Break the Circle, Save the Turtles

Those of you who know us best know that we proudly display in our living room a shelf full of just about every series BBC Earth has done on DVD.  One of our more recent acquisitions was Africa.  The famous narrator of these productions, David Attenborough, is such a prevalent force in our home that we’ve taken to calling him “Uncle Dave.” We watch these documentaries when we’re cooking, doing homework, going to bed, having a lazy Sunday afternoon, etc.

One episode features the perilous plight of baby sea turtles.  Freshly hatched, these newborns spend their first waking moments making the life-and-death race across the beach to the welcoming waters.  

Compelling stuff.  Also incredibly depressing.  I have never hated birds or crabs more than when they began swooping in on the defenseless hatchlings. 

I married a big animal person.  It was one “awww” after another as one baby turtle after another was snatched into the talons of predators.  What struck me was how sad I got. 

I’m not a big animal person. 

Well,

Correction:

I’m not big on domesticated animals.

Dogs are cute, but if I ever see one trapped in a handbag I’ll snatch it, set it loose, and then shove the owner's head in said purse.  I love Where the Red Fern Grows and Old Yeller and I think that dogs should never be stuck indoors.

Cats...  I know without cats and their catty antics, youtube would be dead, but I hate them.  They don’t belong here (all housecats are European breeds) and they’re screwing up ecosystems in North America. I cling to this scientific factoid to justify my prejudices.

I think I do like animals, I just want them to stay in the wild where they belong and will best flourish.

But the weird thing is, when I saw these little guys get picked off on the beach, all I could think was:

“Screw Mufasa, break the Circle of Life and shoot those birds!” 

I was really rooting for them.  Turns out villagers near the beach actively try to protect and sustain the turtle population.  Am I just a sucker for South African turtles?  Maybe it was just the poetic injustice of new life being snatched away at its very beginning.  Maybe it's just the effects of being married to a conservation/zoology/evolutionary biology fanatic.

...or it's that they're just so cute.

What animal are you a sucker for?

(if you say cats we might have problems, you and I)

S

Making Over

B. and I experienced something in the past few weeks we've tried to avoid for years.


Cable.


At home we usually stick to Netflix, our latest find from the $5 DVD bin at Wal-Mart, our documentaries, or our prized collections of Seinfeld and Family Guy (all seasons!).  But our time in Nevada reintroduced us to the world of commercial breaks, infomercials, and, worst of all, nonstop coverage of the Zimmerman circus.

I didn't miss cable.

But something we did discover was a  few forgotten shows on TLC.  Growing up, I've been sick at home enough times to learn from my mom's tivo who Stacey London and Clinton Kelly are.  I also remember watching a show called Hoarders, all about extreme cleans done to help people with packrat tendencies- turned-anxiety disorders.  The latter was on late one night at the hotel, and B. remarked that even though it was late and it wasn't exactly a gripping plot, she liked seeing the before and after.

Before and after.

Let's face it, people.  Anyone who has sobbed through Extreme Home Makeover or oggled What Not to Wear or even watched an infomercial for a workout program or weight loss pill knows:


We love the big reveal.


There's just somethig about makeovers that attracts an audience.  We eagerly await the curtain to be pulled back, revealing the new and improved so-an-so.  We chant with the mob to "move that bus!"  We are drawn to progress!

So after weeks of late late nights playing catchup on homework, prepping for a midterm, traveling to Nevada twice, choking on secondhand smoke, eating fast food and even heavier diner food, greasy breakfasts, dehydration, poor nutrition, irregular sleep, and general lethargy, I'm getting back on the horse.  Especially now that we've finished off an entire batch of christmas crinkles in one weekend.

I'm going running.

I don't expect to come out looking like Adam Levine, but I do want to feel healthier.  I'm making a running plan, I'm setting aside time to hit the gym for toning weightlifting, I'm saying no to all the carbs and sweets people bring to the office, (I had four donuts in two days - normally I can''t even stomach one) and I'm going to bed earlier to get my early run in before work.

