E.C. Stilson's Blog, page 47
January 6, 2018
Staten Island Musician -- 10 Things I Learned in New York
Part 7 -- Staten Island Musician
Mike and I drank smooth, black coffee on Staten Island, when suddenly a guitar melody drifted from nearby. We followed the notes, and ended up in the large room where droves of people waited for the return ferry to New York. Almost every person watched a guitarist, playing anything from Jamaican rifts, to a mix of Latino and rock harmonies. Anyway, he was astoundingly good, and I wished more than anything that I could jam with him. So, I went and gave him a tip. But as I turned to walk away, he saw my violin case, and he stopped playing. "Are you pretty good?" he asked. "I've played since I was 5." "You wanna jam?" "Oh my gosh! Are you kidding?! YES, I want to jam!" So I took out my fiddle and we played—right there in front of the ever-growing crowd of people. After a couple of measures he leaned over to me and said, "You ARE good. Let me turn down my guitar so people can actually hear you."
Here's a picture Mike took while we played:
Link: TO VIEW THE VIDEO ON FACEBOOK, CLICK HERE
Music is life-changing--it's math that we can hear. He played a third, so I played a fifth. Then I knew he'd drop back again, so I countered with a root note. After a few minutes, my mind stopped making predictions and the music poured straight from my soul. Toward the end of the third song, I felt so connected with the melodies, it sounded as if this man and I had played together for years. That's the thing about music, it brings out your soul--all barriers removed--and that's when we can really connect with people, even strangers. I've always wondered if our true selves come out during music--the best version of ourselves. "Oh shoot," I said at the end of the last song. "Our ferry is almost here. I've gotta go." "But what's your name? When will you be back? Who are you? We need to jam again--we could get a contract!" As I continued frantically packing up my fiddle, I felt like Cinderella, leaving the ball. "I don't live around here." "I play at Staten Island every Sunday. You have to come back..... Where are you from, anyway?" "Idaho." "Idaho? Huh." He smiled so big. Then as I slid my bow into my case, Mike got the guy's number. Before going, I gave the man a huge hug. "This moment--what you did for me.... Letting me jam with you in front of all these people--I'll never forget it. You made my entire year. He beamed. "Keep in touch!" As Mike and I boarded the ferry, I asked him if that whole thing amazed him as much as it amazed me. "Typical day." He shrugged. "Come to a city you've never been in. Meet some guy. Get propositioned to play music with him on Staten Island every Sunday. No, Elisa, I'm done being surprised. Life with you has always been an adventure." "You're such a good man to stick by me through all this craziness. Some people I've been didn't like stuff like this. Not everyone can be as supportive as you are. I love you so much, Mike." He winked at me and as we sat down on the ferry, I snuggled next to him. The South Africans, who we had met on the ferry ride there (that post
HERE
), well, they found us and sat down. "Have you met that guitarist, before today?" the son asked. "Nope," I said. "I can't believe he asked me to jam, right there. People are so awesome." The South African father turned to his son and said quietly, "See, this is why I brought you to America. Americans are different people--sometimes they do crazy things. Fascinating!" The son nodded and grinned at me. "Both of you should come visit us in South Africa. You would love it there!" After we got off the ferry and the South Africans had gone their own way, Mike chuckled so hard. "Oh, Elisa, I hope they don't think all Americans are like you." "What does that mean?!" "You're just...one of a kind."
THAT was truly one of the best days of my life!
Mike and I drank smooth, black coffee on Staten Island, when suddenly a guitar melody drifted from nearby. We followed the notes, and ended up in the large room where droves of people waited for the return ferry to New York. Almost every person watched a guitarist, playing anything from Jamaican rifts, to a mix of Latino and rock harmonies. Anyway, he was astoundingly good, and I wished more than anything that I could jam with him. So, I went and gave him a tip. But as I turned to walk away, he saw my violin case, and he stopped playing. "Are you pretty good?" he asked. "I've played since I was 5." "You wanna jam?" "Oh my gosh! Are you kidding?! YES, I want to jam!" So I took out my fiddle and we played—right there in front of the ever-growing crowd of people. After a couple of measures he leaned over to me and said, "You ARE good. Let me turn down my guitar so people can actually hear you."
Here's a picture Mike took while we played:
Link: TO VIEW THE VIDEO ON FACEBOOK, CLICK HERE
Music is life-changing--it's math that we can hear. He played a third, so I played a fifth. Then I knew he'd drop back again, so I countered with a root note. After a few minutes, my mind stopped making predictions and the music poured straight from my soul. Toward the end of the third song, I felt so connected with the melodies, it sounded as if this man and I had played together for years. That's the thing about music, it brings out your soul--all barriers removed--and that's when we can really connect with people, even strangers. I've always wondered if our true selves come out during music--the best version of ourselves. "Oh shoot," I said at the end of the last song. "Our ferry is almost here. I've gotta go." "But what's your name? When will you be back? Who are you? We need to jam again--we could get a contract!" As I continued frantically packing up my fiddle, I felt like Cinderella, leaving the ball. "I don't live around here." "I play at Staten Island every Sunday. You have to come back..... Where are you from, anyway?" "Idaho." "Idaho? Huh." He smiled so big. Then as I slid my bow into my case, Mike got the guy's number. Before going, I gave the man a huge hug. "This moment--what you did for me.... Letting me jam with you in front of all these people--I'll never forget it. You made my entire year. He beamed. "Keep in touch!" As Mike and I boarded the ferry, I asked him if that whole thing amazed him as much as it amazed me. "Typical day." He shrugged. "Come to a city you've never been in. Meet some guy. Get propositioned to play music with him on Staten Island every Sunday. No, Elisa, I'm done being surprised. Life with you has always been an adventure." "You're such a good man to stick by me through all this craziness. Some people I've been didn't like stuff like this. Not everyone can be as supportive as you are. I love you so much, Mike." He winked at me and as we sat down on the ferry, I snuggled next to him. The South Africans, who we had met on the ferry ride there (that post
HERE
), well, they found us and sat down. "Have you met that guitarist, before today?" the son asked. "Nope," I said. "I can't believe he asked me to jam, right there. People are so awesome." The South African father turned to his son and said quietly, "See, this is why I brought you to America. Americans are different people--sometimes they do crazy things. Fascinating!" The son nodded and grinned at me. "Both of you should come visit us in South Africa. You would love it there!" After we got off the ferry and the South Africans had gone their own way, Mike chuckled so hard. "Oh, Elisa, I hope they don't think all Americans are like you." "What does that mean?!" "You're just...one of a kind."
THAT was truly one of the best days of my life!
January 4, 2018
Ferry to the Statue of Liberty -- 10 Things I Learned in New York
We waited for about half an hour, then boarded the free ferry to Staten Island, and of course I still had my violin with me. Here's the thing about being a musician....
