Living Happily Ever After
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The Glamor of Performing

Date: December 16, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I don’t enjoy public performances and being up on a stage. I don’t enjoy the glamour. Like tonight, I am up on stage and my feet hurt.” (Barbra Streisand)

Speaking of the public performances on a stage, tonight I had the opportunity to attend the Christmas program at my youngest child’s preschool. I had high expectations—it was the last such program of my last child, and last year’s program had been a bust. (I had been recently divorced, was new to the area, was completely reeling from the shock of so much life change in such a short amount of time, was REALLY feeling my aloneness and was, of course, all alone at my son’s Christmas program.

But I went and tried to make the best of it. He was dressed festively, I had the video camera ready, I was doing a pretty good job ignoring the fact that everyone in attendance seemed to be married and there with family…there was just one problem. My son wanted nothing to do with performing on stage. He left the stage before the first number was even over, cried, wandered around the room and eventually out of the room, during the performance. I was disappointed, mortified, stressed out and a host of other emotions.

As the sole and single parent of four children, there is never enough of me to go around. If I attend one child’s function, I miss another child’s activity. Every time. And last year, apparently for nothing, I missed one of my other children’s events to let the youngest have his experience. Too bad it was a bust.

I’d NEVER had a child pull something like that! But I cut my 4-year-old some slack and blamed it on all of the trauma he’d lived through in his little life and we carried on.

Cut to 2010.  I anticipated a VERY different experience at this year’s program. I wasn’t alone, Bachelor #5 went to great lengths to join us. My son was a year older and a year past the trauma. (The only thing the same as last year was that to support my youngest’s performance, I had to miss my daughter’s winter dance concert at her high school.)

We arrived early. My son marched up to the stage, found his seat and acted happy to be there. He tried on all of his costume props. He helped the teachers. And then, before the performance even began, he was already finished and ready to go home. In fact, he left the stage to tell me that. And I advised him to return to his seat because we were there for his performance.

He returned to his seat, and less than two minutes later was back. This time, with a medical excuse. “Mom, I just threw up in my mouth. We need to go home.”

I knew he wasn’t sick, so I instructed him to return to the stage. He moaned, cried, fussed, complained…and left the room right as the performance began. He wouldn’t come back, so after watching half of the program (without my son’s participation) we  finally left.

What a performance. A bust—two years in a row!

In all my years of child raising, I’ve never encountered a child like my youngest.

“Before I got married I had six theories about bringing up children; now I have six children, and no theories.” (John Wilmot)

The bright side? At least he was wearing underwear.

“Simper ubi sub ubi.” (“Always wear underwear,” Andrew Rdings)

But that’s a blogpost for another day.

What Miracle Is Wrought

Date: December 15, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Don’t rush me sonny. You rush a miracle man, you get rotten miracles.” (“The Princess Bride”)

Not long ago, I was reviewing my unexpected life; pondering all that has happened and the many miracles I have received since March 18, 2009. There have been many.

Although, it’s funny what you become accustomed to. For awhile, my situation was so desperate I was blessed with huge miracle after miracle. They almost became “the norm!” Then I realized it had been awhile since I’d experienced a jaw dropping miracle so I thought, “That must be a sign that I’m healing and things are getting back to normal. I guess I must not need many big miracles any more.” (And I admit there was a tiny part of me that was sad miracles, for me, had ceased. I felt like I still needed a little help!)

I should have known better.  ”Miracles happen everyday, change your perception of what a miracle is and you’ll see them all around you.” (Jon Bon Jovi)

The other day, one of my cute, single college student co-workers shared a miracle she received with me: someone purchased a plane ticket for her to fly to visit her family at Christmas. She was so touched, and so grateful, she felt like crying! I was happy for her, and full of gratitude and admiration for whoever made that possible for my friend.

It made me think about miracles I’ve received. For example, that my children and I have remained healthy and safe the past 21 months is a miracle. That we have wonderful old and new friends that bless our lives is a miracle. That I got a job in a tough economy after not working for 19 years is a miracle. That I survived two corporate down sizings, and kept my job, is a miracle. And last but not least, not only did Bachelor #5 arrive in our lives, but that he continues to hang in there with me during an engagement much longer than either of us anticipated as we prepare to marry some time in 2011 and blend two families and eight children is also a miracle!

I could go on and on.

I receive miracles every day; but I’m overwhelmed by tender mercies lately. The following have all come to me THIS month:

As mentioned earlier, my neighbor fixed my car. It was a blessing to have it repaired. And of course, it goes without saying that each time we drive it, we continue to be grateful for functioning windows and a warm driving experience!

