A Short Story on Independence Day

 Last week Doug and I traveled to Denver to attend Pride with our daughter, Alex. It was fascinating, fun and a wonderful celebration of people of all identities. Not everyone has the luxury of having a space where you feel safe and loved. But love and kindness abounded, at least for that weekend in Denver.

Beyond Pride, we had another interesting interaction last weekend as our Uber driver, Mahad, took us out to eat. He was a young man from Sudan. He had a soccer shirt on, so we obviously had a lot in common. Like the clueless, American binge watcher soccer mom I am, I asked him if he ever watched Ted Lasso. Of course, he didn't know what I was talking about.  Then I switched gears and asked him what brought him to the United States. "This!" he explained––the money and opportunity. He had a little girl and a pregnant wife in Africa. And he could support them so much better with the money he made here. He talked about how he missed them and couldn't wait until they came and visited him. Then I asked a question in which I was a little nervous to hear the response. I asked him how he liked the United States. And his answer? "100% love it." The answer shocked both Doug and I a bit, as we constantly hear the depressing news of racism and divisiveness in our country, which I have no doubt is real. But it was small breath of fresh air to hear this young African man talk about how safe he felt and how much opportunity he had here.

As we celebrate the 4th of July, I hope we can remember we're still a young country trying to sort out the ideals of democracy and equality for all. We have our challenges, for sure. But it's stories like Mahad's, a grateful man looking to build a good life for his family, that should remind us what we stand for and give us hope––for individuals of all kind.

Happy 4th Everyone!

The Office, My Office

I'm not sure if I've ever shared my love for The Office on this blog. But I'm going to now. I realize the finale was aired clear back in 2013. But that series has become to me what Hogan's Heroes was to my dad. And all my love for The Office has recently come roaring back with a new book written by Jenna Fischer and Angela Kinsey: "Office BFF's."

The first time I saw The Office, I was watching by myself. (I'm guessing it was harvest.) It completely cracked me up. The character of Michael Scott was the perfect mix of parody and satire. And I knew just as soon as Jim hovered around Pam's desk, I would be hooked on their romantic storyline.  I was excited to tell my husband I had found a series for us to binge watch. But, when we watched the pilot episode together, he didn't share my affection. This shocked me, because we have a very similar sense of humor. And my husband is a Steve Carrell fan! But Doug just couldn't get past his annoyance of Michael. That, I tried to explain, is what made it so funny. His utter lack of self-awareness, yet that subtle vulnerability that makes your heart go out to him when he casually brings up things from his childhood that were, well, sad. Like Jeff, his step-dad.

Anyway, I can't possibly write about the brilliance of The Office. That's for cinema majors who can profoundly explain the humor in something like a New Yorker article. All I can say is how it affected me. I work in an office. We use the same exact phones that Dwight uses to make sales calls. We have candy dishes. We have party planners. We have a sweet receptionist. And we have managers who desperately want to create a positive culture. Sometimes those efforts work. Sometimes they don't. (I'm a manager by the way, so don't worry about me getting fired for that statement.)

I've worked for the same bank for nearly 25 years now. In truth, I never thought I'd stay at the same workplace for that long. Not that I don't like what I do or the people I work with. I do! But I assumed, like most people, that I'd be doing something bigger with my life. You know, like become a best-selling author, or possibly an actress who somehow manages to make movies while raising kids on a farm with her hubby. I didn't get my MBA for nothing, after all. But here's the thing. I'm listening to this book as two best friends relate their time ON The Office, and I see parallels to my time IN the office.  We share quite a bit in common, actually. Things like:

• Laughter. We laugh a lot at the Bank. I can't begin to tell you all of the funny stories that have occurred through the years. But let me assure you they involve a lot of intentional scaring, poop and fart jokes, and one of my favorites, incorrect use of grammar. Okay, that last one doesn't sound funny. But it's hard not to laugh in certain instances. Like when a serious discussion in the board room is happening and the top dog says, "They obviously don't understand the levity of the situation." (Believe me, skipping loan payments is not usually funny.) OR when you ask a colleague who is staring at your delicious sandwich and ask,"Do you want to bite it?" OR when a manager keeps saying how we need to antiquate new employees into our culture better. Maybe he was on to something innovative. Maybe antiquating would make staff feel more valued! Like on American Pickers!
• Friendship. It's hard for me to write this bit without tearing up. Friendships at the bank are family. We have no better cheerleaders for each other at work. We celebrate big events together: new babies, birthdays, weddings, graduations, regulatory exams (when they're over, of course). As a matter of fact, most people at the bank don't want to take off for their birthdays for fear of missing out of some royal treatment. We find ways to celebrate! I clearly remember when my staff arranged a book-signing party for me. They had all gone online to purchase "Goodbye Def Leppard (I'll Miss Those Jeans)" and lined up to have me sign their books. And I was planning on GIVING them all a copy! This was probably the biggest press event I had for my book.
  
