September 12, 2006

Happiness is . . .

a moral with a story.

                Our daughter, Cali, wrote us this e-mail.  She lives in another town with a family while finishing her degree.

             (WARNING family, this may be a long one.  It may need to be split into halves or quarters and then you can anticipate knowing the rest of the story all week.

            Saturday I went to the Parade of Homes.  I took McKenzie (8) with me.  She likes everything domestic (she always asks her mom if she can bake or sew something and she is the one that does the most cleaning) so I thought she might like to go.  This year they had 25 homes.  They are divided up into 4 groups: 2, 4, 6, or 8 thousand square feet.  There were some AWESOME homes.  Saturday McKenzie and I hit most of the good ones.  We had a lot of fun just walking around and looking at stuff and she would tell me what she will do when she some day has a house.  She is so pleasant and friendly and well-mannered.  We had fun.  I was a bad “caregiver” though, because I forgot to feed her until like 2:00.  It reminded me of when I used to babysit Abe, Ty, and Ande.  I would forget to feed them too, or would try and convince them they were not hungry.  We walked through houses from 10:00 to 3:00.  We both decided that our favorite thing to see was a media room that one of the houses had.  It had a huge flat plasma screen with really good surround sound.  The floor had three levels (making it stadium seating), each level about a foot higher than the other.  On each level there was a three person leather couch where each seat in the couch could turn into a recliner by pulling down the arm rests (with pop holders) and reclining back… AND most important of all… there were no windows in the room, so you could see the whole screen without the reflection of the windows hiding half of the image.

             After we got back, I ran errands and did homework for a couple of hours.  I also rented the first DVD of “LOST: Season 2” and decided to watch an episode.  It was late though and everybody was asleep, so I was watching it with headphones plugged into the TV.  There were some really scary parts and even after giving myself the pep talk that, “It is NOT real.  Nothing will get you.  Don’t close your eyes.”  I still had to close my eyes (with occasional peaks) and take the headphones off in a couple of spots.

             Yesterday when Kenzie and I did the parade of homes, we weren’t able to see this one last house I wanted to see.  I knew today (Sunday) was the last day to see the houses and I also felt I NEEDED to get my full money out of my ticket and see all the homes.  So this morning I woke up and got ready for church early so I could (swing by) and see that one last house… maybe two.  I drove out to the house I really wanted to see.  It was Tuscan themed and looked like a house in Tuscany.  It had the entire interior done in leather furniture, plaster looking walls (with some cracked away), slate floors, stone countertops, antiqued copper sinks and faucets, and wrought iron door handles.  The house had a little courtyard just waiting for someone to grow a bunch of red geraniums in.  The house was beautiful.  The master bathroom was the best.  It had a large antiqued copper bath tub that looked like one of the claw footed tubs but without the claws.  But the best part was that to fill the tub, you turned a knob and water came out of a antiqued copper pitcher that sat on a shelf just above the tub.  It was just like you were pouring the water out of the pitcher to fill the tub.  The shower was made out of stone wall and slate tile bottom (I decided that was good and bad.  Good because you didn’t see any hair and or dirt.  Bad because you didn’t see the hair and dirt so might let it go too long before you clean it but still be stepping on the hair and dirt).  The shower was one of those open ones and had MANY shower heads… almost like a communal shower J.  The walk-in closet had a set of shelves that could be pulled away from the wall like a secret passage into the laundry room, so you wouldn’t have to make a Mad Dash (hoping you don’t get caught) to get your bra out of the dryer.

            Well, after I looked at the house and was leaving, I realized that I locked my key in the car.  The first thing I thought was, “Serves me right for breaking the Sabbath.”  The home builders were really nice and did everything they could to help me get a lock smith.  We finally found one that would come all the way out where the house was, but it would take him an hour and cost $70.  I was suddenly so grateful I had a family—just so I didn’t feel alone, because I was so embarrassed and felt so alone.  I realized how lucky I am to have a great Dad.  He volunteered to drive down (80 miles) and bring me the spares.  It made me realize that no matter how independent you try to be… you will eventually need someone to help you.  You can’t do everything by yourself.  It made me sad for people who don’t have a Dad to help them when they lock their keys in the car.  I’ve really thought about this all day and been so grateful for a family.  While I waited the two hours for dad to arrive, I just sat at the desk at the entrance to the house with the home builder’s son and sister and helped them fold and handout pamphlets, stamp people’s tickets, and answer people’s questions about the house.  We talked about everything from the weather to surgeons that yell at their nurses and get away with it.

When I first called Dad to tell him what I’d done, I was standing right next to the home builder while he was telling a potential buyer about the house.  I was so embarrassed about locking my keys in the car and didn’t want to annoy the builder by talking on a cell phone while he tried to sell his $650,000 home, so when Dad kept asking questions like “Where are you?  What are you doing?  How did you lock the keys in the car, I thought the car won’t lock with the keys in it?”  I would just not say anything or say “Uhh Huhh” thinking he would get the hint I couldn’t talk at the moment.  He just kept asking and saying crossly, “Cali, answer me.  I’m talking to you.  Hey, answer me.”  He didn’t get the hint at all.  I finally said Dad, I’ll tell you later.  Come to find out later, he was sure I was at a bar, locked my keys in the car, and was being secretive.  Never mind I’ve never drank, I don’t go to bars, and I’ve spent 23 years being a good kid hoping I’m building my parent’s confidence and trust.

             Well, after we got the car unlocked and Dad headed home, I cried all the way to church because of the stress and embarrassment.  And because I was so relieved I had a Dad and Mom that still watched out for me.  I also cried the whole way through church (quietly and secretively) but I’m sure those few that saw me were sure I was having a VERY spiritual experience at church.

             And the moral of the story is… if you are going to break the Sabbath, make sure you have spare keys. 

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My nephew Mason heads to Iraq in 10 days, first time over there.  New Marine.   Deb Meyers