teamEggers

Toast of the Town

A few months ago, after noticing that my new years resolution to “be less judgy” was failing miserably, Damon suggested that instead of a “new year resolution”, I should have a “new quarter resolution” – and try to at least remember what I’m working on for 3 months.

In the spirit of Damon, I bring you my Q2 resolution: Nevermind the naysayers, I’m going to Embrace My Ultralame Ideas of Fun. Because you know what? I like planning obsessively. And I really like staying at home on a Friday night, reading a book with a glass of wine, and going to bed at 9:30. And to really fully complete the quest of turning into an old lady, I joined Toastmasters.

If you haven’t heard of it before, Toastmasters is a club that encourages public speaking, leadership, thinking on your feet, and articulation. They meet once a week in various neighborhoods (my local chapter is just up the hill from my house), and each time there are 3 speeches, 3 evaluations of those speeches, and a few fun think-on-your-feet kind of games.

I… really like it. There’s about 15 people in the group, and it seems like they’re a really welcoming, caring community. I’ve been there twice now and so many people from the group have gone out of their way to make sure I feel welcome, establish a connection with me, and encourage me to get up in front of the group and participate. How exciting.

So stay tuned for more on that. I’m trying to get more involved in the Speakers Bureau at work, which is taking two different directions at the moment – one of them’s actually happening and the other’s purely in my head. One of my nearterm goals in life is to travel around the country and talk about the web (standards, our products, our research, etc) for Sesame. The real part of this story is that I started teaching online classes last January. Kind of exciting. I wrote up a curriculum of 10ish topics to talk about throughout the year, and I do about two per month. Keeps it interesting.

Let me rephrase: it adds to my growing “to do” list that keeps me so busy I often look like my hair is on fire. But i kind of like that. And I dyed my hair hot pink this week, so I suppose it actually *does* look a little like it’s on fire these days.

An open letter to my father.

Disclaimer:  This is a long, and not very peppy post.  I’d skip it if I were you.

Beyond reports of our travels and adventures, and occasionally an obsession about what I ate for dinner, I rarely go into much detail about my personal or work life on teamEggers.  But in the spirit of sharing too much information, I thought I’d bring you along on the latest journey into “Michelle’s Family” that’s causing me to seriously consider therapy.  Or at least day-drinking.

After a few glasses of wine and some long conversations with my aunt and uncle, I realized a few years back that I have some unresolved father issues. Jon and I started joking about how my “daddy complex” makes me try harder to be successful at work, and in general it’s just something funny to say when I’m being neurotic. I didn’t actually think our lack of talking to each other was really a big deal, (I mean, who has a healthy relationship with both of their parents?) but I don’t think I ever realized the scope of how awful he is. And with that realization today, I thought I’d share the latest in my story with you.

Keep in mind that this first email was the 2nd communication with my dad since my wedding day, 2.5 years ago. Before that, we talked once every 9 months or so. There was a brief renaissance while I was in college, and we actually started seeing each other with some regularity. It was fairly short-lived.

So I share this with you today because… blogging is less expensive than therapy. And if I say my peace out loud, on my own private soap box, it’s almost like I’ve done all that I can do and feel okay moving on with life.

December 13, 2010 (From Jeff to Michelle)

Hi
 

I do not have any idea if you read this, you stop talking with me when U graduated & I told U  I told you that I could not pay your phone bill.
 

I am hoping to move back East or leave the USA & work in China or Singapore.
 

It would be nice to say hi.
 

9not sure whats up with you.

Jan 1, 2011 (From Michelle to Jeff)

I’m glad you emailed me, happy that I can help you in some small way, though I’m completely shocked by the message that you sent. I recognize your perspective, and despite being the farthest from the truth, I appreciate that it’s a completely valid perspective. You and I did drift apart just before I moved to Seattle, though I attribute that to a combination of factors – not in the least because you were recently married (again) and had more interesting priorities than maintaining a relationship with a distant daughter.
 

