A Monday Memory: The Silver Lining

(Editor’s Note: In 2011, Matt Lorton realized a longtime dream. He published a book he called, “Quad’s Corner: Tales from the Crip.” I was humbled and honored to be offered a small, supporting role in this dream when Matt asked me to write the foreward. Sadly, not too long after the book was published, Matt died. Shortly before his passing, while attending a play at The Muny, Matt marveled at the size of the audience and was said to have wished he could one day reach a crowd of that magnitude. What Matt never knew – was that his reach far exceeded that of The Muny. Moreover, Matt continues to positively impact people with his humor, his example and his compassion – to this day. Before I share the foreward and a little bit more about Matt with you, I have a few words I’d like to share with my cousin. Matt – thank you for always making me think a little harder, believe a little more faithfully and laugh a lot louder. I love you.)

At one time or another during our lives, we’ve encountered some conflict, problem, or hardship. And our friends and family members try to pump us up with the usual suspects – those go get ‘em mantras that may read a little differently but all basically mean the same thing. You know what I’m talking about – things like – “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade.” “The glass is half full.” “Whenever God closes a door, he opens a window.” “In every cloud there’s a silver lining.”

I don’t know the efficacy of these little bits of wisdom. And despite their prevalence, I have to admit that I don’t know a lot of people who actually embody such positive energy on a daily basis. I don’t know many individuals who live by the preceding mantras – who ponder their significance beyond the time spent confronting conflicts, problems, or hardships.

And then again, there is my cousin – the author of this book – Matt Lorton. Positive energy personified – Matt is the man running the lemonade stand. He’s the guy who makes sure all of the glasses are half full. Matt is the guy who ignores the closed door and heads straight for the window. Matt is the silver lining.

Fortunately for us, that silver lining has chosen to share some of his pearls of wisdom, his sense of humor, his life, his trials, and his victories in this book. Moreover, I have the honor of writing this foreword – or introducing his book to you. But first, I need to acquaint you with my cousin. Because before you turn to the real page one, there are a few things you need to know.

Matt is about 46 years old. He is married and has five daughters. He has a very large extended family and circle of friends. Matt is a beloved member of the Calhoun County, Illinois, community where he was born, raised, and continues to make his home.

Life has not been a bed of roses for this good-natured man. He’s survived major floods as a neighbor of the Illinois River. He buried a parent. And did I mention he lives in a house with six women?

Seriously though, in 1999 Matt broke his neck in the family’s backyard pool. His wife, Lisa, saw it all unfold from the sun porch. While Lisa was nursing their youngest and looking on, Matt was splashing around with friends and his four older daughters. The swimmers taking turns jumping over a raft. When it was Matt’s turn, inexplicably, his foot got caught on the edge of the raft, flipping him forward and shooting him forcefully to the bottom of the pool. In that moment of laughter and splashing and fun – Matt became a quadriplegic.

I will leave it to Matt to share this event in more detail, but suffice it to say, his life was changed forever. Or was it? I’m not really sure. Because as unbelievable as it might sound, Matt has never been bitter, depressed, or angry about his circumstance. Matt has never needed someone to tell him about the silver lining. Nor did he need directions to the open window. Matt already knew all of that and didn’t forget it when he lost feeling from the neck down.

quads cornerMatt has taken on what life has handed him with enthusiasm, creativity, grace, and a sense of humor. Fortunately for avid readers like you and me, he’s written about it. Prior to his accident, Matt had accumulated over 25 years of experience in the construction and real estate development businesses. Following his accident, initially, rehabilitation became Matt’s life’s work. After two years of physical therapy, however, Matt and Lisa made an important decision, “We either rehab for the rest of our lives or get on with life.” They got on with life. For Lisa – that meant returning to full time nursing. For Matt – that meant returning to school. After earning a B.S. in Organizational Leadership, Matt went on to receive a Master’s in Communications.

While studying, working, and helping to raise his family, Matt also found time to share his experience with other accident victims. He was often called on to be a peer counselor – providing the kind of support no one else could offer to someone recently hurt in an accident and finding themselves in a similar position as Matt. He also spoke to medical students. In addition, he happily obliged when TV stations came calling right before the summer swim season opened – as they looked for people to interview for swimming pool safety stories.

Getting on with life didn’t stop there. Matt and Lisa formed a company – Life Assist Unlimited. Matt became an Americans with Disabilities Act specialist. He started to do more public speaking. He still enjoys talking to schools, churches, service clubs – anyone really – about change, about people with disabilities – about the importance of focusing on what you can do in the world.

Matt is a story teller by nature. He comes from a long line of story tellers. His father, my father, our grandfather – they all had this innate ability to make the most mundane seem exciting and compelling. Family get-togethers were never complete unless there was time spent sitting around the kitchen table listening to one of our elders talk about surviving life in the city on a diet of bologna, bread, and ketchup.

Matt is also quite funny. Again – I think it’s genetic. I’m convinced of it. What’s more, I’m going to go out on a limb and hypothesize that not only has the sense of humor gene not skipped a single generation in the Lorton family, it has somehow multiplied or become magnified in quite a few family members. They are funny, funny people. And I am not exaggerating when I tell you that it is virtually impossible to escape the company of a Lorton without hearing these words, “Did I tell you the one about the…?”

