Let's Go Fly a Kite!

     Like many women my age, I am a huge fan of Mary Poppins.  Before it was common for children to watch the same movie dozens of times at home, I begged my mother to take me to the movie theater to see Mary Poppins on the big screen.  Like millions of other girls, I thought Mary was practically perfect in every way.
     When the live theater production came to Chicago a few years ago, some girlfriends and I made the trip.  We loved the show and bought little carpet bag wallet souvenirs and Mary Poppins t-shirts.
     I was an easy mark when they advertised the Sing-A-Long Mary Poppins at the Wilmette Theater.  If you've never heard of this concept before, it's a special version of the movie with all the words to the songs subtitled so that everyone can sing along.  When the Sing-A-Long Sound of Music first came to the Music Box Theater in Chicago, I saw pictures of fans decked out in fabulous costumes.  In addition to the obvious von Trapp children, there were dozens of nuns, an alarming number of Nazis, and a couple who came as the Swiss Alps.  It reminded me of the midnight showings of The Rocky Horror Picture Show in my youth.
     I couldn't wait for Sing-a-Long Mary!  My friend Marti and I got our tickets in advance. I used to have a Mary Poppins hat and an umbrella with a parrot handle, and I searched my attic to find them.
     Marti told me that our Saturday tickets were for 11:00, which I assumed was 11:00 p.m.  But then it turned out they were for 11:00 a.m.
     I picked Marti up at 10:30 and at 10:35 we parked right in front of the Wilmette Theater.  I was delighted to find such a great parking place!  I was expecting a long line of costumed revelers waiting to get inside, but there wasn't one.  We walked right up to the box office and picked up our tickets, confirming with the ticket agent that the show was at 11:00 a.m.  We went inside the theater and discovered we were the only ones there.
     Marti and I laughed and commented that surely more people would come, and in the back of my mind I wondered what we'd do if they didn't.   I liked to sing, but it seemed to me that you need a critical number of people in the theater in order to comfortably sing out loud.  Marti  and I were not enough.
     Slowly, people trickled in.  I was expecting a gaggle of 50-something Mary Poppins groupies like me, but most of the women seemed younger.  Then I noticed that some of them were a LOT younger.  Like seven or eight-years-old.
     About five minutes before 11:00,  a couple dozen families with small children poured into the theater.  Only then did I realize my mistake.
     A teenaged girl introduced herself to the crowd in a not bad English accent, and showed us the choreography for the songs. For example, A Spoon Full of Sugar required us to pantomime eating off a spoon, repeat three times, and then wave our hands over our heads.
     Marti and I practiced these moves without looking at each other.
     The lights went out, and Mary Poppins appeared on screen, and suddenly I didn't care who else was watching.  It was a delightful movie, and I really enjoyed it, although I'd somehow forgotten the storyline--about Mr. Banks losing his job at the bank--which struck a little close to home since the bank where my husband worked had recently closed.  I don't remember having any sympathy for the bankers before.
     Marti and I turned out to be the only grown-ups in the theater without children. I can't imagine what the young mothers thought of us.  I had expected my peers to join me in a nostalgic celebration of my girlhood, and instead found myself the weird old aunt at the kid's party.  The weird old aunt who knew every single word to every single song.
     I'd like to think Mary Poppins would have been proud.
 

