When I was younger, I liked to daydream about falling in love. I used to lie in my waterbed (be jealous) thinking about what it would feel like to have a boyfriend behind me wrapping his arms around my waist. I watched romantic movies and swooned over Eric twirling Ariel in her blue sparkle dress and Dmitri dancing with Anastasia on a boat in Paris, and I always wondered who my Bryan MacKenzie would be.
I found my Bryan, but I still dream about love, like last spring when a Downton Abbey character romanced my subconscious. Period dramas must be man’s most powerful aphrodisiac because yesterday I saw Les Miserables with Ian, and I came home with a belly full of popcorn, catchy melodies stuck in my head, and a big crush on Mr. Eddie Redmayne as Prince Charming Marius. SWOON.
Period dramas may also be the world’s leading source of male eye-rolls. Case in point - last night:
As I climbed into bed, waiting for Ian to join me, I turned my body towards the darkness of the wall, closed my eyes, and thought of my bespeckled British beau holding his beloved Cosette in his arms. As I played that final scene over and over again in my head, my body felt light and tingly from those old familiar feelings of imaginary romance.
I turned away from the wall and looked over at my husband, who was sitting on the a stool in his underwear, glasses slid down his nose, assembling a thousand-piece Titanic puzzle while humming “My Heart Will Go On.”
I smiled through my mouthguard, “Hey baby?”
“Yeah?”
“I have a really bad crush on Eddie Redmayne in Les Mis right now.”
“Okay.”
I waited a moment to hear a proclamation of love before prompting him, “So...Do you love me like Marius loved Cosette?”
Ian walked over and climbed under the comforter with me. “Baby, he knew her for a hot minute before he fell for her. All she said to him was ‘I’m Cosette,’ and he was like ‘Ohmigosh she’s perfect.’”
“But, but he sang about her...” I sputtered out in protest.
“Annie,” he said firmly, “He obviously just wanted to get into her pants.”
“Well, it worked.”
Ian’s logic was killing my romance buzz, but he continued anyway, “And while we’re on the subject, Romeo and Juliet should have also taken the time to get to know each other because, you know what?” He pointed at me for emphasis, “If you were Juliet lying in the tomb, I totally would have known that that was your sleeping face!”
I pulled our blanket up over my mouth to muffle my loud laughs from the neighbors.
Eric and Dmitri twirled their pretty ladies around, and Marius held Cosette in his arms, but making someone laugh is way more difficult. And my guy sits in his underwear doing puzzles and humming James Horner movie scores. Maybe laughter is the best kind of romance.
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| Almost done! |
My mom won't tell anyone who she voted for in 2008. Ian and I have unsuccessfully reassured her over and over again that, "No, seriously, we promise we won't be upset!" At this point I'm convinced that you could water-board that woman and she wouldn't spill the beans. I think she's taking her vote to the grave with her because she's afraid of offending two people: me and my father. Me because I did a poly sci internship with then-Senator Obama in college; my dad because he is an ardent Republican.
Poor mom, right? Right. She's stuck between two political opposites. Mi padre is a Fox News-watching, Chick-Fil-A eating, Romney-supporting conservative. He listens to Rush Limbaugh every. single. day. I do not. My favorite arguments come from the Real Housewives reunions, and I like to get my news from Anderson Cooper because... yum.
I certainly have my own well-defined political beliefs, but I've grown weary of arguing about them. My dad, on the other hand, has the debate energy and longevity of George Will. He luuuurves to talk about politics and can masterfully turn an otherwise innocuous comment into a reason to debate. Once, when I called his attention to the beauty of the windmills against the sunset over the cornfields of Indiana, he abruptly responded "I don't support wind energy because it takes more energy to make wind turbines than they actually produce."
He loves political debate so much that a few years ago he called in to a talk radio show to discuss the importance of oil in our everyday lives. True enough, I suppose. But still... he actually called in, proving once and for all that behind every great dad is a daughter rolling her eyes.
But I haven't rolled my eyes at him recently because he isn't talking about politics with me at all anymore, and I know why. I totally lost my cool with him earlier this year. It started with a text message conversation one evening last spring:
"Hi Annie you should change to Fox News right now. John Stossel is on."
"No thanks, I feel like being able to sleep tonight."
"He is smart and it's an important message."
I pushed the Guide button on my remote and scrolled to FNC to see the program title: No They Can't: Why Government Fails But Individuals Succeed." Ugh. I texted back, "Yeah, government ALWAYS fails. I hate the interstate highway system," and clicked my phone closed.
Before I could change the channel back, Rascal Flatts began blaring from my phone. My dad was calling. I picked up.
