Eat Like You Want To

January 31, 2018

I grew up with family dinners. I see the value in gathering around the table.

Full disclosure: when I divorced, my daughter told me how much she hated those dinners. I had no idea. So now, in Freedom House, we stand around the kitchen island and eat a lot of the time. Another full disclosure: I hate to cook. It's not in my wheelhouse. I can do it. I've done it. I don't have to do it anymore. I'm not disappointing anyone by not doing it. My kids don't care. By the miracle of modern food preparation, Stouffer's and Lean Cuisine and the local grocery or Chinese place, my kids are fed.

I grew up thinking that being a good woman meant being a good cook. Guess what? Untrue. I can't think of much more that is counterintuitive to me than cooking. All the good women in my life have been slaves in the kitchen.

I have been liberated.

When I was married and coaching a debate team that--ps, was solid--I worked late a lot. A LOT. But when I was home, I would try to produce the mighty family meal. It was like a hostage crisis. I came home, threw something marginal together. Little appreciation was shown for it. I couldn't wait for it to end. Apparently I wasn't alone.

When I was a kid, Nydia would come home from teaching a full day and produce meat, potatoes, and multiple sides. I have no idea how she didn't claw my Dad's eyes out. 

But Nyds, those pork steaks in the oven were nasty. Sorry.

My point is this: My kids are well taken care of. We are all nurturized. But I'm absolutely gleeful that I can just hang out with them and we eat and it's no big deal. There are a thousand things that are better about our lives in recent years, but the dinner hour is absolutely at the top of the list.

Sure, I will still make stuff that is real from time to time. Nance can grill! But the pressure is off.

The pressure. It's off.

And the happiness? You can FEEL IT.

ENOUGH!

January 29, 2018

I've been sick off and on for a month. After Christmas it was a snooze fest. I couldn't stay awake. When I get sick I always think I'm making it up. But a lot of reliable people who aren't crazy have had it, too. So I'm sane. Praise the Lord.

I had been fine for a couple weeks and then a TB-esque cough reappeared. I have coughed so much I wonder why a virus hasn't appeared in the crook of my arm.

I am returning to normal but I wish to shout to the gods of health and evil: ENOUGH! This isn't cancer or AIDS or a host of horrors that I probably deserve, but I must get well! Enough! 

I remember running miles and not coughing every five minutes and not wanting to be horizontal all the time. I know I will dial it back. I hope. Sooner rather than later. 

Please, sweet Jesus. Please.

Murph

January 26, 2018

When I was 16 years old I fell in love with Murphy Brown.

Hold on. I fell in love with her like a worshipper falls in love with an idol. I adored her.  When I graduated from high school, Dad took me to see a filming of Murphy Brown. As I sat there, I almost levitated.

And she is returning to television. I went nuts when this news hit me.

Murphy shaped me as a professional. Her salty, aggressive behavior was my mantra. It wasn't always appropriate, but it did make me who I became as a coach. I wanted to be that commanding, fearless, poised, articulate. 

More than that, there is an episode in which Murphy says to Corkie, who struggles with marriage, family and work: "on behalf of all those of us who gave up trying to have it all, don't give up trying to have it all."

I heard that when I was in high school. I believed at the time I could have it all. 

I couldn't. Then.

Things have changed.

Happy Birthday, my Tiff

January 24, 2018

I was on my way into class this morning when I realized it would have been the 44th birthday of my dearest friend, Tiffany. She died suddenly in March. It was an enormous tragedy in my life. It was an enormous tragedy for a great many.

She was a touchstone for me. Realizing it was her birthday in the parking lot at Missouri State took my breath away. I wanted to break down, but I had to go teach. I thought of her laugh and I got stronger and faced my classes. I could hear her voice saying “My Nance!” and I knew I could roll on.

But I got home this afternoon after all the deeds were done and I cried. I cried a lot. Tiff was my dear, dear friend. I still fight the impulse to call or text her. It is devastating that she is gone. I miss her so much.

I know her Justin and Reagan and Will suffer her absence much more than I do. I hurt for them.

To the heavens, I say: my dear Tiff, how I hate that you are gone. But how glad I am you aren’t in pain any more. I’d give anything to hear you laugh again. Happy Birthday, my sweet friend. Press!!!

The City Bus

January 22, 2018

In 2009, the National debate tournament was in Birmingham, Alabama. I was still dependent on actual hold-in-your-hand maps. It was the Stone Age.

