My Cat the Art Critic and How I Met Your Mother

I desire to revisit the past, but I absolutely hate how dry chronological history can be.  So, with that in mind, we are going to skip around a bit.  The real purpose of this is not to outline a story of my life, but rather to define my life by those things that are important about my past.  A short list of those things which have led me here and what it is I can learn from them as I attempt to take educated and enlightened steps into the future.  I will write a great portion of this entry as though it were a conversation between my young sons and myself.  Written in the same manner with which I speak to them.  I think it will carry more meaning for them if I approach it in this manner, so bear with me.  Before we take our walk down memory lane, I want to take a moment to catch you up on our day to day experiences here in France.  The weather has finally turned quite cold and there is even the promise of snow in the forecast, quite rare in this part of France.  Snow would seem an inconvenience, but given our current plans for an upcoming ski trip, we welcome the promise of precipitation.  The word through the grapevine is that, as of yet, there isn’t a bit of snow on the ground at the mountain resort where we are meant to stay.  I would imagine that a ski trip isn’t a ski trip without the . . . well . . . skiing.  Here at the house, we are doing what we can to stay relatively healthy.  Having battled a variety of ailments over the past several months, it appears that everyone is on the mend.  It would certainly be an insult to injury if I had to nurse the flu alongside my soon to be broken leg received by way of snowless skiing.

Our four legged friends seem to be faring well and the Stupid Dog hasn’t done anything as of late to maintain his title.  The cat however, is a different story.  Going through growing pains of her own, her personality seems to evolve daily.  From schizophrenic one moment to placid and mild the next, she seems to finally understand her reason for being.  With cold temperatures at our doorstep, the smallest of woodland creatures seem to be seeking solace inside the warm walls of our 13^th century domicile.  With no way of keeping them out of our drafty retreat, we are pleased to see that our feline companion has fine-tuned her instincts and become quite the VERMINATOR.  “I’ll be back”.  All she needs now is a leather outfit and dark sunglasses to complete the persona.  This, however, is her only saving grace.  Being fairly deep into two different paintings, it is not uncommon for a canvas to be lying about in varying states of reflection.  I made the mistake of setting one of my projects on the dining room table to make a run at some detail work that I found difficult to tackle with it standing upright.  I was called away from the project long enough for the cat to decide that I must have left it there as a very comfortable feline dormitory.  When I returned, I found her curled up in the center of my canvas resting quite peacefully.  I “gently” suggested she relocate and found that her weight had creased my pre-stretched canvas and added some unwanted furry texture to the piece.  As a note to all you “would be” artists out there, one can iron a work of art back to its original shape and cat hair lends a certain Je Ne Sais Quoi to what might have been an otherwise bland depiction of your subject matter.  A wise man once said “I believe that if life gives you lemons, you should make lemonade.   Then try to find somebody whose life has given them vodka, and have a party.”

Now, let’s board our time machine and reset the clock back to the late 90’s, where two naïve youngsters were on a collision course with “love”.  Sorry, that shit just makes me laugh.  I had barely begun my legal education when I ran into an old friend.  He and I had attended undergraduate school together, but had lost touch when he graduated a semester earlier than I.  We both had aspirations of becoming the next great trial attorney and had seemingly chosen different paths.  He was interested in an out of state institution and I, being a hometown guy, decided to attend the same institution that my father and my uncle . . . and their father and their uncle had attended many years before.  Third generation liar . . . er . . . . lawyer.  By now, the blood had run thin and I had set about to disgrace the family name.  Caring much more for extra-curricular activities than my education soon found me in hot water, but we will save that story for a later date.  It was orientation day and as I aimlessly roamed the halls of this institute for higher achievement, I recognized a familiar face in the crowd.  We sort of re-introduced ourselves and I soon found out that he was a hometown guy as well and the plans to attend an out of state law school turned out to be less attractive than first believed.  We went about catching up and found that we had been assigned to the same class section and would have all of the same classes over the course of our first year.  Misery loves company, and no better company to keep than someone you are already familiar with.  Our “bromance” blossomed over the course of our first semester and we soon spent most of our days together pursuing alcohol, wiffle ball, women and on occasion a legal education.  The world was our oyster as they say.

Early on, I was made aware that this friend of mine had a Niece who was attending her first year of undergraduate school at this same institution.  The prospect of a pipeline into the female undergraduate population seemed too good to be true.  It was time for a housewarming party.  At the time, I lived in the Taj Mahal by student standards, and it was agreed that we should host my friend’s Niece and some of her Sorority sisters for a little get together.  Being the host for this event, I thought it wise to start the festivities a little early and was fairly obnoxious by the time our guests arrived.  In walks the Niece with a fairly unattractive entourage.  Finding my lemonade and vodka, I decided to make the most of the evening despite a disappointing turn out.  My friend’s niece was a notable exception.  With flowing hair of remarkable crimson and eyes a sea of blue in which one could find themselves completely shipwrecked, I found it hard not to stare.  Reminding myself that it would surely be a faux pas to try and bed down with my friend’s niece, I kept my distance.  The more “obnoxious” I became (you can read that as inebriated if you would like), the closer I crept, eventually taking up post in the seat right next to the niece.

