From Engelbert to Paul...

My grandmother had a thing for Engelbert Humperdinck. According to my aunt, Grandma always used to say, "Engelbert Humperdinck can put his shoes under my bed any time." My mom says she loved Paul Newman too.

I didn't know my grandma for very long. I was 10 months old when she died. But she sounds like a woman after my own heart. She didn't really have a type when it came to men. She loved the dark-haired Indian with the silky smooth voice and the blue-eyed dreamy actor and she married my grandpa who was tall and skinny and had a sense of humor that was out of this world. 

Grandma and I would have been great friends, I think. And we certainly would've enjoyed talking about men.  Not only because I don't really have a type either when it comes to men (and not just because I also think Engelbert and Paul were very hot); but also because I love a man for who he is and teh characteristics he offers, not simply because he fits a mold. 

Maybe it's because I don't really fit a mold myself that I don't hold others to a certain set of requirements. I'm not sure. But I do know that finding the right guy when you really don't have a list isn't always easy. And everyone and their brother wants to fix you up with everyone from Engelbert to Paul in the hopes that you will stumble upon someone suitable in the process. 

And it's as taxing as it is exciting.

And I understand the frustration of the people around me who just want me to quit complaining and find someone to spend the rest of my life with.

I don't know who the right guy is. I don't know if he's dark and mysterious like Engelbert Humperdinck or dreamy like Paul Newman or spontaneously funny like my Grandpa. The possibilities seem endless. And once you settle on one, the possibilities just end. 

I wonder what Grandma's advice would be.

One Turn on the Earth's Axis

I'd like to see the world through your eyes. Just for one day. Twenty-four hours. One turn on the earth's axis. I'm hoping it would help me to better understand your view of women. I'd like to see the signs you see that say a woman is a throw away. Because I don't know any women like that. And I'm curious.

Is there something in her eyes that suggests she won't mind being lied to or used? Does her fragile smile imply weakness? Do her sloppy clothes or her disheveled hair represent desperation?

Do you watch her as she interacts with her friends before you descend upon her? Is there something in the way she walks that catches your eye? Is it because she's fat or old or is it just because she's alone?

I want to know how you pick 'em. What is it about a girl that screams "use me?" Are there certain characteristics that make it OK for you to lie to her or cheat on her or forget to mention your wife?

I'd like to see the world through your eyes. Just for one day. Twenty-four hours. One turn on the earth's axis. I want to see who you see when you look in the mirror. I want to feel what it's like when you go to sleep at night. I want to hear what you hear and smell what you smell and think the way you think. Just once. I need to better understand what makes you so invincible.

Is there something hiding in your eyes behind your irresistible charm? Does your dashing smile conceal insecurity? Do you toss and turn as your mind races in the midnight hour? Do you have any real clarity or understanding yourself of the lives you've turned upside down?

Are you really that great? Are you worth an ounce of her confidence or the whole of her self-esteem or a single tear? Are you a good enough reason for her to analyze herself from head to toe or to pick herself apart in an effort to figure out what is wrong with her?

I doubt it.

But maybe, for one day, I could see for myself.

Freeze Pops on the Front Porch

We got lost somewhere. I'm not quite sure when it happened. But we made a wrong turn.

I remember the Friday nights at Grandpa's, playing wiffle ball in the alley or chasing the dog around. There were lawn chairs set up in a huge circle. I can still see the smiles and smell the cigar and cigarette smoke. I remember Richard mostly and his wild head of curly blonde hair. He could always be found in the midst of the fun.

I remember sleepovers. Hot rollers in my hair and disco music on the record player and everyone dancing... "And if you can stay awake, Michele, you can watch Saturday Night Live in the boys room." I never saw it. Not once.

I remember vacations. I remember fishing and pontoon boats and cannon balls into the pool.

I remember feeling like I was the luckiest kid in the world to be surrounded by such amazing people. And I still feel that anticipation in my stomach when I'm on my way to a family gathering because I hope that when I open the door, it will be just like it was back then.

I remember freeze pops on the front porch. I remember wagon rides. I remember wishing at one point in time that I could be each and every one of you for one reason or another.

But we got lost along the way. Just as people do. We each wandered in our own direction and for some, other things and people became more important. For others, life sucked us in and away and distracted us.

I can't help feeling like we made a wrong turn. I can't pinpoint it. I know life got complicated for each of us in our own way. I know life got complicated for me. And it's not the same now. I miss the excitement of just being together.

Today, I sat around a table with my aunts and uncles and listened to stories about my grandparents and great aunts & uncles. And they laughed like they used to in the yard behind the tavern that Grandpa owned. They said things that I'm sure would have been whispered back then so that "the kids" wouldn't hear. And I laughed. What a gift! What a golden opportunity!

And I worry that if we don't get back on track and figure out where we went wrong that the story telling will end with them. And that my kids won't know you, cousins. I worry.

This family is all I've got.