You know you're a musician when:
1. You bring your instrument on vacation with you.
2. Your idea of "fun" is listening to the same song 50 times just so you can catch all of it. (I'm sure my family LOVES it when I do this...those lucky folks.)
3. You hear other people jam--and can hardly stand not being able to rock-out with them.
4. You meet strangers--and can almost guess what they play (just by their mannerisms).
5. You end up playing the table drums far more than you'd like to admit.
6. You've owned a QUEEN album--or tried to steal one from your brother.
7. You can make immediate friends with people, just after hearing they're musicians too.
8. You've made up random rhythms with your family's best silverware.
9. You think Johnny Cash is sexy (okay...maybe that's just me).
And 10. Your crazy schemes of being a full-time musician make NO SENSE to your non-musical friends and family.
Anyway, enough of THAT. So, as we rode the ferry and saw the Statue of Liberty (which is actually much smaller than I anticipated), I wanted to break out my violin and play either THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER, or AMERICA. But, realizing no one on the ferry could voluntarily escape my music--I decided that wouldn't be cool.
The ferry puttered on, and Mike and I met people from Israel, Australia, Germany, and then South Africa.
"New York?" I asked one of the South Africans.
"Yeah," Mike said, "what brings you here?"
The man smiled at the ocean. The wind tussled his hair as he turned to us. "This is my son," he said. "He's eighteen, and getting ready for college in South Africa. I told him that he needed to see New York now that he's a man."
We talked to both of them for quite a while, and I found myself so struck by the beauty of the conversation. For those two, the only thing that mattered then was taking in the world, experiencing New York, and appreciating their time together.
"You're going to play your violin?" the man asked, after I told him about my instrument.
"Not on the ferry--but maybe on Staten Island." I smiled mischievously.
A man's voice blared through the ferry's speaker system, "Go to your nearest exit. We've arrived at Staten Island."
"It was nice to meet both of you," Mike said as we walked toward the exit. I realized though, both of us looked back at the father and his son. They pointed at various sites from the ferry. Both of them laughed, and I could almost catch the hues of happiness emanating from both of them.
As Mike and I stepped onto Staten Island, I recalled a story from a while back. A man had lost contact with his son. They had gotten in a fight and both were too proud to give in. Anyway, the son died.... The father had told me how devastating it was, because looking back all his son had ever wanted was to be accepted, appreciated, and loved. But the father had realized all of this too late--he hadn't been really present for his son's childhood, adult years, or really his life. At that time, the man felt compelled to tell me the importance of always showing people how much we care.
As I thought about his words, my thoughts went back to the South African father. He's the epitome of a good person--kind, genuine, selfless--bringing his son across the world, just to show him something special. That love, well, it was breathtaking and I won't forget it.
After a few minutes, Mike bought both of us a coffee and we were about to sit down when I heard music drifting from somewhere close by. That's when my favorite moment in New York happened--right there on Staten Island--and I'm proud to say the South African father and son were part of it!
To be continued tomorrow....
P.S. So many of us just want to feel accepted and loved, by ourselves and others.
Being empowered by acceptance and love--that can yield true peace.
You know you're a musician when:
1. You bring your instrument on vacation with you.
2. Your idea of "fun" is listening to the same song 50 times just so you can catch all of it. (I'm sure my family LOVES it when I do this...those lucky folks.)
3. You hear other people jam--and can hardly stand not being able to rock-out with them.
4. You meet strangers--and can almost guess what they play (just by their mannerisms).
5. You end up playing the table drums far more than you'd like to admit.
6. You've owned a QUEEN album--or tried to steal one from your brother.
7. You can make immediate friends with people, just after hearing they're musicians too.
8. You've made up random rhythms with your family's best silverware.
9. You think Johnny Cash is sexy (okay...maybe that's just me).
And 10. Your crazy schemes of being a full-time musician make NO SENSE to your non-musical friends and family.
Anyway, enough of THAT. So, as we rode the ferry and saw the Statue of Liberty (which is actually much smaller than I anticipated), I wanted to break out my violin and play either THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER, or AMERICA. But, realizing no one on the ferry could voluntarily escape my music--I decided that wouldn't be cool.
The ferry puttered on, and Mike and I met people from Israel, Australia, Germany, and then South Africa.
"New York?" I asked one of the South Africans.
"Yeah," Mike said, "what brings you here?"
The man smiled at the ocean. The wind tussled his hair as he turned to us. "This is my son," he said. "He's eighteen, and getting ready for college in South Africa. I told him that he needed to see New York now that he's a man."
We talked to both of them for quite a while, and I found myself so struck by the beauty of the conversation. For those two, the only thing that mattered then was taking in the world, experiencing New York, and appreciating their time together.
"You're going to play your violin?" the man asked, after I told him about my instrument.
"Not on the ferry--but maybe on Staten Island." I smiled mischievously.
A man's voice blared through the ferry's speaker system, "Go to your nearest exit. We've arrived at Staten Island."
"It was nice to meet both of you," Mike said as we walked toward the exit. I realized though, both of us looked back at the father and his son. They pointed at various sites from the ferry. Both of them laughed, and I could almost catch the hues of happiness emanating from both of them.
As Mike and I stepped onto Staten Island, I recalled a story from a while back. A man had lost contact with his son. They had gotten in a fight and both were too proud to give in. Anyway, the son died.... The father had told me how devastating it was, because looking back all his son had ever wanted was to be accepted, appreciated, and loved. But the father had realized all of this too late--he hadn't been really present for his son's childhood, adult years, or really his life. At that time, the man felt compelled to tell me the importance of always showing people how much we care.
As I thought about his words, my thoughts went back to the South African father. He's the epitome of a good person--kind, genuine, selfless--bringing his son across the world, just to show him something special. That love, well, it was breathtaking and I won't forget it.
After a few minutes, Mike bought both of us a coffee and we were about to sit down when I heard music drifting from somewhere close by. That's when my favorite moment in New York happened--right there on Staten Island--and I'm proud to say the South African father and son were part of it!
To be continued tomorrow....
P.S. So many of us just want to feel accepted and loved, by ourselves and others.
Being empowered by acceptance and love--that can yield true peace.
January 3, 2018
Aspiring Rapper -- 10 Things I Learned in New York
An Aspiring Rapper -- Part 5 Mike and I walked into Time Square and I stared, astounded by all the people working for tips. People strutted around dressed as famous cartoon characters and...the statue of liberty. A woman sang and strummed her guitar. A man did handstands, right there on the cold ground. But as I studied all of those people, smiling and laughing, I caught a sad look from a man in his twenties. He held a stack of CDs. As various people passed, he offered them CDs, but no one paid attention to him. With each person, the man became more and more dejected.
I grabbed Mike's hand and pulled him in the direction of the guy. I didn't know who the Hell he was, but we were about to find out.
"I want a CD," I said.
"Wait--you do?" the guy asked.
"Of course!"
"Well, okay then. Okay!" He brightened.
Mike smiled at the guy kindly and shook his head at me.