With all of that being said, it should come as no surprise that not too long after Matt’s accident, he started a regular e-mail column which he calls “Quad’s Corner.” Over the years his recipient list has grown from a few friends to literally hundreds of people. In his column, Matt reflects on his life, on all of our lives. He mixes humor with his common sense point of view to share his thoughts on politics, religion, and the challenges of his daily life.

Matt talks about his first time behind the wheel of this equipped van. He talks about the nightmare of having mechanical difficulties (with his wheelchair) while at the supposed “happiest place on earth” – Disney World. He talks about friends in need of prayers. He talks about his family and friends. He talks about his dog, Jake, and his run for the mayor’s post.

In an effort to show it all – and to be completely authentic and honest – Matt dispels the myth of TMI – too much information. Matt talks about needing help to use the bathroom and to get dressed in the morning. He talks about the assistants who see him when he is most vulnerable. No stone goes unturned, as they say.

This book is a compilation of all of those stones. This is a collection of Matt’s “Quad’s Corners.”

To have Matt’s writings reach this stage is the realization of a longtime dream. He’s always talked about publishing the “Quad’s Corners.” I never doubted for a minute that it would happen. When Matt says he thinks he can do something – he can – and he does. I’m privileged to play a small role in seeing this dream come to fruition.

Part of that role is to relate one more important piece of information. In the publisher’s effort to support Matt’s authentic self, the “Quad’s Corners” are printed exactly as they appeared in their original form. No one edited for typos or weeded out the grammatical errors.

I applaud the publisher for taking this tack. Because in my mind, these things, that might look like critical missteps by the English major, are things of beauty. Moreover, without them, we’d not know the entire story. Removing the typos would be like removing a few random pages from any book or like reading the CliffsNotes version of this one. In this book – it’s all of it together – the content and the context – that combine to deliver the message. In this case, the content is the story Matt is telling and the context is that when Matt is drafting a column, he literally forces a pencil into his curled hand and uses what little upper body strength and muscle that he might have to throw his hands toward the keyboard.

What we get from his genius and unrelenting self is a gift. And I don’t know about you but I want it all. I want the note, the wrapping paper and what’s inside – even though I already know a little bit about the contents – it’s got a beautiful silver lining.

(Final note – you can find Matt’s book by clicking here.)

You’re not Blogworthy

Hello there, old friend. It’s me, Mary Jane. Remember? I’m the one who brought you to life last spring. The one who promised to review you and update you on a regular basis.

I was so proud of you when you made your debut. You were fun. You were brave. You were self-deprecating and revealing. You were available and open. And then you fell silent. Crickets. Nothing. Nada.

Let’s be clear, I am not blaming you for the silence. We all know it takes two to tango. And your partner last paid you a visit in July. July, for goodness sakes!

Sometimes I think you deserve better than me. The reality is you deserve better than some of the random blog post ideas that have passed through my brain. I shake my head apologetically when I spend even a millisecond imagining these themes as possible posts. You are better than these ideas. These notions. These concepts. You are much better.

IMG_7128And yet these simple visions can’t be shaken or released. Instead, they cohered like a cup of room temperature grease that’s been poured down the sink. And, they’ve created a blockage of epic proportions. So I guess the only way to move forward is to move them forward. To plunge this blob. To expel every single, silly notion.

I’m game if you are. Plunger ready? Here we go!

Spoiler Alert

McDonald’s has the best Diet Coke in the entire world. I don’t know what they do to it that makes it stand out from other Diet Coke. I just know it is fantastic.

When I Was a Kid

The other day I hit traffic on my way to work. As I was inching along the highway and mumbling a few choice words under my breath, I wondered if other drivers were as frustrated as I was. Looking for a little head nod or shoulder shrug from the drivers on either side of me, I was shocked when I saw that the guy next to me was reading the newspaper. Yes, we’re in stop and go traffic. And yes, he appeared to be moving along just fine. But seriously.

What happened to just driving?

We live in a world where multi-tasking is king — a microwave society where we want what we want right now. So that means that in addition to driving, we’re texting, checking our email, updating Facebook, taking pictures, putting on makeup, changing our clothes, etcetera.

AT&T’s texting and driving campaign has it right. It can wait. It can always wait.

#FilterRequired

A couple of weeks ago I had some swelling issues in my left calf and foot. Two ultrasounds and several X-rays later, my family doctor diagnosed me with something very minor. Before he blessed and released me though, he strongly recommended I schedule a follow-up exam with an orthopedic surgeon.

You see I had both knees replaced 20+ years ago and haven’t seen an orthopedic surgeon since. I take that back. Several years ago, I saw the very doctor who performed both of my surgeries when my mom had a knee replaced. While said doctor was proud and happy to hear my knees appeared to be as good as the day I walked them off the lot, he was horrified to learn I had not pursued any kind of regular follow-up with an orthopedic surgeon. Moreover, he was adamant that I have them checked out right away.

Five years later, I got the same lecture from my family doctor. “You wouldn’t keep driving your car without regular maintenance, would you?” Uh. No. I guess not.

