Joy Is The Right Word

Funny how something as simple as diving can be so powerful.

Last year, amidst all the sadness of going through a divorce, I decided it was high time my children got a fresh perspective, that a little fun was in order. My oldest daughter was away at college but it was my other three (triplets) who needed this more so than her. I wanted to take them somewhere they'd never been before, so I booked a short escape for a long weekend, to the Bahamas. Keep in mind that the Jersey shore was the only ocean these kids had ever seen in their short teenaged lives.

I know that I speak for them as well as myself, when I say that a single stellar memory of that trip will forever stand out. It was the moment right after we had just gone underneath, just seconds into that shimmering sea of turquoise. My three children were floating in a sort of semi-circle directly in front of me, and even though they were all in scuba masks I could clearly see their faces.

I will never forget how each of them looked to me at that moment - each taking in the surreal spectacle of undersea life - hundreds of brilliant-colored tropical fish swirling around us, the gorgeous orange of the coral further down below, the deep clear blue of the water, each of them looking at me so wondrously as if to register "is this for real?"

Joy. That was what we felt together, at that moment.

Online Dating: Judging a Guy By His

Grammar.

You know, like the way he writes in his profile. (Perverts. What were you expecting?)

Anyhoo, I caught a lot of flack last time I wrote about online dating, for saying how important good grammar was to me. Well I still say it. I can tell immediately if he reads and if he’s educated by the way he writes. By “educated” I’m not talking about university degrees. For example, if I get a reply from someone and he uses "your" instead of "you're" and then I read on and see all kinds of misspellings, I get this mental image of someone with a lot of dirt under his fingernails. I have similar distaste for anyone who uses “LOL” in their correspondence, although that’s more a petty personal thing of mine and I try not to let that cloud my overall impression.

In the world of online dating, your first impression comes from how you write it. If you don’t think grammar is important, its no different than showing up on a traditional old fashioned blind date wearing shorts with black socks and shoes.

Peach Pie

I made a pie all by myself for the first time, last night.

Key words: all by myself. Over the years I've made dozens and dozens of pies, but they were always a collaborative effort; my husband always made the crust because he was excellent at it. He had a way of turning out pie crusts that were picture perfect and so flaky the first bite would melt in your mouth. I'd always do the easier part of peeling the apples or paring the peaches, mixing in the sugar and cinnamon and whatever. We both come from big families, and our pies were legendary within our family circle and because of that, we were always assigned to bring dessert to all family gatherings, Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners. Every holiday would find us slaving in the kitchen the night before, always filling the house with the most wonderful aroma.

Funny thing but the last ten years or so of the marriage, things deteriorated to where the only thing we ever did together (as a couple) was making those pies. Oftentimes our kids would sit up at the kitchen counter, taking in the unusual sight of us working together as a team. Watching them watching us, I'd always feel such pangs of regret. For not giving them more of those kind of moments, the ones that bring such security when kids see their parents are in sync. Even then, they knew - we all knew.

Its been a transitional year for all of us. I've taken on a lot of new (to me) responsibilities since Tim moved out over a year ago; the more mundane things like mowing the lawn, fixing things or painting aren't as big a deal as I once thought. Its been the subtle things that are much harder to keep attuned to, things I have to make sure I don't become too busy to miss; like the way one of my sons began to check and double check the locks on all the doors every night before we all went to bed. He's finally stopped doing that now.

Last night I bridged a little bit more of the gap when I rolled out that dough and took on the pie crust by myself. It wasn't for a birthday or a holiday, there was no special occasion except that I had all these perfectly ripe peaches and the free time to do it. My daughter sat up at the counter and chatted with me while I measured out the flour, she never alluded to it but I knew she was watching, and remembering. I started feeling those pangs again, but I just kept on rolling, and talking with her.

Damn if it didn't turn out halfway decent. No one even noticed it wasn't quite picture perfect when it was still warm and topped with a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. All they noticed was the specialness of having homemade peach pie on an otherwise normal day.

Yesterday, I Was Caught Shoplifting.

Actually, I was caught eating the goods outright, I wasn't concealing them.

I was at Wegmans, a rather upscale grocery store that happens to have an unbelievable candy section, one that would bring out the kid in anyone, a candy section to die for. They've got all the penny candy from my childhood; atomic fireballs, red hot dollars, wax lips, wax bottles, fizzies, licorice snaps, candy cigarettes, candy buttons on paper, sugar babies, now & laters, Oh. My. God.

So there I was, cruising all the tempting choices with my bag in hand, trying to decide - when I nonchalantly dug into the raisinet bin and scooped out a small handful.

I was munching on them when two security guards slithered up behind me and flashed their badges. Gulp.

Mortified, I immediately pulled my cart over by the m&m bin. A couple of kids were pointing, whispering and snickering behind the Hershey kisses display. I smiled at the mullet-coiffed guard; she didn't smile back. They didn't make me spit out the evidence or read me my rights, they didn't even prosecute, it was just a warning. This time, anyway. But I've got a feeling there's a frozen fuzzy picture of me somewhere (from their monitor/camera) stuffing my mouth with raisinets - and its hanging up back there in their corporate offices, its on my permanent record now.

Should I seek help?