Gifts

Growing up, birthdays were a big deal. My mom baked a cake in whatever shape we wanted and in our favorite flavor (cake and frosting). We got gifts from our parents and exchanged presents among the siblings.

Sunflowers from Pam.

One year, my brother, John, gave me an assortment of teen magazines, including Tiger Beat and 16. I was in heaven reading about the Monkees, the Beatles, Hermans Hermits, and all of the other popular groups of the time. I took out the glossy, full-color photos and stuck them on the wall. And loved them to pieces. (I still have most of them, or what is left of them.)

Flash forward several years to this past week. I received many presents. They were all fabulous...the DVD's from my husband, the odds and ends from my son, the books from Steph, the candle and flowers from Pam and the cards from my sister and Linda. The goodies brought into work by my boss and co-worker, Kim. And many, many birthday wishes on Facebook.

But what mattered most was the time I got to spend with people I love. Dinner with my family. Lunch with Pam. And the fact that people remembered my day, that they cared enough to celebrate with me. Enjoying the gift behind the gift. Now I know, that's the best part.

My Pitiful Laundrette

We could hear "Taps" playing as our washing machine officially croaked.

So, last Saturday it was off to Sears to buy a new model. Our normal approach is to do a little research ahead of time, then buy whatever the salesperson talks us into. This time, Mr. Ginley insisted I pre-shop. Using the internets, I did my smart-shopper thing, although I must confess the online reviews baffled me. One guy loved it, one guy hated it...they seemed to cancel each other out. Finally, I settled on what I believed to be an acceptable model. Then I headed to Sears Outlet on my lunch hour to check it out.

The good thing about this particular location is they are obviously not well-versed in selling appliances. Lawn tractors, yes. Washers, not so much. This was a good thing for me because I wanted to shop without a hovercraft at my elbow, extolling each machine's virtues (especially the ones over $800). In this way, I was able to locate my model and see it up-close-and-personal.

The next day, Mr. and I headed out to the Sears at the mall and were able to complete our purchase with a minimum of fuss. The guy did not try to sell us up, which was refreshing. And soon we had scheduled a delivery date and were on our way.

The downside...the machine would not be delivered for a week. And we had dirty clothes that needed to be cleaned for the week ahead. Off to the laundromat we went.

The last time I had been in a laundromat (when our last washer gave up the ghost), coins were required. I assumed this would not be the case this time, but I wasn't sure exactly what to expect. All of the other campers seemed to know what they were doing. The smart thing would have been to approach one of them and ask what the routine was.

But, if I had done this, I wouldn't have anything to write about today.

I approached an ATM-like machine that dispenses cards. I'm not unfamiliar with this particular technology, so no big deal. I put in some money and got a card. Then I went over to the first machine and filled it with all of our blue jeans. Figuring this would be a sufficient load, my kid put the detergent in the top, locked it up, and away it went. So far so good.

That's what we thought.

On to the machine next to it, which was smaller size but still quite roomy. As we were loading that washer, a woman sitting nearby called me over and said, "I don't know if you've been here before, but that first machine holds six loads and this one holds four." Then she waved her hand toward the back of the laundromat and said, "And those machines back there are for one or two loads."  I thanked her for the advice (wishing she had told me before we started up the behemoth), and we proceeded to pack more clothes into the second washer. Then we headed for the back of the place, and filled a much smaller washer with our final load of whites.

Then we waited. 

Things were humming along just fine, until the behemoth, un-marked six-load washer started its final spin. For what seemed like an hour and half (but was probably only 3-4 minutes), the monster shook and banged and looked like it was going to burst from its mooring and explode, spewing shrapnel and wet blue jeans over all of the launderers.

We were mortified.

We sat silently, praying to the God of Laundry to deliver us. As we watched the spectacle in horror, my husband leaned over and said, sotto voce, "There's a sign that says we have to pay for any machinery we break."

We sat meekly, avoiding the eye contact of the other, obviously more experienced clothes handlers. We were sure they were staring daggers at us. I asked our knowledgeable laundry-friend if this was normal for this machine. She eyed me with pity and murmured, "Only when you don't put enough clothes in and it's out of balance."

We prayed some more. That was all we could do, because the machine was on lock-down. And, at the end of this particular cycle, when my son tried to open the door, it remained locked. To our shock and dread, it started to fill with water again. We waited. And went through another cycle of nail-biting until the heaving, noisy beast finally came to a halt, still intact.

We removed our clothes, then waited in agony and embarrassment until the other two machines completed their work. We gathered up everything and slunk off to finish the job in the still-functional dryer at home.

Our new washer is coming today. I will love it and care for it. I will schedule the once-a-year visits covered by my 5-year maintenance agreement. And I will cherish it always.

Or, at least until my next trip to the laundromat.

It Just Is.

Life is so arbitrary. We go along in our own world, day after day. Always with the assumption that tomorrow will be much like today. You go to work, come home, make dinner, go to bed. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Then you get the curve ball. Like we did this week. When one of our own at work was struck with a deadly disease. No one saw it coming. It just happened. She was there walking down the hallway, en route to the cafeteria. She looked fine, maybe a little tired. Then we heard she was in the hospital fighting for her life.

And suddenly, we were all thrown out of our complacency. How could this happen? We just saw her, we just spoke with her...about racing...about her son. It was so quick. So unexpected.

In our Friday morning meeting, we talked about the fragility of life. Everyone had a story, someone close whom they'd lost. A parent, a sibling, a neighbor, a friend. We reminded each other of the importance of telling your family, your friends how much they mean to you. To say "I love you" to those who are close to you every time before you hang up the phone.

Because there are no promises. This is it, folks. So turn around, hug the one you're with.

And please  send up a little something to Terri and the family she left behind Friday night. A wish, a prayer, a blessing. A memory of a woman who was too young, too fun and too good to be gone so soon.

Where My Nose Begins

This year's Fourth of July Parade through West Park was the same as every year. Led by Cleveland's Finest, complete with the bagpipe contingent, the parade slogged its way down Lorain Avenue.

There is a comfort in the sameness of the parade. The politicians hand out flyers. Participants throw candy at the kids sitting expectantly on the curb. And we all wave back at people in fancy automobiles and trolley cars and fire trucks.

Alas, there were no marching bands this year. I really like the marching bands. But there were veterans and churchgoers and lodge guys with fezzes and Knights of Columbus with feathery maned hats and gleaming swords. And a few horses. And the requisite gift that horses leave along the parade route. (Beware all who follow.)

And flags. Lots of flags. There is always talk about patriotism on these holidays. And freedom. Freedom is grand. But when I was growing up, we were taught that the right to extend your elbow ends where the next guy's nose begins -- that we do have rights, but with those rights come responsibility for self and consideration for others.

I thought about this later in the day, when the folks in the apartment complex on the next street decided to play their music VERY LOUDLY so we could hear every BOOM BOOM BOOM throughout the house, even though we had our windows closed.

I don't believe those people meant to ruin my holiday with their music. But I also don't think they would have cared if they had known.

It's disheartening. But I guess that's the human race for you. People want to protect what they view as their own rights, even if that means trampling on the rights of others.

We've turned our government over to big businesses who are chipping away at our freedoms. We've turned our souls over to Christian leaders who have clearly missed the whole point of what Jesus  taught, vis-a-vis, the most important commandment is this: "Love one another as I have loved you."

This one statement is at the heart of all religious faiths. And yet, it's so often left at the curb, along with all the candy wrappers and other discards from a parade meant to symbolize our freedom and our belief that we are the best country in the world.