So on to the orthopedic surgeon I went. At the conclusion of that appointment, I got a hearty thumbs up AND a little something extra that I wish the surgeon would have kept to himself. When I asked him to estimate how long my knees might last, he replied, and I’m paraphrasing here, “I don’t really know. I mean – generally this isn’t an issue with my patients. Most of them are dead before this question comes up.”

What? Did you really just say that? I was OK with “I don’t know.” But the second part of his reply was simply too much. Filter people. Just share the basics. In a case like the preceding I don’t need to know why you don’t know. Seriously.

I’m sure the good doctor felt like he couldn’t help himself. We’ve become a society without a filter, after all – unless we’re trying to make ourselves look better on Instagram.

IMG_7121We want to share everything, everywhere at all times. We call it being honest. We think it’s cute. We imagine people want to know. Believe me when I tell you – they don’t. Please. Just. Don’t.

I saw the following in another blog post and I think there’s wisdom here: “Before you speak, ask yourself: is it kind, is it necessary, is it true, does it improve on the silence?” – Sai Baba

Or how about this, before you say something, ask yourself: “Will it make people crazy?”

Another lifetime ago, I was taking a short flight from South Bend, Ind., to Chicago. The plane was a small prop job. Those of you who are as terrified of flying as I am will undoubtedly relate when I tell you that it took several rosaries and a couple of glasses of wine in the airport bar, for me to be able to board the darn thing.

Anyway, as we’re barreling down the runway on a wing and a prayer, the pilot suddenly pulls the plug on the flight. I am not exaggerating when I tell you it felt like he literally slammed on the brakes.

When my life stopped passing in front of my eyes and we arrived at our gate, I saw the pilot standing at the front of the cabin. He leaned on two seat backs and offered an apology and an explanation. “I’m really sorry folks, but we’re going to be delayed. It’s a mechanical issue. One of our warning lights came on — had we taken off, we never would have remained in the air.”

Once again, too much information! A word to pilots everywhere, you don’t need to say the words “mechanical issue” – ever. And you definitely don’t need to detail the specifics around the issue. Tell me you forgot your toothbrush. Tell me a deer was on the runway. Tell me you had to go to the bathroom. Just don’t tell me I was minutes away from a fiery plane crash and expect me to be OK.

Filter. Please.

Halo, Halo, Halo.

tumblr_m790ntq6m11rbnf9xo1_500Once every couple of weeks, I declare a new favorite song. The funny thing is, more often than not, it’s not a new song at all. It’s just new to this old lady. Once the declaration has been made, the song becomes number one on my playlist. And I play it over and over and over again at the highest volume possible.

I make people listen to it with me. I proclaim it to be the most profound, the most inspiring, or the most emotional song ever. I continue at my lyrical pulpit until my husband downloads the song on iTunes and copies it to all of my devices.

Then I play it until I find a new favorite and the cycle starts all over again. That song for me right now is Beyoncé’s “Halo.” The song was initially released in 2008. Yes, I’m on top of things.

Listen to it. And then listen again.

Donald Trump

Just. Can’t. Even.

How About You?

Got anything you need to plunge? Any random thoughts? Stories? I’d love to hear from YOU!

Dancing Down Memory Lane

stupid-shirt-irtI was putting gas in my car over the weekend, when I looked up and saw a woman wearing a shirt that said, “I’m with stupid,” like the one pictured at right. My first thought was to grab my phone and take a picture. I wanted to immediately share this visual with my siblings. It would be a wildly funny text. An inside joke. But, given that the woman wearing the shirt was standing like, four feet in front of me, I fought the paparazzi impulse and returned to my car.

Thankfully, my son, David was in the passenger seat. So I went into storytelling mode, hoping my enthusiastic sharing of memories, would feel as good as snapping a picture and texting the details.

JimmieWalker2You see, I’ve seen this shirt before – on one of my siblings. In fact, I think I played a role in selecting the shirt for said sibling’s wardrobe. If that wasn’t bad enough, I recall adding a J.J. Walker hat to complete the look. It’s true. There’s a perfectly logical explanation for this. I mean, it seems logical to me. You might think it’s a little bit cuckoo. Off center. Not that funny.

Anyway, when I was in seventh grade, I was responsible for watching my three youngest siblings while my mom was at work. My only charge was to make sure they didn’t get hurt. Sounds simple enough, right? Yeah, well – it was far from simple for this nervous Nelly. (Refer to my blog post, “It’s Just a Rash,” for more on my worrisome ways.) You see, we’re talking about ensuring the safety of a little brother, who at age 2, fell and hit his head on an iron planter. In front of a seasoned babysitter. While my mom was still in the house. The subsequent gash on his head required several stitches. This same brother also slipped and fell playing dodge ball at school once. A trip to the doctor on that occasion revealed a mild concussion. We’re also talking about corralling a younger sister, who at around age 4 was supposed to be napping when she removed the chimney from a metal dollhouse and gave herself a “shot” in the knee. Can you say four stitches? So you see, in reality, there was nothing at all simple about this task.

What to do? What to do? Cover them with bubble wrap? Lock them in their rooms?

