Our true life adventures...
Wednesday, April 29, 2015
Tuesday, April 28, 2015
Leslie's Other Love
Apart from the kids and I, Leslie's other love was the Steelers. When I moved to Pittsburgh, one of the first ways in which Leslie and this City changed me was supplanting my old sports allegiances with new Pittsburgh versions. We went to Penguins games, and Pirates games, and Steeler games. And she loved all of the teams...but chiefest of these loves was the Steelers.
Leslie was a bit of a tomboy, or at least as much of a tomboy as a princess can manage. Leslie was a daddy's girl. Daddy was a big time sports fan...and Leslie was too. I retrieved her first ever Terrible Towel and took a picture of it. She made it. In fourth grade.
Her dad got season tickets back before the team had rings, and Leslie (and I, ultimately) benefited. I don't remember when we officially took over the other two seats (from my father-in-law's friends), but I know I've been going to Steeler games regularly since probably around 1997.
Ritual and tradition (one way in which Emma and Leslie are very similar) were so important to Leslie, and Steeler Sunday at the field (first Three Rivers, now Heinz Field) had little rituals all their own.
We used to leave the house at 10 for 1 o'clock games. When they were at Three Rivers we'd park in the lot and find our friends the Miletics for Root Beer (flavored Everclear, if we're being honest) and tailgating before the game. At Heinz, we ultimately ended up going to a bar named Finnegan's Wake about a half mile from the field.
I'd order the steak chipotle wrap. I think we went the the Super Bowl the first year I started ordering it (maybe the second) so I never changed. Steak Chipotle wrap and a Smithwick's (pronounced smiddicks). Leslie would order a Harp and whatever looked good that morning.
She bought me my Terrible Towel. And lots of team jerseys. And I bought her jerseys too...and they were almost always cursed. Every year she'd get a new jersey, and then that player would almost immediately get injured, retire, or get traded...so she'd need a new one.
But here's the thing I want to talk about. I shared the "Little Things" post on facebook, and a friend mentioned this little thing Leslie did that I know I'm going to miss like crazy. Leslie, devout fan that she was, refused to watch or listen to ANY pivotal play. If the play had game winning/losing consequences, she retreated to a do-it-yourself sensory deprivation chamber, squeezing her eyes shut so that they wrinkled at the corners, curling forward in her seat into a ball, jamming her fingers into her ears...until the play was over. She was present during some of the most amazing plays in Steeler history...but didn't actually see any of them happen. At the game or home watching TV, it didn't matter. If the game was on the line...she was in the blackout mode.
Sometimes, the Steelers would have a huge play. Like say the other team was about to score. Say it was first and ten on the one and they were going to run it in to take a 1 point lead with no time left. I would watch the play. I would always watch the play. Let's say the Steelers forced a fumble, picked it up and returned it for a touchdown. I would "punish" her. I would sit stoically closed-mouthed. The play would end. No cheers...no yelling. She would assume the worst.
She'd open her eyes slowly and glance up, her fingers slowly coming away from her ears. She would look confused at first and then glance at me and I would say in mock anger, "Yeah, fumble. We picked it up and returned it for a touchdown. Game over. We win. THAT is what you get for not watching!!"
And she'd call me an ass and laugh but then we'd high five and scare the shit out of our kids with our yelling. (Emma would leave the room during Steeler games because Leslie's cheering/jeering was so. goddamned. loud. that it frightened her.)
In her lifetime Leslie got to see Willie Stargell and Mario Lemieux, Sidney Crosby and Troy Polamalu, Jerome Bettis and Barry Bonds, all in person. After the Stanley Cup, Leslie (who used to party at a bar called Froggy's (which is no longer in existence) kissed Bryan Trottier on the mouth and drank from the Stanley Cup. THAT is living life. That is unbridled joy. That is sports, baby! And Leslie was game!
Leslie was a bit of a tomboy, or at least as much of a tomboy as a princess can manage. Leslie was a daddy's girl. Daddy was a big time sports fan...and Leslie was too. I retrieved her first ever Terrible Towel and took a picture of it. She made it. In fourth grade.
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| You don't wash terrible towels. It would wash the excellence out of them. I don't know...and I don't WANT to know what horrible things have stained this one since 1979 (ish) |
Ritual and tradition (one way in which Emma and Leslie are very similar) were so important to Leslie, and Steeler Sunday at the field (first Three Rivers, now Heinz Field) had little rituals all their own.
We used to leave the house at 10 for 1 o'clock games. When they were at Three Rivers we'd park in the lot and find our friends the Miletics for Root Beer (flavored Everclear, if we're being honest) and tailgating before the game. At Heinz, we ultimately ended up going to a bar named Finnegan's Wake about a half mile from the field.
