Shattered Dishes and One Girl's Wishes

Thanksgiving 2018

The year is 1993 and I am a 26 year old, newly engaged young woman.   My fiancé and I have gone to Bloomingdale's to register.  We may or may not have had a mother or future mother-in-law in tow, that part is fuzzy.   Registering seemed so exciting and so full of hope and promise.    At the time my fiance was a graduate student and I was working at a non-profit.   I probably don't need to say that we didn't have two nickels to rub together.   But, we could register ourselves for a life that didn't exist yet.   We must have registered for three dozen wine glasses, 12 for red, 12 for white, and 12 for I'm not sure what.   I wasn't a big wine drinker then, and I'm still not, but I certainly envisioned dinner parties with a long, then non-existant dining table, with a white linen table cloth (don't forget to register for that) that someone would spill red wine on that I would quickly pour salt on just like my mother did.    I was starry eyed as we selected napkins, blenders, pots, pans, forks, spoons and knives.   It was just so much fun.   Then it came time to choose the every day china.   My mother-in-law's friend had generously offered to buy us an entire set that she had picked out from a well known household goods store.    We went to look at the set and I immediately knew it wasn't for us.   "That's not our china" I remember thinking.   It was lovely, and I'm pretty sure I've seen it in other people's homes where it seemed quite at home, but it wasn't ours.   As a young, soon-to-be bride I wasn't as used to asserting my opinion as I am now but I knew that it didn't belong on the non-existant dining table that I envisioned.   I think there was some disappointment on the part of my mother-in-law that I wasn't overly exuberant about this potential, extremely generous gift but that's a blog for another day.   So, on the day we were at Bloomingdales, I turned a corner and saw "our" everyday china.   It came in multiple colors, was slightly Asian looking (just like our slightly Asian family). You could register for just one color or pick and choose several.   We were all in for the blue, green, and of course, purple.   We registered for 12 place settings.   I couldn't imagine ever needing more than that.   As I looked at the china, so many dreams filled my head.   I imagined two place settings for a romantic dinner for two with a candle in between, but also all the plates filling the aforementioned, nonexistent table set for a holiday meal with all our current family members and also members who were yet to be born.   I could see a single plate being used to hold a first birthday cake, or a bunch of cookies for Santa, or a seder plate with matzoh, hard boiled eggs, and horseradish.   I saw a plate full of a boring weekday meal but also full of a decadent dinner for the most special of occasions.   So many dreams for one set of dishes.

The year is 2018.   It is some 25 years later.   I am loading the dishwasher.  It is a mundane, every day job and I'm not thinking much about it.  Then suddenly the bottom rack of the dishwasher lurches forward and crashes to the ground.   Several dishes go flying and break.   My dear, beloved dishes that have lasted 25 years are now in fragments and dust on the kitchen floor.    I am stunned for a moment (as is the dog) and don't do anything.   I know that the dishes were discontinued years ago and my heart kind of breaks alongside them.

These dishes have held so many meals.   They have held Wednesday night macaroni and cheese as well as prime rib on Christmas Day.   They have done their job holding birthday cakes that resembled a bunch of bananas, a strawberry and a sandy beach (amongst other things).   They have held Santa's cookies many times, and acted as Seder plates.   They have held meals for people who are no longer with us, as well as for people who now live far away.    They have travelled from our tiny first apartment where the two of us dined on an inherited coffee table, to another apartment where we became a family of three and ate on a dining table that had been had been well used, and passed its prime, by multiple generations of my family, and finally the set had moved to our current house where we had become a family of four and in due time it landed on the now existent dining table that had been so clear in my mind 25 years ago.    At some point one of the dinner plates must have broken unceremoniously because for the past few years we have just had 11.   In fact, just this past Thanksgiving we had had exactly 12 people at our Thanksgiving dinner.  I gave myself a plate that didn't belong to the set.    It was a lovely Thanksgiving.   There were candles, and there was both red and white wine in our wine glasses.    In many ways, it was exactly what that 26 year old was dreaming about all those years ago.

But all of that was broken now.

If it was possible for dreams and memories to shatter all at once, they just had.   And I was paralyzed in the debris.  

