Heidi in Real Life

I love to buy stuff--gifts for my family, friends for me.   I loathe being sold something .   A friend told me you need to be an asshole to buy/lease a car these days.   My DNA is not programmed for purposeful ass-hole-ness—I am terminally, exhaustingly polite.   I went for a test drive, and I said, “Let’s talk numbers,” the sales associate, now an owl, hooted and turned her head 360 degrees. I was the owl’s prisoner.   My car keys were taken right away for trade-in evaluation, so I could not leave.   Trapped, I sat, and she kept hopping off to chat with the general manager. I started to rock and found my nearest exit (which was behind me).   It was like the time-share presentation in Cancun on my honeymoon: “No.   No.   We are on our honeymoon.   No, thank you” “I have a better offer,”   sales guy leaves.   A new, well-rested, unbroken, aggressive fresh horse trots in, determined to get our money, toss-tossing his...

When the sun was highest and there were no shadows noon on that June Michigan day, I went stomping through the field to pick flowers for my mother.  The daisies and dandelions I clutched were already bending over, wilting in my tight grasp, but my eyes were fixed on the blue cornflowers just beyond. I knelt on the hot ground and pulled on the weed, expecting it to relent to my little hands.   The stem was strong and stubborn.   I ended up stripping the stem of its leaves all the way up to the flower head, which popped off in my hand.   I regarded it for a moment in that bright sunshine and then let it drop.   I decimated 4 flowers before I finally gave up. In my little 5-year-old, not fully developed brain, I thought, “Me want flower.”   The consequences did not matter at all.   I did not mourn the flowerheads but kept trying until I learned that I was not strong enough to break them.   Now, as an adult with life experience, and a brain ...

Unplanned funerals suck.  Don’t blame the dead.   You, as the “still alive” need to prepare a suitable event …and they don’t just plan themselves.  Not unlike a wedding, you need a service complete with DJ (Death Jockey), food, and a venue.   Leaving things to chance or trusting friends and relatives will be the death of YOU!   Funeral Parlors do services all the time.  When you just “can’t”, let the professionals handle it.  These days, there are lots of options--forests, boats, even restaurants.  Funerals are for the living, so if you want a religious element, for God’s sakes, audition the clergy.  The pastor who did my mother’s funeral didn’t take very good notes, and on the day of, said her name wrong and made her sound like a very unfulfilled comptometer operator.  The minister at my father’s service, dressed in a cloak and hat-- a bit like Professor Snape.  At my friend’s recent funeral, at a restaurant, her sister-in...

Our hair flying, cheeks aching from laughter and screaming--the carnival operator with the greasy hair asks if we want to “go faster” and then throws it in reverse.  Life happened to us that way, both of us gripping the railing on a ride we were not in control of—together, shaken and wobbly sometimes, but stronger and wiser, somehow. Until you had to let go… way too soon.   Amy, you were joy.   You were bubbles and butterfly nets.   I can still see your big blue eyes at times wide with gentle apprehension and the next moment tenacious and spirited.   My children delighted in your kindness and confidence--always playful, always patient.   Their Amy snuggled with them, gave big warm hugs and made them feel loved and appreciated.   You wrapped presents in wads of tissue paper and covered the boxes completely with a thick, impenetrable layer of clear packaging tape.   But Amy-- you were the gift. Amy, you were music.   Singing in the car,...