Initially, I had no idea. Literally, none. Nada. Zero. For many of you younger folks, this will be a difficult concept to grasp. You’re probably thinking to yourselves, “Hello? Disney Channel!” But we’re talking 25+ years ago, well before JessiePhineas and Ferb, iPads, cell phones, Nintendos, etc. We were still writing on slate. Not really. I think we had pens and paper. We definitely didn’t have a home computer, nor the Internet. So I couldn’t just browse a few “Ideas for Keeping Young Siblings Busy” boards on Pinterest. And there definitely wasn’t an opportunity to Google, “how to occupy young children until mom comes home.”

I was stumped.

We didn’t have cable TV. DVR technology was not yet invented. So I couldn’t even rely on the hypnotic effects of the boob tube. After one episode of Gilligan’s Island and maybe a few minutes of Zoom, the natives would start getting restless.

midnight starLong story short, it was completely up to me to develop a creative strategy to keep my siblings busy and safe. It’s a scary thought, but I had to rely on my own pea brain for the precise approach. I don’t know where I came up with this idea, but when they were around first and second grade, I decided I would make them dance. I would choreograph some basic routines to tunes by the Bee Gees, Heatwave, Midnight Star or whatever other 45s I had laying around, teach them the moves and then make them rehearse over and over and over again until the clock struck 5:30 p.m. or my mom got home – whichever came first.

In retrospect, this was a pretty good method for keeping three kiddos in line, for two main reasons. First, because I made sure every dance was a group effort, no one was wandering off doing who knows what sort of dangerous thing. There would be no running around with scissors or crossing one’s eyes (because you know they can freeze that way). Second, because I didn’t really know what the heck I was doing, the technical difficulty of the dances was close to a 1 or 2. There were no jumps or lifts or splits and therefore very little risk for injury. Phew!

For whatever it’s worth, my younger siblings were pretty good performers. One year, they took their routine on the road and performed in the school talent show. That’s when they wore the J.J. Walker hats and the silly t-shirts. (In my defense, I had no budget. And I never claimed to be a costume designer or stylist. I was a simple choreographer.)

Anyway, they did really well in the show. I think they came in second to a kid telling jokes with a bag over his head (he called himself the Unknown Comic).

Everyone loved watching them dance, especially my mom. On occasion, my siblings would perform their latest dance routine as soon as my mom got home from work. She loved every moment of these performances. Loved. Loved. Loved them. I used her joy to my advantage. Every once in a while, when these little dancers tried to opt out of learning a new routine, or complained about being too tired, I would bring the ugly big sister pressure, “So you know how much mom loves to see you dance. And you’re telling me you seriously don’t want to be part of that? Mom works soooooooooooooo hard and you don’t want to bring a smile to her face with this dance? Really?” Makes me cringe just typing the preceding. But it usually worked. Guilt was a beautiful thing for this then stressed out teen. Ugh. I think I owe my siblings an apology.

It was at this point in my story telling that I glance over at David and observe that he has this blank look on his face. I couldn’t tell if he was horrified – wondering if his fate would at some point place him on the dance floor when he’d rather be playing a game of Minecraft. Or perhaps he was in disbelief – doubting my assertion that when I grew up we didn’t have iPads, Nintendos or cellphones. I asked him to share his thoughts and his response was simple, “That’s really weird, mom.”

Yeah, it probably was really weird. But it was also quite fun. There was a lot of laughter in between the introduction of each new dance step. And again, it met my ultimate goal. It kept them safe.

memory lane 2jpgYou see, you’ll do just about anything to protect and care for the people you love. You’ll dance. You’ll choreograph. You’ll have your creative differences. You’ll compromise. You’ll do the best you can with the knowledge and experience you have at the time. You’ll do better as you get older. You’ll apologize when you fall short.

And, you’ll smile when you see someone wearing a shirt that says, “I’m with stupid,” because it will remind you of the people you love – people who in spite of all of your weirdness always love you right back.

It’s Beginning to Look a lot like Christmas

christmas quoteLast weekend, we celebrated Christmas. Yes, that’s right, Christmas.

I admit, the notion of commemorating a December holiday in May, sounds a little strange. A little wacky. A bit confused. I totally get it. But it’s true. We celebrated Christmas 2014 in May 2015.

At least this year, there was a celebration. The year prior, there wasn’t. 2014 was the year without a Christmas.

Before the pity parties are launched and the notes of concern are drafted, let me be very clear, I did celebrate Christmas. Jeff, David and I had a very lovely holiday. But the extended family gathering – on my side – well, it did not happen. We just couldn’t juggle all of the schedules, tweak the timing and deal appropriately with the last-minute this and that to get the annual get-together on the calendar.

When you’re a kid, holidays are easy. You wake up, make the short trek to the living room and you’re pretty much good to go. The hardest part of your day might be convincing your parents that 4:30 a.m. isn’t too early to check to see if Santa left anything for you under your tree.

Your parents deal with all of the logistics for the entire holiday. They manage the plans for who joins you for Christmas dinner and who you might visit during the  break. As a kid, you’re literally just along for the ride.

