FEAR No. 057 – Crevasses

Jack: It’s 1994. I went ice climbing, and I fell into a crevasse. I hurt my leg, and I couldn’t climb back up. So, fighting every natural instinct, doing the thing that seemed most awful to me, I climbed down into the darkness. And that’s how I got out. And when I got back to base camp, I went and found my fellow climber, the one who had cut me loose after I fell. And I said, “Connie Chung, you did the right thing.”

–Jack Donoghy, 30 Rock (Into The Crevasse, S04E02)

One of my favorite SpongeBob episodes is called Rock Bottom. (If you are not familiar with the excellence that is SpongeBob SquarePants, feel free to skip past this paragraph. Oh, and also? SHAME ON YOU! That is all.) In the episode, SpongeBob and his good friend, Patrick, take a bus trip home after a rousing excursion to the local amusement park, Glove World. Excited from their day, SpongeBob and Patrick are so caught up in talking about the rides and recounting their prizes, they totally miss the stop that would drop them home in Bikini Bottom. This gaffe pushes them outside city limits down a torturous, 90-degree angled cliff (for you Ohioans, think Demon Drop at Cedar Point), into a strange, foreign, and scary town called Rock Bottom. The only way in and out of the town is by bus – a tricky bus wickedly bent on leaving our dear, yellow sponge trapped. He is ultimately rescued and returned home, but not before experiencing some of his coldest and loneliest times in what seemed a desolate wasteland.

(And that, my friends, is how you dramatize SpongeBob. I’m available for kids parties.)

Some of my scariest FEAR moments have happened in dark, desolate wastelands (also known as “new experiences”). When I feel trapped in the FEAR, it’s because I’ve put myself there. More than I care to admit, I’ve wanted nothing more than to get out of the situation and, like anything trapped, I struggle. Twisting, turning, scrapping the air for higher ground. In the end, I’m only fighting myself. Never does it dawn on me that I may need to dig deeper in order to pull myself out.

Lately, I’ve been in a wasteland – a crevasse I’m in and can’t seem to figure my way out. I know the answer is to dig deeper. The shovel sits at my feet, but I don’t want to. With most emotionally sensitive people, sometimes the hollow cocoon of woe and dread is far more comforting than freedom. Of course, as I’d suspected when I realized I had a twin on my hands, Mooter is in her own crevasse. It’s times like these I really don’t envy BFam. It was more than enough having an emotionally unstable wife, but to have a daughter expressing the same traits makes you not want to come home for dinner sometimes. He doesn’t have to tell me. I know.

Yet when we are in our respective caves, figuring our respective ways out – should we choose that route – we tend to cling more to each other. To give you perspective, she and I have been extra clingy lately. To wit, the dog is officially over us both. (He is our mascot of love in most dire circumstances. We like to pet him and hug him and love him when we’re sad.) I keep trying to tell myself she’s too young to carry around such emotional burdens, but that would be like talking to a reflection so, instead, I just try to let her know I’m there and help her talk through it. And if I take my crapiness out on her, I make sure to sit her down and apologize.

So. The crevasse. How to dig yourself out. I feel I should be inclined to know but, then again, I’m not ready to dig just yet.

[Cover Image: Explorer Tree on Flickr by Josh Sommers]

Age In Revolt

Ladies and gentlemen. This is what 50 looks like.

This is also what it looks like when you have this little thing in your skin biologically called “melanin”.

This is one of my aunt-in-laws. (Aunt by marriage? Aunt on the side?) She is one of the many in the brood of BFam’s relatives.

She’s a purdy lady.

Her family was nice enough to get together and throw a fantastic shin dig in her honor for her milestone day. It was warm. It was loving. It was full of nice things to say. It was one of the first times I’d been to an event where others showed how much they loved you while you were still living.

There’s no impact in telling someone when they’re dead.

This is Booger’s favoritest cousin in the whole wide world. She’s not that much younger than me, and she is the eldest child of Aunt Purdy Lady. They’ve heard this all her life (and I’m sure they’re pretty sick of it), but they could pass for twins. TWINS, I tells ‘ya. From their hair, to their demeanor, to their sense of fashion. It’s uncanny. And scary! She’s been apart of Booger’s daycare regimen since she was a little babe in swaddling clothes. These two have a special bond. She’s a good egg. I think we’ll keep her.

This is another one of the cousins. Little hamburger that he is. He could be such a ladies man if he weren’t just so darn silly! I like him.

This is BFam’s dad. He, BFam and BFam’s brother, Stoopid, all share the same government name. In our earlier days of dating, calling his home was a very confusing time. I was happy when they all adopted nicknames I could freely call them. BFam’s dad – let’s call him That Man – That Man, when asked to be, is pretty funny. The family was hardly surprised when Stoopid called home (in one of his many nomadic stupors) to tell us he was trying his hand at comedy. As long as I’ve known them, all three men have been hilarious crack-ups, keeping relatives in stitches. Of course, I’d be married to the one who never wants anyone to know he’s funny but me (see: Curmudgeon Saint Cranky Pants).

That Man was asked to roast his sister. Since his sister (and most of his family, including himself) is of the spiritual cloth, it wasn’t quite as blue of a roast as, say, Bea Arthur for Pamela Anderson. (Oh, that’s bad. Evacuate the kiddies before playing.) It was tasteful and classy. Lots of inside jokes, jabs at early childhood hairdos. Very loving, brotherly-type stuff.

I’ve said it before, but BFam’s family is large. With any family, you meet obstacles, conflicts in personalities, arguments, rough patches. If you’re the Kennedys, you meet scandals. But out of all their differences (knowing of and having witnessed several myself), it was very nice to see them all come together to celebrate the baby sister of the bunch.

The purdy lady.

[Photographic credit: Mooter (go, Mooter, go!)]

Then & Now

When Bo was a little bitty baby child, I loved him.

I thought there was nothing better in the world than a Bo.

Who else could get away with being so completely serene… and downright lazy?

Who else could make me believe ugly things were cute?

Who else could resemble the jowls of Walter Cronkite?

Everyone needs a Bo in their life.