Leaving my husband...in a letterman's jacket

No, it's not what you think. We're still married and still together.

Yesterday Jerry dropped me off at O'Hare International Airport. I was on my way back home and he is still in Chicago because he's giving a seminar this Thursday. This goodbye was one of the hardest in recent memory. Not sure why, but it felt like we were saying goodbye for good. I couldn't help but cry. It was painful. I wanted him to come home with me.

One thing that was nice was that an airport employee saw that I was upset and when I went to get my boarding pass printed he was extremely nice to me. I tried to explain to him that I needed a new boarding pass because when I checked in online I didn't have a printer handy. But I was bumbling over my words and trying to keep my tears in. He looked closely at me and interrupted my shaky words-- "You need me to print you a boarding pass? Put your stuff down here and step inside." (We were at one of those curbside check-in kiosks.) He was so kind to me and so patient. I know he'll never read this blog, but if he does, thank you, sir! You made a difficult moment just a little bit better.

As I walked through the airport with my large sunglasses on, trying to hide my red eyes, I thought about how many different emotions airport employees must see on a weekly--or even daily--basis. Certainly, I was not the first, nor the last, person to cry their way through the airport. I thought a lot about people traveling for funerals of loved ones. I can't imagine being forced to travel with the death of a family member or friend on my mind. Enough about death and depression.

On another note... I went out to eat with my brother last week and we saw some kids wearing letterman's jackets. I started to think about what a waste those jackets really are. Don't get me wrong and don't take offense if you wore one-- I had one in high school myself. What's wasteful is that most people don't get the jackets until their junior or even senior year in school-- after they've been able to letter in something-- and then you can't wear them after you graduate, can you? So we're really only looking at about two years of use. But they're too heavy to wear in warm weather and a little too light to wear in really cold weather.

So, if we take 52 weeks in the year, and average that about 30 of those weeks are jacket-wearing-weeks (meaning cool enough to merit jacket use). So 30 weeks for 2 years is 60 weeks of use (on average). The average letterman's jacket costs about $150 the first time (each additional letter/patch/chevron costs extra plus the fee to attach them if you can't have someone do it for free). So, a letterman's jacket comes out to about $2.50 each week of wear, which comes out to 41.6 cents if you wear it 6 days a week (I'm assuming you'll wear a different coat or no coat at all one day a week).

Now, 41.6 cents may not seem like a lot, but if you wear a coat with an average life of 4 years.... okay, seriously... I can't believe I'm blogging about this. How nerdy.... actually, it's a perfectly good segue to my real point about letterman's jackets (mine, in particular): I had the nerdiest letterman's jacket of all time! Here were the things I lettered in during high school:
Academics
Student Council
Band
Theatre
Speech

For real. No sports. Just nerdy things. And now, here I am, seven years later, calculating the cost per wear of a letterman's jacket. It's surprising I didn't letter in MATH.

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"Ma'am, are you comfortable taking off that sweater?"

This was a question I heard yesterday while waiting in line (a surprisingly long line) at the Fargo Airport. There was this woman who I think has never traveled on a plane before. And if she has traveled by plane, she is one of those people who thinks every time she travels it will be easy and doesn't understand what "federal rules and regulations" means.

My first notice of this woman was when she was exiting through the entrance of the security line. I was getting my boarding pass and ID checked and she clumsily bumped her way by others waiting politely in line. Apparently she didn't know the whole 4-1-1 rule (no more than 4 ounces of liquids contained in a 1 quart bag limited to 1 per passenger). She had to go to the gift store and purchase a baggie to put her liquids in. Then, on her way back into the line, she walked right by security thinking, "Since I was already checked they don't have to check me again." In any other area of life, this thought process would probably work. But this is the government we're talking about. Nothing is easy with the government. So anyway, she tries walking by the security agent again and gets yelled at. Has to go back and get re-checked.

Then, on her way back through the line, she knocks over an elderly woman's rolling carry-on bag, turns around, looks at the bag on the floor, and keeps walking (I should say walking into people, because this woman was extremely clumsy). How rude! She didn't even apologize for knocking the bag over. I would understand if we were out east, but this is Fargo, people! Have manners! How are we supposed to maintain that "Minnesota Nice" if we aren't actually nice? By the way, I understand that Fargo is not in Minnesota, but Fargo has the whole "Nice" thing going on, too. The poor elderly woman just sort of looked down at the bag, realized this woman was not going to help her set the bag up right and was not going to apologize. She just had this sort of "Did that really just happen?" look on her face.

