started at  the Musee D'Orsay to see the Impressionists and visit Whistler's Mom.  I think that even more than the art itself, what I love about the museums in Paris are the spaces themselves.  They have such intricate details and every time I would walk into a room I would catch my breath at the volume and overall impact. Paris does the vista better than any city i have been in to this point in my life.  The views are unending, long expanses with a monument placed at a crossroads followed by another expanse.  I cannot help but contrast that with our tendency to tear down anything with some age to it and put up a mini mall.  

After the museum, we walked across the Seine on a pedestrian bridge, which is where the photo with the umbrella was taken.  It started to rain very hard again after that and we huddled with a group of people in the walkway tunnel until the rain let up.  When we crossed over the Seine  we landed in the Jardin des Tuileries, near the carousel,  and we stopped at a little cafe for a cappucino and some frittes.

Stopping off at a little cafe anytime you want to have a cappucino, or a bowl of onion soup, or a crepe is the real charm of Paris. Lloyd was on a quest for the perfect fritte, I am not sure he found it, but I know we enjoyed many moments giving our feet a rest sipping a frothy cappucino at cafes throughout the city. I did my best to order in French and the waiters all seemed to be gracious and patient about it. The cafes are one of the things about this city I love the most, the sheer number of them means there is always one nearby. I love the menus out front with the specials of the day written on a chalkboard. There is no sense of urgency about needing to eat and run, people linger and talk and drink wine and smoke cigarettes. I think Paris is the only place I have found myself somewhat craving a cigarette since I quit ten years ago. The cafes make me imagine what it would be like to live inthis city. To find a little neighborhood and have my favorite cafe  to go and sit and perhaps be like Hemingway and capture my thoughts on paper. One cafe we went to for dinner had this marvelous potato tartin that melted in my mouth. It was so delicous I tried to recreate it the other night at home. Mine was not quite the same but it was good enough to take me back to that cafe.

The Jardin  Des Tuileries end at the Place De La Concorde with its' imposing obelisque.  I stopped off at the bathroom at the entrance to the gardens, which I only share because it is the first pay restrooms I have ever been to.  There was a cashier at the door and for .40 euro you could use them.  Lloyd refused to pay to pee on principal.  The Champs Elysees begins on the other side of the PDLC, with gardens and parks on either side for a long stretch.  We strolled its' length, it would rain for a little while and then stop.  We had out trusty Windsor Castle umbrella, and the trees blocked most of the rain so it was quite pleasant.  Along the way we made up stories about our dog JoJo, deciding that he is decidedly Parisienne and we made up a whole character for him of how we would behave on this walk.  Silly, yes, but it made us laugh.

The commercial section of the Champs Elysees starts at Franklin Roosevelt drive.  We strolled along, window shopping and talking.  A few Muslim women approached us asking for money.  I don't now why, but it surprised me that this is the cultural group that we saw doing this.  After a while we stopped at a cafe and got dinner, I enjoyed just sitting and watching people go by, listening to all of the languages.  The waiters at the cafe we stopped at were some of the hardest working I have seen, they had a restaurant with an outdoor section in one area, and then a tented cafe a little way up the sidewalk.  The waiters run back and forth weaving between the pedestrians carrying food and drink.  We tipped our waiter well on top of the included gratuity.  

After dinner we continued along the Champs Elysees.  We arrived at the Arc De Triomphe as the sun was setting and stood in awe with the rest of the tourists and took pictures.  There was a real sense of fun and wonder.  You could tell people were just amazed to be standing there, that was how I felt too.   After all of that walking we decided to take a cab.  We went to the taxi stand and were lucky enough to get the nicest cab driver ever.  He pointed out landmarks and told us about places to go tourists often miss as he drove us to the Eiffel Tower.  We arrived at the Eiffel Tower just  in time to see it lit up with the light show they do every night on the hour.  Some of the French I have heard do not care for it, but it was pretty spectacular to see.  We got out of our cab and walked back to our hotel from there.  If I walked like this every day I could eat all the bread and brie I want.  

