Month: August 2015

The other night, a tornado hit Illinois near my house outside Chicago. My kids got scared, probably because the news junkie in me has every alert on her phone beeping “breaking news.” We headed to the basement despite the fact that the cost of water, broken pipes and sump pumps are much more frightening.

My son, as usual, now has endless questions about tornadoes. And as usual, I have been reminded of my time in TV news and the need to know the difference between the F1 and F5, how fast they go and how wide they can be, it’s really unbelievable. It’s hard to believe Stoughton, Wisconsin was hit 10 years ago when it feels like yesterday.

I also thought of Dorothy and friends and how much this same,now eight-year-old third grade boy loved her and the Wizard of Oz when he was only four. He was “in love” and we were in love with the idea of him being in love.

I have thought all week about the definition of “love” since a really special wedding I attended. It was an absolutely beautiful ceremony where a butterfly was included as an unexpected guest. The second time I spotted it, the bride and groom were reading their hand-written vows. “Love is not an emotion, it is a promise,” I heard. I managed to keep it together until that point, when I wished I had remembered tissues. To stop tears from flowing like a waterfall, I focus hard on the story of the couple up front, pray for their souls in my own way, and wait until later to think and reflect. Back home I think if I have the real thing, the promise, why do I want marriage again too? I guess it comes with the territory.

My own story of love is a lot like Dorothy’s journey down the yellow brick road. Over the years, married and not, I would often feel like I woke up and didn’t know what happened or where I was. Now, there is no place like home. I am back home after 20 years with the wrong characters. This Dorothy has found a man who can find the courage to not only love me with his whole heart, but also never leave. I met the love of my life and those dreams I tried to never “dare to dream” again started tugging at my heart strings.

My first grown-up “love,” my scarecrow, had a problem with my brain when it failed. He failed to stop and think about his own brain not thinking straight, vows were broken and it’s hard to forgive. I work at it all the time, though, I swear to God I do.

The second “love,” my tin man, was more like a knight in shining armor but with shining teeth and belongings and a phony heart like the one in the movie beating on the inside. Thank God he bailed repeatedly so I could figure who was the desperate, stupid one (me).

Today I have no doubt that the love of my life is my lion. The bravest, strongest man I know who is so busy making other people happy and working hard that he has no idea he is the bravest, strongest, sexiest, sweetest, smartest, most devoted man around. The only thing that could make this lion cowardly is injuries on the road of love, or the lack of love. If I had the nerve, I would tell those he walked it with before what I think of them but then I would end up having to write about my theory on witches.

This is absolutely the first man I have been with who gets what true love is. His brain has had vows straight his whole life and his heart is so real and full with the right kind of love it is about to burst. Mine already has.

Love may not be an emotion, but it certainly feels like one when it takes over our thoughts and feels like the right one for all the right reasons, with or without a ring on anyone’s finger. Love is even more than a promise after we say the word forever, even if marriage vows never happen.

I’ll never forget when friends and family got the nerve up to ask me why John was so special in my life and I was tongue-tied, which is rare. It was hard to describe because it was so easy, for once. One part of my path in life felt clear. We are wise hearts based on two very rusty orange marathon paths of love.

It’s certainly painful when love’s promises are broken but even more painful when no one wants to make them, or is able to keep them with you in life. I don’t need a wizard to remind me that there is love in the air, it is a promise that will survive any storm.

I accidentally put that song, far too popular on the radio years ago, on my IPod. Twice in one album, actually. So whenever I hear it while running, I usually “skip” as fast as I can. Not literally, just listening. But that might be fun for tired legs.

During my last distance training run, when “Call Me Maybe” came up, I ran faster, thinking of my “tween” with a cell phone. Yes, she is 10 and she has one, a birthday gift so she could text her already tween friends and her dad, despite the drama the device has created between us (shocker).

You can call me lots of things but not “maybe” on the cell phone. It has been quite the friend to me when it comes to work, friends, dating, learning who might know each other better than I expected in my life.

Most of all, the only child turned single mom in me needs this (on it now headed home from work) desperately. I read the news, find out who among friends I don’t see anymore is traveling, working, celebrating a birthday. Every day I wish I talked on it more. Most days it’s because I’m working, on the “quiet car” on the train, or have kids who need my attention.

But I must admit, it always makes me miss the old days of land lines. The kind of phones my kids will never know. The kind my generation was the last to know. The kind that forced us to memorize every number. It was like a contest. We knew dozens of numbers for friends, family members, neighbors, eventually boyfriends, (sorry John) and our parents at work. We had to call and ask for those people, then sit by the phone at a certain time if someone was supposed to call back. If it was important enough.

We got to know voices by heart, family members too, like it or not, and there was a trick to calling and hanging up on a crush so they couldn’t hit *69 and call back. Those were the days right?

The key is that we spoke, learned some serious phone manners and we certainly never had to wonder whether devices were more important than people. People made a lot more eye contact in the 90’s and didn’t get to text when they were afraid to talk about something.

I still know my mom’s old downtown Chicago work number because I fell asleep memorizing it. My mom also managed to take our land line phone number of the dinosaur ages and make it her cell phone number. Coolest cell move ever, and that was before cells were so darn “smart.” I just cashed a check using mine but I haven’t stopped wondering whether the teller jobs are at risk, and how those girls are doing.

So my new goal, as the mom of a new tween, is to get my girl to remember to use her phone to call. To know numbers. To stay in touch with friends, new and old, using her voice. And to put the phone down from time to time, give it a rest.

Let’s see if I can take my own advice, too.