It Was 20 Years Ago Today

When I was 17 years old, I fell madly in love with an older man. I was just beginning my sophomore year of college. My roommate, Jen, and I were moving in a day later than most everyone else to avoid the craziness. As a result, there wasn’t anyone around to welcome us and we just quietly unloaded into our tiny room.

During this process, I ran into my friend, Jeremy, who was living in the same hall. As we idly chatted in the lobby of the building, a young man came flying into the hall at a driving pace. He was drop-dead gorgeous: huge, dark eyes, dark eyebrows, olive skin, a strong nose, an adorable little mouth. He had thick, dark hair cut spiky on top and a little longer in back (it was 1989, people!). He was dressed in a white t-shirt and well-fitting acid-wash jeans which accentuated his… um… assets.

He didn’t stop to acknowledge me—he may have said “hi” to Jeremy but I don’t remember. In any case, he was past in a flash and I was left wide-eyed and dumbfounded in the lobby.

“Who was that?” I managed to ask Jeremy.

“Oh, that’s Dan Moir. He’s the Head Resident.”

In my mind I said, “That guys is TOO young and TOO good-looking to be my head resident.”

Utterly smitten and childishly idealistic, I set out to make myself known. I was elected Hall Council Secretary which put me in a position to work with him. I found out that Jeremy knew Dan well—Dan had been his Junior Counselor two years prior and had just graduated from the college. Through Jeremy, I met a whole bunch of people who knew Dan and through those people, I got to know him, too.

I also learned, through those people, that Dan was much sought-after by a LOT of women, but remained stubbornly single. I figured he would never really be interested in me as more than a friend so I had nothing to lose in developing the friendship.

As it turned out, we had a lot in common. Some things almost scarily. For instance, in late elementary school, Dan lived in Columbus, Ohio. “Oh,” I said, “My whole family is from Columbus. Where did you live?” Dan lived in Upper Arlington. “Really?” I said, “My whole family is from Upper Arlington.” Dan went to Tremont Elementary School. “Really!” I said, “My dad went to Tremont Elementary School.” Dan lived on Westmont Boulevard. “Um.” I said. “I think my dad lived on Westmont Boulevard.” I later confirmed this and found out that Dan’s family had lived two doors down from the house my grandparents lived in when my dad was born. Moreover, Dan rode his bicycle in the 1976 Columbus Fourth of July Parade—which event my family has on home movie. We still haven’t found the movie, but whether or not it’s on tape, an eight-year-old Dan Moir rode his bicycle right past a four-year-old Rebekah Fergus. What are the odds?

Our friendship grew. By the end of October, it was clear that it was becoming something more. But I was still only 17 and Dan was 22. And then there was the whole “staff-student dating is strictly forbidden” thing we were pretending wasn’t looming.

On November 3rd, I turned 18 and Dan, our friend Rich and I were going to go see a movie. At the last minute, Rich had to back out (which, we now know, was a total match-making ploy—thanks, Rich ☺). It wasn’t a ‘date’ since we weren’t allowed to be ‘dating,’ but I thoroughly enjoyed hanging out one on one with this guy.

It was about 3 a.m. on December 3rd—20 years ago today—after watching our usual late-night TV and laughing at the ridiculous commercials that aired when no one was watching, that we had the conversation that would change things forever. In spite of the staff-student dating ban, in spite of the age difference, in spite of the fact that I honestly could NOT figure out how it was possible that this amazing person preferred my company to that of MANY other interested women, we made the distinct decision to be “a couple.”

And we lived happily ever after? Well, life isn’t a fairy tale, of course. But life's ups and downs are just par for the course. And there's no one else I'd rather be on this roller coaster with than Dan Moir. I am so grateful that 20 years later, I still get to hang out every day with my best friend. Happy Anniversary, Dan!

Home Exercise Equipment

A few months after Gavin was born, when I had cruised right on up past my top pregnancy weight, I purchased a Nordic Track elliptical trainer. I used it religiously for a few months, lost some weight, and got bored. Luckily, instead of turning into an expensive piece of sculpture, the poor neglected machine was adopted by Dan. He used it so much that he actually wore it out.

We replaced it with a much more durable LifeFitness elliptical trainer which has seen a great deal of good use. But not from me. In spite of another attempt at regular usage of the machine in January of 2009, I found myself largely sedentary by April. And despite the fact that I have not varied one iota from my precisely measured food plan, I was slowly putting on weight.

Then, in August, I acquired the ultimate piece of home exercise equipment. We named him Brubeck. He’s an 8 ½-pound miniature pinscher who’d been found living stray out in the country and needed a loving home. Knowing nothing about the so-called ‘min-pin’ (and really, knowing nothing about dogs in general) I hopped on line to do some research on the breed.

Wikipedia had this wisdom to offer:

“These little dogs will need lots of exercise per day… [Their] energy level exceeds the traditional concept or idea of the standard toy breed. Daily walks are not sufficient for this breed to wear off their excess energy.”