I got a little bonus at my work Christmas party last week, which will allow me to purchase Christmas gifts for each of my children.

Two issues that have plagued me since my spouse revealed his Ponzi scheme and crimes, were finally resolved. THAT is a miracle.

We got to see a current movie in a theater (AND buy treats!), courtesy of a Denver man who saw the NBC-affiliate news story that ran on our family and he contacted us with words of encouragement–and a gift card to a movie theater so we could enjoy a movie as a family! It was the first time we’ve been able to do that since our unexpected life began and it was a thrill! In fact, I don’t think my youngest remembers ever seeing a movie in a theater. Current movies in real theaters are one of those “luxuries” that aren’t in our family budget any more. The man said that although throwing rocks is fun, so are movies, and he is right! What a great start to our holiday season.

I guess the season for miracles in my life is not over.

And I realize that it never is.

For any one.

Regardless of which end of the miracle you’re on.

“When we do the best that we can, we never know what miracle is wrought in our life, or in the life of another.” (Helen Keller)

Dazzling

Date: November 17, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“A man’s character may be learned from the adjectives which he habitually uses in conversation.” (Mark Twain)

There’s nothing that reveals character like the unexpected life. And if we’re judging things by the adjectives I’ve learned to use, I’d say the unexpected life revealed some flaws I hadn’t known were there.

It has always been a joke in my family that I can’t cuss.

It’s not that I haven’t known the proper words to use. My amazing Nana had the MOST colorful way of expressing herself for most of my life. And both of my parents occasionally “slipped” when addressing frustrations (usually in relation to my brothers! haha) and taught them to me unintentionally. It’s mostly that I just was never comfortable using those expressions. And it was so out of character for me to express myself that way, it never worked when I tried. I simply wasn’t good at it.

Early in my first marriage, I cussed at my former husband–to make a point, of course. He stopped as soon as I said the word, and laughed! He shook his head, told me not to do that any more, that it just wasn’t me and it didn’t work for me. He laughed about it the rest of our marriage.

Then 2005 arrived. It was a challenging year. My oldest was in 7th grade and experimenting with a new appearance, growing his hair longer and dressing like a skater–in the style of Elmo, I mean Emo (sorry to all of the Emo people out there!) and acting a little careless to match his hairstyle. At the same time, my last child was born. I experienced some complications and spent a couple of months in and out of the hospital and the year following his birth continuing to heal and recover. On top of that, my baby had health/sensory challenges of his own and cried almost constantly the first two years of his life. And my mom died. (All of the above took place as my oldest attempted to “find” himself at 12 1/2 years old.)

One day, I lost it and cussed at my oldest son. I remember where I was standing when I did it–his bedroom. He stopped as soon as I said the word, and laughed! He shook his head and told me I shouldn’t attempt that any more, that I was terrible at cussing, and has teased me about it ever since.

Enter the unexpected life. Although I was almost perfectly kind and polite to the former husband who became a stranger in one fateful moment March 18, 2009, I remember an occasion in which I used an inappropriate adjective several times when addressing some issues I had with him and what he had done. (In my defense, it was absolutely mild and merciful compared to what I was thinking and feeling at the time!) And then one morning not too long ago, things that had been building inside me for awhile came to a head and I used an inappropriate adjective in speaking to my oldest again. Sadly, no one laughed. Because the word worked.

I felt bad about that all day long. Is that what my unexpected life had come to and created in me–an ability to demonstrate my “poverty of thought?” (That’s how I’d viewed cussing up until that time.) I even called a friend and confessed my language challenge to her. She knew just what to say. She good-naturedly told me not to worry about it; that I had used a word that is a location, so it didn’t count as cussing! THAT sure gave me a good laugh on a day that I needed one.

So although the unexpected life I hope has revealed positive attributes (my ability to endure, forgive, remain honest, work hard, look at the bright side and choose happiness despite it all) it has revealed a character flaw, or two, as well. Darn it.

And oh, well. Because although I’ve already revealed my ignorance about diamonds in previous ring shopping posts, I still say, as did Confucius, “Better a diamond with a flaw than a pebble without.” Consider me flawed, yet with the potential to dazzle as I overcome my challenges.

I believe there is hope for me and every other diamond-in-the-rough out there yet. It’s called life, and its attendant adversity–guaranteed to refine us and make us what we need to be; to help us be better than we would otherwise have been, as long as we choose to let it.

“Adversity is the diamond dust Heaven polishes its jewels with.” (Thomas Carlyle)

If we just keep going, making the most of our challenges, I guarantee we’ll be dazzling someday.

Thanks to the unexpected life.