"So, what's your story?" I asked. "What's this CD?"
"I'm a rapper. I want to go somewhere and I figure this is the way to do it."
"Hang on!" I suddenly set my violin case on the ground and opened it up. I gave him the cash I had earned earlier from playing in Central Park (that story HERE ).
"Hold up," he said. "You're giving me the tips YOU made."
"And why not! People wanted to give them to me--now I want to give 'em to you. A dream for a dream."
He smiled so big and laughed.
"But you have to sign the CD! To Elisa and Mike."
He pulled out a magic marker--from his pocket--because ninjas carry markers!
After Mike and I were a way up the street, I looked at the CD and burst out laughing. "Oh my Gosh, Mike! Look who he signed the CD to."
"Does that say Eloise?" Mike laughed pretty hard too! "To Eloise and Big Mike."
"I love it!" I said.
I thought that guy was pretty awesome. Who carries a marker around, just waiting to sign stuff--that guy. I wish him all of the success in the world; I really do. He's one of the good ones.
Thought for the day: If we can't support each other, we ain't got nothin'!
Here's a picture of me playing my violin shortly after Mike and I met the rapper:
Have an amazing day!
I grabbed Mike's hand and pulled him in the direction of the guy. I didn't know who the Hell he was, but we were about to find out.
"I want a CD," I said.
"Wait--you do?" the guy asked.
"Of course!"
"Well, okay then. Okay!" He brightened.
Mike smiled at the guy kindly and shook his head at me.
"So, what's your story?" I asked. "What's this CD?"
"I'm a rapper. I want to go somewhere and I figure this is the way to do it."
"Hang on!" I suddenly set my violin case on the ground and opened it up. I gave him the cash I had earned earlier from playing in Central Park (that story HERE ).
"Hold up," he said. "You're giving me the tips YOU made."
"And why not! People wanted to give them to me--now I want to give 'em to you. A dream for a dream."
He smiled so big and laughed.
"But you have to sign the CD! To Elisa and Mike."
He pulled out a magic marker--from his pocket--because ninjas carry markers!
After Mike and I were a way up the street, I looked at the CD and burst out laughing. "Oh my Gosh, Mike! Look who he signed the CD to."
"Does that say Eloise?" Mike laughed pretty hard too! "To Eloise and Big Mike."
"I love it!" I said.
I thought that guy was pretty awesome. Who carries a marker around, just waiting to sign stuff--that guy. I wish him all of the success in the world; I really do. He's one of the good ones.
Thought for the day: If we can't support each other, we ain't got nothin'!
Here's a picture of me playing my violin shortly after Mike and I met the rapper:
Have an amazing day!
January 2, 2018
Symphony Violinist -- 10 Things I Learned in New York
Part 4 -- 10 Things I Learned in New York
My bucket list contains some pretty strange things, but each of them has the capability of making a great memory for myself--and hopefully people around me.
So, one of the items is: play my violin on the streets of New York.
For Christmas, Mike bought us tickets to New York. The first place we visited with my violin was Central Park.
The weather bit at my fingers, freezing cold. But after I began playing my violin, nothing else existed except the wind and the melodies. The music wrapped around me, a symphony let loose from my fingers. It not only warmed my soul, but the air around me as well.
When I really get into music, it leads me--I don't lead it. And I can't help getting lost in the eye of the hurricane. When that happens, I remember the first time I played by ear--after years of taking lessons. Like a bride with the veil removed...a person seeing color for the first time...a child who can't just walk--but can finally run....
I smiled then, dancing right there to my own music. After a time, I opened my eyes and realized people watched me as they passed by in horse-drawn carriages. Some hotdog vendors nodded to me as I continued jamming on. And Mike--that kind, selfless man--waved to me happily knowing he'd made one of my biggest dreams come true.
It wasn't until the end of my second song that an elderly woman came up and put some money in my case.
"Oh, thank you." I smiled so brightly at her.
"It's beautiful," she said. "Absolutely beautiful."
"You play something too, don't you?" I caught a sparkle in her eye--one that matched my own.
"Why yes, I do. I play the violin."
"And I bet you're amazing!"
"Well, for years I played with the New York Symphony."
I gasped. "And YOU gave me a tip?!"
She winked at me, then before turning and sauntering away, she said, "You're good, kid. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Shoot for the stars."
I beamed so big, feeling like I'd met an angel--right there in Central Park.
The actions of strangers can completely make or break a day.
Encouragement--sometimes it's the fuel we need to accept AND give freely to others as well. :)
My bucket list contains some pretty strange things, but each of them has the capability of making a great memory for myself--and hopefully people around me.
So, one of the items is: play my violin on the streets of New York.
For Christmas, Mike bought us tickets to New York. The first place we visited with my violin was Central Park.
The weather bit at my fingers, freezing cold. But after I began playing my violin, nothing else existed except the wind and the melodies. The music wrapped around me, a symphony let loose from my fingers. It not only warmed my soul, but the air around me as well.
When I really get into music, it leads me--I don't lead it. And I can't help getting lost in the eye of the hurricane. When that happens, I remember the first time I played by ear--after years of taking lessons. Like a bride with the veil removed...a person seeing color for the first time...a child who can't just walk--but can finally run....
I smiled then, dancing right there to my own music. After a time, I opened my eyes and realized people watched me as they passed by in horse-drawn carriages. Some hotdog vendors nodded to me as I continued jamming on. And Mike--that kind, selfless man--waved to me happily knowing he'd made one of my biggest dreams come true.
It wasn't until the end of my second song that an elderly woman came up and put some money in my case.
"Oh, thank you." I smiled so brightly at her.
"It's beautiful," she said. "Absolutely beautiful."
"You play something too, don't you?" I caught a sparkle in her eye--one that matched my own.
"Why yes, I do. I play the violin."
"And I bet you're amazing!"
"Well, for years I played with the New York Symphony."
I gasped. "And YOU gave me a tip?!"
She winked at me, then before turning and sauntering away, she said, "You're good, kid. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Shoot for the stars."
I beamed so big, feeling like I'd met an angel--right there in Central Park.
The actions of strangers can completely make or break a day.
Encouragement--sometimes it's the fuel we need to accept AND give freely to others as well. :)
January 1, 2018
10 Things I Learned in New York -- The Italian Restaurant
The Italian Restaurant -- Part 3
He brought us water in a wine bottle, and a plate loaded with the most delicious bread I've ever tasted. I smiled widely at him, simply jazzed to still be in New York.
"You aren't...from here," he said to me, and hesitantly refilled our waters.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Fine, so what should I do to fit in?" I asked.
"Well, for one," the waiter said, glancing from me to Mike, "you shouldn't smile--at everyone. And you shouldn't make eye contact--with many people."
"Don't people smile in New York?"
"Yeah, but not like you do, honey. They'd have to smear vaseline on their teeth, just to remember to smile that big." He stared at me and suddenly laughed. "God, doesn't your face get tired?"
