In 2012, I had the honour of joining my community choir and others from around the world to perform Mahler's 2nd symphony at Lincoln Center in New York. (Or Beethoven's Ninth. Can't remember. for sure.) We'd practiced until I was singing in my sleep. We were nervous, exhilarated, and at our wits end trying to figure out what the weather would be like. What kind of coats to bring? How many pairs of shoes and boots?
And then there were the other questions haunting me in the middle of the night. Just how good were these other choirs? Would I get to stand beside my friends, or would I be stuck beside someone who was so fantastic, she'd be glaring at me throughout the performance. I'm sure most of us felt anxious, but it was really starting to haunt me. What could I do to make myself feel better?
First, I bought a sparkly black jacket and some swishy chiffon harem pants, along with stylish flats so my feet wouldn't get sore. Later, I came to regret those decisions. I never wore the flats again, the jacket was itchy, and the harem pants were...well. Harem pants. Like what Barbara Eden would wear if she was eighty. But the piece de resistance was the decision I made to get botox. I'm not sure why I decided to go for it. I guess I thought the occasion called for a big move.
Before catching the plane, I stopped in at an office I'd looked up online. It didn't take long for them to stick a few needles in my face, and I was on my way. I felt no different at all, and wondered what the fuss was about. The truth of the matter came about four days later, when suddenly, I felt like I'd been given novocaine and it just wouldn't wear off. It was upsetting, and for a few days I didn't say anything to my sisters. But the day before our performance, I came clean.
The first thing I did was burst into tears. 'Something terrible has happened,' I sobbed, and we all sat down on the bed. They each grabbed onto some part of me, like we were all going to pray, which happens occasionally.
"What's wrong," they asked, sending each other worried glances. I just kept crying and couldn't get the words out, so they started to guess.
'Does someone have cancer?' (Ironically, three family members would face this in a few years, but not at this time.) I shook my head. "Are you having financial problems?" Head shake. "Marriage problems?" More shaking. 'Are you being sued?' My only reply was to cry harder. 'Well, you're going to have to tell us," Susan said. I drew a big breath.
"I got botox and I really hate how it feels." They exchanged looks and Joni lifted her hand, then put it back in her lap. I think she was about to smack me.
"Are you kidding me?" she asked. 'Botox? We thought you were dying.'
'Well, I really hate it,' I said defensively. 'And I thought you should know.'
'For God's sake,' they muttered, and left the room. No sympathy there. Fortunately, the effects wore off after a couple of months. And it didn't do a damn thing, anyway.
The next night was our performance, and I enjoyed it so thoroughly that I celebrated later with four cosmopolitans and some champagne shared during a singoff with the choir from Singapore. On the walk home from the party where I was half carried by my sisters while crooning Christmas Carols, I stopped to beg Janice and Ken Pawlachuk not to tell my mom I'd been drinking. These were not my finer moments, but I can honestly say that a good time was had by all. And here's the takeaway lesson. Don't do anything crazy before an important event. Control your impulses and insecurities. And leave your face alone.
Tuesday, September 18, 2018
Friday, September 7, 2018
Risky Business
About ten years ago, we removed a phone from the wall by the kitchen, but in typical Pettersen fashion, never got around to taking off the old plate and wires. Placed beside my flashy new door, the ugliness of it was really starting to bug me. I'd found an electrician for some future work, but I couldn't live with this another day.
I have a vague idea about the workings of electricity, but who am I kidding? If the apocalypse comes and some of us survive, I will not be on the team that puts things back together. 'Judy...over here! Get this power plant up and running, stat!' Nope. 'Here's some glass and wire...build a solar panel for the survivors!' I am simply not that person. I can help in the garden, or teach kids. Cook and tell stories. I'm a fairly decent problem solver, and have a patent to prove it. But knowledge about modern technology has escaped me. I've let it slip through my fingers and now, it seems too late for me to even bother googling.
My lack of understanding about phone wires was my current (pardon the pun) problem. Were they dead? Were they attached to that same invisible power source that keeps my fridge running? I couldn't find the right switch in that thingy cupboard that would turn that section of the house off. I've always been cautious, but I decided, to hell with that. Donning a pair of rubber gloves and a pair of scissors with rubber handles, I stepped up to the wall, squeezed my eyes shut, and cut the wires. Nothing happened.