Plumbing Problems

We had to replace our water heater today. We discovered it was leaking last night.  No idea how long it has been that way.  I spent the day working out of the house while  the guy installed  the new one, and I realized I feel pretty blah.  Not sure why.  It might be that I have a friend who lost a baby last week, or the fact that I had looked forward to our trip to Europe for so long and now it is over, or that I need to make some changes in my life and I keep putting them off.  I have not really been feeling good since we got home so maybe that is it. I booked my next trip to Jamaica so I would have thought that would inspire some joy, but it didn't.  All I can think is I have a lot of things coming up and they are all going to require work and it just makes me feel tired.  I don't know the cause  hopefully it is just a transitory mood, but I feel like our water heater, I am leaking out my joy and I need to find where the hole is and fix it; or maybe I am more like our whole house and I need a copper repipe job.  Hmmm what would that look like?

Snapshots

Before I left for our trip everyone said "take lots of pictures"  they were right of course,  but I keep finding whenever I travel that I am not really good at documenting my journeys pictorially.  I want to live in the moments I experience and  somehow I feel that when I am taking pictures I am focused on documenting it not living it.

So the photos I have from my trip are of the standard things, the monuments and churches, the scenery of our trip.  I offer above a few of my favorite shots from our trip, they are either beautiful or they make me smile,  or a little of both you can decide for yourself which does what. What I hope to hold onto more than the things we saw are the sensations I felt, those thoughts and feelings I am not a gifted enough photographer to capture.  

So I offer my pictures in words:

Sitting on the plane, in our free upgrade seats,  holding my husband's hand with a sense of starting a great adventure.  My heart just welled up with love for him for wanting to make this trip happen.  We just smiled at one another every time we caught each others gaze the entire way.  Also, LOVE the video on demand feature on British Airways. Then that  sense of WE ARE REALLY HERE! as we landed in London.  That feeling of starting out on a wonderful journey with someone you really like spending time with is one of  my all time favorites.  No matter what happens you just know it is going to be great.

The sensation of clotted cream melting on my tongue, somewhere between whipped cream and butter, it is one of the richest, creamiest, yummiest things I have ever tasted.  Spread over a warm scone, a little bit of jam to top it off, with sips of tea between bites, looking out over the food court at Harrods.  Now, I just have to figure out where I can find a tea like that in Southern California. 

Feeling my face gradually turn red with embarrassment as an entire room full of people I do not know sing me happy birthday.  Happy,  but red faced receiving a glass of champagne and enjoying every sip as we swap travel stories with a group of newly made friends over dinner.  After dinner we get on a barge to cruise down the river Thames to see all of the landmarks as the sun set and the buildings and trees were lit up along the shore. Magical.   I cannot tell you what I was doing on most of my birthdays in recent years but I think I will always be able to say where I was when I turned 46.  

Sitting in a restaurant looking out over Leicester square just watching people go by.  The variety of languages and ethnicities is like watching the world go by on parade while you sit in one place.  Strolling along after dinner through Chinatown on our way to the theatre, finding the perfect motorcycle jacket for Lloyd on sale along the sidewalk and actually bargaining the price down 20 Euros (I hate bargaining, so it was a proud moment for me).  Capping the night off by seeing Spamalot, with its quintessentially British Monty Python humor, then strolling back to the underground afterward singing "always look on the bright side of life" with a whistle on the end of course. 

Many more moments to come, but there are a few postcards from London.

Working to Rest

We leave today for Europe.  For the past two weeks I have walked around with lists of things I need to get done  to get ready to be gone for eight days.  I love lists,  they make it so I do not have to keep everything in my head and I find a deep sense of satisfaction in completing them and throwing them away.  

There is a certain irony in having to work so hard for rest.  I have literally been going from early in the morning till late at night; getting things packed for us, the house ready, everything ready for the business and work and of course making arrangements for the dogs care and getting them ready too.  I know when we return I will then have "catching up" to do, with the things no one else takes care of for you that will require extra effort and energy.  So really, how restful is a vacation?  

I think what I am looking forward to is the vacate part of vacation, a chance to just be away from all of the stuff of life.  As much as I love my life I am ready to enjoy some new places and see another world with my husband.  I hope we allow ourselves to really be there and not think or talk too much about what we are leaving behind.  

Au revoir.