Ringing in the year...

This may not be the most original blog entry you’ll ever read, but there is something about turning 40 that has, through the ages, caused many to want to write about it.  Now, it’s my turn.

There’s a lot of buildup to this milestone birthday, including an expectation that one will mourn their ‘youth’ or that turning 40 will somehow make one feel especially ‘old’, or ‘over the hill’, or some other strange and magical feeling that comes with this rite of passage.  Perhaps it’s a good thing I didn’t take my cue on how to feel from certain earlier memories.  For example, I remember watching members of my family attain that age, and seem to recall that in one case their friends held a ‘wake’ (in jest!), and in another case a rather large billboard was placed on a busy road in front of their place of business letting everyone know.  In that same spirit, I recall that for myself, turning 30 was rather traumatic (insert tongue firmly in cheek).  My sisters managed to present me with a host of gifts for the geriatric set… including denture cleaner,  and Depend^® (adult disposable briefs for incontinence for those who don’t know this brand name), and many other…you know… really useful items for a person having just left her 20s. 

What some are not told (*looking accusingly at friends and family with a smirk*) is that something happens in that decade between 29 going on 30 and 39 going on 40… that causes one not to mind.  Perhaps it’s just me.  Perhaps it’s a function of the fact that I’m in a very happy transitional time in life and excited about all this next year has to bring. 

There appears to be some truth in the Abraham Sutzkever’s saying “If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older”.  After all, I still get excited about birthdays!  Even this one.  In fact, I found myself staying up until Midnight, counting down the last minutes of my 30s, and happily ringing in my 40^th year much as if it were New Year’s eve into New Year’s Day.  However, there was no celebration in Times Square, no ball dropping, no champagne toast, no good luck kiss, no Auld Lang Syne, or fireworks.  It was simply a quiet acknowledgement with a confident smile. 

I think I’m going to love being 40…

For now, I won’t look much farther forward than that. 

And now for something a little bit sentimental...

On the first day of August this year, I found myself sitting in a comfortable booth in a popular restaurant downtown (that’s in the town centre to you non-locals!).  I was waiting for a friend of mine to meet me for a bite, and some much needed girl-time.  While waiting, I could see another booth nearby which triggered a memory which made me smile from ear-to-ear.   It was the booth which I sat in exactly one year ago today, on one of the happiest days of my life to date.

It was an ordinary Saturday in August 2009.  The twenty-second day.  A was in town for a visit, and my birthday was coming up in a matter of days, so I was having a pretty good weekend already.  A suggested that there were some errands he’d like to run near the center of town, and then we’d have lunch at one of my favorite local spots there.  It was hot, and though I wasn’t overly keen on running errands in the stifling heat (that knowing A likely involved looking at technological gadgets and the like), I was nonetheless looking forward to spending the afternoon with A.  I also had a good friend in town for a visit, and A and I were going to be meeting her and some other friends for dinner. 

I can’t recall on what pretense, but somehow A and I ended up stopping by the church.  Before I understood what was happening, A was on his knees asking me to become his wife!! 

Looking back…for all of his British reserve and lack of sappiness (soppiness to you Brits!) that accompanies it, he has nevertheless accomplished some rather extraordinarily romantic gestures in the course of our relationship.  Without being showy, verbose, or displaying an excess of emotion, he has managed to take my breath away on more than one occasion.  He took me to Paris (every American girl’s dream!) and we’ve traveled a fair bit together in the past 3+ years, he sends me flowers just because, he installed my new dishwasher himself to save me paying someone else to do it, he painted my living room and helped with numerous house projects, he hung a birthday banner on my garage so it would be the first thing I saw upon arriving home, he planted a rosebush for me just because I love roses, and a favorite was when he arranged for a private dinner for two overlooking the harbour in his town! 

Yet, there was something so incredibly special about the way A proposed to me… on an ordinary Saturday in summer… at the very place in which he wished us to marry. 

Later  that same day, we met up with friends for an early dinner as planned ... sat in a comfortable booth and shared our very happy news.  I couldn’t stop smiling!

Fast forward a year, and here we are… one month and ten days until I get to reiterate the yes answer I gave him on that hot August day…

I do.  (I do, I do, I forever do!)

One single mouse click and nothing is ever the same...

Some pretty amazing things can happen with a single click of the mouse. 

* Life-saving medical procedures

* Space exploration

* The world gets smaller

In my case, I can think of two such instances. 

One unremarkable day just over three years ago, I was surfing through blogs and came across one where a somewhat obscure but meaningful-to-me poem had been posted.  I dashed off a comment and *clicked* the mouse to send it without thinking another thing of it… or anticipating the life-change that this simple gesture would lead to.  You see, the blog I posted a comment on was A’s.  My mouse-click led to a reply, which led to a back and forth conversation, which led to a correspondence, which led to… well, you get the idea and here we are just over 3 years later about to marry and begin our life together. 