It was clear that this young lady had her shit together and was not impressed in the slightest with my witty banter.  In fact, we quickly got into an argument over the value one receives from entering into the Greek system.  To say that she hated my guts by the end of the evening was probably an understatement, and rightfully so.  All things remaining the same, we likely would have never crossed paths again except in uncomfortable passing at her Uncle’s apartment.  As fate would have it, however, I lived with two other gentlemen and one of these lads was in undergraduate himself.  It was not uncommon for him to bring home a study partner or two and one evening he did me proud.  Coming in from a long run with my other roommate, I was re-introduced to none other than “The Niece”.  They had already made the connections and she was there to study Chemistry and use my kitchen to make a birthday cake for her Uncle.  Of course I obliged, the guy is after all, one of my best friends.  Sweaty, but very sober, I was back to my usual charming self and believed it was time to make amends for my prior obnoxious behavior.  My roommate, however, had plans of his own.  It was obvious that he was interested in this young woman, and how could I blame him?  She was even more attractive than when I had met her the first time.  Based upon the study conversation, she was a great measure more intelligent than my roommate, and when viewing her without beer goggles, she was an absolute stunner with a very athletic physique.

Now, how to wedge myself between this gal and my VERY eager roommate?  What to do, what to do.  Remembering that there is no honor among thieves, when it came time to bake the birthday cake I decided it was also time to put my roommate in his place.  Being more advanced in years and having already lived out the shy and awkward freshman years of college, it was not hard to let self-confidence win the day.  I happily offered assistance in the cake making department and just like that, my roommate was dismissed from the kitchen.  Retreating with his tale between his legs and nursing a bruised ego.  He was young and resilient and would soon forgive any indiscretion on my part.  The baking commenced and flirtatious conversation ensued.  Very quickly, I knew I was out of my league.  She was clearly smarter than my roommate and, unfortunately, smarter than I as well.  I was not going to wow this girl with my education or intellectual prowess.  Time to turn on the liar . . . er . . . lawyer.  Plain old fashion charm and charisma were going to be the cards I would have to play.  Over and over again I reminded myself “you could sell a ketchup popsicle to a woman wearing white gloves”.  In fact, I said it so many times, I actually began to believe it and she didn’t even seem to notice me uttering this mantra under my breath.  I am not going to lie, I was nervous.  I had already ruined first impressions and needed to think of something to warrant another meeting and I needed to think of it fast.  With the cake nearly frosted, I threw out a feeble ploy, hoping she would take the bait and agree to see me again.  I told her I only knew the law school and was not all that familiar with campus.  Since she was more familiar with the university, would she be willing to give me tour?  LAME!  I can’t believe that came out of my mouth.

I immediately turned to exit the kitchen in the same manner my roommate had just one hour earlier.  Thinking to myself that I would have to chalk this one up to experience, I heard a softly spoken “sure, when do you want to meet”.  No shit!?  When the noose closed around my neck and the rope grew tight, somehow the knot broke and I fell to the ground . . . ALIVE!  Back in the game and with a renewed sense of purpose, I made the necessary arrangements.  Now, I can’t say as I had a lot of hope for this next meeting.  I had made up some ground, but she was clearly just doing her Uncle’s friend a favor at this point.  She wasn’t raised to be rude.  It was clear that she didn’t see a spark here as the arranged meeting was to be mid-day in between classes.  A short timeline with an easy excuse and escape.  Like a homeless guy raiding a dumpster for a loaf of bread, I took what I could and was glad to be getting fed.  By the next meeting, I had convinced myself that she didn’t “HATE” me or she wouldn’t have agreed to the meeting . . . rude or not.  We met at her dorm and went for a long walk under a warm autumn sun.  She pointed at this building and that, telling me which departments were housed where.  Honestly didn’t catch a damned word of it.  Still probably couldn’t tell you the name of her dorm . . . wait . . . HUDSON . . . that’s it!  HUDSON!  Damn, I’m good.  I simply walked along giving a goofy “uh huh” every now and then so that she would think I was soaking it all in.  We eventually stopped along the way and sat down in a common courtyard to have what I thought would be the conversation that caused her to think I might be “date” worthy.  Right then, I had an overwhelming desire to kiss this girl.  Not wanting to push my luck and still quite concerned with the Uncle scenario, we bid farewell without promise of ever seeing each other again.