I'd order the steak chipotle wrap. I think we went the the Super Bowl the first year I started ordering it (maybe the second) so I never changed. Steak Chipotle wrap and a Smithwick's (pronounced smiddicks). Leslie would order a Harp and whatever looked good that morning.
She bought me my Terrible Towel. And lots of team jerseys. And I bought her jerseys too...and they were almost always cursed. Every year she'd get a new jersey, and then that player would almost immediately get injured, retire, or get traded...so she'd need a new one.
But here's the thing I want to talk about. I shared the "Little Things" post on facebook, and a friend mentioned this little thing Leslie did that I know I'm going to miss like crazy. Leslie, devout fan that she was, refused to watch or listen to ANY pivotal play. If the play had game winning/losing consequences, she retreated to a do-it-yourself sensory deprivation chamber, squeezing her eyes shut so that they wrinkled at the corners, curling forward in her seat into a ball, jamming her fingers into her ears...until the play was over. She was present during some of the most amazing plays in Steeler history...but didn't actually see any of them happen. At the game or home watching TV, it didn't matter. If the game was on the line...she was in the blackout mode.
Sometimes, the Steelers would have a huge play. Like say the other team was about to score. Say it was first and ten on the one and they were going to run it in to take a 1 point lead with no time left. I would watch the play. I would always watch the play. Let's say the Steelers forced a fumble, picked it up and returned it for a touchdown. I would "punish" her. I would sit stoically closed-mouthed. The play would end. No cheers...no yelling. She would assume the worst.
She'd open her eyes slowly and glance up, her fingers slowly coming away from her ears. She would look confused at first and then glance at me and I would say in mock anger, "Yeah, fumble. We picked it up and returned it for a touchdown. Game over. We win. THAT is what you get for not watching!!"
And she'd call me an ass and laugh but then we'd high five and scare the shit out of our kids with our yelling. (Emma would leave the room during Steeler games because Leslie's cheering/jeering was so. goddamned. loud. that it frightened her.)
In her lifetime Leslie got to see Willie Stargell and Mario Lemieux, Sidney Crosby and Troy Polamalu, Jerome Bettis and Barry Bonds, all in person. After the Stanley Cup, Leslie (who used to party at a bar called Froggy's (which is no longer in existence) kissed Bryan Trottier on the mouth and drank from the Stanley Cup. THAT is living life. That is unbridled joy. That is sports, baby! And Leslie was game!
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| Lookin' sassy at training camp |
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| Father's day present...her dad, my dad, and her. |
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| We went to a Klout event! Because I'm a "Steeler" expert apparently. We met Larry Foote and listened to him speak, and tried on a Super Bowl ring. |
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| After the first bout of cancer. She hated this hat because it was a cancer survivor hat and because she didn't want to be identified as "cancer ________". She felt like it called her out. She just wanted to live her life. |
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| Tipsy sleepy Leslie, resting her head on a Steeler blanket four stories above the gathering crowd at Heinz Field |
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| Just Leslie being cute and fun and happy at Three Rivers |
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| We're so cute. Look at that sweater. LOOK AT IT |
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| One of my first games I assume, because that coat came with me from Montana, and I think I might have still had it at the cottage house, but not much longer than that... |
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| Not sure how long ago this was, but it's in Heinz field, and she's got on her Hines Ward jersey (the only one she ever had that was "valid" more than one year) |
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| Les and her dad...not game time yet...those seats will fill up shortly with drunken, stupid, obnoxious fans. She missed going to the games. |
Monday, April 27, 2015
The Little Things
I'm trying to come to terms with all the little annoying things that your spouse does that irritate the shit out of you, but...simultaneously endear them to you, to the point where they become the things that you miss most...or maybe it just seems that way because the alternative to having to deal with them is too horrible to contemplate. All the stupid things that grate on your nerves, once silenced, seem like music, and I already miss them.
Leslie used to poke her tongue out to eat food. It was subtle, and if you didn't have breakfast and dinner with her every day for 15 years you probably wouldn't even notice it, but she'd just poke it out a tiny bit...like maybe a half inch...and it would greet her food, and she'd use the fork to push it into her mouth. Honestly that didn't annoy me. It just made me laugh. Emma and I would exchange glances at the table and she'd giggle and Leslie would say, "What?", and then I'd slowly push my tongue out, and take a bite. And she'd laugh and shake her head at me. It was weird and quirky and great.
Leslie used to mess up cliches. It was sort of her trademark. When we lived in the cottage house and she was actively training people every day, I was like, "How can you give presentations for a living and still not know that those expressions are completely wrong?"
Some examples:
"I really screwed myself in the foot on that one."
"Vicious snowball"
"Six and a half dozen of the other"
And she'd say them and my eyebrows would shoot up to my hairline like "Really? you're going to leave that hanging out there?" until she'd glance up at me and notice and say, "W-was...was that not right?" And it never was. And it was great.