My Lucky Break

     I tell a lot of stories, but the one I most enjoy hearing from other people is how they met their mate.  I can never get over how accidental they are--that if you hadn't gone to that certain place at that certain time, your whole life might have been different.
     For example, I was engaged to marry someone else.
     It ended quite badly, right before the wedding.  (Remind me some day to tell you THAT story.)
     Anyway, my friend Kathy said she knew the perfect guy for me, her friend Joel, but she didn't want to introduce him to me for a year since I was on the rebound.
     About nine months later I was telling Kathy about a new guy that I had started dating (let's call him New Guy).  Anyway, Kathy responded,  "It's time to meet Joel."
     "I don't want to meet Joel!" I said.  "I've been on a million fix ups and they've been horrible.  I've finally met someone nice!  Leave me alone!"
     "No," she decided.  "It's time to meet Joel before you get serious with New Guy."
     She could not be deterred, so with the weekend approaching, I told her to have Joel call me on Tuesday.  I had plans with New Guy all weekend, and I figured I could always call Kathy on Monday and tell her to forget it if I decided I wasn't interested.
     That's exactly what happened.  I had a great weekend with New Guy, and was planning to call Kathy when I got to work on Monday, but our phone system wasn't working.  We could receive incoming calls, but not make outgoing calls.  That afternoon, Joel called.  A day early.
     I was pleasant but not encouraging. I said that I would go out with him, but was only available on Sunday night.  That way, I could still see New Guy on Friday and Saturday.
     My doorbell rang on Sunday evening and I went downstairs to meet Joel.   The first thing I noticed was that he was very tall!  I had never met a Jew that tall.  And handsome too!  You'd think Kathy would have mentioned it.  We went outside and he opened the door to a 1983 Datsun 280Z.  Nice car!  I don't ever remember noticing a guy's car before.
     We went to Andy's for jazz, a Thai restaurant (I'd never had Thai food before), the Magic Bar where the bartenders did card tricks, and finally Lutz's Bakery for dessert.  It was the best date I've ever had.  Before or since.  Joel admits that he liked me right away and combined all his best dates on the first night.
     I spoke to Joel on the phone early the following week, but then he flew to Cleveland to visit his parents.
     On Friday I received a dozen red roses from "A Secret Admirer." I did not know who it was.
     I didn't tell Joel that last part for several years.  When a guy makes a grand romantic gesture, it doesn't help to hear that the girl had no idea it was you.  When the flowers came, I hoped they were from Joel but I thought they were from New Guy who may have sensed my sudden lack of enthusiasm.  I called the florist, but the buyer had paid cash. There was also a chance they could have been from the ex-fiance, whom I had coincidentally run into.
     Since Joel was out of town, I thought I might give New Guy one last chance.  He came up to my apartment, saw the flowers, and said nothing.  Clearly they weren't from him.
     After a couple days, I knew that they weren't from the ex-fiance.  He would certainly have called to follow up.
     By the time Sunday came around and Joel returned from Cleveland, I thanked my Secret Admirer for the beautiful roses.  Since then he hasn't been a secret.  We'll celebrate our 27th wedding anniversary in October.  I can't help but wonder what would have happened if my office phones hadn't been broken. . .
    Did I mention that I heard recently that New Guy became a bazillionaire?  But I would not change a thing!  Really!
     REALLY.

No Kids, Just Cats

     When I was 25 years old and living on my own, my parents asked if I'd stay at their apartment one weekend to take care of Duffy.  (Duffy was our family dog.  He and I were never close.)  After receiving my instructions on Duffy's latest preferences and habits, my father whispered to me, "There's $50 in it for you if the dog is gone when we get back."
     Now that I am an empty nester myself, I understand the unpleasant angst of caring for the family pet once the family has flown the coop.
     I find myself cast as the evil stepmother of two leftover cats.  I hope you won't judge me but I've never been too crazy about them.  Many people find this a curious phenomenon since I have been living with cats for the last 26 years.  My husband loves cats, and I love my husband.  You get the idea.  When I was fixed up with Joel, our mutual friend Kathy told me that he kisses his cats on the lips, and I could tell she thought this was a good thing.
     Joel had two old cats when we met.  I quietly tried to calculate how much longer they could possibly live.  Tiger hissed every time she saw me and lived to be 18-years-old out of spite.  Basil was about as smart as the plant she was named after and lived until 20.  After Basil died, I thought my cohabitation with cats was finished, but our neighbor found a fluffy white kitten with blue eyes, and my sons fell in love.  The neighbor discovered she was allergic, and asked us to take her.
     We soon discovered that Snowy the cat was deaf. You wouldn't think it would be a problem (there's no point talking to cats--they just ignore you) but the cat was constantly startled by my young children, and she would bite them.  We tried everything, but she needed a home with a nice old lady who didn't move too quickly and lived on a farm far away (too far to visit) with a lot of other deaf white cats, and that's where Snowy lives to this day.
     That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
     After Snowy, my sons started asking for a dog.  I remembered how much more work Duffy was, and proposed a kitten compromise.
     Charlie and Pumpkin were a couple of characters, and were good companions.  Charlie thought he was a dog and followed the boys everywhere.  Pumpkin thought he was a pumpkin (weighing in at almost 30 pounds) and was a circus attraction for all the children who came to play at our house.
     Charlie died unexpectedly from unknown causes (don't look at me.) Pumpkin was put on a strict diet of Catkins cat food.  He lost a lot of weight but that turned out to be unrelated to his diet.  We didn't figure it out until it was too late.
     I thought I'd cleaned my last litter box, but one morning I heard my son quietly crying in his room.  Alarmed, I took him in my arms and asked what was wrong.
     He said, "Mom, I just miss Charlie so much!"
     We found two kittens who were living together at a cat foster home.  Noah had recently been rescued from New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, and he had gotten cozy with PJ.
     We all lived peacefully together for the last eight years, but then the boys grew up and left. Now the cats get into mischief since no one plays with them, and when my son came home from college, his eyes got red and watery--this time from allergies.  I suggested that since we have lived 26 years with cats, we might try the next 26 without cats and see how that goes.  My husband has agreed.
     Two friendly cats are looking for a good home.
     My treat.