“Strike Three . . . You’re Out!” screamed the umpire.  And just like that, we disappeared from each other’s lives.  She had done her Uncle’s friend a favor and had not disgraced her raising, while I had gotten to spend the afternoon with an angel.  Sometimes it is better to be lucky than good.  Weeks had gone by, and I had convinced myself that even if things had gone well, it would have been a bad idea to date my friend’s niece.  What was I thinking?  No damage done . . . life moves on.  My friend was hosting a gathering at his apartment, which I am not even sure I was to be a guest, but since I was as permanent an addition to the place as his easy chair, nobody seemed to notice.  I quietly watched T.V. while a room full of people began to mingle.  Eventually a knock came at the door.  A latecomer.  The door was opened and in walks the Niece with a cute friend at her side.  Uncle informs me that he is to be attending a sorority function with the friend and I congratulate him on the effort.  I continued watching television as if this show on bass fishing was the most captivating experience of my life . . . LAME.  Soon, the seat next to me became wonderfully filled.  The niece.  God she smelled good.  She advises me that her friend is taking Uncle to a sorority function and I acknowledge that he has already shared the good news.  I went back to watching Bill Dance cast his lure.  I just sat there . . . quietly . . . uncomfortably.  As if possessed by a demon spirit, she turns to me out of the blue and says “so, you are going to go with me to the sorority thing, right?”  Great . . . another favor for Uncle.  Since her friend is taking my friend to this function, the last thing this beauty needs on her conscious is the thought of his lame ass friend sitting around watching another bass fishing program.  Nothing like a pity invite!  What do I say?  She certainly has a line of Fraternity shit heads that she would rather be spending her time with.  Why say yes and ruin this girls evening?  And yet, as if having been passed the same demon spirit, I hear myself say “sure”.  What are you, an idiot?

After weeks of no communication and this lightning strike of an invite, it was time to figure out what’s what.  I ask if she would like to go for a walk as the party at Uncle’s place was starting to get a bit noisy.  We set out and very quickly I go for the throat.  Why, after so many weeks and what I thought was a lost cause, had she invited me to this social function?  After some uncomfortable side stepping, it was clear that I wasn’t going to get the answer I was looking for.  I allowed the subject to be changed and we carried forth with very pleasant yet meaningless conversation that eventually eased the tension I had been feeling subsequent to the invite.  We agreed that we would double date with Uncle and that we would all have a nice dinner before the event.  Double date . . . that answers the question . . . this IS a pity invite!  Looking forward to it, about as much as root canal surgery, the day finally arrived and my friend and I readied ourselves for a night out.  We took our “dates” to a romantic local spot with a smoky atmosphere and upscale cuisine.  It was immediately obvious that we were not going to be able to finish this meal and still get to the sorority function on time.  We ordered and told the waitress to make it “to go”.  With food spoiling in the trunk, we drove to the sorority house to meet up with the remainder of the attendees.  We were being bussed to another location, so people quickly began queuing up for the festivities.  Without saying a word, the niece took me by the hand and began introducing me around.   Immediately, I was recognized as “law school” Ryan.  You see, these sorority types define their catch by Greek association and since I didn’t have one, I was “law school” Ryan, while my counterparts were given names like Lambda Lambda Lambda Gilbert.  There is a Revenge of the Nerds association there for those that are paying attention.  And just like that, it was clear.  This girl had been talking about me.  By some miracle, the tide had shifted.  This wasn’t a pity date, this girl actually intended to invite me all along!  And just like that, our demeanor toward each other shifted and our worlds became forever intertwined.

Now I would like to say that this was the happily ever after moment, but the truth is, our first several dates were specled mix of romantic beauty and unfortunate mishaps.  Not the least of these being an evening in which I returned to the obnoxious (again read intoxicated) state I was in when we first met.  I finished the evening by trying to pick a fight with a cowboy, then proceeded to vomit on my new girlfriend in the back seat of her mother’s pick up truck.  Sorry mom-in-law!  Eventually I grew up and our courtship went merrily on its way.  Some 14 years or so later, we are still quite in love, though I don’t think she has yet to forgive me for that last bit.  At least she has a story to tell at dinner parties . . . Right?  And now for the bit directed at my young sons.  Eventually you will want to know, and I prey I am around to ask, how do you know when you have found “The One”.  Tricky subject that one.  Obviously your mom didn’t swoon to love at first sight.  I took a bit of getting used to, but you both know that by now.  The truth is, if I have one piece of advise to give that would be to look for your “better” half.  What I mean by this, is that you will inevitably run across a woman in your life that is your “other” half.  Someone that is everything you are not.  Someone who is strong when you are weak and who seems to complete you in every way.  You will be quite tempted to presume that she is “The One”.  Though this sounds ideal and surely the mark of the perfect spouse, it is not.

I have been blessed to find in your mother my “better” half.  She is the opposite side of a coin more favorably traded than my own.  She is what completes the man I HOPE to be, not the man I am today.  We both know I have a long way `left to travel, but she loves me enough to wait for me to catch up.  Like the pieces in an elaborate jigsaw puzzle, the woman that is your other half resembles the four pieces around your own that hold you in place.  Your “better” half is but a single piece, without which the bigger picture is lost.  She quite rightfully will expect you to create your own four pieces that hold you in place.  That is not her job.  Her job is to push you to be better than you are today.  She will push you to finish the puzzle.  She will watch you from afar as you put all of your pieces in place.  When you have reached the bottom of the box, she will appear and place that final piece.  That is what it is to have a “better” half.  I am not talking about finishing your education and getting financially settled before looking for a spouse.  What I am saying is that when you have sorted out who you are and who you want to be, she will find you just as mine found me.  Until I find a better way to phrase it, this is all I have to give.  Enjoy the ride, and whatever you do, for God’s sakes don’t puke on the girl!  R.