Leslie used to make this weird breathing noise. Like maybe she'd been holding her breath without realizing it, and then would slowly but audibly let it out.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"You're making that funny noise."
"What funny noise?"
"That...breathing thing."
"I'm not doing any such thing. I don't make funny noises."
But she did. And it was great.
Leslie had a booming laugh. I call it the "Dowden laugh". Her Dad has it, her younger sister has it, and she had it. And you could find her in a room full of 500 people or a building with a hundred offices just by zooming in on that laugh. If I had ever had a problem being the center of attention I would have hushed her or something, because that booming bark of a laugh was a "look at me!" It was so great.
She would clean the dishes with soap and water until they glistened...then put them in the dishwasher. So clean.
She called her mother five times a day. Every day. Once I pulled out the phone bill (back before I got it electronically) and I forced her to look at it. Sometimes there'd be a call to her mom for 5 minutes, then one minute would go by, then there'd be another call for 2 minutes, then ten minutes, then a call of 1 minute, then twenty minutes, then a call for 8 minutes. I was so exasperated by it. "What could POSSIBLY have come up that you needed to call back 1 minute later??" Any time the phone would ring...ANY time..."It's your mom, Les," and I was probably only wrong 5% of the time. We didn't need caller ID. We already knew. Those were the days.
She kept the house immaculately clean but her car was always a mess. We'd have long talks about how I just didn't see the dust or dirt or need to clean inside the house, but when we climbed in her car...she was totally unaffected by the filth. She bought a collapsible garbage container for her minivan and hung it by a little hook. She'd fill it with garbage...but never empty it! Looking back at it...it was all great.
All those little stupid piddly annoying things and soooo many more...and I want them back. I want them all back.
I told Emma at breakfast this weekend that on Mother's Day we'll make everyone poke their tongues out when they eat their food just like her mother did. She laughed, and then she and I both poked our tongues out and at our pancakes and smiled.
Leslie used to poke her tongue out to eat food. It was subtle, and if you didn't have breakfast and dinner with her every day for 15 years you probably wouldn't even notice it, but she'd just poke it out a tiny bit...like maybe a half inch...and it would greet her food, and she'd use the fork to push it into her mouth. Honestly that didn't annoy me. It just made me laugh. Emma and I would exchange glances at the table and she'd giggle and Leslie would say, "What?", and then I'd slowly push my tongue out, and take a bite. And she'd laugh and shake her head at me. It was weird and quirky and great.
Leslie used to mess up cliches. It was sort of her trademark. When we lived in the cottage house and she was actively training people every day, I was like, "How can you give presentations for a living and still not know that those expressions are completely wrong?"
Some examples:
"I really screwed myself in the foot on that one."
"Vicious snowball"
"Six and a half dozen of the other"
And she'd say them and my eyebrows would shoot up to my hairline like "Really? you're going to leave that hanging out there?" until she'd glance up at me and notice and say, "W-was...was that not right?" And it never was. And it was great.
Leslie used to make this weird breathing noise. Like maybe she'd been holding her breath without realizing it, and then would slowly but audibly let it out.
"You're doing it again."
"Doing what?"
"You're making that funny noise."
"What funny noise?"
"That...breathing thing."
"I'm not doing any such thing. I don't make funny noises."
But she did. And it was great.
Leslie had a booming laugh. I call it the "Dowden laugh". Her Dad has it, her younger sister has it, and she had it. And you could find her in a room full of 500 people or a building with a hundred offices just by zooming in on that laugh. If I had ever had a problem being the center of attention I would have hushed her or something, because that booming bark of a laugh was a "look at me!" It was so great.
She would clean the dishes with soap and water until they glistened...then put them in the dishwasher. So clean.
She called her mother five times a day. Every day. Once I pulled out the phone bill (back before I got it electronically) and I forced her to look at it. Sometimes there'd be a call to her mom for 5 minutes, then one minute would go by, then there'd be another call for 2 minutes, then ten minutes, then a call of 1 minute, then twenty minutes, then a call for 8 minutes. I was so exasperated by it. "What could POSSIBLY have come up that you needed to call back 1 minute later??" Any time the phone would ring...ANY time..."It's your mom, Les," and I was probably only wrong 5% of the time. We didn't need caller ID. We already knew. Those were the days.
She kept the house immaculately clean but her car was always a mess. We'd have long talks about how I just didn't see the dust or dirt or need to clean inside the house, but when we climbed in her car...she was totally unaffected by the filth. She bought a collapsible garbage container for her minivan and hung it by a little hook. She'd fill it with garbage...but never empty it! Looking back at it...it was all great.
All those little stupid piddly annoying things and soooo many more...and I want them back. I want them all back.
I told Emma at breakfast this weekend that on Mother's Day we'll make everyone poke their tongues out when they eat their food just like her mother did. She laughed, and then she and I both poked our tongues out and at our pancakes and smiled.
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