Mayday Mayday Mayday

     They say that disasters come in threes, and so it was for me in the month of May.
     It started with a call from my son Jesse who was at college.
     "Mom, I lent K my car to get his passport pictures taken.  I asked him to bring my backpack up to the room before he left, but he didn't.  Then he left the car unlocked in the garage.  My backpack was stolen from the car."
     It was the day before final exams.  His computer was in the backpack,  along with his books and notes.  I gave him the best advice I could about contacting his teachers and classmates, and I told him to call the police.
     My Mother's Intuition was nagging at me--it was the mention of passport photos.  Jesse also needed his passport to go on his study abroad for the summer, and he had it at school with him.  In my 3:00 a.m. sleepless wanderings, I texted, "Where's your passport?"
     The answer: In his backpack.  It was gone.
     Jesse needed his passport replaced fast.  There was no chance he could deal with it until after his exams and by then it would be too late.
     This was a job for Super Mom.
     I don't like to brag, but I am something of an organizational savant.  But Jesse was in Miami and I was in Chicago, he was in the middle of finals and unavailable, and the clock was ticking.  This was one of the most difficult and stressful things I had ever attempted.
     I just deleted four long paragraphs of text telling you what this entailed. It was very therapeutic for me to write it, but it was a terrible read.  But if you ever need to replace a stolen passport you should call me.  Just make sure you have a credit card with a very high limit.
     One of the many documents I had to provide to Rushmypassport.com to procure an expedited passport was a copy of Jesse's European travel itinerary.  I had already submitted the form that listed his actual departure date, but in order to get the passport delivered before we left for my nephew's wedding in California, it became clear that I would have to list a different date on a fake itinerary. Although I was nervous about doing this, Rushmypassport.com assured me that they do it all the time, and referred me to their web site to see what to do. Heck, I was only misrepresenting his travel plans, I wasn't committing a federal offense.
     Was I?
     I am a very law abiding citizen, and I lost two more night's sleep over this.  I balanced this against the fact that I would not otherwise receive the passport before our vacation, therefore guaranteeing the loss of eight nights of vacation sleep which is roughly the equivalent of 16 nights of week night sleep for a middle aged woman.  I decided to fib.
     Forty-eight hours later, my agent at Rushmypassport.com called with bad news.
     "Jesse's case is under review by the State Department," he said.  "It is out of our hands.  The government does not move quickly."
     Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, the agent asked, "Is there any chance Jesse has any felonies?"
     I momentarily considered this possibility, but was quite certain that it had been discovered that my pants were on fire and I had  ruined my son's chance for a summer in Europe.  I imagined him living in his childhood bedroom all summer, without a job, sleeping til 2 in the afternoon and furious at me.   I knew there was no punishment that the U.S. Department of State could inflict on me that could be worse than that.
     We were instructed to call the State Department the next morning to see if we could find out any information (so much for THAT night's sleep) so Jesse and I scheduled a  conference call for Friday morning.
     I was a mess.  Seriously, I was hyperventilating.  Our fate was in the hands of the government employee who answered the phone--I was not optimistic.  But we discovered a simple clerical error, and our State Department guy was able to fix it and process Jesse's passport.  The passport was delivered to us the next day (only $40 more for Saturday delivery but who's counting) and I left on Sunday for vacation.  With my horrific skin tanning fiasco.  And the security tag on my mother-in-law's suit.  Three disasters, all in May.
    Helooo June!