Who's up for some badminton?

I am writing about the Olympics. Are you surprised? You shouldn't be. The Olympics combine everything I treasure most in the world. Tradition, athletics, celebrity-spotting, hastily-produced thematic pop music, round-the-clock live tv coverage that gets awkward a lot, a sweet attempt at international harmony and Bud Greenspan.*


I wasn't sure how to tackle this post because my Olympic memories and thoughts on the event are very disjointed. But if you read my blog regularly, you're accustomed to disjointed. Maybe you're even a little disjointed yourself?


What are your memories and random thoughts on the Olympics?


My memories of the Olympics include:


THE SOVIETS and the humorless Eastern Bloc nations. That is the overriding memory from my childhood. It was so very serious. The threat of nuclear war, that is. The Olympics were just a stage for our hardcore clash of ideology and outfits. The Soviets with their red and gold, hammer and sickle. The US with its 80s glitz. All the defectors adding to the tension of competition. (I'm talking about you, Bela Karolyi.) I learned what "boycott" meant when we refused to attend the Moscow Olympics (though I remember having a stuffed "Misha" bear, the Moscow mascot) and when the Soviets returned the favor in Los Angeles.


SWIMMING was my sport and it was a big deal to watch it on tv. Janet Evans was my age and when she broke all kinds of long-distance records, I remember feeling proud of my generation, but also envious. She was so celebrated and cute and I was jealous. I could never muster that kind of commitment and lung power. Not with my lofty social aspirations and fear of goggle tan lines.

The closest I ever came to competing was this official 1988 Seoul Summer Olympics bathing suit. I am rocking it with my cheesy hair and super hot... brother.

Another swimming connection includes the very incredible Michael Phelps. We lived less than a mile from him in Baltimore and, before he was famous, Lu took her first swim classes at the pool where he trains. I swear I saw him around town before I knew anything about his talents or potential. In most cases, world class swimmers stand out like crazy because their bodies are borderline bizarre. Long torsos, long arms, short legs, broad shoulders. I just know I waited behind him at Uncle Wiggly's Ice Cream Shop. Michael, if you read my blog, please confirm. Would have been about 2003.

NANCY KERRIGAN, of course, but my main memory of her shot at gold goes beyond the Tonya Harding fiasco, though that was some nutty sh*%!

Everyone supported poor Nancy and her bruised knee. Even Vera Wang, who designed beautiful, classy dresses. Going into the long program, she stood firmly in first place. It was a lock! I was so excited! Finally, justice!

She skated during the afternoon, but they were airing it again at night, when I was home from work, sitting on my couch, happy. Just needed to get through the day. As I was boarding an elevator, some super jerk blurted out, "Can you believe Nancy got the silver?!" Whaaaaaaat? He robbed me of an incredibly dramatic evening with an unbelievable surprise outcome and I'm still bitter.

Four years in the life of a forty-something goes by awfully fast. I remember being so sad at the closing ceremonies. How could we possibly wait to see those rings again? But then they started staggering the summer and winter festivities and that was better. Now that I'm officially old, four years is like nothing at all. "What, the Olympics again? Already?"

Old or not, I'm thinking I could compete in Rio -- if I start badminton lessons tomorrow and squeeze in 10,000 hours. That's roughly 48 hours/week for 4 years. Considering what babysitters charge these days, I will need sponsorship for sure.

In the meantime, I am looking forward to watching soccer, all of the swimming, much of the track and field, and none of the boxing. Hope you enjoy the festivities, the sportsmanship and the hastily-produced thematic pop music. Go team USA!

* I just learned that Bud died in 2010 and now I think they should cancel the Olympics. Is it too late? At least recognize the man in some capacity during the endless coverage. If you don't know who Bud Greenspan is (was), yes you do. Trust me. He chronicled the "too incredible to be true" Olympic stories, his steady narrating voice urging you to believe all things are possible with hard work and a goal for glory. Especially if you come from an impoverished village somewhere, were tragically orphaned, fled a despot, and given your first pair of shoes at 12. RIP Bud.

How hard is it to escape an attic?

For the most part, Lu is spending her summer on the tennis court or in the pool. 


But not this past week. She went to Harry Potter Camp.


As a "second year," she knew what to expect. A bunch of teenage nerds (and I mean this as a compliment) guide campers through five days of classes that include "Care of Magical Creatures" and "Potions." The professors are super into it, dressed in robes and scarves and wire-rimmed glasses. The setting is an old mansion on several acres of park property called "The Willows." Fantasy abounds. Each "house" decorates a corner of a grand wood paneled room – Lu is a Hufflepuff and she couldn't be prouder. There's even a quidditch pitch and Honeyduke's Sweet Shop (card table in the hall) where she can spend galleons on gummi bears.


It's good to be Lu.

Jon and Lu are reading the Harry Potter books together. They tackle a couple of pages each night. Jon hasn't read the series (and rarely reads anything besides The Wall Street Journal) so it's been a mutually beneficial activity. They are on book 4.


