It means no worries for the rest of your days, it’s a carefree philosophy. Two very different incidents happened on my Friday night that have provoked much thought about this phrase and it’s meaning.
The first occurred at Olive Garden. My date and I (fine, fine, it was my Mom) were chatting and eating, your basic dinner out. About midway through our meal, I noticed rather animated gesturing coming from a table in front of ours, a little to the right, out of the corner of my eye. Seated there was an older couple, I’m guessing in their seventies. The old man grinned widely at me. A lemon wedge covered his teeth, a crazed expression covered his face, and he continued to gesture erratically in my direction. Him and his wife were in hysterics, giggling silently to themselves. At first I just stared, appalled at his behavior. After a few seconds of initial shock I tentatively smile at him, reducing them into another fit of silent laughter. Removing the lemon, both rise, still smiling as they turn to leave. I honestly haven’t seen two people laugh like that in a very long time. As I think back on that couple now, I realize that is the kind of person I want to be; the kind of person that this world could use more of. He obviously wasn’t concerned with what anyone around him was thinking and his wife was in no way embarrassed by his actions. Happiness radiated from their gleaming eyes and wrinkled smiles. There’s a lot to be taken from that, I think. Happiness is about being who you are. It’s about being silly and spontaneous and surrounding yourself with people who love you for that.
Now to the second incident. After dinner, we were at JC Penney. A sudden noise from the back section of the parking lot stops us before we can walk through the doors. Two boys, looking to be in their teens, were the source of this noise. One was singing a very slurred rendition of Hakuna Matata into a megaphone and the other seemed to be banging his head onto the hood of a car repeatedly. They were still there when we left the mall. Now, I’m not saying illegal substances were or weren’t involved in this little show because I don’t know. Either way, really? That’s how you’re choosing to spend your Friday night? Yes, it was entertaining and it will probably be an interesting story to tell, but that’s about the extent of it.
Basically, the connection between these two happenings I see is this: Time is precious. Waste it wisely.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Once Upon A Spaghetti Dinner
Expect the unexpected is the only advice I have if you plan on eating a meal with myself and my family. Actually, scratch that. Expect the unexpected in every moment that involves my family. I’ve always thought we should invest in a reality show, here’s a little insight into why I think that. I feel like you’ll probably agree by the time this little story is finished.
First, my Mother, despite the fantastic cook she is, greatly overestimates how much spaghetti five people are able to consume, boiling enough noodles to feed roughly the entire street. After we have fixed our plates, are seated, and the mountain of noodles has been reduced to a slightly smaller mountain of noodles, that’s when the real excitement begins. My youngest sister, aged eight, rambles about A.R. tests, Jacob B. eating glue for a mid-morning snack, cap erasers in the shape of zoo animals, and other earth shattering topics. At least, earth shattering to a third grade mindset. My other sister Hannah, aged thirteen, in the midst of our dinner time conversations, suddenly erupts with disgust.
“YOU ARE DISGUSTING! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST DID THAT! MOM! DID YOU SEE THAT?! DO SOMETHING!” This statement is directed at Lydia who just momentarily touched her plain spaghetti with her hands. Not smeared it into her face and down her shirt with force, merely touched it. My Mother calmly tells Hannah, who mistakenly believes she is designated disciplinarian of the house, to calm down and get off Lydia’s case. Hannah snorts in disagreement simultaneously examining Lydia as if she were a foreign and grotesque specimen. Ah, thirteen year old attitude, so pleasant. At this point my Dad, whose main focus when seated at the table is eating, hasn’t said much. He nods in agreement with my Mother and every so often asks for the salt and pepper. A man of few words, I can appreciate that.