"She smiles a lot. Practice makes perfect," Mike said and winked at me.
As the waiter walked away I thought about something I've been dealing with lately. A couple of years ago, my parents, brother, sister, and all of our spouses sat at dinner. My dad always thinks of the best topics, and that night he said we should go around the table and say which animals we represent. Well, someone was a mountain lion, a powerful moose, and a wild mustang. When everyone got to my sister they said how she's a leader, someone who everyone looks up to--SHE is a lioness. I got so excited at this point--I could hardly wait to see what they thought I was. And soon it was my turn. I nearly shook with excitement when my brother said, "Elisa, you're a cute little otter."
"What?! An otter?"
"Yeah!" everyone agreed.
"I can see it," even Mike said.
"Otters are awesome! They're so happy and fun. They make everyone around them happy," my brother said.
And as Mike and I sat in the Italian restaurant in New York, I kept thinking about the waiter's words. I didn't fit into New York because I'm such an otter.
When the waiter came back, Mike asked him about his past and his city dreams. He'd lived in California, but went out to New York to pursue a singing career.
"I suddenly felt so compelled to tell him how he was there for a reason. That if he was doubting himself, he didn't need to. It would all work out."
He looked down at me as he cleared our plates--and he actually wore one of those vaseline smiles. "I needed to hear that more than you know."
As he began walking away, he turned back. "I used to smile like you do--really. I guess I just stopped because I've gone through life exhausting so much energy getting from point A to point B. I hire a cab just to get to work every day because the Subway is such a mess of construction right now. Anyway, what you said to me--don't change. Don't ever make it so you need vaseline just to smile."
Mike and I both gave him odds looks.
"You know what I mean." He laughed.
When Mike and I got back to the room I looked up what otters mean. It said otters help give people what they need to discover their true selves--and that's what makes people happy.
I might not be an amazing lioness, or a bear, or someone epic who fits in at The City--but being myself comes so naturally. I guess if that means I'm an otter--I'll try to be the best damn otter you've ever seen!
#EmbraceWhoYouAre
Which animal are you most like?
He brought us water in a wine bottle, and a plate loaded with the most delicious bread I've ever tasted. I smiled widely at him, simply jazzed to still be in New York.
"You aren't...from here," he said to me, and hesitantly refilled our waters.
"Is it that obvious?" I asked.
"Yes, it is."
"Fine, so what should I do to fit in?" I asked.
"Well, for one," the waiter said, glancing from me to Mike, "you shouldn't smile--at everyone. And you shouldn't make eye contact--with many people."
"Don't people smile in New York?"
"Yeah, but not like you do, honey. They'd have to smear vaseline on their teeth, just to remember to smile that big." He stared at me and suddenly laughed. "God, doesn't your face get tired?"
"She smiles a lot. Practice makes perfect," Mike said and winked at me.
As the waiter walked away I thought about something I've been dealing with lately. A couple of years ago, my parents, brother, sister, and all of our spouses sat at dinner. My dad always thinks of the best topics, and that night he said we should go around the table and say which animals we represent. Well, someone was a mountain lion, a powerful moose, and a wild mustang. When everyone got to my sister they said how she's a leader, someone who everyone looks up to--SHE is a lioness. I got so excited at this point--I could hardly wait to see what they thought I was. And soon it was my turn. I nearly shook with excitement when my brother said, "Elisa, you're a cute little otter."
"What?! An otter?"
"Yeah!" everyone agreed.
"I can see it," even Mike said.
"Otters are awesome! They're so happy and fun. They make everyone around them happy," my brother said.
And as Mike and I sat in the Italian restaurant in New York, I kept thinking about the waiter's words. I didn't fit into New York because I'm such an otter.
When the waiter came back, Mike asked him about his past and his city dreams. He'd lived in California, but went out to New York to pursue a singing career.
"I suddenly felt so compelled to tell him how he was there for a reason. That if he was doubting himself, he didn't need to. It would all work out."
He looked down at me as he cleared our plates--and he actually wore one of those vaseline smiles. "I needed to hear that more than you know."
As he began walking away, he turned back. "I used to smile like you do--really. I guess I just stopped because I've gone through life exhausting so much energy getting from point A to point B. I hire a cab just to get to work every day because the Subway is such a mess of construction right now. Anyway, what you said to me--don't change. Don't ever make it so you need vaseline just to smile."
Mike and I both gave him odds looks.
"You know what I mean." He laughed.
When Mike and I got back to the room I looked up what otters mean. It said otters help give people what they need to discover their true selves--and that's what makes people happy.
I might not be an amazing lioness, or a bear, or someone epic who fits in at The City--but being myself comes so naturally. I guess if that means I'm an otter--I'll try to be the best damn otter you've ever seen!
#EmbraceWhoYouAre
Which animal are you most like?
December 31, 2017
10 Things I Learned in New York -- Front Desk Clerk
Part 2 -- Front Desk Clerk
The hotels--and buildings in New York--were a lot different from what I expected. For one, they're super compact. The elevator in our hotel even had a sign announcing it is "consolidated": fancy word meaning 2 people will physically fit there, even if the sign reads "limit 7." That saying "packed like sardines in a can," well, it must've come from New York!
In the cheap hotel we picked, people plastered themselves against the wall just to let others pass by. And my husband, a man of average height yet exceptionally broad shoulders, only had a couple inches of clearance on each side of him in the hallway.
Anyway, after arriving at the hotel, the front desk clerk looked at me strangely as I continued waving at him until he gave me his full attention. "Ummm, can I...help you?" he asked.
"I just wanted to see how your day's going."
"Well, it's average...."
"Average?! Are you kidding me? You work in New York. You, my friend, you're livin' the dream."
At this point, Mike (my husband) chuckled. I remind him daily--he got into this marriage voluntarily!
"This isn't the dream, ma'am."
I set my suitcase (which would hardly fit through the teensy hallway) next to Mike. My feet sprinted over to the front desk clerk and then I faced the same direction as him. "You see out that door?"
He nodded warily.
"Out there is so much excitement. It's just waiting for YOU!"
The man snorted and couldn't help smiling.
"You're not from here, are you?"
"Nope."
"You from Texas?"
"No--I'm from Idaho!"
"And, you, lady from Idaho? Are you livin' the dream?" he asked.
"We all are." I grinned. "It happens when you simply realize it. Life can get so messy, so miserable, so hard. But it can also be amazing...if we embrace it. We're still alive aren't we--it's a good time to act like it!"
He quieted and instead of looking patronizing, his eyes studied me and then he nodded. "Okay." He looked from me to Mike and laughed.
"Goodnight," Mike said in his low voice.
"Have a good one," the front desk clerk said.
As we waited for our tiny elevator, I heard another tourist ask the desk clerk how he was doing, I couldn't help grinning when he told them he was "livin' the dream."
What I learned from him: people can be in the best place ever--the land of opportunity--and not even realize how amazing that is.