I have 6 weeks until fall semester.

Six weeks to pull myself together and get back to my wedding weight.  I won't post a before photo, just in case some of you ate recently.  But I will take one and maybe put it on the fridge to motivate myself.  (this post alone will be good motivation)

I'm also making over another aspect of my life.  My prayers have been scattered and irregular.  My scripture study has been spotty as well.  I'm making over how I worship.  B. and I have a whole shelf of artifacts and volumes from different religions and cultures.  In addition to reading the Bible more often, I'm going to delve into our Koran a few times a week, as well as our Tao Te Ching.  I love hearing and reading about how different people approach God, and I think learning more about those different perspectives will bring a new depth and novelty to my own relationship with the Almighty.

So this is it, guys!  I'm remaking myself.  I'm running, reading, sleeping and eating better.

Starting...

...now.

See you in 6 weeks.


When was your last makeover?  What are you doing to self-improve?


S

end AH wood wock five hund-rred may-uhls...

... end a-AH wood wock five hund-rred morrr justa BE-ee the man who wocked a thew-zund MILES too fall doon atchyoorr door...

...

... da-dulah-dah...

 The Proclaimers?  Benny and Joon?  Anyone?


I love this song.  A, only the Proclaimers even have accents when they sing (if it's not Scottish, it's crap).  B, it's so darn catchy and it is in the perfect vocal range for my brothers and I.  We'd sing it in the car all the time.  ...Well, we'd sing it whenever we weren't airbanding Boston's "More Than a Feeling," anyway.


But most importantly, I got a little taste of what this song truly meant a while back.


A few posts ago I divulged about the time B.  speckled every surface of our little hobbit apartment with small square green "I Love You" notes after one of our tougher fights. 


Ok kiddies, here's another tale from our greatest hits of a lovingly dysfunctional, polar-opposites-but-too-crazy-about-each-other-to-let-it-phase-them couple anthology:



B. was in summer school and working.  I was working full time.  I got up earlier than her and had some time before work.  She groggily requested that I run to get her something for breakfast while she get ready.  I was ashamedly short on cash at the time (payday could not come soon enough) so I grabbed her debit card and left to fetch the desired treats.  I returned triumphantly with my kill slung over my steed. My efforts were rewarded with a brief peck and then it was back to the morning ablutions.

She went to class before work.  I went straight to work.  About mid-day I thought I might grab some lunch from the bookstore nearby.  I looked in my wallet to find that I had left B.'s card inside.

My heart sank.

...Oh I was so dead.

Sure enough, as I took my lunch break I saw that I had a voicemail.  I then heard a very panicked, very frazzled B. asking where her card was, had I taken it and forgotten to return it, was it lost, was it home somewhere.  Brief, but panicky, with an urgent plea to call her asap to find out what happened.
I called, explained that I had forgotten, and found out she discovered her cardless wallet in the middle of a drive thru on her way to work.  She had to use an emergency card to get lunch, unsure of how much was on the account.

I was so... so dead.

She asked me why on earth I had taken it in the first place.  I sheepishly admitted that I was short on cash.

Then why didn't you use the one dollar bills in my wallet?  I've been in a panic all day!  

I'm sorry I forgot your card and I didn't know you had ones.

At least let me know when you're taking the card.

But you were still just getting up, I wanted to let you sleep a little longer.


...Etc.

You get the idea.  Lots of sorrys, lots of frazzled wife.  Lots of angst and tension.

I feel stupid on a regular basis, but this really took the cake.


I went back to work and stewed about how to fix this.  She only had a little food this morning, a small lunch, and she was looking at a long afternoon of broke hunger until her shift ended at 9pm.  Because of me.  I felt terrible.  I tried to rationalize it:

I wouldn't have taken the card had she not sent me on the errand in the first place 

I thought she'd have her credit card on hand if there was an emergency

Nope.  I just forgot.  I'm an idiot.