  Make no mistake, we also commiserate together, through injury, illness and death. I'll never forget the time I miscarried as a group of us traveled to a bank seminar.  Panic-stricken, I told one of the officers, a lady I admired greatly, and she discreetly called my husband and figured out how to get me to the hospital. She hugged me and let me cry on her shoulder. I will never, ever forget her compassion that day. 

• 

  Good food. Bad perm.

  Food. Sorry to pivot from that sad story so quickly, but this incredibly long post is intended to entertain. When I first started at the Bank, I was struck by the sheer amount of recipe swapping. I wondered if we were wasting too much time on food chat. One time, our very busy and very professional Cashier decided to put together a bank cookbook: "Bankers Make Great Bakers." I still have it! As a much older and wiser human, I can assure you that there's never time wasted on food chat, or food testing, or food devouring. Food brings people together. It's a deeply gluttonous token of love.
• Service. Does anyone remember when Michael Scott organized a fun run for rabies awareness? Well, there's not a good cause our bankers won't support. We'll do anything for charity. Like build extravagant canned food displays. Or, take a pie in the face. Or, wear Iowa State clothing. Yes, even that.

Ann looks so cute as a Hawk!

• The Ordinary. I'm sure many people think of banking as mundane. We work with...numbers. But important numbers. We protect money. We help people to buy houses. There's not an employee at the SCSB who doesn't believe in our mission. Yes, we come to a building filled with desks, computers, filing cabinets, copiers, notepads, etc. Boring stuff right? Maybe. On the last episode of The Office, Pam has the final monologue in which she says, "There's a lot of beauty in the ordinary things." I love this sentiment. Every time I go into the supply room to pick out my new color of post-its, I think of this.

Money, kids, and me. Oh my!

 Also in the last episode, Andy Bernard (played by Ed Helms) says, "I wish there was a way to know you were in the good old days before you actually left them."  What a thought. Could we possibly realize the joy we experience the moment we're in the moment? Yes, I think we can. We should, actually. I'm sure gonna try harder. Thanks to the wisdom of The Office. And the great place I work.

By the way, I'm making my hubby watch every single episode, every season. I'm bossy that way. And you know what? I hear him chuckling.

Regarded as another legendary bank party. If memory serves me right, we raised money for Alzheimers that day.
See what I did there?

Tales about Tails: A Day on the Kramer Ranch

Our empty nest was pleasantly rumpled this past weekend! Not only were we reunited with our daughter and son, but we ran into a few other guests as well.

This story really begins with the loss of a dog in December –– a dog whose digging wasn't appreciated for it's ability to deter. 

Fast forward through some cold and windy months in which the only yard work completed has been the removal of Christmas lights.

It's Saturday, April 23rd. The kids are home and the temperature indicates no winter coat necessary. It's our last day together as a family for a while. Everyone is campaigning for Dad's famous grilled steaks for lunch. The problem, as most of you can guess, is the wind. Not to be outwitted by the weather, Doug and Cole move the grill to our front stoop.

Doug's first move is to re-arrange one of my unplanted flower pots. So he does. And out comes a giant bird who has been gnawing on some dead earth worms. No one but Doug sees the bird, but it's described as tall, fast and scary. I have my theories as to the species. It takes a lot to make my hubby jump.

In the meantime, Alex and Cole are in the kitchen with me quoting movies and brainstorming cocktail concoctions while preparing potatoes. You know, "boil 'em, mash 'em, stick 'em in a stew."

Unbeknownst to us, there's commotion on the stoop.

Doug is cleaning corn husks out of the grill only to find something even scarier than a bird: a mouse. Speedy Gonzales manages to jump on the ledge with Doug on his tail. He finds refuge under my copper water hose pot. Doug lifts it to find the mouse...along with an unlikely mate: a bull snake. Not a bird. Not a mouse. A bull-freaking snake. 