After the initial shock wore off I realized that I needed to deal with the mess so the dog or I didn't end up with a piece of shattered memory in our feet.   With great sadness I took the broom and dustpan out of the closet and cleaned up the mess.    I eventually became more concerned with the potential danger of the shards of the glass, than anything that the pieces meant.   I emptied the dustpan into the garbage can and as I peered into the contents all I saw was dusty ceramic debris.  Nothing more.

There were no dreams and memories in there.
Somehow those had remained intact.
It turns out that those are shatter-proof(and dishwasher-safe)

No One Ever Died From Running

When I was in high school I was a runner.   That might be hard for anyone who knows me and my soft, round, motherly shape now, but it is true.  And, I was a pretty decent runner.    I ran all three seasons in high school, always long distance.   My cross country coach was an older than middle aged Latin teacher who was known for always donning a Greek fisherman's hat and driving a Le Car (remember those?).   He wasn't particularly warm or kind but somehow he made us work our hardest.   If there is one quote I remember him saying, it was "No one ever died from running."   He said it to us almost daily, usually when we were whining about the weather, complaining about the length of the run, or listing the myriad of other, more enjoyable, activities we could be doing instead of running.    He'd say "No one ever died from running."   And, obediently, we ran.

Recently, I've started running again.   It is hard when you are soft and round and most definitely out of shape.  It was much easier when I was sixteen.   But his voice keeps running through my head, "No one ever died from running."

But here's the thing, back in 1983 we did not have the internet.   We could not look things up.
So today before I ran I did a quick Google search - "has anyone ever died from running?"  And the results were staggering.   It turns out many, many people have died while running.   One might argue that it wasn't actually the running that killed these people, but a bad heart, a lack of electrolytes, or in some of the most unluckiest cases, a car or a train.  But the fact is, many people have died while running.

My cross country coach sadly died last year (I don't believe he was running at the time), and I probably hadn't spoken with him for over 30 years, but as I started my run today, I had my own personal conversation with him to get a few things off my chest.  It went something like this:

Me:  You know people do die from running.

Coach:  I'm aware

Me:  You are lucky we didn't have Google when we ran for you.

Coach:  Indeed.

Me:  Why did you tell us we couldn't die, when we absolutely could?

Coach:  You were 16 and in excellent shape, chances were pretty slim that you would die, and you didn't, did you?

Me:   No.   I've started running again and now I'm 51.

Coach: And?

Me:  I could most definitely die from running now.

Coach:  I suppose you could.

Me:  I could stop and walk right now.

Coach:  You could

(out of the corner of my eye I swear I see his Le Car drive by and I pick up my pace)

Me:  Was that you?

Coach:  No.  I am quite dead.  I am not capable of driving a car.

Me:  Right.    I would feel better if I stopped running.

Coach:   You probably would

Me:  And it's raining.

Coach:  So?

Me:  I'm getting wet.

Coach:  And?

Me:  I really want to stop running.  I'm tired and uncomfortable.

Coach:  Why don't you stop then?

Me:  I could.

(Out of the corner of my eye I think I see a man in a Greek fisherman's cap and I pick up my pace)

Me:  Was that you?

Coach:  How could it be?  I've already explained that I am quite dead.

Me:  I could have sworn it was you.

Coach:  Are you still running?

Me:  Sigh.  Yes.

Coach:  Are you dead?

Me:  Not yet.  But that doesn't mean I might not just drop dead 10 seconds from now.

Coach:  Why don't we wait and see if that happens.

(I pick up the pace to try to prove that my heart might just explode if I run too fast and that I can indeed die from running)

Coach:   It's been more that 10 seconds and you are still quite alive.

Me:  Dammit.

Coach:  You really don't have much farther to go.

Me:  If I die I want my epitaph to read, "Coach lied, you can die from running."

Coach:  Okay,  but you will have to live long enough to tell that to someone else, because I am already dead and cannot pass that message along.

Me:  Double Dammit.   I don't want to run any more.   Dying seems like the more attractive option right now.

Coach:  It's okay you can stop now.

Me:  Wait.  What?  Really?  Oh.  Very Funny.  I'm at the end of my route.  (looking at phone).  Hey.  I just ran my best time since I started running.

Coach:  Is that so?