I read the Harry Potter books as they came out. One at a time. Then anxiously waited for the next to be published. Gail read them, too, so we often discussed characters and plot twists. After book 6, the two of us went for a nice Italian dinner to debate the ginormous cliff hanger - did Dumbledore really die? We each wore hot pink sweaters (by accident) and brought our books along. We even printed out theories plucked from the internet. A silly, dorky diversion. It was 2005 and Gail was in the thick of her cancer battle. A year later, when she was dying, I thought about the final book and how she wouldn't live to see its release. Of all the things she was going to miss, a book sequel seems small, but it really isn't.


What books have been important in your life?


Obviously, I was a big fan of Harry Potter, but I don't consider myself an avid reader. I definitely wasn't as a child. The feeling of being lost in a book was rare. I was lost in tv. A lot of mindless tv. When I was really young, I loved the Richard Scarry books. I don't know why. They are bizarre. I also liked Paddington Bear and a book called Bread and Jam for Frances. That's all I can conjure.


A little older, I remember reading The Borrowers' books (tiny people who live in your walls and take things) and then, of course, all titles by Judy Bloom. Coming from a conservative and tight-lipped household, her books helped me avoid embarrassing locker room situations and gave me buzz words for late night chats during basement sleepover parties.


I don't know why, but I have vivid memories of that terribly creepy Flowers in the Attic book series. To sum it up, the dad in a beautiful blond family dies and so the beautiful blond mother goes home to her very mean parents to win back their love and secure an inheritance. While waiting for the mean grandfather to kick it, the beautiful blond kids are stuck in an attic. A ton of time passes and the beautiful blond teenage sister and brother fall in love because that's what beautiful blonds do. I also remember the cut out cover with the girl looking through a window. Why not just leave? I know there was a lock on the door and promises of great wealth, but seriously, just climb out the window, fools. Make yourselves a sheet rope. Grab a gutter.


Next up was a big, giant, literary dry spell. Through college and a few years out, I don't remember reading anything for pleasure. This was followed by an equally disturbing phase where I read a bunch of Deepak Chopra and other new-agey material like a fascinating book about reincarnation called Many Lives, Many Masters. You can blame Oprah entirely.


By the millennium, I was married and living in a cute suburban neighborhood. I'm a participator by nature, so when invited, I happily joined a local Book Club. If there was a "must read" title published between 2000 and 2005, I guarantee I read it (I always finish a book I start!) then discussed its worth with neighbors over glasses of medium-caliber Merlot.


Like Harry Potter, I read The Hunger Games before it became a huge teenage-lit-goes-mainstream phenomenon. But I totally jumped on the Twilight bandwagon and loved every minute of the ride. I was so completely hooked, even though the premise is stupid and the movies are off-the-charts bad.


My two all-time favorite books are strangely similar and have very good movie adaptations. Cold Mountain and Atonement. Both are about innocent lovers kept apart by war with tragic fates. Cold Mountain takes place during the Civil War, which I swear I experienced in a previous life (that new-agey stuff sticks with you), and Atonement is set during World War II. Don't think I lived then, but who knows. Bugle music bugs me.


Since Jon is reading with Lu, I am reading The Little House books with Edy. She loves that the main character is the precocious middle child in a family with three daughters. I like that she gets a lesson on how hard life was for western settlers. And a reminder of how good it is to be Edy, with indoor plumbing and more than a dressed up corncob to play with.


All my kids, they have it so good.


(To be honest, I would have been a pathetic pioneer.)


As of last month, I am part of a brand new Book Club with an improved format. We're still in the planning stage, but it appears that we will meet infrequently and may or may not play poker.


Consider this participator "all in."

Heavenly nudges and pops of color.

The wedding was lovely. The bride wore white and none of us melted. The entire weekend was very well executed and the reception dance mix - perhaps the most important detail - was flawless.


When I wrote last week's blog post I debated whether to mention that we were away. They say (wise and cautious people) not to write about being on vacation or else internet surfing criminals with mad puzzle solving skills will figure out precisely where you live and rob you blind. I sort of believe, if you have that kind of sleuthing talent, then you deserve my Keurig coffee maker!


I almost asked Jon for his opinion, but I knew he'd immediately shoot it down. He is the king of wise and cautious people.


But something urged me to include Michigan and so I did. One quick paragraph that had nothing to do with the weekly topic.


A few hours later, I received a Facebook message from Gail's best friend from high school. She read my post and was curious where we were in Michigan because she lived in Saint Joseph's. Which is exactly where we were.


It was fantastic to see her, but also sad. Our entire connection is through Gail. The way she talks and gestures reminds me so much of my sister. It also reminds me that Gail was very young. Unfairly young. Two years of fighting cancer aged her fast. If she never got sick, if she was still alive and well, she'd be an active, peppy part of our lives. I am sure of it. Boo on cancer for stealing that from us, but yeah for Gail who clearly nudged me to write about Michigan. It's sort of freaky and great. (We weren't robbed, in case you care.)


