WHO'S THAT GIRL

Our friends, Jenn and Wade, installed a small above-ground pool in their backyard and Friday night was the inaugural pool party. It was a perfectly simple affair, small and intimate. There were five of us in total and two of those were the men we put to work grilling our dinner. Lauren, Jenn and I made the most spectacular whirlpool and then we just floated in circles chatting about all things and no things. Eventually, we made our way to the screened in back porch. I had slathered Jenn’s magic mosquito repelling essential oil lotion on my legs and I mentioned to Lauren, who was sitting next to me, that I couldn’t seem to stop touching my legs after putting that lotion all over them. Then she said “Now say it sultry.” and I opened my mouth to comply, but nothing came out but bubbles of laughter. Then we all proceeded to laugh for a good number of minutes.

I could never pull myself together enough to “say it sultry”.

Later, when it was just Michael and I, he said “You once told me that Chris said your laugh was infectious. I think that I finally heard the infectious laugh tonight.” We’ve been together for twelve years. It feels impossible that in the last twelve years I have not truly laughed, but completely possible that I haven’t done so in his presence or while he was paying attention. I also don’t want to believe that I have not laughed my true infectious laugh since Chris. That possibility is disappointing and more than a bit sad. Without even realizing it, I went from “the girl who knew sadness” to “the girl who is sadness”. Or maybe just “the girl who doesn’t laugh.” I chuckle. I smile at things. I bark out a decent “ha!”. Rarely do I dissolve into the kind of laughing that leaves me breathless.

Those days have passed.

As we sat across the table from one another slurping noodles at one of our favorite Vietnamese places, I took a moment to tell Michael that I really do appreciate the effort he’s been making not just to get us to Paris in December, but in most things. It is his summer break time and he’s taken over all of the grocery shopping. There’s a wall of sticky notes containing tasks that he wants to complete in the summer months. He has been diligently removing those notes. Like every summer break, he has taken on the task of cooking our evening meals and not allowing me to wash the dishes. Though, sometimes I do it anyway. His goal is to make my summer as task free as possible and I let him know that this is appreciated. Then I said “I know that I have not been my best self this year.” but then I was a little surprised by his response. He said “I know that you’ve been really stressed about work.”

This also made me pause. Mostly, he’s not wrong. It’s just that my stress level around work is more complicated than the day to day of running microscopes that cost half a million dollars each and making sure that people feel safe and comfortable using those microscopes. The day to day stress of my job has been compounded by this administration’s war on science and their determination to make this country dumber. But I also know that I can’t blame my lack luster mood solely on what it means for me and my science friends when the budget cuts to the NIH mean less grant money and fewer scientific discoveries. My lack luster mood is more of a layered bean dip and the spiciest layer is probably a result of my changing body. This is the layer that people eat around. The result is that this layer sticks around longer and ferments in spice, just making things hotter…angrier. I tell Michael that I’m trying, but I’m not convinced. Though, in that moment on a porch with friends, I caught a glimpse of “the girl who knew sadness”.

Years ago, there were almost zero fireflies in my backyard. I can remember lamenting over their absence. “What ever happened to fireflies?” I’d ask. Then when I finally saw the blink of light from one, I clapped my hands and squealed like a toddler. I’ve watched each summer as the population of fireflies has increased and it feels like my backyard is nothing but blinking insects. Those glimpses of the girl I used to be, the one who wasn’t sad all the time, are like those fireflies. It might be a rare sighting in this moment. I’m sure that in time, those sightings won’t be so rare. Okay. Maybe I’m not sure, but I know that this is something I want and need. Which is funny because that’s kind of been my shopping mantra lately. I tend to me more likely to say yes to something I want and need or finding a way to get those things.

This time, when I say “I’m trying”, I really truly mean it.

THE COMEDIAN

Traveling eggplant (my new band name)

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I cannot tell a joke. I’ve never been able to tell a joke. There was this campfire activity we’d do at every 4-H camp/retreat. It would start with Paul, our 4-H extension office director, singing out “Joke! Joke! We call for a joke!” Then someone would stand up and tell a joke. We had all kinds of responses at the end of a joke telling. The one I remember now is “and the farmer hauled another one away; you could tell by the smell it wasn’t hay.” I never volunteered to tell a joke. If I was pressed for something or put on the spot, I would stand there frozen like a dear in headlights. “Uh, uh, uh…..knock knock!” I’d start and then panic about where I was going to take this knock-knock joke. Would it be the interrupting cow or the orange and banana routine? Which ever one I chose, you could be sure that the farmer would definitely be hauling it away.