No need to discuss the fate of Speedy and snake, but let's just say only the bird escaped.

On to the next day on the farm: one kid has gone back to Denver. Cole and I decide to accompany Doug on his cow chores to admire the new babies, which of course, never disappoint. With the temperature dipping, Doug decides he needs to move his sprayer and tractor in the machine shed. Cole and I can help guide him as he rearranges equipment. We set up. Cole goes toward the back of the shed. I stay toward the front. Doug is backing up and I'm doing my job, watching closely and motioning him back. He yells something at me which I can't hear. I assume he's wondering if he's on the right track. I nod and keep waving him on. Then he yells something again. I'm thinking he's trying to tell me something beyond the task at hand.

"What?" I yell back to him. 

Then I hear one garbled word from his mouth.

Skunk.

Skunk?

"There's a skunk right next to you!"

I don't look. I don't dare. I skedaddle my way out to safety in approximately 1.5 seconds. 

Why Pepe Le Pew doesn't spray any of us? I don't know. Perhaps we already smell badly enough. Perhaps Pepe doesn't sense any threat from my helpful mannerisms. Perhaps Pepe heard about the mouse and snake and doesn't want to press his luck.

No matter. If there's anything we have learned from this past weekend, it's not about the importance of spending quality time on the farm with the family to experience wildlife. It's purely the fact that we need a dog.

And that we've raised a useless cat.

Viva Mexico!

Any excuse to go to Mexico is a good excuse, right? A son's high school graduation (2019). Best friends find cheap tickets during pandemic (2020). A nephew gets married (2022).

Ah, Mexico! Turquoise water. White sand. Endless mojitos. The happiest of people. And no wind chill to worry about. It's quite paradis-ical.

Admittedly, I was a bit anxious about this year's trip. Not that I wasn't excited for Dillon to marry his sweet southern belle, but stuff kept happening. Flights were being cancelled. Our room status was questionable (our fault for our fickle decision-making). Shootings were happening on resorts. And, of course, there's still the whole Covid thing and making sure we could make it back to the U.S. God forbid we get trapped in paradise!

After sending many annoying texts to our kids to ensure they were prepared for the trip (Got your vax cards? Did you all take a rapid test? Don't forget your passports! Leave your fake IDs at home), I finally told myself it was time to quit worrying and have fun. And fun we did have. The wedding was beautiful with top-notch toasts. The spa treatment was heaven. The food was exciting! Yes, exciting! When knives are juggled, that's exciting.

But there were a few bumps on the trip. A little spat because I was taking too long to get ready the night we arrived. (I always take too long, but there's less tolerance after a long day in airports and drinks to be had.) Back to the bumps. Too much tequila for the tiniest girl in our travel party. A bladder infection for the oldest girl in our travel party. And a bout of nausea for the most allergic-ridden girl in our travel party. But we carried on like troopers!

Then Covid testing day arrived. The worry had been lingering in the back of my rum-infused brain, especially whenever I heard our son cough. As it turned out, my worrying was merited.

As we walked through the hotel lobby to the testing site, Cole seemed particularly nervous. Then he confessed. He hadn't really taken a rapid test before leaving AND he had actually felt like shit.

He was afraid we wouldn't let him go to Mexico.

Solid logic.

So, we waited and fretted to get our noses swabbed. Then they took us all back to a little dark room. It all felt very criminal. We lined up, passports in hand, and let the nurse poke our noses. Then we were led back to another little dark room to await results. A guy came in with purpose and walked directly to Cole. My heart fell. This was it. Cole was going to miss his first week of college, quarantined in a Mexican resort. His life was ruined.

As it turned out, the guy just wanted our passports and Cole just happened to be sitting there. And within a few minutes after my heart attack, the negative Covid results were all delivered. Hallelujah, let's go drinks more rum.

I'm not sure if there's a moral to this story. I don't think so, except maybe, just maybe things always work out. Even for the good-hearted liars.

A Christmas Greeting and Tribute

This might be the first year since 1997 that I haven't sent a Christmas card. Let me just say this: I'm sorry you didn't get to open an envelope with the Kramers slapped into a Snapfish holiday template with a carefully selected sentiment. I could blame many things (including a lack of ambition), but I'm going to point a finger at the one culprit we're all so entirely sick of. Congress. 

Kidding.

