Ooh La La!!

Let us celebrate the occasion with wine and sweet words.—Plautus

True dat.

Best. Birthday. Ever. Last week was my actual birthday and I have two amazing friends who made a corny road trip into one of the funnest things I’ve ever done. See, for the past 10 years, I had tried to plan a trip to Paris for my 40th bday. 10 years seemed like enough time to plan but apparently not. Instead, after many people had jokingly suggested I visit the local Paris (Missouri) for my birthday, the two friends and I did. We ate croissants and Brie at the water/Eiffel Tower and took many silly pictures. The weather warmed to an unseasonable 60 degrees and the sun shone bright on the January day. (FYI for the shined/shone nitpickers: http://public.wsu.edu/~brians/errors/shined.html). Nothing compares to friends who will not only indulge this kind of goofiness but also go the complete distance in embracing the silliness by not rolling their eyes. I laughed so much, at the end of the night I needed a cheek massage. Seriously. I think I pulled a muscle in my face.

Last night I threw myself a birthday party, as I mentioned in a previous post. The evening was French-themed, and many of my fun friends indulged my request to wear berets and speak in a bad French accent for the night. Even my self-proclaimed redneck husband put a beret on top of his camo hat for part of the night. The effort was appreciated. Lovely Meg (who is a writer/actress/artist/world taker-over-er combo) painted me an Eiffel tower in about 15 minutes, a new friend T. put together a great mix cd of classic French music and 1940s music, another old friend brought some cool baskets as decoration. The cafe table and the old-timey stereo my kids bought me for my birthday finished the atmosphere for me. We tried karaoke; there were some technical difficulties but I did get to offer my rendition of “Crazy” in the aforementioned bad French accent. Friends brought wine to share (and some for me just to take hom) and lovely food, including some fresh raspberries to go with the brie and of course, I had squeezy cheese for Meg. She’s such a diva.

I only teared up once, and only briefly. I looked around the room and felt like my whole life was represented in that space. A friend from high school, sorority sisters and other college friends, a friend from work, old theater friends and fairly new theater friends and the man I love. And my husband. Stop, of course I’m kidding. To have all my favorite people in one room is the kind of thing I’ll put in my heart and draw on when life becomes dark and hard, and I need something to remember that I’m never alone. I think everyone feels like that sometimes but these magic moments sustain me through the rough times.

I’ve mentioned that my Mom has Alzheimers; honestly, for the past few years, my birthday has made me incredibly sad. For the first time since leaving home, I did not call her on my birthday. I’m ashamed to admit that I didn’t want to spoil the magic of my trip to Paris and all the joy it brought me. (Those that know me will understand the irony of this statement).

This 40th birthday though, touched my soul and made me grasp onto all the wonderfulness in my world. Obviously, it’s not all wonderful but everyone has the crap. Nothing hilarious this time. My Doogie Howser wrap up moment for this post is—I hope you all take advantage of the opportunity to celebrate your life. I hope you get the opportunity to see so many people you love in one room. Tonight, my night is very different. I’m sitting on the couch, watching Fairly OddParents with my kids. So many people I love in one room. This birthday was French themed and after all, Paris is the City of Love. I’m a lucky girl.

Think where mans glory most begins and ends, and say my glory was I had such friends.—Yeats

Forty: It isn’t the new 30, it’s the new F word

Women are most fascinating between the ages of 35 and 40 after they have won a few races and know how to pace themselves. Since few women ever pass 40, maximum fascination can continue indefinitely. – Christian Dior

The F Word.  Forty.  I’m turning 40 tomorrow.  Believe it or not, I’m kind of excited.  My 30s were much better than the 20s, so hopefully I’ll just get wiser and more fabulous.  So fabulous that I’m throwing myself a party–a goofy super self-indulgent party, but that’s what happens when you turn 40 right?  You quit caring more about others judgments and live the best life possible.  At least that’s what I’m telling myself.

Reality is, there are some downsides.

• Getting older does not appear to be pain free.  Jeepers, I’ve already had hip surgery, it’s probably not going to get better.
• Sensible shoes (see point #1).
• I’m going to start using words like jeepers.
• Suddenly, KT Oslin songs have started making sense to me.  Her biggest album “Songs from an Aging Sex Bomb.”  Did I ever even get to be a sex bomb?   Jeepers.
• Using a KT Oslin reference.
• Not being able to find any other songs about being in my 40s.  Jon Conlee’s “The Backside of 30″ is the closest I could find.  And it’s not exactly positive.  ”20 Years Ago” from Kenny Rogers?  Bummer.  The Who’s “My Generation?—I hope I die before I get old??”  Um, no.
• During the next 10 years, all 3 of my kids will leave for college (hopefully)–this still makes me wistful.
• When I’m 46, my dad will be gone from my life longer than he was in it—this makes me very wistful.