Moving on though, less than five minutes after the noodle touching incident, my Mother throws her hands up in the air. “OH NO. EVERYBODY STOP.” I am startled at the sudden exclamation from my left. The scrape of my fork on my plate echoes in the now silent kitchen as we await the announcement of my Mom’s apparent light bulb moment. “Did anyone see that?” Still a little uncertain of what’s really going on; I glance around and shake my head - I’m pretty sure everyone else does the same. “Hannah just licked her plate.” Hannah immediately raises her voice to protest despite the fact my Mom just personally witnessed her in the act of licking her plate. Might I remind you, this is the same girl that minutes earlier condemned Lydia for simply touching her plain spaghetti. Several times she argues to try and defend herself, which ultimately fails, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.
My role in this dinnertime fiasco has been a small one. I mainly observe, ignore, throw in my two cents, mumble sarcastic comments under my breath, contemplate sliding under the table and out of the room, or a combination of all the mentioned. Now, don’t get me wrong. Yes, Hannah would argue with a dead raccoon on the highway via the car window, Lydia does not realize constant chatter is unfavorable, and my Mom finds humor in the strangest of places but I find my family highly amusing and despite their endless quirks, I guess I kind of like them. This event is only the tip of the iceberg, per say, one of a million meals we have shared and will share, as we eat together every night. Some days it makes me laugh and some days it makes me wonder if I am adopted. Either way, it’s always an adventure.
First, my Mother, despite the fantastic cook she is, greatly overestimates how much spaghetti five people are able to consume, boiling enough noodles to feed roughly the entire street. After we have fixed our plates, are seated, and the mountain of noodles has been reduced to a slightly smaller mountain of noodles, that’s when the real excitement begins. My youngest sister, aged eight, rambles about A.R. tests, Jacob B. eating glue for a mid-morning snack, cap erasers in the shape of zoo animals, and other earth shattering topics. At least, earth shattering to a third grade mindset. My other sister Hannah, aged thirteen, in the midst of our dinner time conversations, suddenly erupts with disgust.
“YOU ARE DISGUSTING! I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU JUST DID THAT! MOM! DID YOU SEE THAT?! DO SOMETHING!” This statement is directed at Lydia who just momentarily touched her plain spaghetti with her hands. Not smeared it into her face and down her shirt with force, merely touched it. My Mother calmly tells Hannah, who mistakenly believes she is designated disciplinarian of the house, to calm down and get off Lydia’s case. Hannah snorts in disagreement simultaneously examining Lydia as if she were a foreign and grotesque specimen. Ah, thirteen year old attitude, so pleasant. At this point my Dad, whose main focus when seated at the table is eating, hasn’t said much. He nods in agreement with my Mother and every so often asks for the salt and pepper. A man of few words, I can appreciate that.
Moving on though, less than five minutes after the noodle touching incident, my Mother throws her hands up in the air. “OH NO. EVERYBODY STOP.” I am startled at the sudden exclamation from my left. The scrape of my fork on my plate echoes in the now silent kitchen as we await the announcement of my Mom’s apparent light bulb moment. “Did anyone see that?” Still a little uncertain of what’s really going on; I glance around and shake my head - I’m pretty sure everyone else does the same. “Hannah just licked her plate.” Hannah immediately raises her voice to protest despite the fact my Mom just personally witnessed her in the act of licking her plate. Might I remind you, this is the same girl that minutes earlier condemned Lydia for simply touching her plain spaghetti. Several times she argues to try and defend herself, which ultimately fails, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.
My role in this dinnertime fiasco has been a small one. I mainly observe, ignore, throw in my two cents, mumble sarcastic comments under my breath, contemplate sliding under the table and out of the room, or a combination of all the mentioned. Now, don’t get me wrong. Yes, Hannah would argue with a dead raccoon on the highway via the car window, Lydia does not realize constant chatter is unfavorable, and my Mom finds humor in the strangest of places but I find my family highly amusing and despite their endless quirks, I guess I kind of like them. This event is only the tip of the iceberg, per say, one of a million meals we have shared and will share, as we eat together every night. Some days it makes me laugh and some days it makes me wonder if I am adopted. Either way, it’s always an adventure.
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