Actually, Doug and I got COVID right around Thanksgiving. Certainly, it put a wrench into that holiday and the few weeks after. But we were thankful we were able to celebrate a beautiful family wedding before we got sick. Almost the entire Kramer clan (including a very, very pregnant niece who lost her mucus plug and gave birth to a perfect baby girl a day later.) Our kids got to experience their first time being in a wedding party. Alex made a smashing toast as Maid of Honor. And Cole just got smashed. Cole's adorable girlfriend, Anna, also attended her first Shelby County wedding. It's been rumored that she regarded it as the best weekend of her life.

Mikayla and Adam's wedding was certainly a celebratory event of the year, because there's been a few health challenges in the family. And most recently, some heartbreak. But overall, we have much, much to be grateful for. In true bullet point fashion, here's a few highlights from 2021:

• Alex sold her car. She made the adult decision to lesson her carbon footprint and use a bicycle to traverse the hills of Denver. And the extra snaps in her account has the added bonus of allowing her to pay rent. (And not to brag, but she made music editor at 303 Magazine.)
• In addition to the successful completion of 1.5 years in college and working a job, Cole grew a mustache. (Again, not to brag, but it was nearly all filled in.)
• Doug had a busy year with harvest, but was happy to have his wife take off work for a half of a day to drive a tractor for him. He also happens to raise the most lovely cows you could ever meet. They're practically pets whom I never think we should sell.
• Stef drove a tractor. Doug still thinks she should keep her bank job.

As a family we vacationed in Colorado where our pretty daughter resides (thus, the traversing through Denver comment). It took Doug and I an hour to park in a lot we could see across the street from our hotel. Anyone who has driven in the 5-points area, will understand that the problem wasn't completely us. It was probably 75% us. 25% Denver street design. It was a feat. We also made our way north to quaint little Estes Park where we toured the Overlook, ahem, I mean The Stanley Hotel where we were equally disappointed and relieved not to witness any paranormal activity.

Doug and I continue to cheer on our beloved Hawkeyes, making a few weekend trips to Iowa City to cheer them on. Oh yeah––and to see our son. As has been the status quo, we become hopeful, then in an instant, our hearts are broken. I am speaking of the Hawks. Not the kid. We are happy to discuss the Hawks' travails and losses with our parents, who have known the joy and heartbreak longer than us. But they raised us to endure.

Speaking of joy and heartbreak, I must end this blog with a tragedy and a tribute. Our Percy took his last run down the highway yesterday. For the last twelve years, the little dog has filled our hearts with joy, laughter and love. Two days ago, we took this picture in front of the tree. It only took sixteen times for us to get Percy to sit still. But we did. And it will be our last.  Yesterday, my husband quoted John Grogan as we were all grieving for the loss.

"A dog has no use for fancy cars, big homes, or designer clothes. A water log stick will do just fine. A dog doesn't care if you're rich or poor, clever or dull, smart or dumb. Give him your heart, and he'll give you his."

Rest in Peace, our stinky little barker. We love you.

Undressed

Every Sunday night I step into my closet to plan my wardrobe for the work week.  The outfits I pick are based on a number of factors: what meetings are scheduled, if it's after Labor Day, how high the AC will be running in my office, and, of course, how good my pedicure is holding up for open-toe shoes.  Now, I don't hold myself strictly accountable in case I do something silly like plan to wear a polo with khakis on a day that's not a Friday.

This little exercise usually makes my mornings go a bit smoother. Even though there's no more pouring Fruity Pebbles for the kids, I do have a number of other duties to conquer in the morning: exercise, vetsulin shots for Percy, prayers, shower, makeup, Gayle King, etc. Sometimes there's a hitch that throws my schedule off. The dog pukes in the garage. The cat needs my love more than ever. The hubby needs my love more than ever. But the biggest hitch to my morning routine seems to be when an outfit doesn't come together. And, as you already know, this is after I've already planned it out! 

I've never been accused of having OCD. Anyone who has opened my cupboards knows this. But I wonder if have a bit of a disorder when comes to attire. Take this morning for example.

Because I knew it was going to be a little cooler today, I was excited to wear my new plaid dress pants from the rubi j store (a charming boutique in DT Harlan, Iowa*). But when I put on the shirt I wanted to wear with said pants, I was sorely disappointed with the sight before me. A gut and a muffin top was all I could see. "What in the hell good did all this summer running do?" I said to myself. So, after berating my middle-aged self, I whipped it off to regroup. A voice from the bed (which has a clear visual into the closet) told me I should probably consider changing my bra as well. While I appreciated the suggestion, I didn't have time to reconsider my underclothes. I had a shirt to find.