There are things I’m appreciating about being 40

• Being comfortable in my own skin—seriously, this is what I look like and it’s not going to get better (or worse, thanks to Miss Clairol, Botox and Restalyn).  Might as well quit beating myself up and embrace my aging sex bomb.
• Not being scared of taking chances and failing.  I will try out for more plays and attempt more schooling.  I won’t cry if I don’t make it in, and won’t cry if I get in and can’t handle it.  Of course, being a confident, mature 40 something, I bet I kick ass.
• Making new friends and cleaning out the closet on those relationships that just don’t work for me.  Life is too short—if I’m on the downside of the hill, I’m not going to waste precious moments on those that hold me back.  Luckily, I don’t have many of those people in my life.  The universe pretty much gifted me with a circle of wonderful family and friends.
• All 3 of my kids will leave for college (hopefully).
• Enjoying private time with my hubby(please see bullet above).  We only spent one year before kids—the empty nest will be a new adventure (please see bullet #1, second section).
• One word: Cougarrific.  Oh, I’m just kidding.  Or am I?  In my 40s, I plan to be kind of mysterious.
• Throwing myself parties, which are really to celebrate all those wonderful people around me.  Those wonderful people who will selflessly indulge me by wearing berets and speaking in bad French accents to help me celebrate turning 40.

It is sad to grow old but nice to ripen.
Brigitte Bardot

The real F word for me at this point?  Fantastic.

For Auld Lang Syne—It’s All About the Grits, Baby

New Years Eve naturally brings about personal reflection.  The reality is that from December 31st to January 1st is just a day like any other day, but we need that idea of the ending and a new beginning apparently every 365 days or so.  I guess most of you are familiar with how years work.  It’s the end of tax deductions and the beginning of a new set of copays.

And there were a lot of copays this year, but I refuse to define my year around the various illnesses and accidents of the Fine kids (they have my graceful skills, plus a skateboard).  2011 passed with many hours in waiting rooms—I’m hoping the insurance company will issue me a Disney style “Speedpass” for the emergency room.  We spent so much time in the emergency room, one of my sons picked up an infection from said emergency room and the infection in his leg put him in the hospital for 2 days.  I know, it seems like some kind of infectious disease money scam, right?

And my mother still has Alzheimer’s disease.

So 2011 definitely wasn’t all roses.

But wow, there definitely were roses.

Quite a few of them actually. 2011 will go down in history (at least my history) as one of the best ever.  2011 was the Year of the Friend.  I know, that sounds cheesy and corny but who doesn’t like cheese?  Or corn?  Mmmmmm….cheese grits……sorry, I got distracted there.  A brand new friend introduced me to his cheese grits this fall (does that sound dirty)  and so he’s one of the reasons 2011 rocked as Year of the Friend.  He’s also an adorable, hilarious very talented young man.  The cheese grits are a bonus.

During the spring I re-discovered a couple of my passions and was truly blessed to get to sing, act and play the guitar in local theater production.  The best part of the whole experience was the other terrific people in the show.  Theater tends to draw the funnest, funniest, raunchiest and most tender hearted people to it, and it was a blast.  I am having trouble putting into words what an amazing experience it was, but I love every member of that cast and just this evening got together with many of them to celebrate New Years Eve eve.  Rejoining theater basically has given me a whole cast of friends over the last six years, and I’ve got my next several weekends booked with soirees they are throwing.  Yippee!!  Friends are great!

The fall is full of football in this midwestern college town and my family finally learned how to tailgate properly.  We hosted many fun Saturday events and I reconnected with old college friends, those wonderful people you might not see for 10 years but you pick right up as if it was just a day before.  I have roommates, bridesmaids and more who live within a short distance of my house but we’d never found a way to get together on a regular basis.  The tailgates did that for us, and also gave my kids some insight into who I might really be under all this “momness”.  The friends remarked that they enjoyed meeting and getting to know my family, and getting to see some of the “momness.”  We’ve already made plans for the 2012 football season and road trips with 2 of those sorority sisters to away games.  Friends are the best!  (Again, cheesy but we all love cheese, right?)