Then an idea popped into my head.  I hopped onto google earth and mapped it out.  It wouldn't completely redeem the situation, but it might earn me some brownie points.  I could make it. I stayed at work as long as I had to and then clocked out a little earlier than usual.  Then, with my backpack holding my jacket and my earphones plugged in, I began marching.

Two minutes later my mp3 player died.

This would be a long walk.

The silence gave me a lot of time with my thoughts; I had plenty of time to stew over the "injustice" of it all, how much of a "victim" I was.  Then my brain passed through several stages of anxiety, frustration, resentment, sadness, anger, purpose, then finally an eagerness to show her up.  Well, sort of... I still forgot the stupid card, it's not like this would make up for it.  I was steaming for a while, but that long walk was probably just what I needed.

It took about an hour and forty-five minutes.  It got colder as the sun started going down, but I had been walking for a while now, blood was pumping and I didn't feel the need to don my jacket.

I ended up taking a different route from the one I had mapped out, but I got there about an hour and a half before she was going to clock out.  I walked in, went up to the desk, slapped the card down, we locked eyes for just a moment...

Then I turned around without a word.  I imagine it as the sort of slow-mo walk away you see in action movies where the car or the house blows up behind the hero, but he's too cool to look back at the explosion.

HAHA! that'll show her.

But nothing happened.  No explosion.  No response.  Crap, all this and no reaction? 


She told me later she was just in shock, working out the possibilities in her head.  She had the car, how did I get here?  She called after me, and then we walked around for a bit and talked things over.  It didn't fix everything, but I think she really was touched that...

...that AH wood wock five hund-rred may-uhls. end a-AH wood wock five hund-rred morrr justa BE-ee the man who wocked a thew-zund MILES too fall doon atchyoorr door...

...Dah-dulah-dah...

Actually, I found out later it was about six and a half miles.  But still.

She's worth it.  We talked it out, made up, we've moved on.  I worry that she still feels guilty about it.  I don't think of it as the time she left me a panicky voicemail, though.  I remember it as the day I screwed up, starved my wife, and then walked across town to try to make things right.



We forget things.

Not long after this I got a call at work telling me that my wife left her keys in the car and I needed to bring her mine to let her in and drive to work.  I work a mile from home, so I often walk or bike if the weather's good.  She works somewhere much farther away.  I'm just glad she left them in there when she was only a mile away.  That's a long walk to make.


But I would do it.  For her.  AH woood.



S

Exclusive Humor and Rock Stars

I posted about flavors of friends earlier.

I neglected to mention one particular brand that I think a lot of us have.  This relationship thrives, even at times wholly depends, on one strange phenomenon:

Inside jokes.

It's not hard to believe that shared experience is a foundation of humor.  Think of the classic you-had-to-be-there anecdotes or any bit or routine from Seinfeld ever.  We love feeling included.  We're "in" on the joke.

I've got a good buddy, very talented guy, a lot of fun to be around, but we're very different.


*seriously, click the link and listen to this kid, he's awesome*


He's the life of the party, spastically jumping around, strumming madly on his guitar, and serenading the ladies.  He's a crowd pleaser, a clown, a rock star.

I'm more of a wallflower, reserved and deep-thinking.  I like to know what I'm going to say, when, how and to whom before I open my mouth.

We worked together as volunteers in Bulgaria and had a lot of fun doing so.  He was a master of guitar and had brought one over with him; I had bought one for cheap from a guy who was headed home to the States and didn't want to lug it around and was learning slowly by myself.  He took me under my wing and taught me some basic songs, and we ended up doing a few street performances for fun as well as a low-key talent show.  We dubbed ourselves the next Rob Thomas and Dave Grohl and had a blast (guess who was who).  Our voices blended really well and I hope to be able to collaborate again sometime.

Somehow, the chemistry worked and we got along really well.  We were just different enough to create a lot of funny memories.  We served together only 6 weeks, but I probably got more stories from  those six weeks than from any other period of time in Eastern Europe.  We always found humor in the silliest and most obscure, trite things.

