Steel Magnolias and Hitchhikers

"Laughter through tears is my favorite emotion." ~ Truvy, Steel Magnolias

A few months ago while I was still at home and recovering from my accident, the enormity of what had happened became a bit overwhelming. I looked around and took careful inventory of the reality of my life at that point.
I was using a walker.
I needed a raised toilet seat to ensure I could take a leak without injuring my leg.
It was St Patricks Day, 84 degrees out, and I was stuck at home.
I shuffled to my bedroom and had a mini, sadness-filled breakdown.
Or, as I like to call it, a Pity Party for One.
Luckily my friend Jill (who lives in California) happily took my phone call and patiently listened to my whoa-is-me speech. As usual, she murmured agreement in the appropriate places and offered fantastic advice. She's always had this uncanny ability to make me feel that whatever I'm thinking or doing is completely normal and acceptable.
"Oh really? You murdered a door-to-door salesman and disposed of his body? Well, who reads hard covered encyclopedias nowadays anyway? You did the world a favor."
During this particular phone call, however, she just listened carefully and acknowledged my frustration. She told me I had a perfectly good right to feel sorry for myself, and assured me things would get better.
The next morning I checked my email and there was a message from Southwest Airlines. "Jill has sent you a gift card for $500."
Within that email there was a personalized, simple message from Jill: "Come see me. Let me take care of you."
And of course, I cried the rest of the morning after reading that.
So a few days ago, I packed my bags and got ready to fly out and see her. It almost didn't even happen.
First of all, I told my dad the wrong terminal. Then, after he dropped me off at the right one, I walked in to see the longest security line I've ever seen in my life. It wrapped through lines, over a sky way and down an escalator.
I had less than an hour before my plane took off. This was going to be a nail-biter the entire way; I could tell.
Finally, I was next in line to be x-rayed. I glanced up at the clock: 6:33 am. My flight was supposed to take off at 6:40.
After I hurriedly shoved my boarding pass at the ticket agent a few minutes later, she looked at me and said in a slow, southern drawl: "Honey, you better RUN."
Yeah, with a recovering hip injury.
I did a pathetic shuffling, trotting move that I think may have resembled a run. I finally boarded the plane with seconds to spare. Yikes.
Several hours later, which included a plane change, a shuttle ride and an uncomfortable moment when a homeless person next to me picked things out of his beard while I was waiting at the shuttle drop off place - Jill arrived to pick me up. Talk about a sight for sore eyes.
We spent the next several days just talking, anywhere and everywhere. We chatted around a bonfire, over the kitchen counter and while walking near the ocean. We talked over lunch (and laughed like a couple 16 year olds when we saw the restaurant's sign advertising their "Blackened Snapper") and while we had our nails done.
We talked even more after I had a visit with a psychic.
The psychic told me I had had an unlucky past year, but that was going to change. She announced I had already met my next soul mate and I would be getting married again.
Jill and I furtively tried to figure out who my next "soul mate" was.
Could it be the date I went on where he casually mentioned to me that he owed so much in back child support that he was forbidden to get a passport? Could it be the date where I offered to treat for a cocktail and a shared appetizer, and he proceeded to order walleye, steak and several shots?
Dear god, I hope not.
We spent hours discussing how our kids were doing, and the ever tricky navigation of a mother-daughter relationship with our teen girls.
Yesterday we took a road trip to Big Sur. It was breathtakingly beautiful.
At our first stop, we parked the car and got out to take pictures.
"Now be careful," she said nervously, as she watched me back up toward the edge of the hill. "I'm scared you're going to fall back over the cliff."
"You're right," I agreed. "That would be freaking tragic."
We carefully made our way down the side of a hill, and realized we both needed to go to the bathroom.
Now.
Here's the thing about Wisconsin girls: we can pop a squat just about anywhere. And we do. We're fast, efficient and discreet.
At least, we think we're discreet. As we made our way up the steep incline, we noticed a group of Japanese tourists taking pictures.
"Jesus," Jill said. "I hope we don't end up on some video that goes viral."
After a day of sightseeing and lunch, we headed toward her house again. We noticed a hitchhiker on the side of the road.
Jill turned to me. "Hey, should we give him a ride? I've never done that before."
I stared at her incredulously. "Are you kidding? No we should not. I've never taken a homeless person home and spooned with him before either, but that doesn't mean I think I should."
I think we do a good job of balancing each other out.
Later on we decided to watch "Steel Magnolias." We made our dinner, poured ourselves another cocktail and settled on to the couch for one of our favorite movies.
Yeah, liquor combined with a movie about a daughter dying did not make the best combination.
At one point I had tears streaming down my face. I couldn't even look at Jill because I knew she was reacting the same way. When the movie was finally over I turned to her, eyes practically swollen shut and snot running down my nose. "Don't you EVER make me watch that movie again. I mean it."
She agreed and promptly put in Comedy Centrals "Roast of Charlie Sheen."
Ahhh...much better. Nothing like plain old raunchy humor about hookers and cocaine to take the edge off.
So today I get ready to board my plane. I am sad that the vacation was over so quickly, but more than that - so very grateful I had the chance to come.
And in the end, Jill did exactly what she promised:
She took care of me.