In the original Muppet Movie, Gonzo sings a song with the lyrics”there’s not a word yet, for old friends who’ve just met.”  If there was a word, I’d use it to describe one or two special new friends —those magical friends I felt I shared a history with, even before we’d met, from different backgrounds, ages, places.  So different and yet, all so the same.  Talented young people who see the light in others but need others to see it in them.  We’re all kind of broken, but we’re okay with it, at least together.   Friends are sooo special.  (Be kind to the cheese.)

And I will give credit to my friend with benefits, my husband.  Some of this theater friend socializing pushed him outside of his redneckish comfort zone and he completely ran with it.  He encouraged me to try the new show, and get involved.  I realize his motives are usually driven by “get her the hell out of the house” but still, it’s nice to be supported.  He also cooked at all the tailgates, and therefore, greatly increased our chances for successful partydom.  :)

Now, I know all this friendly friend wonderfulness sounds easy but it wasn’t.  Meeting new people can be awkward and awful; suddenly we’re in 7th grade and what if the cool kids don’t like me and ohmygod, I do have something in my teeth?  I can trace all those wonderful new theater=type friends to one chance I took 6 1/2 years ago to try out for a show after not doing theater for 15 years.  Such a scary afternoon that I definitely wasn’t going to try out for most of the day and then figured, “whats the worst that could happen?”  I never thought the best would happen—one of my very best friends is the person who cast me in that first show.

We avoid old friends because “it’s been too many years, we’re too different now, blah blah blah” but then when you actually take the little chance,  (meet them for lunch, drop by the tailgate) you discover they’re the same people, just with kids, spouses and houses.  The person deep inside that we were attracted to in the first place never really changes.   A friend from college and I decided we’ve traded lives somewhat.  Her 30s were a time for her to finally let loose (a little) and have some fun after being a grownup since the age of 3, and I tried to become more like she was in college, responsible, responsible and responsible.  Those traits were never what made us friends in the first place—I always liked her dry wit, which was there in her 20s, 30s and beyond I’m sure.

That’s my challenge to you—in 2012, make some new friends.  Rediscover the hobbies you are passionate about and then find other people who have that same passion.

Make some old friends.  Call 1 person to go out for lunch in the next month, someone you haven’t talked to in years but you live in the same town.  Do it, I promise you won’t regret it.  And if you do regret it, it’s only lunch.  :)

Merriam Webster online defines Auld Lang Syne as “the good old times”.  I hope you had a great 2011 and here’s to all the the good old times to make in 2012!!!

For auld lang syne, my dear,
For auld lang syne.
We’ll take a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.  

Does My Face Always Look Like That??

Recently, I joined a theater ensemble that puts on monthly performances. I thought it would be a simple, great outlet for some of my creative energy, something that would quench that thirst for stage time and “look at ME!” time. One song a month to learn mostly on my own with limited directed rehearsal. Sounds perfect for a busy working woman such as myself.

Wrong! Okay, wrong is the wrong word. The experience has been overwhelmingly positive. What I’ve found is how uncomfortable I am with these singular songs, mean to be experienced and acted as a stand-alone performance. This requires concentration, consciousness of every movement BUT not looking like you’re concentrating and conscious of every movement. It requires an awareness level that should only be needed by air traffic controllers and people handling radioactive materials. My first performance was a fun song; the singing was okay but I realized that my acting “go to move” is bobbing my head to each side. Not even award winning head bobs. More like a chicken walking like an egyptian. Presenting Bob and his friend Weave.

We had already finished our 2nd performance before I saw the video from the egyptian chicken show. Luckily, my head naturally corrected itself somewhat. The problem during the second show was my one facial emotion which appeared to be me kind of pursing my lips to one side, in thoughtful reflection and admiration. It looked ridonkulous.

I realize I’m hyper-critical but I’m also about self-reflection and improvement. My goal is now consciously working on these challenges during my daily activities; During a meeting today, I realized as an indication of listening and understanding, I go to the tilt/bob move. My goal then was to keep my head upright for the rest of the day. No one cares if the puzzled chicken understands, right?

So let’s call it baby steps—2012 we’ll work on twisted lips of admiration.

the Question y’all, is to be or not. (with apologies to M.W.S)

This famous line from Hamlet gets over-quoted in classrooms, bar rooms and living rooms by regular people. When life gets complicated, overwhelming, depressing, there is only one question: to be or not to be.