Yahtzee

Date: November 12, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“You have to learn the rules of the game. And then you have to play better than anyone else.” (Albert Einstein)

The other night Bachelor #5 came over with the game, “Yahtzee.” He sat down, set it up to play, and when I asked, “Ok, now what do we do?”…you should have SEEN the look he gave me! It was almost a rolling of the eyes.

“What?” I asked.

He replied, “How do you get to be THIS old…and have never played Yahtzee?” (Do you think he’s getting me back for the age issues I had to overcome? Or the old age comments that occasionally slip out? )

So he taught me (and my two youngest) how to play. I couldn’t help but notice what a great approach to life the game of Yahtzee is.

You roll five dice each turn. And no matter what you roll, you can make it count for something you need. You get three rolls and opportunities to do that each turn, and then it’s on to the next player. The game continues as you work your way down a list of things you need to make happen–1s, 2s, 3s, three of a kind, four of a kind, chance, Yahtzee, etc…And in the end, the person with the highest score “wins.”

Yes, life is a game of Yahtzee. Sometimes a really unfair one, when the little blue cup seems filled with dice that are stacked against you. But that’s not the point. The point is what you do each time you roll with what you roll. No matter what comes up, you have the opportunity to look at what you’ve rolled, consider your prospects, look for what’s good, figure out how to make it work, and hopefully tally it all up for a win in the end.

I have been given some difficult scenarios in my life; I’ve rolled some bummer combinations. (Some were so daunting I’d have gladly traded places with just about anyone!) Each time, I had to look at what I was facing, look at what I could do with it, and work as hard as I could to make it happen–while counting on a miracle. And I have to say, life has worked out every time although not necessarily the way I planned it or thought it would. The “rolls,” many times, have turned out to be blessings.

So whether or not you’re looking at snake eyes or doubles, your score will be just what it needs to be in the end. I bet you’ll even be happy with it, as long as you keep rolling the dice you’re dealt and making the best you can out of your roll.

Keep rollin’.

“Give me today, for once, the worst throw of your dice, destiny. Today I transmute everything into gold.” (Frederick Nietzsche)

 

A Hairy Proposition: Life

Date: November 11, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Life is an endless struggle full of frustrations and challenges, but eventually you find a hair stylist you like.” (Author Unknown)

As I write, “Hairspray” is on t.v. and it has gotten me thinking of Tracy Turnblat. Now there was a girl with hopes and dreams and challenges. She didn’t necessarily have everything going for her, but she didn’t quit. She managed to make her dreams come true despite her unexpected challenges in life–and never stopped singing about it, or dancing!

Tracy was more than a cute, perky bouffant. She was on to something. In fact,  I think we don’t have to look past the strands of our own hair for the keys to living a happy life.  (And not to tout my credentials or anything, but having had the 60s pixie cut, the 70s “Dorothy Hamill”, the Farrah Fawcett do, Olivia Newton John’s “Xanadu”–ribbons streaming down the side twists of my hair, the 80s bob, the 90s “Rachel,” and my share of perms and highlights, I like to think I know what I’m talking about.) Here’s what I’ve gleaned from…hair.

How can I control my life when I can’t control my hair?” (Author Unknown)

Lesson #1. You can’t control life or the unexpected things that happen. Don’t even expect to. Just know sometimes things beyond your control are going to bless your life, and you’ve just got to “relax” until your hairstyle becomes you again.

“It is foolish to tear one’s hair in grief, as though sorrow would be made less by baldness.” (Cicero)

Lesson #2. Tearing your hair out, won’t improve the situation. Baldness doesn’t always make sorrow sweet, and I don’t think it’s conducive to dating (if you’re a woman.) Scream into a pillow, punch a pillow if you must, but then plaster on that smile (fake as it may be in the beginning sometimes) and press forward. Things WILL get better. And until they do, take it easy on your locks.

“Hair is the first thing. And teeth the second. Hair and teeth. A man got those two things he’s got it all.” (James Brown)

Lesson #3: Count your blessings, especially in the midst of adversity. (I’ve had my bad attitude days of counting only two blessings: that I was still breathing and that I was a mother, but I still found two!) We’re all richer than we realize. And James is right: hair and teeth? Check. You’ve got it all!

“Gorgeous hair is the best revenge.” (Ivana Trump)

Lesson #4: Remember that eventually, you’ll have good hair days, even happiness, again. I think that is the best revenge on the unexpected life–hair-flipping-happiness once more! So when the lice of things unexpected infest you, when through no choice of your own your beautiful, flowing tresses are shaved away by challenges, circumstances, adversity, the actions of others and every other part of the unexpected life, don’t give up. Grow your hair back–better, longer and more beautiful than ever!