Sometimes we all need a reminder that life can be crap, but it can also be the best thing ever.
Perspective has the power to change the quality of our lives.
Signing Off for Today,EC Stilson
To read Part 1 of this series, please click HERE.
The hotels--and buildings in New York--were a lot different from what I expected. For one, they're super compact. The elevator in our hotel even had a sign announcing it is "consolidated": fancy word meaning 2 people will physically fit there, even if the sign reads "limit 7." That saying "packed like sardines in a can," well, it must've come from New York!
In the cheap hotel we picked, people plastered themselves against the wall just to let others pass by. And my husband, a man of average height yet exceptionally broad shoulders, only had a couple inches of clearance on each side of him in the hallway.
Anyway, after arriving at the hotel, the front desk clerk looked at me strangely as I continued waving at him until he gave me his full attention. "Ummm, can I...help you?" he asked.
"I just wanted to see how your day's going."
"Well, it's average...."
"Average?! Are you kidding me? You work in New York. You, my friend, you're livin' the dream."
At this point, Mike (my husband) chuckled. I remind him daily--he got into this marriage voluntarily!
"This isn't the dream, ma'am."
I set my suitcase (which would hardly fit through the teensy hallway) next to Mike. My feet sprinted over to the front desk clerk and then I faced the same direction as him. "You see out that door?"
He nodded warily.
"Out there is so much excitement. It's just waiting for YOU!"
The man snorted and couldn't help smiling.
"You're not from here, are you?"
"Nope."
"You from Texas?"
"No--I'm from Idaho!"
"And, you, lady from Idaho? Are you livin' the dream?" he asked.
"We all are." I grinned. "It happens when you simply realize it. Life can get so messy, so miserable, so hard. But it can also be amazing...if we embrace it. We're still alive aren't we--it's a good time to act like it!"
He quieted and instead of looking patronizing, his eyes studied me and then he nodded. "Okay." He looked from me to Mike and laughed.
"Goodnight," Mike said in his low voice.
"Have a good one," the front desk clerk said.
As we waited for our tiny elevator, I heard another tourist ask the desk clerk how he was doing, I couldn't help grinning when he told them he was "livin' the dream."
What I learned from him: people can be in the best place ever--the land of opportunity--and not even realize how amazing that is.
Sometimes we all need a reminder that life can be crap, but it can also be the best thing ever.
Perspective has the power to change the quality of our lives.
Signing Off for Today,EC Stilson
To read Part 1 of this series, please click HERE.
December 30, 2017
10 Things I Learned in New York -- The Taxi Driver
Part 1 -- A Taxi Driver
Mike and I arrived in New York while darkness ate even the stars. Lights shone brightly from looming buildings, and even though I felt like an ant, I couldn't wait to see everything and meet everyone!
A taxi driver pulled to the curb at the airport. Mike had called him shortly after we landed, so we didn't have to flag anyone down. The drive to the hotel was a bit crazy--and long; cars jerked back and forth; the driving lanes seemed much smaller than the kind we have in Idaho.
After a while, the driver asked us where we're from.
"Idaho," Mike said.
"Are the freeways different over there?"
"Oh, yeah!" Mike said.
I laughed so hard--I nearly choked. "Idaho...doesn't have rush hour. Idaho has mostly two-lane freeways. We don't have traffic--we have potatoes. Potatoes and deer."
The driver glanced at us in the rearview mirror and smiled. "So, what brought you to The City?"
"He bought me a ticket to New York for Christmas. I have a kind of strange bucket list--and one of the items on it is playing my violin on the streets of New York."
"You're too young to have a bucket list," he said.
"Not in this traffic!" I said.
"The violin, huh? You're in a band."
"A huh," I said. "And you play something too?!" I could tell by how he gripped the wheel. Years of playing an instrument, well that changes how people hold things.
"The drums," he said. "I used to be in a band--thought we'd go somewhere. But I'm too old now, so I quit."
"You're never too old." It was a stark rebuttal--but I meant it.
Mike and I held hands in the back seat, and I smiled at my sexy Italian. I couldn't believe I married a man who gives me my dreams for Christmas.
"So," I finally said to the cabbie, "if you could give us one piece of advice--one thing for us to remember from this ride--what would you tell us?"
He thought for a minute before responding. "Well.... I've been married for almost 30 years. My wife, she might be opinionated, and I might have to give in...a lot, but Heaven brought that woman to me. When I was young, I had more women than I wanted. I'd go out in this crazy city--and girls would just find me. And then I started getting older...and it's strange what time can do to a man. Once I couldn't have enough women. Then I started wanting something different. Just one, you know?
"So I tried giving my ex a call. Was gonna tell her I wanted to settle down. But I dialed one wrong number. You know we didn't have cell phones, or even those cordless ones. It was one of them rotary phones. Well, I dialed the wrong number and a girl answered. I married that girl a while later and now it's been almost thirty years."
I could see his eyes; he stared out the windshield nostalgically, probably thinking about all the years with his wife. "Sometimes in life you might think you got the wrong number, but you actually got the right one. People think they should: go back and make other choices, change things, be different. If we accept mistakes, they can make our lives better than before. You remember that--it's coming from a has-been musician who drives cabs to put his daughters through college!"
As he pulled up to our hotel, I thought of that saying: God doesn't always give us what we want. He gives us what we need."
"Thank you," Mike and I both told as we got out of the cab.
"I'll never forget what you said." I waved. "And I want you to remember something from me too--you're not too old to play the drums. Maybe you met us so we could hear your story, and then I could tell you to pick your drums back up again!"
"Okay," he smiled fondly. "Have a great time in New York."
We shut the door, and he sped off between those mammoth buildings.
Mike and I arrived in New York while darkness ate even the stars. Lights shone brightly from looming buildings, and even though I felt like an ant, I couldn't wait to see everything and meet everyone!
A taxi driver pulled to the curb at the airport. Mike had called him shortly after we landed, so we didn't have to flag anyone down. The drive to the hotel was a bit crazy--and long; cars jerked back and forth; the driving lanes seemed much smaller than the kind we have in Idaho.
After a while, the driver asked us where we're from.
"Idaho," Mike said.
"Are the freeways different over there?"
"Oh, yeah!" Mike said.
I laughed so hard--I nearly choked. "Idaho...doesn't have rush hour. Idaho has mostly two-lane freeways. We don't have traffic--we have potatoes. Potatoes and deer."
The driver glanced at us in the rearview mirror and smiled. "So, what brought you to The City?"
"He bought me a ticket to New York for Christmas. I have a kind of strange bucket list--and one of the items on it is playing my violin on the streets of New York."
"You're too young to have a bucket list," he said.
"Not in this traffic!" I said.
"The violin, huh? You're in a band."
"A huh," I said. "And you play something too?!" I could tell by how he gripped the wheel. Years of playing an instrument, well that changes how people hold things.