As you get older, things aren’t quite so simple. You’re now managing the logistics. There are multiple calendars to consider. There are kids in different schools with varying vacation schedules. Some of the kids play sports, with holiday tournaments immediately after Christmas. There are family members who have crazy work schedules. There are in-laws. And there’s the whole, “What did we do last year?” All of the preceding can make scheduling any kind of fiesta a challenging prospect. Add to mix, the fact that your extended family lives all over the country – and well, getting a date that everyone can convene in a single locale, without breaking the bank, is next to impossible. So you just do the best you can. You make it work.

What that looks like varies slightly from year to year, but there are a few things that are essential to a successful belated holiday gathering. Here are four off the top of my head:

  1. Christmas in May 2015 - kids have a water fight in the pond at my sister's house.
    Christmas in May 2015 – kids have a water fight in the pond at my sister’s house.

    A sense of fun and flexibility. In order to celebrate Christmas in any month other than December, you have to adjust your thinking. You need to put aside all of the stereotypical activities and preconceived notions you have about the holidays and be open to creating new memories and traditions. For example, if you’re celebrating Christmas in May in Ohio, it’s highly unlikely that it’s going to snow on the most wonderful day of the year. And that’s OK. Instead of having a snow ball fight after Christmas dinner, how about organizing a water balloon fight? At the same time, don’t feel like you have to abandon all of your favorite Christmas traditions. You can still get all of the kiddos together to make Christmas cookies in May. I don’t know about you, but I think sugar cookies and buckeyes are quite tasty all year-long. I can’t imagine one kid, or adult for that matter, turning his/her nose up to chocolate covered anything just because the holidays are long gone. If you find yourself getting annoyed or a little resentful that you’re not able to have this kind of gathering closer to the holidays, stop yourself in your tracks. Remember, the reason you’re celebrating when you are is because that’s when the bulk of your family can make this happen. And being with your extended family is what it’s all about – right?

  2. IMG_5825Gifts – real ones and the gag variety. What’s a holiday celebration without neatly wrapped packages? For the kids, both big and small, it ain’t Christmas if there aren’t gifts to exchange. So, save part of the gift giving for the belated celebration. That’s what we do, anyway. Make the effort to pull out the poinsettia and Santa adorned paper. It’s the holidays after all. Again, add some fun to the mix by including a few gag gifts. This year, my sister, Liz, had my husband’s name in the holiday exchange. In addition to Amazon gift cards, she gave him what turned out to be one of the highlights of the gift exchange. She found a “Things you Need to Know about Chuck Norris” t-shirt. I still laugh when I look at it.

    Christmas in May 2015
    Christmas in May 2015
  3. Your well-rested self. If you’re anything like me, you will want to take advantage of every single minute you’re with your family. None of my siblings live near me. My brother, Bruce, is the closest and he’s still a good three-hour car ride away. My sibling twins, Karen and Kevin, live the farthest, setting up their respective homes in southern California. So, when I have face to face time with any single one of my siblings, it’s game on. We will stay up late and get up early to maximize our time together. Therefore, get plenty of rest in advance of the gathering and tell yourself you will catch up on your sleep once it’s over. You won’t be sorry you got six hours of sleep instead of eight. You will be sorry if you go to bed early and miss the conversation about your niece’s wedding plans and bachelorette party.
  4. Empathy. As hard as you will try, you will not be able to accommodate everyone’s schedules. Believe me, we tried really hard last year and just when we thought we found the weekend – someone eventually remembered a work or personal commitment that presented a conflict. Do the best that you can. And remember that your family members are doing the very best they can, too. For those who aren’t able to make it, try to keep them in the loop. Use technology to put them at the party. Skype, FaceTime and plain old phone calls or texting can help bridge the distance and connect you with those who aren’t physically present.

And finally, and this is the hardest part, don’t let the celebration end – even when the last family member has returned to his or her home. Christmas is intended to be celebrated the entire year.

“Christmas is forever, not for just one day,
for loving, sharing, giving, are not to put away
like bells and lights and tinsel, in some box upon a shelf.
The good you do for others is good you do yourself…”
~Norman Wesley Brooks (U.S. design engineer, 1923–2002)

It’s Just a Rash

“I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.”  – Mark Twain

I saw the preceding quote this morning, on John O’Leary-Rising Above’s Facebook page. It made me chuckle. Mostly because of something that actually happened last night.

I’m not sure if it was terrible. It seemed sort of terrible at the time. You be the judge.

I was working on what I thought would be my next blog post. But I was really tired. I kept writing and rewriting. I was making silly mistakes. I started going down one path and then thought maybe I should head down another. I was copying, cutting, deleting, sorting and deleting some more. I wasn’t getting anywhere. I started to feel a twinge of frustration. So I decided it was time to put it down. That’s when the sort of terrible thing happened. Instead of hitting “save draft” I clicked “publish.”

I could hear the “Oh no!” in slow motion in my head. I imagined my numerous followers (like eight whole people) getting the email notification that I had published something new. In a matter of seconds, I actually heard the ding on my husband’s phone. (He’s one of my followers. Full disclosure: I subscribed on his behalf.) Anyway, I ran to check his inbox. And it was there. “Oh no!”