Our Filter-less Family

"Seriously, Vanessa...I think you're missing a filter when you speak." ~ spoken too many times by too many people to accurately quote

I don't know if it's because I'm usually in a hurry but I tend to do everything fast:
I drink fast.
I eat fast.
I talk fast.
I especially talk fast. And when I am lucky enough to carry on a conversation with another fast talker, it's like the heavens align perfectly. We can get so much in during our conversation. When most people would be carrying on a normally paced conversation and doing pleasant introductions, me and the similar fast talker are already swapping phone numbers and adding each other as Facebook friends. Ta-da! So efficient we are.
However, one of the negatives of being a fast talker is that sometimes I speak before I think. I just blurt it out. It's like I don't always have time in my head to think about possible ramifications of my words.
There are people in my family who don't say anything without careful deliberation. They choose their words and reactions to words with thought and concern.
Not me.
I'm definitely a blurter.
And sometimes I even try not to be. I try to chose my words carefully, but it doesn't always work. I feel like Ralphie in "A Christmas Story" when he finally gets the opportunity to tell Santa what he wants. He panics and yells out: "No! No! I want an Official Red Ryder Carbine-Action Two-Hundred-Shot Range Model Air Rifle!"
He looks just as shocked as anyone when he utters those words.
Then Santa kicks him in the face and shoves him down the slide.
Now that I'm a parent, I have discovered that filterless parents have filterless babies. And those filterless babies grow up to be filterless children.
When my daughters were born, I literally said a prayer: "Dear God, please let my girls grow up to be strong and independent and spirited and don't let them take shit from anyone."
Deep sigh...
I think we can safely say God was definitely listening to that prayer.
While all three girls have different personalities, not one of them is afraid to speak what's on her mind. I don't think it even crosses their mind to think about what it might sound like when they repeat something.
A couple days ago my kids had come home from a long day at the city pool. We were all in the kitchen and they were sharing who they saw at the pool and who they played with during the day.
"Do you know what one boy said to me at the pool today?" Chloe, my 10 year old, said.
"No, what?" I asked her.
"He said 'I'll give you a nickel if you tickle my pickle.'"
Instantly my mom and I burst out laughing.
My dad, however, was not amused. He had that look on his face that I recognized from childhood. His eyebrows cinched together and his nostrils flared a bit.
I tried to motion to Chloe to quit talking about it, by motioning a zipper across the mouth. She either didn't see it or chose to ignore it. It's safe to say that not only do we not have a filter for our mouths, we lack a zipper as well. She went on and on, and it didn't help that I continued to laugh.
"I don't think it's appropriate," my dad said.
He was right...it wasn't appropriate. I asked Chloe, "So what did you say to the boy who said that to you?" In my head I imagined a guy in a leather jacket, standing outside the chain link fence by the pool...wearing sun glasses and smoking a cigarette.
She shrugged. "He was about 10, so I told him he was disgusting and then I swam away."
I nodded. "Wise move."
Inside I tucked away that pickle saying, and wondered if there was any way I could use it on a future date.
And it's not just my girls who say whatever pops in their brains. My son does it, too.
A couple weeks ago we all went out to eat at a local restaurant. As we were leaving and walking out through the parking lot, I automatically reached for my son's hand. He looked up at me, "When we get home and go to bed, do you want to lay in bed and talk about stuff with me?"
I smiled. I knew what he was up to. Ever since I got an iPhone, he became obsessed with playing games on my phone. In his little 8 year old brain, he was thinking that if he got me to lay down with him, I would be so tired that I wouldn't care if he played games on my phone.
"Well," I asked him. "What kind of stuff did you want to talk about?"
"I don't know," he said. "But just not, like, sexual stuff. I don't really want to talk about that with you."
I rolled my eyes, stopped walking and looked at him. "Well that makes two of us. Why in the world do you think I'd want to talk about sexual stuff with you anyway?"
He shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.
Seriously, I would have died before I suggested talking about sexual stuff to my parents when I was eight.
It didn't seem to bother him in the least.
But then, an incident last weekend happened that made me realize how hereditary this lack of filter issue really is.
My friend Nicole and I joined my mother and Grandma Tillie for lunch at Red Lobster. Nicole loves my family, and especially loves hanging out with Tillie, because as Nicole says, "You just never know what's going to come out of her mouth."
True. Once in awhile Grandma Tillie will reward us with a verbal gem that keep us smiling for years. And last weekend was no disappointment.
Before we had a chance to order, Grandma Tillie turned toward Nicole and said, "Do you want to see my pacemaker scar?" Nicole murmured in agreement and turned toward her. "Wow," she said. "But it's healing really nice."
Grandma shook her head. "That's nothing, wait until you get ahold of this..."
And then I knew what she was going to do. It's like it all happened in slow motion.
My mom did, too. She hid her face behind a menu and said, "Mom, not here. We're at a restaurant..."
I just tried not to smile because I knew what was going to happen.
Grandma lifted up her shirt and showed us the purple bruising on her bare boob. "Check that out," she said.
Nicole nodded approvingly and gave me a look, suppressing a smile.
I knew that look and exactly what she was thinking:
Jackpot.
But hey, I gotta hand it to Grandma Tillie. She's still got a decent rack.
And when I turn 89, I'll probably be whipping out my bare boob at a Red Lobster too.
My kids will be hiding behind menus, and I'll laugh and catcall over to the waiter, "Hey, if you give me a nickel..."