His palpable frustration was choking his normal tone of excited debate. Feeling patronized, my annoyance quickly morphed into fierce aggravation. Alone in my apartment, I stood up out of my chair and shouted into the phone receiver: "HOW DARE YOU CALL ME JUST TO LECTURE ME ON YOUR RIDICULOUS CONSERVATIVE TALKPOINTS? ALL YOU EVER WATCH IS FOX NEWS SO HOW CAN I BELIEVE ANYTHING COMING OUT OF YOUR MOUTH? YOU ARE JUST A PUPPET OF ROGER AILES AND THE KOCH BROTHERS, AND I'M COMPLETELY SICK OF IT!"
He was immediately taken aback and could only muster out a "No, you're the puppet" before quickly calming me down. He spoke gently and hurriedly apologized, "Okay okay okay okay, I'm sorry, Annie. I'm sorry, I promise I won't talk politics with you ever again."
"Good. Have a good night." I hung up.
My dad has kept his promise so far. But I don't feel relieved; I feel bad because now he's afraid to include me in his favorite pastime. He avoids talking politics around me altogether. I fully realized the extent of his avoidance a few months ago when he quickly unmuted himself as soon as he found himself alone with Ian. The two of them left to run an errand together, and, as Ian told me later, the first words out of my dad's mouth were "Hey, if Democrats are proud of government spending, then why aren't they proud of the national debt?"
My poor dad. I lost my cool because I forgot my most important political lesson - one I learned from my dad, of course. We've hardly ever agreed, but no matter how much I rolled me eyes or told him he was wrong, he always knew how to end our political conversations. Ever the sensitive guy, he'd always say, "Annie, you're not mad at me about what I said are you?"
"No." I'd say with a clenched jaw and crossed arms.
He'd come over to hug me, "Okay, good. I love you."
Sigh. "I love you, too, " I'd smile, "Even though you're wrong."
I’ve been feeling lonely today. I walked downtown to run an errand and saw girlfriends chatting on their lunch breaks, eavesdropped on business conversations between gray-haired men in fancy suits, and heard the Chicago teachers chanting in solidarity “Hey hey, ho ho, Emmanuel has got to go.” But I walked the busy streets alone and came home to my big dog in my little apartment. With no one else around, I decided to ask Google about my feelings. I typed in a few key words and it suggested “Are people lonelier today?” Apparently so.
I usually don’t ask Google such existential questions. Whenever I feel a bout of loneliness coming on, I always end up searching for something else online: churches. Synagogues (as Carole Radziwill would say: I’m Jewish by injection), spiritual centers, places of worship - to me, they’re all community centers. They foster a sense of belonging to a group. So when I walk by a church on a Sunday morning and see the congregation walking through its doors, I find myself desiring a similar kind of inclusion. I google churches when I feel alone because they’re places I know I’d be welcome.
I’m not religious, though. I haven’t gone to church regularly since grade school. Ian and I tried the Sunday morning routine a few times since we moved to the city, but it never stuck. We attended a few services at a United Church of Christ in Lincoln Park and loved the sermons, but the demographic of the congregation just wasn’t a good fit. We even sat in on a Roman Catholic service in a gorgeous, high-vaulted cathedral once. But with all the hand-movements and frenetic rituals, we definitely felt like the outcasts at the Cool Kids Club. So we’re still urban secularists, but on days like this I wish I wasn’t.
My religious community longings surfaced a few weeks ago when I was shopping for a birthday card for my mom. She joined the Catholic Church her in 50s (a statistical anomaly I’m sure) and now knows all those fun hand gestures and kneeling rituals. Because she's religious, and because I'm God-curious, I decided to peruse the "Birthday-Religious" cards. I bought the one that made me tear up in the middle of CVS aisle 7.
I’m sure it’s normal, even healthy, to feel sporadic loneliness like I feel today. Like all things in life, it helps us appreciate the emotional connections we do have with people. Like this greeting card writer knew, the most important people in our lives often belong to a group we don’t choose to be a part of: our families.
“...the unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit... is of great worth in God’s sight.” ~1 Peter 3:4
A prayer, Mom, for the blessing of you.
Thank you, Lord, for my beautiful mother
For the love she always gives me
And her friendship that is never failing,
For her kind eyes that see the best in me
And her gentle wisdom that carries me through,
For her prayers that lift me up
And the dreams she holds in her heart for me,
For the happy memories we’ve made together
And all the hugs and smiles we’ve yet to share -
I am forever grateful
More than my prayers could express,
more than my heart could ever say -
I’m so thankful to God for entrusting me to the love
Of the world’s most wonderful mother -
You.