I was thrilled. And disappointed. Part of me hoped that my deceased husband would show up like Robert Pattinson did in the Twilight movie whenever Kristen Stewart did something risky. This part--the understanding of how things work--was his job. Clarence's, not Roberts. I know that with some couples, it's reversed. But he was the skipper, I was the less able bodied/minded crew member. Together, we kept our ship afloat.
I had other risky business to manage, like car mats. For a guy with such a messy garage, my hubby really liked a clean car. Now that the spit and polish was left to me, I felt bad about the dirty floor mats. I was leaving town the next day and didn't want to bother with a car wash, so I hosed and scrubbed them down. I found a bottle of Turtle wax in the miscellaneous cupboard and liberally applied it to the mats. It took hours to dry, which should have been my first warning.
The next day, I climbed into my car and my feet did a kind of Charlie Chaplin dance as I tried to reposition my seat. For the next two hours of driving, I had to be very careful how I moved, or they'd go shooting out from under me and accidentally hit the brake or gas. (I was using cruise control.) It was only when I stopped on the side of the road and covered my shoes with dust that the mat became more manageable.
This is all the fault of my long marriage. When you've been together for a certain amount of years, you lean in, like two sides of a pyramid. And when the other person is gone, you still tilt that way, and there's nothing to stop you from falling over. It takes a while to start standing on your own two feet. In the meantime, I've borrowed tall ladders to replace lightbulbs outside the house, and climbed on the roof to wash a bedroom window. But I promise, dear children and friends, to be careful now that Robert...er, Clarence, did not show up. So I've hired a guy to fix my hydro mast on the roof, and someone else to put new beams in front of the house. As for the bricks that need cutting for my patio construction, I'm almost certain I know which saw to use, and where to find it. Or I can find instructions on YouTube.
Just kidding. Maybe. We'll see.
I have a vague idea about the workings of electricity, but who am I kidding? If the apocalypse comes and some of us survive, I will not be on the team that puts things back together. 'Judy...over here! Get this power plant up and running, stat!' Nope. 'Here's some glass and wire...build a solar panel for the survivors!' I am simply not that person. I can help in the garden, or teach kids. Cook and tell stories. I'm a fairly decent problem solver, and have a patent to prove it. But knowledge about modern technology has escaped me. I've let it slip through my fingers and now, it seems too late for me to even bother googling.
My lack of understanding about phone wires was my current (pardon the pun) problem. Were they dead? Were they attached to that same invisible power source that keeps my fridge running? I couldn't find the right switch in that thingy cupboard that would turn that section of the house off. I've always been cautious, but I decided, to hell with that. Donning a pair of rubber gloves and a pair of scissors with rubber handles, I stepped up to the wall, squeezed my eyes shut, and cut the wires. Nothing happened.
I was thrilled. And disappointed. Part of me hoped that my deceased husband would show up like Robert Pattinson did in the Twilight movie whenever Kristen Stewart did something risky. This part--the understanding of how things work--was his job. Clarence's, not Roberts. I know that with some couples, it's reversed. But he was the skipper, I was the less able bodied/minded crew member. Together, we kept our ship afloat.
I had other risky business to manage, like car mats. For a guy with such a messy garage, my hubby really liked a clean car. Now that the spit and polish was left to me, I felt bad about the dirty floor mats. I was leaving town the next day and didn't want to bother with a car wash, so I hosed and scrubbed them down. I found a bottle of Turtle wax in the miscellaneous cupboard and liberally applied it to the mats. It took hours to dry, which should have been my first warning.
The next day, I climbed into my car and my feet did a kind of Charlie Chaplin dance as I tried to reposition my seat. For the next two hours of driving, I had to be very careful how I moved, or they'd go shooting out from under me and accidentally hit the brake or gas. (I was using cruise control.) It was only when I stopped on the side of the road and covered my shoes with dust that the mat became more manageable.
This is all the fault of my long marriage. When you've been together for a certain amount of years, you lean in, like two sides of a pyramid. And when the other person is gone, you still tilt that way, and there's nothing to stop you from falling over. It takes a while to start standing on your own two feet. In the meantime, I've borrowed tall ladders to replace lightbulbs outside the house, and climbed on the roof to wash a bedroom window. But I promise, dear children and friends, to be careful now that Robert...er, Clarence, did not show up. So I've hired a guy to fix my hydro mast on the roof, and someone else to put new beams in front of the house. As for the bricks that need cutting for my patio construction, I'm almost certain I know which saw to use, and where to find it. Or I can find instructions on YouTube.
Just kidding. Maybe. We'll see.
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