Family

Toilets, maps, and fizzy water

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Over 12 years ago, my sister took me on a trip to Italy to belated celebrate my college graduation. Neither of us spoke Italian, but it did not matter. All I needed to know (I know I am a simple one) is: “Where is the bathroom.” Or: “dove è la toilette.” At least that is what Google translate says is correct. We flew into Milan, took a train to Florence where we spent a few days, then off to Venice for the rest of our trip. Each city was so different from the others.

Venice

Venice

I loved the food, the people, the shops, the art. I am better at reading maps and navigating than I am speaking a language I do not know, or attempting to order food I want to eat (and not receiving something I do not want to eat). My sister would order our food and I would navigate the many streets and canals. Could we get to where we wanted to go, or would the street be flooded? Somehow splitting duties worked for us.

One of the things I found so comical about eating in restaurants on our trip was ordering water. You always had to tell the server, water with or without gas. I hated water with gas. Yes, water with gas. It must have been an Italian thing. I think my sister preferred water with gas, but me, not so much. If I remember correctly I convinced her to get water without gas because it would be less expensive.

Fast forward to a few months ago, and after all these years, I have become addicted to Perrier or San Pellegrino. Over the weekend someone told me about the Sodastream that turns water into bubbly water. The higher end model has glass bottles, the lower end model uses plastic bottles. Today at work someone told me that you can make sparkling water with a simple contraption called Fizz Gizz. I am trying to decide, do I continue to purchase bottled water, go fancy with a Sodastream, or go low maintenance with the Fizz Gizz? Or are there other potential options?

I am all set for the bathroom with my Sit or Squat app, Google maps helps me find my way, but now I need help with my fizzy addiction. Any sparkling water drinkers out there that can help teach me?

#wantbubbly

You must be 16 years or older

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Jump back in time to ten years ago. I am in an airport, preparing to board a plane. I do not remember which airport, but I know it was on the way back from my honeymoon. That tells you a bit of my age and state of mind. Legal to drive, legal to drink, relaxed, happy.

Chris goes up to the ticket counter to see if we can somehow get seats together in the emergency exit row. Due to his height, he always tries to secure emergency exit seats. He was not at all prepared for the comment that came next from the attendant at the check-in counter, who looks at me as I sit waiting with our luggage.

“Sir, your companion must be 16 years or older to sit in the exit row.” Shock. Confusion shows across Chris’ face. “My companion is my wife.” He points over to me. “She is definitely over 16 years old.” (And, no, I was not his child bride). At the time I was wearing a hooded sweatshirt, and a blue Patagonia winter cap. I have no idea why I was so overdressed, after all it was June. For some reason my outfit must have made the attendant think I was young. Chris comes back to where I was sitting, and has this grin on his face. I say to him, “Well, did you get your exit row seats just like you wanted?” He says back to me, “Yes, but the guy thought you were 16. I had to tell him that you were my wife, and that you were definitely old enough to handle an emergency exit.” Wow.

Yet, that same comment seems to follow me through life. Folks are shocked when they find out how old I really am. Or, they are shocked when they find out how many years of experience I had in the professional world. I suppose I should be grateful, because one day it might feel like the compliment of a lifetime.

“You must be 16 years or older to sit in the exit row.” Ha.

Trust me

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Why should I trust you? Should we trust people immediately when we meet them, or should they have to earn our trust? Most of the time I give people the benefit of the doubt that they can be trusted, but if they do something that crosses that line that makes them not trustworthy, they will have to work hard to earn my trust back.

Trust is a crucial topic in my life. It is the cornerstone of my marriage, imperative in my friendships, and integral in my daily work life. My approach consists of giving others the space and opportunity to show me who they are, and if they follow through with what they have committed to me, it allows me to continue to be open and transparent with them. If the space and openness I have provided is tarnished by dishonesty, or missed commitments, the relationship becomes more closed. I no longer want to open up or share of myself with them.

Is it so hard, or so much to ask to be honest, and do what you say you will do? In my marriage, that means that we are completely transparent with each other. We say the tough stuff, are blunt with each other, and hold each other accountable to the commitments we have agreed to with each other. It is not always easy, and can sometimes be work, but it is always worth it in the long run.

At work, I know that everyone does things in their own way, and there are numerous ways to handle tasks and projects. I am not worried about how someone goes about a project so much as that they are honest, do it well, and follow through on the commitments they made. Good work, honesty, and follow through to me are the foundation of trust in good working relationships. Once I know that my colleagues meet those standards, then trust comes easy to me. Trust among my co-workers has led to some amazing connections and friendships along the way.