To simply be—well, it sounds like a major undershoot. I shouldn’t want to be, I’d rather exude, slather, entice, ride the wild winds while drinking in the mad experiences the world gives. Right?

Cut to reality–the wild winds sound scary, would probably stir up a bunch of dust and start a sneezing fit, and we all know drinking and riding wild winds is never recommended.

And, occasionally there are days/weeks/months, when just being feels impossible, and if left to my own devices, I would–

• be on the couch
• be under a blanket
• be hiding from the world
• be on a couch under a blanket hiding from the world

We make our own way in life. Certainly we do not “control” everything–chances and random events are what drives our lives, but more often than not, we drive ourselves to those chances.  At that particular chance random moment in time, we have traveled a journey of twists and turns to put ourselves in that exact moment.

I think Hamlet could have benefited from a little Yoda philosophy.

Do or do not. 

or as the All-American Rejects said

Move along, move along.

or in the words of Dory (Finding Nemo)

Just keep swimming, just keep swimming.

So today is more of a pep talk to myself and to all the other kind of exhausted types out there—

Carpe Diem?  Meh.  Today I’ll just be.  Tomorrow I’ll Carpe.  :)

The Martha Stewart Holiday Depression

I talked to my friend Marge the other night (she bailed on the Happy Hour dinner) and we wondered who those magic people were, hosting dinner parties with other couples, throwing large Christmas parties and arranging play dates with the kids?  People who buy Martha Stewart magazine and actually use the information instead of wistfully reading the articles and realizing they will never fix a garlic/pear-relish reduction for a large gathering of friends, or make curtains out of dish towels (or vice-versa)? Who are these people, and why are they trying to hurt us with their unique relish recipes?

Marge and I realize this is all a myth.  No one besides Martha Stewart makes garlic/pear reduction to spread on who knows what–  There are more people like Marge and I than like Martha and the party throwers. Unfortunately, the magazine for overworked, overstressed parent-type people who frequently rely on the good people at McD’s and DiGiorno to create dinner didn’t sell very well; quite frankly, picking up dinner can be a hassle; there’s the waiting and the unloading and clearing the table. Who needs it in 2010!!!

On the rare occasion that I make it out with a small group of girlfriends, there’s always an ah-ha moment.  Someone slips and reveals how they’ve been teetering on the edge of sanity trying to balance their life, and the rest of us exchange nervous glances before someone finally goes, “Oh thank God, me too.  What anti-depressant are you taking?” Everyone relaxes and soon the plastic messages on yearly Christmas cards replace themselves with stressful cards that say “It’s okay for things to be crappy; everyone hates things occasionally.” Granted, it’s not a very good Christmas card.

Most of the stress comes from family, either external or the new family we have created. Having small children is hard, and there will be years blurred with dirty diapers, spit-up, spills and “look Mommy, I cut my hair myself.” Drove me right to the brink of insanity–really, I got out and threw a rock over the edge of insantiy just to see the magnitude of the drop. The rock sank, well, like a rock.

Unfortunately, no amount of carefully decoupaged orange juice cans (to use as pencil holders), homemade beeswax candles or terra cotta pot spice gardens are going to fix the Mommy problems. I think regular women who aren’t Oprah or Martha drink extra wine in the evening or cry in the laundry room when no one is watching. Perfection destroys the soul, while the real goal should be survival.

And survival is out there.

I told Marge tonight that everyone considers sneaking out of the house and running away when the baby won’t stop crying. Us normal people don’t actually do it–usually we stand up, splash our face in the sink and return to rocking and soothing the screaming child. The thought then fills the mother with grief about what a horrible Mom she must be, to even have that thought for the tiniest moment. So Mom gets depressed. Can you see a pattern about to develop???

You almost sympathize with the normal looking, non-drugged out Mom mugshot on tv, arrested for shaken baby syndrome. She should have splashed water on her face a few more times and counted to 10, and we worry that we’re just one hard night away from snapping. Motherhood is hard. Fatherhood is hard, but fathers do not have the added benefit of severe hormonal changes, which do take place for Mom after delivering the baby. Changes which can take up to 18 months to stabilize. But this post, believe it or not, is not about the horrible parts of parenthood.

I try to impress upon Marge how fast it moves; once they can walk and talk, go without you for even a minute, it changes drastically. Pre-school and kindergarten fly by, as your body adjusts to being on school time once more. The years swirl past, and soon the child who needed to be held constantly has to be prodded for a hug goodnight. You forget the annoying/sweet tendencies of childhood, like a 3 year old poking daddy in the eye to wake him up after a nap.

