Vivid Living

So I’m at the Starbucks tucked inside Barnes and Noble the other day, killing an hour in-between appointments. It’s about Noon. “I recognize you,” says Jeannie Ritter, Colorado’s First Lady.  “And I recognize you,” I reply.  I remind the First Lady of my name, that her daughter and my stepson are friendly, and of the few times we’ve met.

“Tell me what you’re doing these days,” she asks me, genuinely interested in spite of the fact the efficient-looking executive assistant standing beside her clearly wants to keep her boss on schedule.  I understand, I’ve been there, too. But Jeannie is all talk today so I begin to tell her about the kids, my writing, and my new endeavor beginning an MFA program in creative nonfiction writing. “Good for you. Good for you,” she says, and means it.

We talk for a moment about her next adventure once Governor Ritter leaves office. “I’m thinking about it,” she says, warmly.

We say goodbye and I sit down to tweak a speech I’m writing which happens to also be about seizing adventures. Minutes pass, maybe twenty. I’m lost in thought, concentrating deeply, oblivious to the fact that the First Lady has just sauntered over to my table.

“Sit up straight!” she whispers just loud enough for others to hear.

“You’ll be a hunch-back old woman if you’re not careful,” she warns, those earnest blue eyes of hers fixing my gaze.  I can tell she cares.

I’m a bit embarrassed, of course, but the First Lady happens to be right.  I thank her for the reminder – and I am thankful since slouching is a bad habit.

“Bye Jeannie, thanks again,” I say as she dashes back to her assistant and to do what First Ladies do.

* * *

Three days have passed since my rendezvous with the First Lady. And still I find myself smiling over our little chat about adventures, the importance of parental modeling, and naturally, her admonishment. I’m stepping into my new world today at Goucher College (while still holding up the old world, too) and plan to take the First Lady’s advice to heart. She might have only meant it in the physical sense, but to me, her message is all about standing tall and proud, refusing to slump.

Ciao. Ciao.

I’ve been away, in Italy, as I mentioned in my last post.   My husband and I took this special trip – just the two of us – to celebrate his milestone birthday.

The thing I love most about Europe is the way the old and new come together so seamlessly. On one corner stands a monument two thousand years old, the remains of a parliament building. Steps away is a gelato shop and boutique selling handmade paper.   The streets are cobbled, uneven and dusty, and the buildings, layered with paint and ridged with cracks.  It’s hard to imagine such a confluence of beauty in the U.S., but in Europe, I’m struck by how antiquity is preserved and even made modern and stylish.

It’s true in our own lives, too:  the past infuses the present.  Embracing our history, I’m certain, makes for a more graceful future.

While in Agrigento, in Sicily, Steve and I spent some time visiting the marvelous ruins at the Valley of the Temples.  Empedocles, one of the city’s great philosophers  from 490 BC (a period of wealth), summed up his fellow citizens like this:  ”The people of Acrogis enjoy the pleasures and luxuries of this world as if they were to die the next day, but make their buildings as if they were to live forever.”

What a powerful philosophy: live vividly, with passion and exuberance; enjoy the riches of this world, large and small; trust that the foundations you build will endure, and that your spirit lives eternal.

Last weekend I traveled back in time.  I went roller discoing with my daughter’s Girl Scout troop.

The last time I did this was 1980 when Donna Summer belted out Last Dance. I was an athletic, 14-year-old freshman who used too much pink blush to disguise her adolescent insecurities. A group of friends had gone to an indoor rink in Orange, CT and somehow I found myself cozying up to a very cute, not-so-innocent sophomore named Jimmy. I was boy crazy but had never dated.  “Do you want to go out?” Jimmy asked me while taking my hand. “Sure,” I said, beginning to exit the rink and walk toward the door.  “No,” he smiled, a flash of surprise flickering across his silky blue eyes.  “DO YOU WANT TO GO OUT?” I was standing right beside him and couldn’t understand why he was speaking so loud.  “YES, I DO!” I answered, matching his volume as I tried to lead him once again toward the door.

I had no clue the guy was asking me to be his girlfriend until we were back in school the following Monday and suddenly he sought me out.  This was before the age of cell phones, texting and e-mail. Duh!

I can’t tell you what music played the other evening but I can tell you three things:

1) Your center of gravity is wholly different at 43 than 14.  Let’s just say that every time my daughter and her 8-year-old friends yanked my arm for support I felt an immediate snap in my back.

2)I’m not as light on my feet as I think I am.  I wanted to defy gravity, allowing the innocence of the past to carry me. But my legs felt like tree trunks.

3 Being the oldest person on the rink by at least two decades gave me a shot of youthful energy but it also made me feel, well…old and out of place.

I was so relieved to send the Girl Scouts home to be tucked into their cozy beds, and happier still to sip my chamomile tea and drift off to sleep aside my husband. It’s good to be 43, smarter and weighted by life experience. I think I’ll leave the roller discoing for the younger set: I like where I am.