I’m probably going to point a few fingers in the rest of this email. I’d like to apologize in advance for saying a few things that have been bottled up for the past 20 years. I understand that it takes to two make a relationship work, but you’re my dad. You’re the one that’s supposed to have all the answers. Cell phone bills aside, you’re the adult in the relationship: You chose to not call, you chose to not come to my graduations, you chose a ski boat and a lift ticket over me, when I was 7.
 

I have very rarely in my life felt entitled to anything. I lived with less growing up because a single mom with intermittent child support just isn’t able to provide all the things that a teenager needs. I learned to shop at second hand stores and set my expectations low. No. Quite simply, I didn’t stop talking to you because you stopped paying $30/month for my phone, and the fact that you’ve held on to that for so many years must mean you think I’m a shallow, materialistic gal. The cell phone bill was a gift while it lasted, and I really was grateful for it. While we’re on the topic, I was also incredibly grateful the time that you helped me with my rent, early in my Colorado years. I hadn’t quite figured out how to be a “grownup” at that point, and was really happy to have the assistance.
 

It’s taken me some time to respond to your email because I was livid. I’m mad at you for not knowing me better than that, and disappointed that you actually think I stopped talking to you over a few hundred dollars. If it weren’t for the sage advice of a very patient husband and a very knowing aunt, I most likely would have written you off.
 

Here’s why we don’t talk anymore: You’re not interested in my life. I say this with the full knowledge that it’s selfish and immature of me, but dammit, I want my dad to care about me. I want my dad to brag to his friends that I’ve made something of myself, that I have great values, that I am strong-willed and irrevocably in love with an incredible man. I want a dad that asks me how my day was, that nods in understanding when I come home and poured myself a glass of wine. I want you to be excited that I’ve been promoted twice, and that the class I’m teaching is featured on the front page of my company’s web site. I want you to know that I love cooking and food is my second passion in life. More than that, I want to be able to share in my dad’s life. I know it’s possible – I see other people having heathy relationships with their fathers, but the concept is utterly foreign to me.
 

I was walking to work the other day, thinking that my best memories of us are when I was small and you were my age – a funny and charming 28-year-old version of you. I guess I kind of understand how someone at my spot in life might run away and not really want to take responsibility for the decisions that they made a few years earlier. I’ve made a handful of terrible mistakes in my not-so-distant past and can appreciate that there are things that are easier to run away from. I’m just trying to figure out if I was one of those things, for you.
 

I’m sorry that I’m not more athletic, that I had always been a bit on the chubby, asthmatic side and couldn’t share the excitement of hiking in the woods or mountain biking with you. Maybe we grew apart because there wasn’t common ground between us? But I have to say, every time I talk to you I make an effort to relate things in a way that you might be interested in. Despite my best intentions, it doesn’t ever seem to work.
 

So here’s why we don’t talk: It’s not the cell phone, it’s not the fact that you married a woman who’s closer in age to being my sister than my mother, it’s not because you left me when I was tiny, it’s not because I will never live up to some unrealistic and unknown expectations you have of me. I can overlook everything. I can, really. We don’t talk because you don’t show any interest in my life. Because when I call, you sound like someone just killed your dog. It feels like if you can’t find a way to make yourself happy, then no one you talk to is allowed to be happy either.
 

And another thing. My wedding? What was that? Though it took me a full year to realize it, I am really glad you came. I know it must have been a financial burden and a stretch for you to make it. I had called you two weeks before and asked if you were coming – how did you respond? I quote: “Well, I haven’t bought my tickets yet.” And then the line died. Personally, I think you hung up on me, but I’m willing to give AT&T the benefit of the doubt and admit that maybe the call dropped. Why you didn’t call back to clarify that maybe you were coming, I’ll never know. Why you couldn’t have said “I want to come, but financially it’s difficult to make it.”? I don’t know.
 

I don’t hate you, I just recognize that I’ll never understand you.
 