I returned to my laptop and quickly deleted the unfinished post. But it was too late. Those few paragraphs of really tortured writing were out there. Would this be the end of my blog? Would I get phone calls and emails from dissatisfied readers? Had I lost all WordPress credibility? What would people think?

I grabbed my phone and got in the middle of a group text with siblings, nieces and nephews. “Hey – I accidentally hit ‘publish’ instead of ‘save draft’ so you may get a notice that there’s a new blog post. That’s a mistake – sorry! It won’t be complete until tomorrow or Friday. Sorry!”

Crickets. Then came what I interpreted as an enthusiastic “OK!” and thumbs up emoticon from my niece, Brittni. Phew!

What else should I do? Should I post something on Facebook? Do I need to post an apology? Are there phone calls to be made? Crisis communication plans to consult?

Uncertain and perplexed, I did what I thought was best. I went to bed.

When I woke up, I saw John O’Leary’s Mark Twain quote I mentioned at the top of this post. I was reminded of last night’s fiasco. Perhaps it was a sign. If it was a sign, I needed to pay close attention. So I read John’s entire status update that accompanied the quote: “This one today for my friends who find themselves always worrying about what MIGHT happen…and you know who you are! Most of the things we worry about never happen…so let go of the worry today.”

worryYes, I know who we are! I know who I am anyway. I’m a worrier.

I’m not just any worrier. I’m the queen of worry. If worry was a science I would have a PhD. They’d call me Dr. Worry.

I’m an equal opportunity worrier. I worry about everything. Except for NBA basketball. I used to be a fan – but not anymore.

I worry about my family. I worry about the world. I worry about the weather. I worry about highway driving. I worry about my feet getting bigger. I wear a size 12. Need I say more?

I worry about my work. I do communications for a nonprofit organization. We have almost 5,000 subscribers to our e-communications. Before I hit “send” on any e-blast, a wave of worry punches me in the stomach. What if I spelled something wrong? What if the inserted links don’t work? What if all 5,000 subscribers are so disgusted by another email they decide to unsubscribe. There’s always lots of pacing. Biting of fingernails. Worst case scenarios running through my head.

With the exception of my brother, Bruce, I think all of my siblings are worriers.

There’s no comfort in that shared trait. Nope. I worry about my siblings being worriers. Worry = stress. Stress leads to sickness. I think you can see where this is going.

Getting back to last night’s publishing error, this morning, my brother, Bruce, responded to my text. He was reassuring, “Your draft showed up in my inbox…it was short, but interesting. Maybe it could be a future subject, the power of the ‘publish’ button. Maybe you can do a part 2 on practical jokes.” Spoken by someone who hasn’t a worry in the world.

Seriously though, I’ve gotten better about dealing with the worry. I’ve developed a strategy for coping. It’s not fool-proof, but it is effective about 79.7% of the time. Believe it or not, I developed this strategy during a very stressful period.

Several years ago, a family member was going through a rather serious health crisis. Let me say upfront that all is fine now. This family member is in great health. And he’s put that experience behind him. That’s why I am not mentioning him by name.

But back then, we weren’t quite sure. It was really scary. There were so many unknowns. He was being poked, prodded and tested for a variety of things, including a possible brain tumor. All the while he maintained an upbeat and positive attitude. He made jokes. He took care of others. He was a great patient. He did what the doctors and nurses told him to do. He was amazingly strong.

During one hospital stay, the doctor ordered a CT scan. When it was time for the scan, a nurse took him down to the test area in a wheelchair. The testing area was busy. He would have to wait.

There were lots of people waiting, including a patient who started expressing concern about a rash. This patient had a rash on his arm. He didn’t know why he had a rash. The longer this patient waited, the more vocal he became about said rash. He was clearly distressed. And he wanted everyone to know it. “Do you see this rash? What kind of rash do you think it is? Why do you think I have this rash? How do you treat a rash? Have you ever had a rash? Rash. Rash. Rash.”

I wasn’t present in that waiting room, but I immediately empathized with those sitting near Mr. Rash when I heard this story. I felt for those patients dealing with serious ailments and those, like my family member, who were working to get confirmed diagnoses. If only they had a rash…

You know, as I reflect on it right now, it’s almost as bad as having to put up with someone whining and fretting about a failed blog post when there are so many more pressing matters in this world. Right?

Anyway, when it was time for my family member’s CT scan, the nurse wheeled him by the man with the rash. My family member made eye contact with Mr. Rash and said, “Let me see that rash. Oh my gosh. That’s the same rash I had right before they found this brain tumor.”

worry3My family member was kidding, of course. And think what you will of his remark. He was just trying to insert a sense of perspective to the situation. It was just a rash.

For the last several years, I’ve used “It’s just a rash” as a means of combatting worry. When I need that little voice inside my head to talk me off the ledge, I have it say, “It’s just a rash.”

So last night, when I accidentally hit “publish” instead of “save draft,” did I really spin wildly out of control? No, not really. OK – I did for a few minutes. But then reality struck. “It was just a rash.”

Practical Joking is in the Blood

When I was taking David to school one day last week, it suddenly hit me: I. Am. Soooo. Lame.