Just yesterday, I *clicked* the mouse on the send button after completing a form at work online… effectively tendering my resignation in the coming month. 

I think one can grasp the enormity of that .  I've worked for the same company since 1994.  We all knew this day was coming.  My local employer has known for months of the new life I’m preparing for and transitioning into.  Still, there was something simultaneously frightening and exhilarating  about making it so.  It was, of course, bittersweet.  

I have no idea what I will end up doing next.  It’s a huge leap of faith toward a new chapter  that I’m excited to begin. 

I am starting to not recognize my own life. 

All with the *click* of a mouse…

An About-Face(book)

I am a hypocrite.  That is, I’m thinking of becoming one. 

It was I, after all, who recently wrote a mini-dissertation on the many pitfalls of having a Facebook page.   After long maintaining a proud stance as one of the few hold-outs to this phenomenon, and after many debates with friends who have tried in vain to convince me to sign up only to be met with stubborn resistance born out of the many reservations which I carry, I am nonetheless strongly considering exercising that well-known woman’s prerogative.  I’m changing my mind. 

I still mean every word of my previous blog on this subject.  I still have those same issues with the concept.  I don’t kid myself about just what it is that I may be considering getting into.  Forget logic, or reasoning, or practical concerns.  In this case, it was one simple observation by a dear friend that finally turned the tables, and it is the first and only thing that has resonated with me thus far. 

Over dinner last night, my friend K had once again been trying to convince me to get a Facebook page.  We were re-hashing the usual arguments.  I said to her that I have this blog which is a nice way to keep friends and family informed once I move away.   K then pointed out that a blog, while entertaining or informative, is a one-sided vehicle. It doesn’t enable me to keep abreast of what others are up to.  It doesn’t allow access to the minutiae of someone else’s day so that I can reach out when needed with a reassuring sentence or two.  Once I move away, there is the time difference to consider.  It won’t be as easy to just pick up the phone or meet for coffee whenever. 

I recognize that I’m a bit late in considering this, and that some of you may already be bored with FB or over it.  For my friends who are not, perhaps you will soon make room for one more. 

In the end, it wasn’t some foolproof assurance of privacy, or a hole shot in my every former argument against participating that has made me at least reconsider. 

It was simply my desire to be a better friend. 

~ Of course I sheepishly confessed my hypocrisy to A (another FB holdout).  He cheekily asked me what’s next… and how long it will be before I take up smoking, or drinking, or…?   No need to worry, A.  At least FB doesn’t come with a Surgeon General’s warning, and there is no risk of exposure to second-hand FB.   ;)

A *sticky* situation

I recently saw a set of sticky notes which made me laugh.  You know the kind you generally see in offices for the purpose of relaying a message to someone… but with a twist.   The heading states ‘Complaint’, and then there are lines and boxes to fill in labeled ‘To:’, ‘Whose Fault:’ (mine, yours, ours, other), ‘Desired Outcome:’ (apology, explanation, litigation, restitution, promotion, change).   I think every couple should own a set. 

If I were filling one out today, I think I’d outline a cultural divide which I’m going to have to work on narrowing (translation: which I’m going to have to cross entirely as I won’t ever be met in the middle on this one!) to survive life in the UK, and to keep A from scratching his head in disbelief and bewilderment at times. 

At the risk of worrying my British friends and acquaintances who don’t see this side of me, I have to confess that as an American (who still presently resides in America), I can at times become, shall we say, animated.  I suspect this won’t be as big a problem in person as it tends to be over the telephone.  A and I will be discussing for example some difficulty I may have encountered, or a controversial political subject, or some type of injustice, or really any topic about which I have an impassioned view, and at some point in the conversation A perceives I am starting to shout, when I haven’t shouted even once.  While our telephone connectivity is dodgy at times and I believe this is a factor, I also realize that A is sometimes mistaking American animation for shouting.  I am starting to understand why Americans are viewed in other parts of the world as loud.  What A doesn’t understand is, if my calm speaking voice is say, a 4 or 5 out of 10 in volume… my animated voice may be  a 6 , 7, or 8.  My true shouting voice (rarely used in life!) is capable of a 10 or higher.  I think by contrast, I once heard a British female telling someone how very angry she was… at a very controlled level 3! 

Clearly, I am going to have to dial it down a couple of notches once overseas.  


~

Complaint: Mistaken intent ~ animation versus shouting to the American and British ear

To: A and perhaps to all of the UK

Whose Fault: Mine, No One’s, American Culture, Accident of Birth, ?

Desired Outcome: Change.  My adaptation to British culture for purposes of reduced misunderstandings in this regard