Funeral Director

I think I may have a future as a funeral director. Or, at least as someone who directs people to funerals.

On the drive home from school today, the kids and I all feeling down about the cold and rain, were psyched when Toto's "Africa" came on the car radio. Unfortunately, the funky beat started just as we turned the corner by the funeral home and onto our street. I pumped the volume and drove slower, hoping to prolong the moment. Eventually, we pulled into the driveway and belted out the mumbled lyrics as best as we knew them:

It's gonna be a lot to take me away from you
There's nothing that a hundred men on Mars could ever do
I miss the rains down in Africa...

Then, I noticed a car had pulled in the driveway behind us. A man got out of the driver's seat and walked towards our car where we sat singing. "Mom! Turn down the volume! He's got a badge!" my daughter warned. I told the kids to stay put and got out into the pouring rain to investigate.

"I know about Pavlot but where's the other one?"

Owens-Pavlot is the funeral home on the corner. "The other what? Funeral home?"

"Yes. Is it called Roberts?"

"No. The only other funeral home here in town is Heintz."

"Oh. Hmmm..."

I took a look at his outfit. He was wearing a navy blue blazer covered in pins and badges and a pair of dress pants. He looked to be in his late 60s and although he didn't seem consumed with grief, it did seem reasonable that he was heading to a funeral. Could he be a veteran? That could explain all the insignia. Then, I remembered something I had seen in town when I was pumping up the volume on Toto.

"Well, actually, I just saw a man walk into Pavlot a minute ago. Wearing a hat. You know," I made a v-shaped sign on the top of my head. "Like a VFW hat." A VFW hat? I asked myself. What is that supposed to be?

Somehow he knew what I meant. "Oh! Thank you!" He ran back to his car and sped away.

When the kids asked me what the man and I had talked about, I told them he was looking for a funeral home because his friend had died. "Isn't that sad?"

"You know what would be sad, Mom?" my daughter asked. "If you lost your brains down in Africa."

Cue the xylophone solo.

Worrying about worrying

It wasn't until April 6, 2005 that I learned that mothers have an uncanny ability to worry. That's the day we took my son to the pediatrician because he wouldn't stop crying. Duh - it turns out he wasn't getting enough oxygen. He was admitted to the hospital, diagnosed with asthma, and prescribed a nebulizer that we've used virtually every day since. That's 3,303 days of worrying, nebulizing, and beating myself up for not knowing my own child wasn't breathing properly.

Since then, I've added many other worries to my repertoire. Some are plausible but most are things that are not likely to ever actually happen. Will I ever be wrongfully accused of a crime and sentenced to life in prison? Probably not. But if I do, I imagine I will have the spirit of Morgan Freeman in "The Shawshank Redemption." I'll wear faded denim overalls and a baseball cap with a frayed brim as I kick the dust in the sunny prison yard and pontificate on prison life. "Get busy living or get busy dying," I'll tell my rapt audience of felons. My letters home will be written in the same handwriting I used regularly in first grade, my academic skills somehow having been lost during my imprisonment. "Dear family, I'm sorry for what I done..."

Okay, I admit I've probably spent a little too much time on that particular worry.

Everyday I've got a slew of new worries. Today, I find myself reading about friends with the stomach bug and fearing I will be its next victim. Never mind that I've already had the stomach bug this winter and I haven't had physical contact with anyone who is sick. I'm still paying acute attention to my stomach's every toss and turn, anticipating that you-can't-turn-back-now nauseous feeling.

Truth is, there will always be something to worry about. No matter how many times I tell myself my worries are irrational, I still worry. I've read that the trick is to keep your worries in check by focusing on the many blessings life has already given you. I also tell myself that if the worst should happen, I'm strong enough to get through it and come out a better person on the other side. I've had the stomach bug before, and if I come down with it again this week, I'll feel better soon.

Also, I am thankful I've been blessed with the resources to hire a good lawyer if the occasion ever arises, and even if the worst happens, the prison-issue overalls will probably look pretty cute.

Would You Read This Book?

I took my kids to the school playground today and ran into a group of friends who read my Facebook post about my time at the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop. Although they pretended to be interested in the conference, they really wanted to know more about my book.

I don't know when it will be done but I'm at least halfway through writing it and then there's the editing and revising, which can be arduous for a perfectionist like myself.

Until then, I thought I'd tease you with the book pitch I planned to deliver at the Erma Bombeck Writer's Workshop...

Liz Bishop is a small town New Jersey mom who is losing her patience with a hive of gadflies who insist on interrupting her peaceful life.

When her boss Penelope suggests their children's museum host a controversial photography exhibit, Liz hides in her office with a can of Coke and a bag of M&Ms rather than stand up for what seems like common sense.

The new woman in town lets her four brats run wild. It's no surprise she brings a thermos of wine to the town pool, but how how does Liz get stuck making sure she follows the rules?

Then, there's Tracey. Her perfect angels think SpongeBob is a cleaning implement. Meanwhile, Liz's 12-year-old daughter has mood swings so strong they could power a pendulum.

Liz is exasperated and now her husband and children are annoyed, too. She's caught up in everyone else's drama and not what's happening at home. When the town council threatens to close the pool, Liz gets her priorities in order, turns her charms on the mayor, and the waves are calmed.

Have you ever rolled your eyes so often you were worried they would stick that way? Meet Liz Bishop. She's figured out that looking straight ahead is a better way to see the world. 

Finding Humor When Nothing's Funny

My trip to the humor writer's conference was not at all funny. At least, it wasn't funny when it started. When I flew from Syracuse to Dayton for the Erma Bombeck Writer's Conference on Thursday, my son was home with a diagnosed case of the flu and a 103 degree fever. I knew he was in good hands with his father and two sets of grandparents, but still, I was worried and anxious. Nothing was funny; especially not the CNN anchors who spent a solid hour dissecting the missing Malaysian airlines flight. I could swear my heart was pinging.

Two turbulent plane rides later, I was riding a roller coaster of emotions as I stepped into the cocktail hour for attendees. After being in the room for less than five minutes, I was pulled aside by two women who said I looked nice and they appreciated the fact that I was wearing jeans, not the cocktail dresses and heels worn by many of the other attendees. Bonding over our casual wear, much of my anxiety immediately melted away.

During my three days in Ohio, I learned how to craft a Tweet, how to publish a book, and how to walk into a room full of strangers and not worry. I enjoyed an impromptu concert by one of the participants in the National Drum Line Semi Final Competition. I learned how to sign up for Farmers Only, the Match.com for clodhoppers. (Not that I called that 1-800 number; I had a fine husband waiting for me back home in Christian Mingle country.)

Most importantly, during my time away, I got some perspective, and that was the most valuable takeaway. My son healed without me. I realized that I am capable of publishing a book. Not just any book: my story, my voice. I was reminded that the world is much, much bigger than my little town and that my world there should be larger.

It turns out the conference really was funny and I did do a lot of laughing. My favorite Erma Bombeck quote from the weekend was from a piece about regrets. She said,  "I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren't there for the day."

I wasn't here for three days and the earth kept spinning, the children kept smiling, and I kept growing.