I scowled heavenward when I read this. Once again, God’s sense of humor had made me the butt of the joke. It wasn’t going to be enough to walk the little guy around the block a couple times a day. He would need to really exercise to burn off his excess energy. And since I’m a stay-at-home mom and his primary care-giver during the day, that meant I would need to really exercise to burn off his excess energy. Hardee-har-har.

I am happy to report that I have exercised more in the past three months than in the previous three years. Grumble though I may, dragging my rear end out of the house for a brisk, 30-minute walk every day has been a true blessing. And, not surprisingly, I'm starting to reverse the weight-gain trend. Dan, too, is enjoying his daily “long walk” with Brubeck after supper. In fact, he finds it so invigorating that it has replaced the elliptical in his exercise routine.

The only question now is: Does anybody want to buy an elliptical trainer?

90 in 90

In the recovery program of which I am a member, I have heard that if a fellow has a slip and falls into relapse, his or her sponsor may recommend a drastic re-focusing called a 90 in 90: that is, 90 meetings in 90 days. I think the idea is that this level of intense immersion in the Twelve Steps can snap a person out of his denial of the disease and help him get back on track.

A dear friend of mine sent me an email on October 6th, the subject line of which read: “July 6th.” The body of the email simply said: “The date of your last blog entry.” followed by an encouragement to get on with it already! November 6th has already come and gone and still, life seems to be preventing me from sitting still long enough to do this.

It occurred to me a few days ago that, just as in recovery, the program has to come first. I can’t wait to “get around to” the activities that keep me connected to God and abstinent from compulsive eating. Likewise, if I really want the kind of spiritual connection to God that I experience through writing, the writing has to come first. “Put on your own oxygen mask before assisting others,” as they say.

Once I had made this connection between the spiritual disciplines of recovery and the spiritual rewards of writing, the phrase “90 in 90” sprang to mind. As if the thought didn’t come from me, I heard, “You need to do 90 blog entries in 90 days.” Blogger boot camp, as it were.

I found the idea immediately both appealing and terrifying. Could I pull it off? Could I write a blog entry—however banal or mundane—every single day for three months? When I couldn’t even keep it up once a week past January this year?!?

Still, I have learned in recovery to trust my gut. To prayerfully consider what seem to be direct communications from God and check them out with others. And guess what? Terrifying or not, this feels right.

You might be thinking, “Are you COMPLETELY insane? It’s the ‘holiday season!’ Isn’t life crazy enough?” You may be right (I may be crazy), but I recall that I started working my recovery program two days before Thanksgiving. I didn’t wait until after the ‘high holy days of gluttony’ to completely remove sugar and wheat flour from my diet, or to start precisely weighing everything that went into my body. If I can do THAT during the season of Whitman Samplers and Russian Tea Cakes, Honeybaked Hams and green bean casserole, this will be—forgive the food cliché—cake.

So off I go, now. This is Number One. Feel free to stay with me if you like, but if a daily dose of the nutty workings of my brain seems a bit much, just stop in from time to time. Or swing by in February to see if I’ve made it.

Cheers!

Can't Buy Happiness

On the trip home from a visit to Grandma and Grandpa’s farm, Eiledon was deeply engrossed by her Pokemon Diamond and Pearl game on her Nintendo DS. For those of you who don’t know, it’s a hand-held video-game unit—looks like a tiny laptop. Of course, Eiledon’s is pink. Gavin had decided not to bring his DS on the trip but was perfectly content to lean halfway across the back seat of the car to watch Eiledon play. He can do this for hours. I don’t get it, but hey, no one was fighting.

As dinner time approached, there was a bit of commotion in the back seat—whooping and hollering with glee.

“What happened?” I asked.

“You’ll never believe this!” Gavin shouted. The child always talks loudly, but this time the volume was up to 11. “Eiledon caught a Cranidos!!!!”

I couldn’t have told you the first thing about a Cranidos except that it was obviously quite the prize.

“That’s great!” I said.

There were more exclamations of joy from both children, and an excited conversation about how Cranidos had been obtained from a fossil and how it would evolve into a Rampardos and how it could learn Zen Head Butt after it learned Ancient Power. Seriously. Aren’t you totally jazzed by this information?!? Like I said. No one was fighting.

We pulled off the interstate at St. Michael to grab a bite to eat. We hit McDonald’s first as Gavin wanted a “happy meal” with chicken nuggets, apple slices and milk and, of course, the TOY that came with it. This time the toy was a dinosaur from the new Ice Age animated movie. Eiledon, who dislikes McDonalds entirely with the exception of the fries and chocolate milk-shakes, opted to forego the toy for Subway across the road.

Dan and Gavin waited in the car while Eiledon and I went in to order our meals.

As they munched on their dinners, Gavin regarded his “happy meal” and said philosophically, “I think Eiledon’s much happier than I am. She caught a Cranidos. I just got a fake dinosaur.”

And there you have it, folks. You can’t buy happiness. At least, not at McDonald’s.