So enjoy it, and forget about decoupaged cans, homemade birthday invitations, the movies at the theater you’re missing and the social life you once had. Those parts of life will be waiting for you when you’ve invested in your kids. The real trick for sanity is to have good friends with grown children who throw Martha Stewart parties, and who, over a glass of fine wine out of a real wine glass, not a plastic pizza place cup, will tell you they lived through it, that it was awful, horrible, exhausting and at times, disgusting. And that they would trade the fancy party for one night of loud kids running through the house, then settling down for a movie with popcorn and Milk Duds, cuddled up with Mom and Dad.

So ask for help when you need it, quit adding to your stress with unnecessary worries and count on the strength of your soul to pull you through. You’re a phenomenal woman, and no amount of chocolate drizzle could ever be better. Even Martha would agree–after all, she was a single Mom who built an empire on trying to provide for her daughter.

Hope and Glee

Okay, perhaps the title is a little misleading; it’s not quite full of Glee around the Fine household.  Quite a lot of stress, weeks starting to blur together; now sure how the days crawl by and fly by at the same time.  Surely an engineering time continuum problem.

Tonight I realized my Macbook magnetic power cord and I have the same problem: a small burnout leading to a low battery charges, and occasionally, completely disconnected while apparently plugged in.  All caused by a large force repeatedly rolling over us, and slowly, over time, we realized there were obvious burn out spots for the cord, and burned out spots for me.  The recliner where I create so much of this magic had been slowly rolling over the cord, creating small fractures in the plastic.  Life’s been doing pretty much the same thing to me.  So tonight Mr. Fine took the cord, neatly wrapped it up and tossed in the trash.  I believe this is where the parallel story ends.  At least I hope.

And right there is my solution: HOPE.  Maybe even hope and change, but on a slightly smaller scale than proclaimed last year.  And let me tell you, hope is hard to find when you’re not really looking for it, and instead find yourself drifting aimlessly.     How can I find hope!?  I can’t even find where I parked my car at work?  (true story, two days this week, in a small garage on the same floor I’ve parked in every day for 4 years)

I found a little hope this week when I finally quit raining!  Sunshine always signifies hope.  Well, except that beautiful autumn sunshine filled days remind me of a similar day 14 years ago this week, a gorgeous day that I was told my father had died.  Stunning day of beauty that scarred my heart with sadness for a very long time.  Until 2067, I believe.  But finally even hope from that–my goal this week is to bother co-workers and Facebook friends with the comedic commercials about getting a rectal exam to catch colon cancer.  Somehow that feels like a sliver of hope.  And talking to friends about rectal exams always brings a smile to my face.  I’m awful, I know.

Hope: My office assistant this week, when asked about her five year plans, said she’d really like to follow my path and try to get her Master’s in Higher Ed Administration and work with college students for the rest of her life.  Many lovely compliments followed that most people would give their boss about great programs, and reaching students, but to actually have a positive impact that may change the role of someone else’s life, it’s amazing to me.  I haven’t always been Ima J. Fine, if you recall.  My maiden name is Notta, so notta lotta success, and notta lot of positive influences on others.  If others want to be like me, then I must be doing something right, even if I can’t see it right now.  So that gives me hope.

Where does the Glee come into play?  If you’re not aware, Glee is the cheesiest, awfullest, most wonderful show on television right now.  Plot is the cheesiest high school drama comedy you’ve seen, with lots of musical mashups.  Powerful, gouda cheese music that makes me want to sing at the top of my lungs, and change my posture and walk in a graceful circle (psudeo dancing) while singing revamps of “Don’t Stop Believing” “Sweet Caroline” “Somebody to Love” from Queen, “Maybe this time” from Broadway’s Chicago, “Defying Gravity” from Wicked and “Keep Holding On” from Avril Lavigne.  Except they take these good to great songs and pump them full of teen-angst and hijinx and hope.  Thank you Glee!

Keep holding on, because we’ll make it through, make it through,

Just stay strong, because I’m here for you, I’m here for you.

Nothing you can say, nothing you do,

There’s no other way when it comes to the truth,

so keep holding on, cause we’re going to make it through, make it through.

On the not perfect days, sometimes the perfect songs will fill you with Glee.  Trite, cliche.  True.

