I Wish

I wish life had a Control Z.

If life did, I would study French and Art History in college.

I would find a job in New York, love it and love living there.

I would go for my Master's degree right after my Bachelor's.

I would have kept up with ballet and been a dancer.

I would learn a LOT earlier to disregard worrying. To not stress. To not care, mostly at all, about what others think about me. (Side story: Job interview, 1978, after graduation from Ohio State University J-school. Some newspaper editor type. Asks me what I want to do. Me, I say, I think I'd like to try the Foreign Service. Newspaper editor type: Well, that concerns me. Blah blah, can I be committed to journalism? Me: Fumbling and embarrassed for not seeming committed to SOMEONE ELSE'S career path. "Well, uh, I, uh, oh, um." Thanks pal. Nice life lesson and way to just have your cake and eat it too at the expense of a naive 21-year-old.

Jerk.

However, no Control Z on life. So, I decided tonight, while walking the greyhounds, no more wanting something else, as in some vague "What I want from life."

I think I am going to stop wanting. It is too tiring. Rather, I accept that opportunities were missed (how is that for the weasel-i-est of phrasing: my fault? parents fault? advisors' fault?) and now is the time to just be prepared for opportunity. Be prepared in all of the things that I wanted (except dance, too old) and if opportunity arises, great. If not, I like what I do, am paid well for it and shall be satisfied with that.

And that, I think, is a real feat.

Half a mushroom, or, expectations, great and otherwise

Vacation. My husband and I visited my Mom for a few days earlier this month. Quiet, except for the rattle of turnpike noise nearby, and relaxing. Sister-in-law Edye joined us for an afternoon and dinner and told a funny story about her son, Stephen.

He was home, she left out the ingredients for a new meatloaf recipe and suggested he put it together. It had more than the usual amount of veggies.

So, Steve makes the meatloaf, it's delish and then Edye looks in the fridge and sees a package of mushrooms torn open. Recipe called for half a cup but there's barely a dent made in the package. Plastic shrink wrap ripped open and maybe a couple mushrooms removed.

Edye asks Steve about it. Sure, he says. Recipe called for "half a mushroom."

Mom asks son to cook. Mom's been cooking for years and knows how to read a recipe. Young-brained male son willing to try, maybe not so careful reading recipe.

Result? Open package of mushrooms in the fridge with a half a mushroom taken out, Mom totally amused by the whole thing and a family who gets to hear the story over again, and laugh along with her.

Family lore is born.

We ask others to do things for us all the time, or ask questions, or make gestures, based on what WE know. Disappointment, frustration, or best of all, humor, results when requests are responded to based on what the other person knows.

As I've gone through life, and been disappointed by my own expectations and how I've perceived they should have been responded to, (apologies for the clunky syntax), I've also learned that expectations need to be moderated. Especially if you don't have too much control over how your requests or directions will be followed. Or, maybe more important, sometimes people just do things differently. It's not better, not worse, just different.

Really, what's the diff between half a mushroom and half a cup of them? In regards to meatloaf, that is.

The picture, and I hope I haven't repeated it, is of a tiny little courtyard fountain in Pittsburgh, between Boulevard of the Allies and First Avenue. There are Japanese maples and hostas and a few hanging baskets and contemporary wire benches. It is a narrow place, between a parking garage and an historic building. And nicely unexpected. I love walking through it on my summer fountain walks. It is cool, quiet and quite peaceful.

Right here in Downtown Pittsburgh.