Next shirt: Same color (off white). Slightly different style. Same result. Yes, the definition of idiocy is doing the same thing over again and expecting a different result. Thank you Mr. Einstein.

Next shirt: Orange, perhaps to celebrate the first day of fall? It sure seemed like a good idea until I put it on and became a pumpkin-pie-headed freak.

I began to panic, and went back to my original choice. Maybe I was being too hard on myself. I was not.

Finally, in the deep recesses of my closet, I found a cute dusty rose camisole that passed inspection. It did require a strapless bra (to go over my non-strapless bra) because it was a little low cut. Not a problem. Finally, it was ago.

I was off to work, speeding happily on M16 when I happened to look down and noticed my strapless bra slipping, slipping, slipping. It had fallen to my stomach. I had no choice. I had to zip back home and change into a different, more reliable strapless bra that Doug was quick to help me find. (Such a sport...)

Five minutes later...

I was back on to M16, happily speeding once again when I looked at the color of the ponytail holder on my wrist. Horrors. I grabbed a brown one. You see, all my accent colors were black. I glanced at the clock and made an important decision. I'd have to let this one go. Chances were I wouldn't even use the ponytail holder.

Now, I'm a fairly rational and somewhat intelligent person. I read the news and understand that there are issues in the world that matter and what I wear to work on any given day isn't going to help Haitian refugees.

But here's the deal. We are all just human. And sometimes we cling on to those little things that give us a sliver of creative control, even if it does take several iterations to get it right. I'll tell you one thing about it: my hubby never seems to mind.

*shameless plug for my mother's store

Ah! Family Picture Day.
That was a good day to plan an outfit.

The Meddler

It was my turn to pick the movie. As some of you might know, we rotate who picks the movie in our house. Then we pick an actor out of a hat to narrow down the selection. I happened to draw Rose Byrne and was quite excited about the possibilities. Bridesmaids. The Internship. This Is Where I Leave You. Spy. So many good ones to choose from! But despite the 237 streaming services we pay for, all of those movies had a rental fee. (We'll pay hundreds of dollars in streaming services. But we draw the line when it comes to paying an additional $3.99 to rent.)

After an intense IMBD search, we found a movie called "The Meddler" starring Susan Sarandon as Marnie: a widow who moves from New York to LA to be closer to her daughter, Lori, played by Rose Byrne. As you might guess Marnie takes an extensive interest in her daughter's life... and just about anyone else whom she meets. Her daughter's friends. The genius at the Apple store. A patient at the hospital. 

As we watched, I felt a little tingle on my neck. Marnie left several messages, every day, for her daughter. She tended to weave the topic of her daughter into any random conversation. She casually bursted into her daughter's home without knocking. (Why knock? She had a key!) And she always, always, always had advice to give.

I realized, without a doubt, there were some substantial pieces of me in her.

About the time this realization was setting in, Doug shouted out, "I could strangle her! She's driving me nuts!"

Well, okay.

It's been two years since Alex graduated college. Cole just finished his first year in college. I 'd be a liar if I said I don't look at Life360 daily. Usually a few times. I also have to coach myself not to text or call the kids with every fleeting thought that crosses my mind. And when they don't respond, I attempt to Snapchat that I find difficult and depressing.

It's not so easy to turn down the maternal chatter in your brain that goes something like this: "are they safe? are they safe? are they safe? are they happy? are they safe?" (I'm guessing the paternal chatter is lower in volume and frequency with a periodic blip of "did they get their oil changed?")

Back to the movie.

It becomes apparent that Marnie is navigating her grief by wedging herself into other lives. However, she is doing this in the most earnest and compassionate of ways. Eventually the term "meddler" seems inappropriate. It becomes a touching tale with a superb acting performance from the beautiful Susan Sarandon. In other words, I cried.

I don't ever remember feeling like Doug's parents or my parents were overly involved in our lives. Of course, there weren't cell phones in our early twenties. Looking back, I feel like they were perfectly involved, helping us when we needed guidance. But letting us live and make the mistakes that all young adults should make. 

So, I'll try harder to give the kids their space, giving them advice when they ask or letting them know important stuff like when the new season of Ted Lasso comes out or how cute the cat looks on the counter. In the meantime, I'll focus more of my attention to the hubby. 

I sure hope I don't drive him nuts.