"The drums," he said. "I used to be in a band--thought we'd go somewhere. But I'm too old now, so I quit."
"You're never too old." It was a stark rebuttal--but I meant it.
Mike and I held hands in the back seat, and I smiled at my sexy Italian. I couldn't believe I married a man who gives me my dreams for Christmas.
"So," I finally said to the cabbie, "if you could give us one piece of advice--one thing for us to remember from this ride--what would you tell us?"
He thought for a minute before responding. "Well.... I've been married for almost 30 years. My wife, she might be opinionated, and I might have to give in...a lot, but Heaven brought that woman to me. When I was young, I had more women than I wanted. I'd go out in this crazy city--and girls would just find me. And then I started getting older...and it's strange what time can do to a man. Once I couldn't have enough women. Then I started wanting something different. Just one, you know?
"So I tried giving my ex a call. Was gonna tell her I wanted to settle down. But I dialed one wrong number. You know we didn't have cell phones, or even those cordless ones. It was one of them rotary phones. Well, I dialed the wrong number and a girl answered. I married that girl a while later and now it's been almost thirty years."
I could see his eyes; he stared out the windshield nostalgically, probably thinking about all the years with his wife. "Sometimes in life you might think you got the wrong number, but you actually got the right one. People think they should: go back and make other choices, change things, be different. If we accept mistakes, they can make our lives better than before. You remember that--it's coming from a has-been musician who drives cabs to put his daughters through college!"
As he pulled up to our hotel, I thought of that saying: God doesn't always give us what we want. He gives us what we need."
"Thank you," Mike and I both told as we got out of the cab.
"I'll never forget what you said." I waved. "And I want you to remember something from me too--you're not too old to play the drums. Maybe you met us so we could hear your story, and then I could tell you to pick your drums back up again!"
"Okay," he smiled fondly. "Have a great time in New York."
We shut the door, and he sped off between those mammoth buildings.
November 19, 2017
I Am Scared to Die. Are you?
Last night I woke up with the strangest sensation--something I haven't felt in over 15 years.
I woke up, scared to die.
Woody Allen once said, "I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens." That's how I've felt for quite some time...until last night.
You see, yesterday was my angel baby's birthday. He would have been 15. And while it doesn't hurt like it used to, I still miss him. Yesterday, Mike took me to lunch to cheer me up. I'm remarried and Mike never met Zeke. I don't tell him too much about my angel baby, but for some reason yesterday I did. I told him how the doctors knew Zeke might not make it, so they had me deliver him in a room directly connected to the NICU by a window. When he was born they whisked him through the window and put him on life support. They ended up taking me to a recovery room and told me I couldn't move for a while. Well, those schmucks were wrong--it would take a lot more than THAT to keep me from my baby. I hijacked a wheelchair when no one was lookin' and several minutes later one of the nurses found me struggling down the hall. She took pity on me, and even though she wasn't supposed to, she brought me to see my baby.
After sharing all of that, I searched Mike's eyes. We were sitting in the middle of a diner, eating soup and salad. I suddenly felt my face warm from the tears I tried to keep at bay. My lips trembled, and I raised a fist to cover my face. "Nothing could keep me from my baby: not doctors, not stupid rules... The only thing that kept me from him was death." Then I cried and cried, on his 15th birthday, right in the middle of that damn restaurant in Pocatello, Idaho.
A few people looked at me sympathetically. I didn't want to cry anymore, so I whispered to Mike, "I feel bad for you--they probably think you're breaking up with me over something stupid."
He held my hand, squeezing it like he'd never let me go, then he smiled.
I normally think about death as a reunion, a reward after patiently waiting to reconnect with those we love. I could see my baby, my family who has passed on (especially my grandparents), my best friend who died 2 years ago....
But last night was different. I thought of death as one thinks of stepping in front of a train. It's so final, so gloomy, so quick. You can't have someone hold your hand. You go all alone into the unknown. And good luck listening to advice from everyone else--everybody has a different spin on death.
As I sat up in bed last night, my blanket clutched to my neck, I suddenly thought of how many funerals I've played the violin at. Hell, I've even played for people right before they died in the hospital. And the look of peace on their faces...like they didn't give a damn about the final adventure; they were simply ready.
Maybe I shouldn't be scared. Life could be like pregnancy? I didn't want to go through labor--I wanted to see my babies (all 5 of them), but I NEVER wanted to go through labor. 'Cept at the point your skin is stretched to oblivion, you can't even bend over to tie your shoes (let alone shave your legs) AND you feel like you're starring in a sequel to aliens.... At THAT point, labor sounds easy.
Maybe death will sound easy when I'm ready. But right now, going into the unknown alone...even if I will get to see God (and He doesn't give me the smack-down), traveling alone to the afterlife does NOT sound fun.
Moral of the story, I guess I'll stick around. I can live with that!
#Honesty
Have you ever felt like this?
A very much happy-to-be-alive,
Elisa
P.S. Silly moment of the day--I googled "I am scared to die," and one of the most popular searches is currently "I am scared to die on a treadmill." Treadmills--now, maybe that's what I should actually be scared of!
Woody Allen once said, "I'm not afraid to die, I just don't want to be there when it happens." That's how I've felt for quite some time...until last night.
You see, yesterday was my angel baby's birthday. He would have been 15. And while it doesn't hurt like it used to, I still miss him. Yesterday, Mike took me to lunch to cheer me up. I'm remarried and Mike never met Zeke. I don't tell him too much about my angel baby, but for some reason yesterday I did. I told him how the doctors knew Zeke might not make it, so they had me deliver him in a room directly connected to the NICU by a window. When he was born they whisked him through the window and put him on life support. They ended up taking me to a recovery room and told me I couldn't move for a while. Well, those schmucks were wrong--it would take a lot more than THAT to keep me from my baby. I hijacked a wheelchair when no one was lookin' and several minutes later one of the nurses found me struggling down the hall. She took pity on me, and even though she wasn't supposed to, she brought me to see my baby.
After sharing all of that, I searched Mike's eyes. We were sitting in the middle of a diner, eating soup and salad. I suddenly felt my face warm from the tears I tried to keep at bay. My lips trembled, and I raised a fist to cover my face. "Nothing could keep me from my baby: not doctors, not stupid rules... The only thing that kept me from him was death." Then I cried and cried, on his 15th birthday, right in the middle of that damn restaurant in Pocatello, Idaho.
A few people looked at me sympathetically. I didn't want to cry anymore, so I whispered to Mike, "I feel bad for you--they probably think you're breaking up with me over something stupid."
He held my hand, squeezing it like he'd never let me go, then he smiled.
I normally think about death as a reunion, a reward after patiently waiting to reconnect with those we love. I could see my baby, my family who has passed on (especially my grandparents), my best friend who died 2 years ago....
But last night was different. I thought of death as one thinks of stepping in front of a train. It's so final, so gloomy, so quick. You can't have someone hold your hand. You go all alone into the unknown. And good luck listening to advice from everyone else--everybody has a different spin on death.