“Once you’ve had chemotherapy, there’s no such thing as a bad-hair day.” (Elizabeth Tilberis)

Lesson #5: Keep it all in perspective. I mean, when you’ve lost your entire life, you learn to appreciate whatever life you’re left with or that you can salvage out of the destruction. As my mom used to say, something is better than nothing! And in my experience, the something is even better, in many ways, than what used to be.

After all, “It’s not the hair on your head that matters. It’s the kind of hair you have inside.” (Garry Shandling)

Now if I could only learn to French braid…


Swimming Lesson for Life

Date: November 7, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“It’s been told that swimming is a wimp sport, but I don’t see it.  We don’t get timeouts, in the middle of a race we can’t stop and catch our breath, we can’t roll on our stomachs and lie there, and we can’t ask for a substitution.” (Dusty Hicks)

I spent the first five years of my life in Arizona. We lived in a community surrounding a golf course. Almost every home, but ours, had a swimming pool. And there were no fences. Needless to say, parents taught their children to swim at a very early age.

Swimming lessons are some of my earliest memories. And the one I remember best took place when I was about 3 years old. That was the day my instructor, Mr. Shipley, went beyond teaching me how to save myself if I fell into the water near the edge of a pool. He wanted me to know how to save myself any time, anywhere, and in any water. That must have been why they paid him the big bucks. He was a life saver, literally. But I was too young to appreciate it at the time. I didn’t love Mr. Shipley or swimming lessons. But you don’t always immediately appreciate those things that teach you the most important life lessons.

The day came when he told me to jump off the diving board and save myself.

I felt like Bob Marley must have felt when he said, “Well, me don’t swim too tough so me don’t go in the water too deep.” (Bob Marley)

No way.

My respect for authority was overpowered by my absolute fear of death and drowning.

Mr. Shipley wasn’t up for a debate. He picked me up, walked to the edge of the diving board, and threw me in.

I went in the water; bubbles and blue everywhere I looked. I was terrified of sinking to the bottom and becoming lost forever, so I looked up, at the lighter blue surface of the water, and kicked and paddled for all I was worth. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to live. And somehow I had the impression Mr. Shipley wasn’t going to do anything to help me; it was up to me.

I kept focused on the water’s surface. I didn’t quit clawing. And somehow before I ran out of breath and drowned, I broke the surface of the water. I could hear clapping and cheering from the edges of the pool, but no one jumped in to rescue me; it was still up to me to get myself from the center of the deep end of the pool to the safety of an edge. So I continued paddling.

I got there.

I felt the strong arms of Mr. Shipley grab me, pull me out of the water, and heard him tell me he knew along I could do it.

My swimming lessons with him were over.

I had learned what to do and how to save myself from an unexpected water adventure.

He put me on the community swim team, instead. Where each week I had to voluntarily jump in the water and not only make it to the other side, but get there in good time. By the time I was 4, I was winning races.

The unexpected life is kind of like that. One moment, you’re safely on the deck or diving board. The next, you’re flailing and floundering in the water. But I learned at a young age you’re only sunk when you quit trying to save yourself; when you quit, give up and let yourself sink to the bottom. However, if you keep clawing your way to break the surface of the water (so you can breathe again) you will make it. Hopefully, you’ll even learn to enjoy swimming. But if not, I guarantee you’ll always be grateful for what you got through and for what you learned in the process.

“No man drowns if he perseveres in praying to God, and can swim.”  (Russian Proverb)

Reality

Date: November 6, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Reality is the #1 cause of insanity among those who are in contact with it.”

My grandpa was a cute, gentle, nice, loving man. He was short, bald, soft spoken, kind to children, served in his state House of Representatives, was a farmer  and wore white patent leather shiny shoes when he dressed up. He was a 1970s Lifesavers commercial come to life. I never knew anyone who didn’t love him.

I was with my former father-in-law, once, and was completely struck by the different grandfather my children had: tall, with thick dark hair, tan skin, a big tattoo, played college football, was a Golden Glove boxer in the Navy, and worked in construction.

It made me laugh. My children certainly were living a different reality from the one I had.

This morning I was reminded of that, again, as my youngest sang me a song, over and over, before I left for work. It went like this (sung to the tune of “The Farmer In The Dell”): “The farmer in the jail, the farmer in the jail, heigh-ho the dairy-oh, the farmer in the jail.”

I told my son I loved his song. And then I explained, “It actually goes like this,” sang it for him the traditional way, and taught him what a “dell” is. But he didn’t buy it at all.