Let me set the scene. It was April Fools’ Day. Although I thought about waking David up at 6:30 a.m. with some kind of prank – I didn’t follow through. I didn’t come up with a plan. Let’s be honest – I completely spaced it.

We talked about my inaction on the short trek to school and David reminded me that we didn’t prank each other  April 1, 2014, either. What? Are you sure? That cannot be!

nerf gunYou see, I come from a family of practical jokers. You might say that practical joking is in the blood. It’s part of the DNA. It’s our first instinct.

While some kids are taught from a very young age that the telephone is not a toy, I was trained on the art of the crank phone call. I think I learned how to short sheet a bed before I learned how to make one. Not really.

But for me to NOT prank anyone on April Fools’ Day – of all days – blasphemy! I mean I could lose some serious street cred at the next family reunion if the word got out that I let an opportunity to prank someone pass me by. That’s no joke.

The crazy hijinks runs on my dad’s side of the family – the Lortons.

That’s not to say that my mom’s family, the Tripps, aren’t funny. On the contrary, they are belly-busting hilarious. They love a good joke. They love telling a good joke. They love laughing at a good joke. You can’t visit the Tripps without hearing, “Did I tell you the one about?”

For many years, I used to think my Uncle Tommy Tripp should audition for Last Comic Standing. The guy is hilarious. I have always been amazed at his ability to remember so many jokes. I don’t think I’ve ever heard him tell the same joke twice.

The Tripps are good at physical humor too. I’ve got lots of Tripp family photos where some family member has pulled his pants up to his chest. You know, the Ed Grimley look? Or, someone has positioned a hat in a crazy funny way.

While the Tripps are quite entertaining, they aren’t big on pulling pranks. Unless you count my Uncle Garry’s “Pull my finger.” They just don’t get into the practical joke space.

The Lortons, on the other hand, love a good practical joke. They are all over it. They can’t get enough. They are pulling pranks 24 hours a day, 7 days a week.

That may be a bit of an exaggeration. Or it may be completely on point. I’m not really sure. I just know that there are very few rules when it comes to their pranks. The only real rules are that a good prank is never mean-spirited and a good prank is never intended to humiliate.

Embarrass, sometimes. Humiliate, never.

You’re probably scratching your head right now and thinking to yourself – that can’t possibly be. There must be rules. There must be guidelines. You must draw a line. Listen, if you draw a line then you limit your possibilities. Everything and everyone can be part of the next great prank. Your job, your business, your friends, your neighbors, your children, your pets, your hobbies, complete strangers. These are your resources. These are the main ingredients for the caper, the shenanigans. There are no lines.

You’re still incredulous. I get it. I get that you’re going to assert that a line is drawn when it comes to age. Surely, practical jokes only involve adults, you’re thinking. Well, you’d be wrong.  Just the other day, my niece, Andrea, recalled being on the receiving end of a Lorton prank – albeit a prank on a small-scale. She thinks she was 10. “I remember Uncle Kevin and Uncle David saying that we needed to practice man overboard in grandpa’s boat. Next thing I know I was in the water!” Thankfully the boat wasn’t moving too quickly and Andrea was wearing a life jacket.

FullSizeRender (1)You’re still not sold. You’re now thinking that certain occasions are off-limits. Again, no. Let’s take a look at my wedding. Well, let’s first take a look at my engagement. When Jeff and I announced our engagement in 1999, everyone was thrilled. There were parties. There was fanfare. There was an engagement announcement in the McDonough Democrat, the newspaper that my dad owned at the time. And there was a line in that announcement that mentioned Jeff was a “former member of the St. Louis Blues hockey team.” Jeff is one of the biggest Blues fans I know. He’s been a Blues fan forever. But let me be clear, he has never played for the Blues. The first time we visited my dad, following this newspaper prank, was quite interesting. I won’t go into all of the particulars. Suffice it to say, church was quite crowded, given that the former professional hockey player was making an appearance.

weddingSkip ahead to the wedding. My wedding party, composed primarily of my siblings, had several hours to kill in between the wedding and the reception. So we drove around in our rented limo taking some spontaneous and fun photos. We took pictures in my old dorm, in a hockey rink, at the restaurant where Jeff and I had our first date, and at a gas pump. Everyone thought it would be hilarious if we got a picture of me acting like I’m pumping gas while the limo driver points at his watch. File this under “The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far from the Tree.” I submitted this photo to the South Bend Tribune. They ran it with a disclaimer that the limo company didn’t really make a bride pump gas before her wedding.

And then there is the prank I didn’t find out about until Jeff and I were on our way to our honeymoon. Jeff says, “Oh yeah, did I tell you what your family did to me at the reception?” It seems that at some point between the Chicken Dance and the Electric Slide one of my cousins told Jeff that my dad wanted to see him…in the men’s room. Jeff followed my cousin into the restroom and was soon surrounded by more cousins, second cousins, my brothers and my dad. My dad, with napkins carefully placed in his cheeks and using his best “Godfather” voice, cautioned my husband of a few hours, if he didn’t take care of me there were men in all parts of the Midwest who would take care of him. I wish I had a picture of that moment, but I don’t. (I do have a picture of a swirling toilet bowl. We did the disposable cameras on every table thing. During the wedding, my dad said that I should be careful when I get the film developed. He was in the restroom when a flash went off in an adjacent stall. My nephew, Billy, walked out of said stall a few seconds later, winding the disposable camera.)