I’m sure that at the end of reading this, if you’ve read so far, you’re thinking to yourself “Wow. What a whack job. My daughter turned out to be a Crazy.” And you’re probably right, I would most likely benefit from a few years of therapy. It’s absolutely ridiculous that I’m sitting on an airplane right now, visibly crying. But that’s your fault too. And it has nothing to do with cell phone bills.

March 12, 2011 (From Michelle to Jeff)

Hey – I was just wondering if you got my email last December and if you had anything thughts about it.

March 13, 2011 (From Jeff to Michelle)

I could look at it in about 3~5 weeks, I still need to remain focus for that continued amount of time.
 

the content of the earlier email seemed derived from miss-guided opinions which originated from your mother; and (that/she) is a topic which is impossible to have serious conversation about.
 

(i am sorry she is a demented person, this is my opinion of her, blend muammar gaddafi., sarah palin, and freddy krueger,) why would, or how could, anyone want to relive, defend, or justify her rants/lies.

This, of course, begs a few questions.

1. He is a native English speaker, no?  And if we take his lack of grammar to be a sign of his diminishing mental capacities, I can’t in good faith take his message seriously.
2. Did he even read my email?
3. Sorry about his last email, mom. Again, see #1.  Clearly he’s not really with it these days.
4. Why on earth was I so insistent about keeping my last name when I got married?

And with that, I close the book.  Because I understand that if life deals you lemons the right thing to do is make lemonade, but sometimes even after you try making lemonade, and lemon tart, and lemon bars, and lemon merengue pie… you just realize that you’d rather not have a life full of lemons at all.

You’d prefer to have gotten some oranges in the first place.  But even considering I don’t have a metaphorical basket of oranges at my disposal, it’s probably better to just use the lemon to clean the garbage disposal, and call it a day.

Dad, I wish you the best.  But don’t call, and don’t write.  And in “3-5 weeks”, please don’t expect me to be interested in your life.

Food and Wine Exp.

This guy’s smoking cheese with a combination of beech wood, caraway, and fennel seeds. Doesn’t it look rad?

I’ve always wondered what the actual flavour difference between grass fed, conventional, organic beef was. What are you actually paying for? Does it taste different, or are you just voting with your dollars?

Last weekend at the Food and Wine Experience, I was finally able to see for myself.

With a blind taste test behind me, and my uppity self-image hanging in shame, I come before you ready to report that I like grain fed, conventional beef the best. Who knew.

Can you believe this is the first time I’ve ever been in a photo booth?

The format of food and wine events falls into two categories: metered and boozy-free-for-all-followed-by-drunken-stumbling-home.

In the “metered” category, I’m counting the beer fests where they give you tokens for tastes, and the food fests where you have passports to try everything once. This one fell into the other category, and I was soon making friends with people (oh god, I have turned into my mother) and eating platefulls of doughnuts.

Is it ultralame that I match my glasses to Jon’s shirt sometimes?

The wines, on whole, were medium. There were a few showstoppers, but overall it wasn’t anything to really scream and shout about. I’ve started this new love affair with the barcode scanner on my phone – I take pictures of wines that I dig and then it tells me where I can buy them for cheapest.

Technology is so lovely. Mom, you’re really missing out.

I kind of want these…

…Though I’m something of a pansy and can’t fathom actually getting a tattoo.

It’s my birthday!!

…. or…. it was my birthday. And Jon threw me a party! hurray! And we had cupcakes! Double hurray!!!

And my mom sent me flowers! (How sweet!!)

Besides the slider-bar that he spent the better part of the day working on…

…his main birthday gift to me was a fantastic cast iron Le Cruset dutch oven that I just love, but the more fun present was the panda hat that is just the coolest thing in cool town.

Sure, it’s not practical for typing or drinking or anything, but it’s SO cute! it has little panda-paw-gloves! and your fierceness is just through the roof when you wear it, as you can see by this….

Thanks for coming, everyone. I felt really loved!

And just like many of our parties end, Jon was passed out on the floor by the time the last few people left. It was a lovely day. Thanks, jon.