But yes, the wedding was also great. It's so much more acceptable to be different these days. From Pinterest to Etsy, there are countless, clickable resources to find inspiration. I have noticed that more couples are embracing ways to make their weddings unique and even quirky. Good quirky.


What memories do you have from your own wedding or from attending someone else's? What did you like? What would you do differently?


My wedding was rather blah. Not bad, just lacking in creativity. That was standard in the day. Staying classic was the goal and I guess I should be grateful. My dress, veil and hair have stood the test of time. No big, teased bangs or puffy sleeves. Simple. Classic. Yawn.


Lu and Edy loved the Michigan wedding. It took place on a pristine beach with ribbons flapping in the golden sunshine. The wedding colors were purple and pink. Lu asked me what mine were and I confessed that I didn't have a color scheme but my bridesmaids wore navy. I should have incorporated a pop of something else. Fuschia. Melon. Chartreuse. All three!


A few other things I'd re-do if I could travel back to 1997.


- I wouldn't register for china and crystal. My mother-in-law insisted and I obeyed. It's difficult to plan a wedding without a mother of your own :(. I was too impressionable.


- DJ all the way. We had a band. They were fine, but unless you can get a fabulous band (which my budget did not permit) a DJ is easier and awesomer for Michael Jackson mash-ups.


- Creative touches everywhere! Like even in the bathrooms. Monogrammed everything and favors galore. Signature drinks (the Gretch-Gin 'n Tonic?) and menu items with personal meaning. Interesting/artsy photography. Crazy pops of color! 


Where's that time machine?


Things I wouldn't change:


- My dress. I took a trip to a bridal consignment store called "I Do! I Do!" and bought a never-owned gown from a designer's runway show. The bottom was a little dirty and straight pins held a pale pink flower on the back. It was truly one-of-a-kind.


- The weather was perfection. Though it poured the night before and poured even harder the next day.


- My bridal party. It's been 15 years, but I would choose the exact same group of girls. I am lucky to have such deep and lasting friendships.


- The groom. But I'd give him a pop of color, of course. Yellow plaid socks maybe?


Besides the hurricane weekend, my other most memorable wedding experience featured a fainting bride and her fainting chuppah-holding brother. I was literally on the edge of my seat for the entire ceremony!! Would they, could they, stay standing?! The reception that followed had an incredible energy. In a loving attempt to make it better for the slightly shell-shocked couple, everyone was fully engaged – meaning on the dance floor – all night long. My kind of party!


It's strange to think that in 15 more years, Lu may be planning her wedding. I will spare no detail, or expense, or random and vibrant pop of color. Just wait!


(And you know she'll prefer navy.)

Gwyn, Gail, Geoff and me. Lots of "G's," but very little color. 
The gloves are stupid.

July 4th in a flash.

Hello from the Midwest! Where it's also very, very hot. No relief. Yesterday we took a flight to Chicago then drove two hours to a town on Lake Michigan. (In our stylin' Subaru Legacy!) By the time we arrived, I had a headache the size of all the Great Lakes combined and maybe a few of their larger tributaries. Too many kids in tight spaces. Too many degrees above 100. It seriously sucked. But here we are and after swimming all morning, Beazy is napping soundly while Jon takes Lu and Edy to a wing joint, because Lu is very into wings these days and Edy just goes with the program.


I have about 15 minutes to pull off a post. 


Fourth of July. What are your memories?


Mine are mostly parade related. A parade went right past my house when I was a kid. How many people can claim that? I knew it was special. We'd invite friends, set up chairs at the edge of our yard, and glare at the folks we didn't know who had the audacity to spread a blanket under our trees. My mom would put together a buffet of breakfast foods that always, always included powdered doughnuts. When I think of July 4th, I think of parades and when I think of parades, I think of powdered doughnuts.


I'm thinking of powdered doughnuts now. Nothing special. The boxed brands will do. Maybe I'll text Jon...


Our small town parade consisted of old cars, fire trucks, boy scout troops, veterans (who make me cry every time), and multiple bands of uncomfortable-looking teenagers hauling their drums and tubas.


(Have I mentioned that Lu wants to play the tuba next year? The tuba! What girl plays the tuba? I played the flute because it was sweet and delicate – though I was hardly delicate thanks partly to the powdered doughnuts. I tried to guide her towards the french horn, but she's convinced and committed. The music teacher is overjoyed. Guess they don't get many tuba-takers.)


In my opinion, parades last about ten minutes too long. When I'm ready to grab my folding chair and go, another antique car will turn the corner and honk its trembling horn. Enough. Same with fireworks. Love them so much for the first little bit. Will even get weepy. But less than halfway through, I find myself wishing for the finale. Is this the finale? This must be the finale. Please, oh please, be the finale! Maybe it's the earsplitting sound or the fact that pulsating bright flashes are a migraine trigger? Either way, I think ten booms are plenty sufficient.


I guess I support my patriotism in moderation. But not my powdered doughnuts.