That’s just a sampling of some of the smallest pranks. There are way too many to recount here. Several are way too complicated to recount here. Take my word for it.

soapWhich brings me back to April Fools’ Day. After dropping David at school, I quickly recouped and pulled off two small pranks. Thank you Pinterest!

For David, I painted the bar soap in his shower with clear fingernail polish. For Jeff, I replaced the creamy centers of his Oreos with mayonnaise. Cue the laugh track.

Phew! Maybe I’m not so lame?

Beginning at the End

This blog has been 51 years in the making. OK – so that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But it sure feels like I’ve spent a lifetime talking about writing something – anything. And I’m sure for my family and friends, it feels like a lifetime of encouraging me to write something – anything.

But until now, I could never seem to get beyond organizing concepts in my head. I had all sorts of ideas. Great ideas. Amazing ideas. And I was always inspired. That song. That favorite movie. That famous quote. I can’t tell you the number of times I left a movie theater, determined to write the next Academy Award-winning screenplay. I remember actually telling myself I could be the next Ben Affleck or Matt Damon. In the very late 1990s, in fact, I researched and found a place that sold real screenplays. I bought a copy of Good Will Hunting. I told myself that if I could see the structure of this award-winning piece, THAT would be the key to me being able to write my screenplay.

The screenplay - Good Will Hunting.
The screenplay – Good Will Hunting.

It never happened. I never made it happen.

I started several times. I never finished. I have the first 50-some pages of a screenplay on a disk somewhere. I launched two previous blogs. I can’t tell you the name of either blog – nor do I remember my sign in name or password to get back to them. I also have the first part of a book started by one of my brothers. The original thought was we’d pass it back and forth – each writing a few chapters. I don’t think I added a single line. Pretty lame. I know.

But, in my defense, I had ALL of the best excuses:

  • There just wasn’t enough time.
  • I needed to flesh out my ideas a little further.
  • I’d get to it – later.
  • And then there was the very best excuse: I write for a living – I don’t want to spend my free time sitting at the computer – writing.

Are you kidding me?

The real truth to why I never wrote the big masterpiece was because I was afraid. Afraid of failure. Afraid of mediocrity. Afraid of offending someone. Afraid of being misunderstood.  Despite everyone’s best efforts to buoy my confidence and cheer me on to greatness – I couldn’t fully get over this paralyzing fear. I doubted my ability to make it happen.

ruby slippersI guess that’s how these things go sometimes, right? We’re often the last ones to know or to acknowledge what everyone else can plainly see – we can do it. It’s like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz. It took battling the wicked witch and those crazy flying monkeys before she got to the heart of the matter –  she had the ability within herself all along to get to where she wanted to go.

So – here I am pounding out my first blog post in sweats and a t-shirt – sans ruby slippers.

I’ve named this blog, “Life After Ted,” in honor of Fr. Theodore Hesburgh. Fr. Ted died late Thursday, Feb. 26. At 97 years of age, a man who had served several presidents, popes, foundations, international commissions and the University of Notre Dame, passed away. He was a widely known and beloved public figure. Beloved by many because he loved everyone so deeply and shared his mind, heart and faith so fearlessly.

"Fr. Ted Hesburgh in his Office at the University of Notre Dame" by Know1one1 - Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons - http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fr._Ted_Hesburgh_in_his_Office_at_the_University_of_Notre_Dame.JPG#mediaviewer/File:Fr._Ted_Hesburgh_in_his_Office_at_the_University_of_Notre_Dame.JPG
“Fr. Ted Hesburgh in his Office at the University of Notre Dame” by Know1one1 – Own work. Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via Wikimedia Commons – http://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Fr._Ted_Hesburgh_in_his_Office_at_the_University_of_Notre_Dame.JPG#mediaviewer/File:Fr._Ted_Hesburgh_in_his_Office_at_the_University_of_Notre_Dame.JPG

On facing one’s fears, Fr. Ted once suggested, “Don’t, be afraid of life. Don’t be afraid of people. Don’t be afraid of yourself. Don’t be afraid of God. Fear of God is something that is respectful that we are so low and He is so high. But fear is not what He talked about. When you go through the Gospels, you have an awful lot of things in the Gospel about love and about caring and about being thoughtful and generous and kind and good. But I think you find very, very little about fear. And that’s a good thing.”

Fr. Ted encouraged everyone to give the gift of themselves. I am sorry that it took so many years for me to finally heed this urging.

And so I dedicate this blog to Fr. Ted and to the many other courageous and now heavenly heroes who gave the gift of themselves so fearlessly, including my brother, David; my godfather – my Uncle George; my Granny and Grandpa Tripp; my Grandma and Grandpa; my Uncle Don; and my cousin, Matt; among many others.

I close this initial post with one of Fr. Ted’s prayers, “Lord, give us the ambition to do as much as we can, as well as we can, as long as we can, and the resolve not to despair over the things we cannot do. Amen.”