Me:  I can't believe I just did that.

Coach?

Coach?

(In the distance I swear I see a Le Car going over a hill driven by a man in a Greek fisherman's cap)

Me:   You know you were wrong when you said no one ever died from running.  Right?   It can happen.   But, I didn't die today, did I?



So, I guess I will take my chances again tomorrow.

Thanks Coach.

Mutually Inclusive

I came home late last night, and as part of my evening ritual,  I took a look at my Facebook feed.   It was chock-a-block full of posts made by friends and family of the many "March of our Lives" events all over the country.   I was not able to attend myself but I was overwhelmed with how much this event meant to people, young and old, and how so many people are striving for a change that so clearly needs to happen.

But that wasn't all that was on my Facebook feed.

For those with kids, especially high schoolers, the end of March is a busy time.  It tends to be when non-athletic extracurriculars have their end of the year events and competitions.   So in addition to photos from marches across the country,  my feed was full of young people dancing, singing, acting and playing the cello.   Some of them were just having fun, and others were winning prestigious awards.  I scrolled by so many pictures of smiling kids, and extremely proud parents.

I have to admit that when I first saw the non-march photos, I was kind of taken aback.   The first thought to run through my head was that everyone (no matter what their political stance) should have been at a march, that it was far more important to make a stand than to dance, sing, act or even play the cello.   Mind you, I hadn't been at the march myself because I was helping adjudicate a student event.   

I am a 50 year old woman, almost 51.  I was born in 1967.   My entire childhood took place during the Cold War.    We had drills in elementary school where we hid under desks in case the U.S.S.R. decided to send a nuclear bomb our way.   I was not a dumb kid and realized that hiding under a desk wasn't going to help me much in the event of a nuclear war.    I understood from the age of 7 or 8 that if a bomb did indeed find its way to my neck of the woods that everyone and everything I knew would be instantly obliterated.   And that gave me some weird comfort.   I would probably die but so would everyone else I knew, so somehow it didn't seem as scary.   Maybe that was just me, I was a pretty weird kid.

My children were born at the end of the last century, actually the end of the last millennium, and their childhood experience has been completely different.   They have never known a world without school shootings and terrorism.    I honestly can't imagine what that must have felt like growing up.

I do know that when I, as an adult, go to the movie theater I check for where the closest exits are and I mentally make an escape plan in my head.    I never did that as a child.  Ever.  There was no need.

Children in school today have drills in case an active shooter enters the building.   There are code words that all school personnel and students understand and the kids are instructed what to do in multiple threatening scenarios.    Students today are well aware of all the exits in every single one of their classrooms and where they can hide so they won't be in the line of fire of a shooter.   When I was a child, I took comfort knowing that if the Soviets dropped a bomb we would all die together.   These kids don't have that "comfort".   If a shooter enters a building, they might die, or maybe they will watch a friend or teacher die, and they would have to live with that vision for the rest of their lives.   

As an adult, when I go to the movie theater, I check for exits.   These kids do so much more than that.  "Checking for exits" is their entire day, their entire life.  

When they go to an event like the aforementioned dances, concerts, theater events, or sporting competitions, they have their guard up.   They are aware that no event, no space is off limits from potential tragedy.  Nowhere is sacred.

There are so many adults who don't seem to understand why these students are so upset, why they are screaming at the top of their lungs for things to change.    As adults, especially those of us over the age of 35, we have just not experienced their reality and we need to listen.

Last night, at first glance of my Facebook feed I saw two categories of photos and they seemed mutually exclusive.   On the one hand there were groups of students, parents, and concerned citizens marching for a safer world.  While in nearby venues, students were pursuing their dreams and reaching for the stars.  The photos from the latter seemed pretty self-indulgent, and almost in poor taste to me at first.

But then, suddenly, Duh!

I understood that they weren't mutually exclusive at all.   All these kids are playing for the same team, going after the same goal.    They just want what we took for granted our entire childhoods (minus the nuclear bombs of course).  They want a sense of safety and security that they have never known in their entire lifetime.

Every single kid has the right to stand on a stage, or on a football field, or even just sit in a class and only have to think and worry about what stars they are shooting for, without having to worry that they might be on the receiving end ............of somebody else's shot.