So next, this woman gets to her spot in line and eventually gets to the X-ray machine and metal detector. When she was about to go through the metal detector, the TSA agent realized the woman was still wearing her shoes, a big scarf, and a long sweater-dress. First she instructs the woman to take her shoes off. Then goes the scarf. Then she asks if she's comfortable removing her sweater... but the woman doesn't hear the question about the sweater. So she asks again, and again. Then an agent at the X-ray machine yells to the woman, "Will you please take your sweater off?" So she does. And now she's able to go through the machine. And, you guessed it, she sets the machine off. Goes back through. Still beeping. The agent asks her to take her jewelry off but the woman is insisting it's not her huge chunky metal necklace that's the problem. Eventually she's persuaded to take off the necklace and -- voila!-- she can now go through the detector with no problems.

GOOD LORD! When I go on vacation I don't even wear metal things to the airport. I try to stay as simple as possible. Easy shoes. Easy layers (if I wear layers at all). Little to no jewelry. And I don't forget about my liquids baggie!

One thing I would like to know is since when did TSA agents start asking, "Do you feel comfortable taking off your....?" Why even give the option? I went through security once in flip-flops and had to take those off. Which meant I had to walk around the security area in care feet. Gross! I told the agent I didn't want to be in bare feet because it was disgusting to get other people's germs on me (I'm not a germophobe, I promise!) but he still made me do it. I don't feel comfortable taking my belt off sometimes (makes me feel like I'm about to be really exposed) but I still have to (although I don't wear belts through security anymore). If a terrorist went through security with a bomb strapped to his chest would he be given the option to take it off or leave it on if it made him "more comfortable?" A little outlandish, I know... but do you see where I'm going with this? I wonder, had that woman been of a different color, would she have been asked so politely about the sweater? Or would it have been a command: "Ma'am, take off your sweater."

I'm just still amazed by the stupidity some people show when it comes to airport security. Plan ahead, people! Plan ahead.

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Valentine's Day on "D' Range"

I spent my Valentine's weekend in Grand Rapids working at Zorbaz. It was a really fun weekend! And in case you're wondering, no, Jerry wasn't up there to celebrate the most amazing holiday of the year with me. He was in Milwaukee. And now he's in Hayward, Wisc. And then he's going to Rockford, Ill. And then he's going back to Milwaukee. And then, two and a half weeks after he left home, he'll return to my loving arms (ha ha ha).

And no, I don't really think Valentine's Day is the best "holiday" of the year. I don't really get it. Shouldn't every day be a day you tell your sweetie you love him or her? Shouldn't we always tell others we're grateful for them? Why set aside a day to be "extra special" to those you love? I think we should strive to always make sure those we love know how appreciative we are and how much we love them. It's corny and cliche, I know, but think of what would happen if you were to die tonight. Would everyone that you love really know it? Would you regret leaving a relationship a certain way? Would you regret words you said that would end up being your last? Would you wish you would have told more people that you love them?

I don't want to regret not telling someone I love them. The one thing I regret most in life is not telling my Aunt Carol that I loved her before she died. The last time I saw her was in her living room. She was dying of leukemia. Her thick, curly hair was gone. Her body was gone, replaced by a mere skeleton draped in skin. Her mind was gone. The last thing I remember her talking about was the smell of the color green and the way asparagus felt. She was gone. My mom warned me before we went to see her that the person I was going to see wasn't really Carol, but what was left after the chemo and radiation took their toll on her mind and body. We were going to see a person who was full of morphine and other drugs.

Even after this warning, I was still shocked, horrified, and deeply saddened by what I saw. She didn't even register that I was there. She didn't say hello back. There wasn't the warm welcome that I was accustomed to when entering her house. I remember following my mom wherever she went. We went into the kitchen and I started to cry. It was one of those moments when you're so, so, so sad that your whole body hurts but you try to hold it in. I didn't want others to start crying. I didn't want what was left of Carol to hear how upset I was. My uncles and mom tried to console me and reiterated that this wasn't Carol anymore. Just her body.