As I sat up in bed last night, my blanket clutched to my neck, I suddenly thought of how many funerals I've played the violin at. Hell, I've even played for people right before they died in the hospital. And the look of peace on their faces...like they didn't give a damn about the final adventure; they were simply ready.
Maybe I shouldn't be scared. Life could be like pregnancy? I didn't want to go through labor--I wanted to see my babies (all 5 of them), but I NEVER wanted to go through labor. 'Cept at the point your skin is stretched to oblivion, you can't even bend over to tie your shoes (let alone shave your legs) AND you feel like you're starring in a sequel to aliens.... At THAT point, labor sounds easy.
Maybe death will sound easy when I'm ready. But right now, going into the unknown alone...even if I will get to see God (and He doesn't give me the smack-down), traveling alone to the afterlife does NOT sound fun.
Moral of the story, I guess I'll stick around. I can live with that!
#Honesty
Have you ever felt like this?
A very much happy-to-be-alive,
Elisa
P.S. Silly moment of the day--I googled "I am scared to die," and one of the most popular searches is currently "I am scared to die on a treadmill." Treadmills--now, maybe that's what I should actually be scared of!
June 1, 2017
A Lesson--Cherish the Time You Have
We’re sitting at an old Chinese restaurant. It’s so dilapidated, the chime no longer works at the front door. I look at you, your bright eyes smiling back at me because you’ve been waiting weeks for this date out with Mama. Your chubby hands grip the water glass in front of you, and your darling sandaled shoes kick rhythmically under the table.
“We don’t have much money,” I say, “so we’re gonna share a cup of soup.”
Your eyes light with excitement because you don’t worry about money; you’re a seven-year-old who’s ready for adventure.
“We’d like a cup of egg-drop soup,” I tell the young waitress. “That’s all.”
“We’re going to share it!” you squeal, eager to spill our secret.
The waitress studies us, doesn’t write anything in her notebook, and walks away.
As we wait for our soup, we talk about the beautiful stringy lights, the slippery red seats, and the soft music playing around us. I’m totally in the moment then, so part of that place even the smallest details are committed to memory.
“Mama, you’re the best,” you say.
“No--you are.”
You giggle.
The waitress arrives then, holding an enormous bowl of soup and two little cups to go with it. She sets it down with such kindness. “One small cup of soup.”
I know it’s not their “small” size, and I’m taken aback. You on the other hand think it’s amazing. You don’t even notice the waitress has walked away because your eyes are glued to the huge bowl of egg-drop soup—your favorite. “She’s so nice, Mama! Look what she did—she made it big this time.” You can hardly stop talking, even to drink your water or eat your soup. You tell me about friends, math, books, life…. After a moment you stare at your water flabbergasted, “You know, this is the best water ever! This is the best day ever.”
I realize the waitress sits in the corner; she's listening to ever word as she’s rolling silverware.
We pay the check, before the waitress pulls me aside. “You are both so grateful—you’ve taught me something today. Even the simplest things, can be the best ever if it’s with someone you love.”
I walk out, a bit changed. I’m not quite sure why it was so magical, but it was. Sometimes simple truths are that way.
“That was the best date ever,” you say.
I nod. “Yes, it was. And it hardly cost anything.” I realize then, as I gaze down at your sparkling blue eyes, all you’d really wanted…was time.
We got some devastating news last week, something I can’t write about. And the point is, some things are truly too sad to express. As I think about an uncertain future, or how much the hearts of my children are hurting—and how much mine is hurting too—I keep remembering the waitress at the Chinese restaurant. “Even the simplest things, can be the best ever if it’s with someone you love.” Please cherish those who matter most to you. Why not take a moment today to do something nice for them; I bet it would make their day, the best ever. Sometimes all people want is time….
“We don’t have much money,” I say, “so we’re gonna share a cup of soup.”
Your eyes light with excitement because you don’t worry about money; you’re a seven-year-old who’s ready for adventure.
“We’d like a cup of egg-drop soup,” I tell the young waitress. “That’s all.”
“We’re going to share it!” you squeal, eager to spill our secret.
The waitress studies us, doesn’t write anything in her notebook, and walks away.
As we wait for our soup, we talk about the beautiful stringy lights, the slippery red seats, and the soft music playing around us. I’m totally in the moment then, so part of that place even the smallest details are committed to memory.
“Mama, you’re the best,” you say.
“No--you are.”
You giggle.
The waitress arrives then, holding an enormous bowl of soup and two little cups to go with it. She sets it down with such kindness. “One small cup of soup.”
I know it’s not their “small” size, and I’m taken aback. You on the other hand think it’s amazing. You don’t even notice the waitress has walked away because your eyes are glued to the huge bowl of egg-drop soup—your favorite. “She’s so nice, Mama! Look what she did—she made it big this time.” You can hardly stop talking, even to drink your water or eat your soup. You tell me about friends, math, books, life…. After a moment you stare at your water flabbergasted, “You know, this is the best water ever! This is the best day ever.”
I realize the waitress sits in the corner; she's listening to ever word as she’s rolling silverware.
We pay the check, before the waitress pulls me aside. “You are both so grateful—you’ve taught me something today. Even the simplest things, can be the best ever if it’s with someone you love.”
I walk out, a bit changed. I’m not quite sure why it was so magical, but it was. Sometimes simple truths are that way.
“That was the best date ever,” you say.
I nod. “Yes, it was. And it hardly cost anything.” I realize then, as I gaze down at your sparkling blue eyes, all you’d really wanted…was time.
We got some devastating news last week, something I can’t write about. And the point is, some things are truly too sad to express. As I think about an uncertain future, or how much the hearts of my children are hurting—and how much mine is hurting too—I keep remembering the waitress at the Chinese restaurant. “Even the simplest things, can be the best ever if it’s with someone you love.” Please cherish those who matter most to you. Why not take a moment today to do something nice for them; I bet it would make their day, the best ever. Sometimes all people want is time….
May 15, 2017
The Zombie, a TUNG Brush, and Some Bullies
We all know kids can be cruel, but when my 8-year-old Zombie came home the other day and told me a story, I was shocked....
"Mom, I was at recess and the popular boys were picking on Jeremy."
"What did they do?" I asked.
"Kicked him, and punched him. It got really bad because they even picked him up and swung him into a pole."
I blinked, completely speechless.
After a minute, the Zombie continued. "It was really hard, Mom, but I stood up to them. I didn't know if they'd start beating me up too.... Or calling me mean names like they have in the past. Plus, there were a lot of them."
The Zombie is really big for his age, but he's the sweetest kid. I wondered where this story would go, or if any of them would really mess with my boy because he looks so intimidating.
