Because it really is personal…

That was a catchphrase I remember when I was growing up. It was used to mean if you wanted to be a particular something (let’s say, rich and famous), you acted like you were until you got there. It’s brother was the ‘name it and claim it’ theology that said if you prayed hard enough and believed hard enough ,God would give you a Cadillac, or a 2 carat diamond, or whatever you wanted because He Loves You So.

Now, even as a gullible teenager (well, early teens, by the time I was 16 or 17 I knew those philosophies were crap), I sorta didn’t believe, which is probably why I never grew the long legs, big boobs, and lustrous hair I so craved. Naturally, if i had believed enough, or somehow faked having those qualities with enough conviction, I’d have them, so boo on me, it’s all my fault I’m not a playboy bunny.

Now, I still sort of do the ‘fake it ’til you make it’ thing, only modified to include a certain common sense. If I can convince myself that my mother-in-law is a reasonable enough person with many good qualities, I’ll be able to greet her with a smile and a heartfelt ‘thank you’ for the pans of dressing. Honestly, I am thrilled with the dressing, and even found out last night she’s bringing an extra pan for the freezer (HOORAY!). I am , instead of getting irritated that she’s bringing half of Thanksgiving dinner (huge pan of dressing, huge pot or two of greens, multiple sweet potato pies) I am crafting the remainder of the meal around what she’s bringing. Yes, folks, we’re having a Deep South Thanksgiving Dinner instead of the Fine Cooking french style meal I’d been considering. Because I am going to be Thankful that she’s doing all this. Yes. (one more time, Peggy…I am Thankful that she’s doing all this. Plus her dressing kicks ass)

Another thing good about my mother-in-law:
4. Her dressing kicks ass and she’s not afraid to share it. And I’m not faking that at all.

Part of my personality is a deep cynicism toward humanity (no…really??) waffled in with pockets of naive optimism. I expect the worst and hope for the best. When I get around someone I sorta know and kinda don’t like, I start looking for redeeming qualities, because I want them to be there. I want that person to *not* be a complete jerk (ok I’m thinking of The Jackass and El Presidente…more on that later) and every day when Terry comes home I hope for a story about them that will redeem them somewhat in my eyes. That The Jackass didn’t stab someone (Terry) in the back, or that El Presidente said “Oh we can spare that extra 4 cents a yard for the sake of quality!” it hasn’t happened yet in the 4-1/2 years Terry’s worked there, but my naive optimism hopes for it, even though I’m expecting something quite different.

Antisthenes or: those old Greeks all look the same.

There are a few people in this world (both real-life and virtual) who are exactly what I expect them to be. JerseyChick, whom I’ve known these past 25 years, never disappoints. Like me, she has a certain cynicism toward the world, and like me, harbors a sense of…”fake it ’til you make it” where she works hard to keep her attitude positive, for the sake of her kids and husband, and like me, sometimes the cynicism spills over and she has to turn dark. I like that about her. She’s not public with is, or at least not as public as I am, but it’s there and I know it, and love her for it. Renegade Evolution is the same way, sort of, except without the “fake it til you make it” sensibility. 95% nihilist, 5% hope, she is what she is and don’t you dare tell her otherwise. I firmly believe I would not be surprised at all if I met her in person, because there’s no sense of the false in what she writes. She is what she is and if you don’t like it, piss off.

I hope, I groan. I expect to be treated like a…I dunno…let’s say I expect the Popular Girls to ignore my desire to play, and hope that they’ll call me anyway. I sign up and sign up and sign up, for everything I can for 4 years running and never get called (bitter much, Peggy?) and every year I sign up again and hope to be called yet am not surprised when I’m not. Oh well. Next year, I’ll sign up again, unless #4 is deep in the throes of Middle School Angst and requests that I not. Maybe, if he’s at the private school (very small and very reliant on volunteer help) they’ll HAVE to let me help, even though I don’t drive a Tahoe or have highlights in my hair…or in this case, as it’s a Christian private school, have 27 children.

Ok so, if what I write sometimes seems impossibly chipper to you, or you’re all “oh I can’t believe she’s actually that happy” sometimes it’s because I’m trying to convince myself. Sometimes I actually *am* that happy. Maybe I need a codeword so you can tell the difference. Maybe I’ll let you guess. I will tell you this: yes, Terry is that good. I’m not lying about that. Mother-In-Law’s dressing really is that good.

However…the dogs really stink. It’s one particular dog – I’m not naming names but her initials are R.O.X.I.E. and the food she gets is giving her that righteous dog-gas and she’s polluting the house. I would buy the biggest bag there is. Thank goodness we live where we do and I can open the windows. It’s not audible but it has a definite presence, like something out of GhostBusters. This is neither optimism nor cynicism, it’s Realism, about as real as it gets.