Downtown Birmingham is one intersection after the next. The first morning of the tournament, I was driving three of my kids and three students from other schools to the tournament. As I looked down at the map, I came upon a red light. Matt Price, riding shotgun, screamed "red light!" I slammed on the brakes and avoided being t-boned by a city bus. But we hit the bus.

It was a nightmare.

The minivan was totaled. The air bags deployed. We spun. And my life changed forever.

Thomas, whose parents are both doctors, was in the second set of seats. He immediately looked at me and said "EMTs are on the way." All the kids in the back seats were fine. Other coaches were on their way to the tournament and stopped and picked them up and took them on. 

I watched people being taken off the city bus on gurneys and I nearly self-destructed. I knew I would be sued. And I was.

Matt had been hit by the rear view mirror and was bleeding. We went to the hospital while I did all I could to not die of a full on meltdown.

But here is the thing: I have parents and (at the time) administrators and friends who kept me alive. I will never forget that they saved me during that time. However, it made me gun shy. It was the beginning of my end as a coach. Suddenly, I realized the risks involved in traveling with students. I had loved it. And it became fearful for me. It became something that hurt. I was riddled with guilt.

The kids in that van and their parents were more than forgiving and gracious. But I am still not sure I've forgiven myself. It was a moment in time. And it could have killed us all.

Life is composed of moments in time: some awesome, some horrific. This one was a wreck, literally and figuratively. I've crawled back from it. But it has been a slow crawl.

I've made a lot of jokes about the city bus. But it changed me. It scared me. And I never want to go back to Birmingham.

Smart A**

January 20, 2018

I began coaching debate when I was 22 years old. I was fiercely competitive. I wanted to prove myself. I was an assistant to my great mentor, Brett Miller, for two years. I have many stories from that time. One of my favorites, though, is when a couple of our competitors apparently violated a tournament rule. I was green and very defensive of these girls and I got crosshairs with the tournament director. I was essentially a child. But I was pissed.

Anyhoo, when the awards ceremony began, the tournament director went to Brett and said "who is that smart ass assistant?"

The smart ass was me. And Linda Box, the tourney director, and I have been dear friends ever since.

I learned that day that there are rules. I also learned that you can disagree and become friends. 

It has remained one of the greatest lessons of my life. She is one of the dearest people I've ever known. I remember every moment I had with her with an ounce of fear and pound of sincere affection. And, ok, maybe a little more fear. 

Surviving

January 16, 2018

When my mom took her life it was a Saturday. It was also a month to the day  from my fifth birthday. It was also 39 years ago on January 20.

My dad was at a Bears game when Mom snapped. She put us in our room, shoved a blanket beneath the door, and started the car in the garage. She told us not to leave the room. I ventured out at least once, but I was afraid of her anger, so I turned around.

Dad gave me all the documents about her death a couple months ago. They estimated she died around 8. Dad came home a couple hours later and found her. He found me sick and unconscious on the bedroom floor. 

I can't imagine what it was like for him. But he assures me it is the love and kindness of so many that sustained him. In this packet he handed me was a long list of Papa Bears and South Haven-ites who gave and did and who just showed up. He knows. And I think he gives to people without ceasing because he remembers what people did for him on that icy January 20. And because he is just a great guy.

I will always value the hoards of good friends and family who stepped in more than I will hurt from the pain of that day. I will always ache for my mother. But I survived. 

The Sick

Jan 12, 2018

I've been nutcrackers sick for two weeks. I understand it's "going around," but it doesn't change that I feel guilt. Why is this happening? What did I do to cause it?

My Dad and Nyds never get sick, so I feel like a pansy.

I guess what I've learned in the last couple weeks is you have to accept that sometimes you aren't in charge. Sometimes you need to sleep. And maybe collapse into your Dad's arms and cry because you feel so badly. And maybe it takes feeling horrible to appreciate good health.

I don't write any of this for sympathy. I just recognize the value of health. And Netflix. And Amazon Prime. And You Tube.

I'm just glad it's over.

The Debating

When I was married, my former mother-in-law would ask, "how is it going with the debating?" The truth is, being a debate coach was the greatest thrill and challenge of my life.

Of late I've been thinking of the best of the best of my debate coaching friends. They duke it out every weekend. 

I gave up. 18 years and I was done.

Think about teaching all week, then climbing a bus on Friday morning to govern a host of debaters until likely the middle of the night Saturday night. And if you're me (for a time) coming home to little ones.

I'm not hopping on the cross. The highs in my life as a coach were momentous. I admit there were some lows. But I know my pals are out there now. It's no small feat. I salute them.

This is their first weekend back after break. I am home and I just want them to know that I admire them. What they do is a lot. That's all there is to it.