Maybe this blog makes me sound like a bitch, but I have very high standards. Trust is the glue in relationships. With trust, relationships are open and transparent. Without it, intimacy is closed.

Unexpected tears

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I have said quite a few times on this blog that I am not a crier. I do not cry over normal things — a rough day or when I have been mistreated. No, for those days I rant. I stand up for myself, and I do what I can to make it better. When I do cry, the tears flow for what I cannot control. For moments that are no longer possible. I cry when I witness the human yearning for the physical touch between two people that is no longer possible, or for the experiences in my life that are no longer possible.

Yesterday someone at work asked the question of what recent movie or television show made us cry. It got me thinking.

My initial answer was the television show: Parenthood. I could not remember the most recent TV show or movie, and that was the first show that came to mind. There was an episode a few months ago, where the daughter from one family was going off to college. When her parents said goodbye at the airport, she acted like it was no big deal that she was leaving them, and walked off towards her gate. A few moments later she walks back and embraces her parents, and the moment I see them embrace I am bawling. It is a random moment of sobbing that I never expected, and the thought that comes to me: I never experienced my parents sending me off to college. My tears are from an experience I never had.

After thinking about all that, I remembered the exact show I most recently watched. It was a Showtime series that just ended called: The Big C. Yes, the show was about cancer. The main actress in the show is Laura Linney and because I like her so much I watched her show, even though it was about her having cancer. Yes, it was depressing at times, and yes the final few shows were very depressing, and yes I cried. I got to thinking though, in some ways the show is brilliant. Why you might ask? Because it was about reality. How many shows actually talk to you about what it might be like to go through having cancer?

For this show, Laura’s character has a son and she struggles with what it will be like for him if she dies. She struggles so much that she rents a storage unit and buys him a present for all his future birthdays (a car for his 21st, and many other great gifts for his other birthdays) and if she dies she wants him to have a key to the storage unit. Then one day near the end of the series she decides that she wants to see his face open each gift. She wants to experience each of those birthdays with him. So, yes, she takes them to the storage unit and they open his gifts together, laughing and crying together.

I cried, and cried, and cried watching that episode. I cried for the birthdays I did not have with my parents, I cried for my friends and coworkers who have lost their family and friends to cancer. I cried for the longing of losing someone. I cried for someone nearing death pondering what they will miss out on. And, I wonder, did others cry like I did when they watched this episode?

I am the unexpected crier. I cry at the strangest times, when emotion hits me strong, and I often do not cry when most might expect it. We are all wired differently and our deep triggers move something inside that open the flood gates and we are never the same.

Home

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After traveling for a week, I am home. I have a big dopey grin on my face as I think about being home. We should all feel that way. Do you? I love thinking about crawling onto my clean sheets and into the bed that I love, right next to my hubby. As I look around my home to the things that are me, to the things that make it feel like home to us, and I sigh and take a moment to be grateful that my taste and Chris’ align. I know what you may be thinking. We should be taking our sense of home with us wherever we go. I do not disagree. Yes, as cheesy as I know it sounds, whenever or wherever I am with Chris, I feel home. But I am talking about that deep and wonderful feeling of appreciation for your physical home.

There are times when we might travel to a different city and love where we are and what we are exploring, but still end the day wishing we were sitting on our couch, or going to sleep in our bed. Eventually arriving home, it is like a breath of fresh air walking inside, opening up our bags, dropping our crusty clothes into the laundry, showering, and crawling into bed with joy and appreciation that we are home, and that all is good. Do you know the feeling?

We are all creatures of habit, and I am one that thoroughly enjoys being at home. The more I enjoy my house, and the more I cultivate the interior and exterior, the more it becomes my solace after a long day or week. The comfort of my home becomes the balance I need after an exhausting extroverted day, and allows me to nurture the introverted part of myself. A clutter free, clean, and purpose-filled place to rest my body and mind is how I recharge, which allows me to embark and take on the world.

What about you? Do you like things to be pristine and spotless? Does that ground and balance you when you come home from a long day, or is it about the items you have found from your travels that tell the story about your home? Is it the smell of your coffee maker filling the room, or the pitter patter of your dog’s paws across the hardwood floor? Is it the memories and events that happened in your home that make it feel special to you? Or, is it the people you share your home with that make your house a home to you?

I hope you feel you can come home from work, take off your bra, or strip to your boxers, let go of the challenges of the day, and unwind.

What does home mean and feel like to you?