"I finally went right in the middle of them and yelled," he said. "I asked why they were hurting him. Carter said it's 'cause he's a whimp.... Because he's a pansy, and he's different from the rest of us." The Zombie took a deep breath, and looked down. "I got so mad, Mom. They looked like they would start hurting him again, so I stood between him and them. I was so angry--I couldn't believe they threw him into a pole just because he's different! And for some reason, I screamed, 'HE'S SENSITIVE! SO WHAT?!'"
We both sat, silent for a while. I digested his words; he'd gotten to the heart of the matter in just a few seconds. We ALL should be treated with respect--and appreciated for our differences--thank God my boy was brave enough to stand up for little Jeremy. "Did they stop after that?" I asked.
"Yeah, they kinda seemed surprised. So I brought Jeremy into the classroom for the rest of recess and the teacher let us hang out there. We stayed in the classroom for lunch and ate together too."
"You're a good kid," I said. "I'm so proud of you, Zombie. Did you tell your teacher?"
"No!" he said. "I'm no tattle-tale! I stood up for him, and it wasn't a big deal. Those kids are mean. They'll make fun of people for anything. One day they kept saying I have bad breath and calling me names."
I raised a brow. "Kids will be mean about anything. When I was your age my last name was Stilson. Kids used to call me Rumpelstiltskin--and then at one point it just turned into Rumple. They'd say it all recess long. No one wants to be nicknamed Rumple...no one."
"Yeah, and no one wants to be called liver-breath."
"Liver breath? You're right, that is worse than Rumple."
"Mom," he looked seriously perturbed, like this had bugged him for ages, "I brush my teeth every day, maybe we need to get new toothpaste. Maybe I do have liver breath."
I momentarily remembered how hard it was dealing with kids in elementary school and junior high. "Sure, kid. We can get you new toothpaste...or something."
He sighed. "I do have liver breath. Anyway, I beat everyone in the long jump last week. I was 7 percent popular, now I'm back down to 0 percent and they're probably gonna start calling me liver breath again."
"We'll see what we can do about your tooth paste, don't worry about that. And don't worry about the zero percent thing either. You did the right thing. That's worth a lot more than being popular."
Closure:
I ended up having the Zombie try this thing called a TUNG brush--after watching this video:
"If You Don't Clean Your Tongue...It Will Smell Like Bum"The TUNG brush came with it's own kind of tongue gel and everything. The kids can't (truthfully) call him liver-breath anymore--and he's feeling more confident.
You can check that out, or get your own for free brush with this code:
URL:https://www.tungbrush.com/free/Code: 97H86K Also, the Zombie had a much better week last week. He said it's crazy how fast the boys forgot. "I think I have a new friend," he said. "Jeremy is great at building things AND he's nice. Who knows, maybe we'll be friends for a long time." "Maybe." I smiled. "I'm not back to being 7 percent popular, but I'm probably at 6 percent." "Oh?" I asked. "How do you know?" "'Cause a cute girl told me I smell nice. I think it's my breath, and because I used that bottle Mike has on his dresser." Mike's cologne.... I swear, you never know what will happen around this place! So all in all May has been a good month: the Zombie was a hero, he got good breath, a friend, and maybe even a girlfriend. And me, well, I'm excited for school to get out! Have a great day. Signing Off,Elisa
"Mom, I was at recess and the popular boys were picking on Jeremy."
"What did they do?" I asked.
"Kicked him, and punched him. It got really bad because they even picked him up and swung him into a pole."
I blinked, completely speechless.
After a minute, the Zombie continued. "It was really hard, Mom, but I stood up to them. I didn't know if they'd start beating me up too.... Or calling me mean names like they have in the past. Plus, there were a lot of them."
The Zombie is really big for his age, but he's the sweetest kid. I wondered where this story would go, or if any of them would really mess with my boy because he looks so intimidating.
"I finally went right in the middle of them and yelled," he said. "I asked why they were hurting him. Carter said it's 'cause he's a whimp.... Because he's a pansy, and he's different from the rest of us." The Zombie took a deep breath, and looked down. "I got so mad, Mom. They looked like they would start hurting him again, so I stood between him and them. I was so angry--I couldn't believe they threw him into a pole just because he's different! And for some reason, I screamed, 'HE'S SENSITIVE! SO WHAT?!'"
We both sat, silent for a while. I digested his words; he'd gotten to the heart of the matter in just a few seconds. We ALL should be treated with respect--and appreciated for our differences--thank God my boy was brave enough to stand up for little Jeremy. "Did they stop after that?" I asked.
"Yeah, they kinda seemed surprised. So I brought Jeremy into the classroom for the rest of recess and the teacher let us hang out there. We stayed in the classroom for lunch and ate together too."
"You're a good kid," I said. "I'm so proud of you, Zombie. Did you tell your teacher?"
"No!" he said. "I'm no tattle-tale! I stood up for him, and it wasn't a big deal. Those kids are mean. They'll make fun of people for anything. One day they kept saying I have bad breath and calling me names."
I raised a brow. "Kids will be mean about anything. When I was your age my last name was Stilson. Kids used to call me Rumpelstiltskin--and then at one point it just turned into Rumple. They'd say it all recess long. No one wants to be nicknamed Rumple...no one."
"Yeah, and no one wants to be called liver-breath."
"Liver breath? You're right, that is worse than Rumple."
"Mom," he looked seriously perturbed, like this had bugged him for ages, "I brush my teeth every day, maybe we need to get new toothpaste. Maybe I do have liver breath."
I momentarily remembered how hard it was dealing with kids in elementary school and junior high. "Sure, kid. We can get you new toothpaste...or something."
He sighed. "I do have liver breath. Anyway, I beat everyone in the long jump last week. I was 7 percent popular, now I'm back down to 0 percent and they're probably gonna start calling me liver breath again."
"We'll see what we can do about your tooth paste, don't worry about that. And don't worry about the zero percent thing either. You did the right thing. That's worth a lot more than being popular."
Closure:
I ended up having the Zombie try this thing called a TUNG brush--after watching this video:
"If You Don't Clean Your Tongue...It Will Smell Like Bum"The TUNG brush came with it's own kind of tongue gel and everything. The kids can't (truthfully) call him liver-breath anymore--and he's feeling more confident.
You can check that out, or get your own for free brush with this code:
URL:https://www.tungbrush.com/free/Code: 97H86K Also, the Zombie had a much better week last week. He said it's crazy how fast the boys forgot. "I think I have a new friend," he said. "Jeremy is great at building things AND he's nice. Who knows, maybe we'll be friends for a long time." "Maybe." I smiled. "I'm not back to being 7 percent popular, but I'm probably at 6 percent." "Oh?" I asked. "How do you know?" "'Cause a cute girl told me I smell nice. I think it's my breath, and because I used that bottle Mike has on his dresser." Mike's cologne.... I swear, you never know what will happen around this place! So all in all May has been a good month: the Zombie was a hero, he got good breath, a friend, and maybe even a girlfriend. And me, well, I'm excited for school to get out! Have a great day. Signing Off,Elisa