I called him to catch up while still out in Bulgaria and those listening in on my half of the conversation remarked:

"You guys just ran through like an hour's worth of inside jokes"

Looking back, I realized we had skipped over most of the pleasantries of catching up and gunned straight for our shared references and private humor.

B. and I had lunch with him last year, same thing.  She was lost 3 minutes in.



Is that all that's left of our friendship now?




Nah.

It's not that we're not friends anymore. We live in different cities, we study different subjects, we're headed for different careers.  But we can still enjoy each other's company.  It's fun to reminisce, but we can still live in the present.  He's the kind of guy where you can pick up where you left off no matter how long it's been.  I love people like that, who wear their hearts on their sleeve and emote so transparently.  They don't change, they stay just as positive and fun as they were in years past.

Besides, there are always more opportunities for inside jokes.


The key to being in on those great jokes?

You have to BE there.




What are your inside jokes?  With whom do you share the most?




S

Candleshoe

Last September I tried to recreate one of our more romantic dates for B.  In September of 2011, the night before we became an official item, we went to a reservoir late at night, I laid out a blanket, lit candles and we shared french bread, brie and grapes as I poured sparkling cider into champagne flutes.  We danced under the enormous yellowed moon and had a wonderful time.

I hope that's how she remembers it anyway.

I remember, rather, all the things that went wrong or didn't meet my high standards to impress her.  I remember panicking to get cider at a supermarket in her town so as to stay chilled rather than warm up with me on my drive down to see her.  I remember the champagne flutes were skinny green plastic glasses from the dollar store.  I remember the wind constantly blowing out the candles.  And I remember the police officer who came to "bust" us, telling us that the reservoir was closed to the public after sunset.  We feigned ignorance (B. was a local), packed it up and left.

But we also remember talking in the dark, sharing stories and dreams and aspirations, putting the candles in our recently removed shoes to protect the fickle flames from the wind (to this day we still lovingly refer to that date as our candleshoe night), and being practically struck dumb seeing the way the warm moonlight bathed her face.  I remember not knowing if/when I should kiss her and deciding within minutes of seeing her.  I remember her eyes widening as I pulled out the "fancy" cuisine for the evening, and her gentle laugh as I tried to battle the elements to make the night perfect.

It never was a perfect night.  And this last attempt at a recreation was equally unsuccessful.  We got dressed up, we drove out to a lake (the nearest body of water resembling a reservoir) on a moonlit night, only to find the dock and any and all access to said lake closed for the evening.  After 20 minutes of frustrated driving, we gave up and went home, changed into pjs and cuddled on the couch, my disappointment and frustration essentially killing the mood.  B. did her best to try and console me.  Romance never goes the way you want it to.

Romance is a messy fussy ball of stress and missed cues and spoilt plans.  

In short, it’s adaptable.   

Romance is love’s way of surviving.  Surviving any tension, any hardship, any challenge, really any situation at all.  

 Like my wife pulling me into a kiss before I dive into a very garlicky bowl of pasta that no amount of Listerine can undo.   

Or, on a spur of the moment using the 15 minutes or so of radio silence as she drives home to throw together a freshly drawn bath with candles and Marsalis duets playing on itunes to welcome her home after a long hard day at work.  

Or those random "I love you" texts in the middle of the day.  

Or suffering through each other’s guilty pleasure shows on Netflix just so you can cuddle together on the couch.   

...Or agreeing to watch something you both will enjoy so I NEVER have to see another Kardashian as long as I live.   

Or sleeping on the floor until I finish a late night project just so she doesn’t go to bed without me.

I’m sure we seem cliché and naïve, but that’s romance. 

The heart of romance is making an effort to try and spend time with each other, even when you don’t have to. 

Some might accuse us of being too clingy or too dependent.  But I think interdependence is what makes any relationship, any team, any family, work.  We rely on each other, and that makes us miss each other throughout the day. 

We’re hopeless.  Hoplessly romantic.

When was the last time you were romantic?

What did you do?


S