On our way out the door, I stood at the end of the hospital bed that was right next to the front window (so she could see all the birds and butterflies that were attracted to her beautiful flower gardens) and thought about saying, "Goodbye Carol. I love you." But I was too afraid. I didn't want goodbye to be goodbye. I just wanted it to be a "see ya later," but I knew better. I was too scared to say anything because I didn't want to start crying again. I wanted to be strong, but what I perceived as strength was more like ignorant pride. I was too proud to cry. I cared more about how I would look to others that about letting my beloved aunt know she was deeply loved. So I muttered a shaky "Bye" and walked out.

This is the thing I regret most deeply in my 25 years on Earth. If I could relive one moment, it would be this one. I would go to her side, hold her hand, give her a kiss on the cheek and say, "Carol, I love you." There would be tears. There would be lots of tears. But I would be content knowing the last thing I said to her was from my heart.

I don't want this scenario to happen to anyone of you, nor do I want to go through this again. I challenge you to get in touch with those loved ones you haven't seen or spoken to in a while and remind them of how they're loved. It can be an e-mail, a phone call, a card, or a conversation over coffee. Just let them know.

To my friends and family, I love you so very much. It might not mean much coming from a blog, but it's true. I love you. Thank you for everything. You have all shaped me in ways you could never know or imagine. I will never forget the love you have given me nor the lessons you have taught me. Thank you and I love you.

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It's only Tuesday??

Don't you hate it when weeks go by slowly? I kept thinking today was Thursday and that I should update the blog because it's been almost a week... when in reality it's only been a few days. But it was a resolution of mine to update more often, so here I am.

You may be wondering what good news I have from the last entry. Although I know only about 4 people read this (on a good day) and I already told at least two of you what the news is, so it's really not that exciting anymore. BUT.... I was offered a full time job! With a salary! And benefits! And a cubicle! WOW! I love the job so I accepted but I won't be full time until the semester is over in May and I can be done teaching for good (well, for a while). This is the same job I've been blogging about lately and I'm not going to talk any more about it except to say that I really like it and I'm really excited to see where this opportunity will take me (that sounded like a line in a cover letter).

I am a little bummed about one this. Zorbaz. I was secretly hoping that I wouldn't be able to find a job so I could go back and work there this zummer. The only option I think I have would be to work a weekend schedule... but then I have really no days to myself... so we'll have to see what happens. We're done at the office (it feels so fancy to say that!) at noon on Fridays in the summer so I could maybe work Friday and Saturday evenings and Sundays during the day (Jerilyn, I know you'll probably read this... so this is just what I'm thinking about for the summer, just so you know!).

Other than that exciting shtuff, I feel like I haven't really had anything else to blog about lately. I mean, stuff happens in my life but it's not really blog-worthy. I think most of the stuff I wind up writing about, is pretty boring anyway... but I write because ... I write because I just do, I guess. Not sure if that makes a whole lot of sense... but I do. It's funny because the only reason I started this account on Blogspot was so that I could comment on Jerilyn's page about her trip to New Zealand (jerilynsheryak.blogspot.com). I didn't think I would actually start writing, but I did. If you read some of my original posts, they were all related to my weight. I thought this would be a good place to document how fat I feel/how skinny I wish I was. Unfortunately, too many people have blogs like this, and too many people whine too much on blogs like this. So, I nixed that idea because I didn't want to be too whiney sounding.

FYI, right now I am sitting at the dining room table with a cat on my arm. I'm talking outloud (aloud? outloud?) to myself in a strange Dougie Howser-ish kind of way. For some reason, it seems like if I say it it will sound good on the computer screen. So far, I think I'm probably wrong. Oh well.

As most of you know, my husband is obsessed with muskies. Obsessed. It's kind of ridiculous at times, but I think I'm getting used to it. Last week, he and a friend went to the cities to put together a DVD of him fishing. Over the past year or so, he has collected hundreds of hours of footage of his fishing adventures. It has finally come together in a DVD called "Go Fish." It is currently being produced and will be available to purchase this weekend at the expo in Milwaukee. You can check the trailer for the video out on YouTube... click here.

Don't worry, Alison, none of those fish came from anywhere NEAR Pelican! hee hee.

Well, I've stopped talking to myself now, which I think is a good sign, but who knows??? I'm going to go watch some trashy TV for a bit and then call it a night. Thanks for reading. Leave comments, it makes me feel special. =)

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I have good news!!

But you'll have to wait to hear about it until later!

Hee hee!

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