Jokes just don’t stick to the inside of my brain. I can memorize lines. I had all of the lines for any scene of any play that Chris was in memorized. By the third listen of any song, I can easily sing along. I have a completely random six digit number I have to use to clock in for teaching yoga once a week. It’s in there. I plunk those numbers into the little logging machine every Wednesday without blinking. I read or hear a joke, laugh or chuckle, and then that joke is gone. Poof! It’s not just the act of remembering the joke, but it’s also the delivery. I might on some rare occasion remember a joke, but then some how scramble up the punch line. I saved a stupid advertisement/newsletter for weeks because it contained a list of Dad jokes. I kept thinking I would pick one to remember, but instead it just sits there cluttering my in-box.

I’m telling you. I cannot tell a joke.

This is okay with me. I’ve never been one for being put on the spot. I once walked out of a session at a science conference I was attending because I was put on the spot to give a five minute speech about my work. I said “No thank you.” and walked out. My job in life is not to be the joke teller, but to be the joke listener. I will laugh at your joke. Seriously. It doesn’t have to be funny. Just the shear act of you telling the joke will make me laugh because I appreciate what it takes to tell any joke, even it’s a bad one. Of course, there are exceptions. I don’t laugh if the joke is mean or racist or crude and objectifies women. Michael has this one joke he tells when he’s drunk about a priest in a bar. I never laugh at that one. But if it’s one of those silly Dad jokes like “my chicken counts eggs; she’s a mathmachicken.” I am going to laugh. It’s a guarantee.

Joke! Joke! I call for a joke!

LAUGH, LOVE, EAT

Monday

"Monday"

It's been weeks since I've had my usual Saturday morning ritual of sitting down at my favorite bakery with my Fortune Cookie journal. Our weekends have been full of museum visits, impromptu trips, and good visits with out of town friends. I realize that I could make time to write in this journal at any time, but there's something about Saturday mornings. I tend to be awake before most of the world and there's something about the stillness and quiet of these mornings that makes it easy to sit and write. This Saturday, I woke to drizzly rain and in that quiet and stillness, drove to the bakery. I placed my order, made myself comfortable at the counter table and pulled out my journal. I opened the journal to next prompt and paused. Laugh often, love hard, eat and repeat. 

Of course. Of course this would be the fortune cookie prompt that I would get after weeks of inactivity, just three days before what would have been my eighteenth wedding anniversary. We were going to get married on March fifteenth, but then remembered that we should "beware the ides of March" and chose the sixteenth instead. Chris made me laugh often, that's for sure. He made everyone laugh often. Chris had this sharp dry wit that was smart and so well timed. I have not met another person, with the exception of maybe Chad or Talaura, who could make me laugh so much. And love? He was my first love, so of course we loved hard. Fierce. It was the kind of love that gave you confidence. We could do anything, handle any misfortune, survive any tragedy as long as we had each other. The whole eating thing was practically a hobby for us. I remember at one time, Chris bought a couple of dinosaurs because he had an idea for a food blog called Dinersaurs. I think the T-rex had a monocle. Most of our vacation stories centered around all the restaurants we experienced. Our whole reason for visiting Eugene OR was to eat pizza at the Pizza Research Institute. Laughter, love and eating were a continuous loop in our life.  

I sold my old Nikon on Craigslist over the weekend. It was my first DSLR. My first fancy pants camera. Chris gave me that camera. I don't know if he bought me that camera because he believed it would foster and encourage artistic qualities in me or if he just bought it because it was a new shiny gadget. Chris was a magpie for any kind of new electronic thing, but he was always encouraging (almost pushing) me to be more creative. Either way, it doesn't really matter. That camera served it's purpose. I learned to be more observant of my surroundings and little bit about light and aperture settings. It was the learning camera. In the same way, my relationship with Chris turned out to be the learning relationship. I just didn't know it at the time. I learned that it was possible to be in a relationship that didn't require constant arguing. I learned that two people could communicate wants and needs with out complaining. I learned that not all relationships were like my parent's.  Constructive communication, compromising and the give and take are the valuable take-away lessons from my time with Chris. I learned how important it is to laugh often. I learned how important it is to love hard and fully and to find the joy in eating. I learned the importance of that continuous loop. 

I marvel at how life changes, but stays the same. Michael bought me the new Nikon, probably less because it was a new shiny gadget and more because he believes in my creative talent. He's told me that I have a better eye for seeing things that not everyone sees. Maybe that's true. I am probably more practiced in the art of observation than some, but only because I work at it daily. Michael makes me laugh often. Maybe not in the same way as Chris did, but he makes me laugh. I love him and his willingness to say yes to every little scheme I come up with. Our joy of eating has expanded beyond the new restaurant find by bringing new ingredients into the kitchen and cooking things together. The loop goes on, just maybe in the opposite direction or the loop is more elliptical than circular, but it's still a loop. Sort of like the rubber band from my rubber band sketches. Malleable. Our lives are malleable, bendy and stretchy. 

Maybe that Fortune Cookie prompt should have said laugh often, love hard, learn continuously, eat and repeat.