The Perfect Days

After a particularly craptastic week (and I apologize, I searched the thesaurus but no other word fit just right) I had given up on salvaging the week.  The week had involved deferred dreams, cancelled trips, extended family interactions, my own children’s bad behavior at school,  and my own health “concerns”.  The dream was to get through the weekend without exploding or imploding; the dream involved exhaling and inhaling repeatedly while awake and asleep; the dream involved bad movies and hot chocolate.  The rain was winning.

And then the clouds lifted.  Seriously, the clouds actually lifted across the state and the large orangish orb appeared.  Then, a viral epidemic spread through the area (which did not involved antibiotics or any kind of swine); a celebrity appearance at the local skatepark, completely unplanned, completely free of expectation and completely free.  The good time trifecta.  I won’t bore you with the details; it was awesome, the kids got pictures, autographs and free pizza and they loved skating at the skatepark (they don’t get to go often: Mrs. Fine is old and tired).  And there was a Wendy’s frosty waiting after the park fun.  At home, we rushed to the computers to download the treasures of the day, the photos and videos of all the fun we’d just had.  When Mr. Fine came home, the kids and I hopped  up and down, trying to get a chance to tell our story first!!  Since Mr. Fine had been hunting all day, (and not required to go hang at the skatepark)  he was in a good mood to hear the stories.  Days like these are the days I draw on to sustain me through the hard times.  I call them “perfect days”.

On the Edge of History, Part II

(This was written 4 weeks ago)  Traditionally, a person can look back at their life and pinpoint significant events that changed the course of their life; sometimes the events seem insignificant in the moment, it’s only with the reflection that one realizes the impact.  Maybe it was the day you met a special someone who didn’t necessarily seem so special at the time (it’s not always love at first sight); or the first day on a new job as an entry-level employee who doesn’t realize someday they will own the company.

However, this week, I experienced complete clarity within the moments.  To call it reaching a crossroad would not only be a cliche, the term would be completely inaccurate.  Two roads did not diverge in a yellow wood and I did not choose a path more or less traveled.

Cut to this week—

So now I don’t remember what the perfect clarity was.  But I’m sure it was profound, if not necessarily life changing.  It’s what Schlossberg would refer to as a “non-event.”  It refers to the build up and anticipation of something, and that left over feeling when nothing actually happens.

Clarity did shine through to Mr. Fine’s admittance into college; that has been amazing, and possibly life changing.  Education reveals itself in small ways; it’s not like Eliza Doolittle, walking into Professor Higgins office as a street urchin, and walking out a lady.  No, the transformation lightly shines in tiny moments around the house, when I realize he’s added a few new words to his vocabulary, and dropping a few old words, mainly of the four-letter variety.

If I recall correctly, the non-event involved my mother and a doctor’s appointment with a neurologist.  We pushed for years, wondering, pushing, pulling, (family meetings) and finding the task to be more torture than expected to get one little old lady to see a doctor.  The appointment would change everything-we would have answers to the questions of next steps, driving, planning, power of attorney.

Reality was, it simply led to another doctor’s appointment.  This time there was one answer: no driving.  Tiny problem with the large number of siblings, who all have varying degrees of agreement with this directive from Dr. X.  So 5 days later and still no real plan on how to implement compliance, so more non-events.  No more clarity, and thanks to the poor weather in the fly-over states, things seem cloudier and dismal.  Perhaps the sun will save us.  Or at least save my mood.

Have to find a way to celebrate Joy.

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On the Edge of History, Part 1

Now usually, when someone leads in with a big line like “On the Edge of History”, the reader is expecting world events, wars, the continuing advancement of the swine flu.  But what about our own personal history?  Isn’t it really more important to be engaged in and conscious of the events and consequences that happen in our daily lives?

So I have no problem writing that I am on the edge of history.  Big, huge events in the Ima J. Fine household that will effect our lives forever (or at least a few weeks at the least).  Mr. Fine, a 37 year old construction worker by trade, enrolled in college this week.  To understand the enormity, you’d have to know that he barely graduated high school, has hated school his entire life and never, ever, ever, ever planned to move forward with any kind of higher education.

But life changes, and as the small events (being laid off for a couple of weeks) turn into larger events (still laid off after a few months) and then monstrosity type events (no work for almost a year) a person is forced to examine their life and all the possibilities that still could exist for them.  Taking a leap forward into unfamiliar territory takes an incredible amount of daring and the risk that, in the end, you might feel worse and be lower than before.  But Mr. Fine jumped….