Saturday, February 26, 2011

Flash Mob


Not being an avid You-Tuber, I hadn't heard of a flash mob before I saw Mitchell jump into one at the Mall in Modern Family. I thought it was hysterically funny. Of course, watching Cam's reaction of not being included, in something as dramatic and fun as that, made it more funny.

And why not? How I would love to randomly start flash mobs at the Maine Mall, on Commercial Street in the Old Port in summer when tourists abound, or in One City Center just outside my office door as I head out to get my afternoon cappuccino.

I'm not really funny. I'm definitely not a prankster, but something that just got me reeling as a kid was putting a tack in someone's seat. For some odd reason, that was just about the funniest thing to me. I was giddy just waiting for the unsuspecting classmate to sit down, so unsuspecting and innocently and then wham-o, they'd jump a mile, instant reflex. I would laugh hysterically. Those who know me know I don't have a poker face so there was never a doubt who the culprit was.

Now what I think is just so, so funny are flash mobs. Of course, I'm the one trying to do the Macarena at weddings or the Electric Slide - the concentration, the music, the camaraderie are the draw.

People are caught up in their long working days, ho-hum routines, maybe a little sad or overwhelmed by whatever stresses they're holding. I can't imagine that an instant and random flash mob breaking out wouldn't bring everyone in the vicinity complete, utter joy. Just a few moments of unexpected release and yet connection with the strangers who know the steps and hand movements just like you do - connected in a moment in time in such a funny, joyous way.

Several years ago, we took a family trip to Turks & Caicos. After a delicious dinner one night, we knew there was a bonfire party on the beach. It was still early, so we meandered over to take a peek. There were at least a hundred people there, all ages, having so much fun eating, talking, listening to the island music played from the stage, teakie torches lit. The four of us walked around watching all the fun.

Suddenly, limbo started and lots of people ran to get in line....as did I. My husband and sons looked at me incredulously and said, "What are you doing?" They probably thought I'd embarrass myself...or them. I knew I used to be able to do it, pretty well, too, when I was about thirty years younger and fifty times more flexible. Well, ha, just like riding a bike! The music was wonderful; I floated around the circle in a conga line in between the picnic tables barefoot on soft, white, sand, a buddy to my fellow dancers ahead and behind. My family loosened up as I made it under the ever-lower pole again and again and again. Their faces made it so worthwhile. When I was one among the final dozen left trying, my boys were laughing their heads off and high-fiving me as I danced around the corner in front of them. When I finally fell, the announcer, a native wearing face paint and a headdress, said, "Hey, man. My money was on you!" Ah. Awesome! What a fun, fun memory.

And my family looked at me completely differently from then on. "How do you know how to do that," my sons asked, and I gave them the middle-age-Mom reply, "Oh, dear....there's a lot about me you don't know. I was once young, you know!"

From the limbo to hopefully a flash mob someday. Look out Monument Square -- I'd love it!

Saturday, February 12, 2011

Love is Blind


“I heard today that women are more prone to heart disease and heart attacks if their waists are more than 35 inches.”

He paused.

“You’re about a 25, aren’t you?” my husband asked.

A 25? Inwardly, I laughed incredulously. “I… don’t… think so,” I replied laughing. I used to be less than 25 inches...when I was in my twenties maybe.

The beauty of long term relationships and being with someone from when you were in your prime is that they remember you back then. Somehow time stops and their vision of you is back there when everything was beautiful, wonderful, new. There are so many fond memories of those faraway times, that those get stuck in the memory banks and replayed over and over like a DVD. My husband remembers me, remembers us, as teenagers, possibly some of the most wonderful times of our lives when the world and our future held so much promise.

And sometimes, like right now, it shows that he still believes, truly believes, that I have a 25-inch waistline. God Bless him!

That he was thinking about women with heart disease, and me with a small waistline, and that he would then verbalize his thoughts to me…wow. That is love. That is what makes me pause in my crackpot, cynical world and be grateful for all that I have. That someone in this great big, cold world might notice something, and care, is everything, isn’t it? That’s what being blessed is all about. To have even one person care matters.

In that sentence, he gave me more than champagne or diamonds or a romantic dinner out. He moved me beyond words.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

He has, so simply and quietly, given me the very best gift of all.