“No, it’s not, Mom. The farmer is in JAIL.” (I don’t think jail was even in my vocabulary when I was his age. Like I said, my children are certainly living a different reality from the one I had! It’s funny, what becomes your reality, based on your unexpected life and its experiences.) We had a discussion about farmers and what good people they are, that they’re working on their farms, not in a jail; but my argument fell on the deaf ears of a preschooler.

Long story short, he wouldn’t change his song. Or his belief.

Last year that little ditty would have panicked me. Today, I simply dropped my son off at daycare and thought, “Hmm, those children are going to learn a new song today!”

I realized I’ve accepted my unexpected life. I’m comfortable, again, in my own skin. I don’t dread the “P” word (prison.) And it feels good.

Not to mention it can be VERY entertaining!

“I am biased to my show as a whole but it is still very entertaining.” (Rob Mariano)

The Magical Adventure Called Life

Date: November 5, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Adventure: the pursuit of life.” (Daniel Roy Wiarda)

I still can’t imagine what life in prison is like. I imagine there is a lot of down time, time to think, and sometimes my children get letters filled with the musings of a lonely man with time on his hands for thinking deep thoughts. Most recently, it was regarding one of my ex-husband’s favorite memories. At the time, he was very angry with me because of it, so it was gratifying he has finally seen it for what it was. Here’s what happened.

Years ago my family went to Disneyworld. We paid an extra fee to stay in the park until midnight. However, that night it rained. A lot. For some reason, not many people wanted a wet adventure in the twilight hours. The park started emptying.

My former husband was one of those who wanted to give up on the magic. But I didn’t. I told him we could make memories in the rain as easily as fair weather, so I thought we should stay. We stayed, although my children’s dad was mad at me and my unwillingness to leave the park for a good part of the evening.

What a night! Water poured from the sky, and ran, like small rivers, down the streets of the Magic Kingdom. It was so wet, paint from the rides dyed my clothing and our shoes squished when we walked. Our hair was plastered to our heads making us look more like drowned rats than the Colorado residents we were. We even got stuck on one ride when it broke down, on our backs facing the ceiling, with rain and water pouring on us…for almost 40 minutes!

We had so many wild and unexpected adventures that, after an hour or two, even my ex-husband had to let go of his animosity and laugh at all of the crazy fun we were having. We rode ride after ride as often as we wanted without ever having to leave our seats, we laughed, we suffered (a little) and made the best memories–my children still talk about that night.

As we left when the park closed, we noticed even the Disney characters had given up and were nowhere to be seen. We were told there were less than 70 people in the entire Magic Kingdom that night! But we proved you can have fun, a magical adventure, in the dark, in the cold, despite suffering and even when you’re (mostly) alone.

It was a lesson that would serve our family well.

Because eventually, I ended up single after 20 years of a happy marriage. Rebuilding my life after such devastation and total loss–finding a job, moving to a new city alone, raising my children by myself, dealing with daycare and bills and auto repairs and toilets and garbage disposals, re-entering the singles scene and everything else I’ve gone through–is something akin to being trapped on my back, with a flood of water conspiring against me, for a seemingly endless amount of time. It, too, has been an adventure.

But that’s ok, because the unexpected life is replete with adventure. You just have to see the adventures for what they are, opportunities, and make the most of them.

And if we endure, if we’re the last man standing in the Magic Kingdom at midnight, I guarantee we’ll see our unexpected life for what it is: an adventure. We’ll see the good that came of it.

Like every Disney story, there WILL be a happily ever after. You just have to get through the rain, sometimes, to see it.

“Life is either a daring adventure or nothing.” (Helen Keller)

Life Lesson From The Ski Hill

Date: November 2, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Too bad Lassie didn’t know how to ice skate, because then if she was in Holland on vacation in winter and someone said, ‘Lassie, go skate for help,’ she could do it.” (Jack Handy)

You can’t grow up in Colorado without learning to ski. And you can’t be raised by a ski enthusiast (like I was) without skiing practically every weekend of the year that the resorts are open–blizzard or shine. Such was my childhood, such was my life. I just had no idea it was preparing me for the real thing.

I was about 4 years old when I rode my first poma lift and experienced my first bunny hill. I didn’t grasp a lot of the concept of skiing, mostly I just rode my skis between my dad’s and held on for the ride. I remember the day was pleasant and sunny, and I remember what I was wearing: maroon knit stretch pants with stirrup straps on the bottom, and a turtleneck sweater. You may think it’s strange I remember what I was wearing that day, despite my young age. But I remember because of what happened.

“Stretch pants – the garment that made skiing a spectator sport.” (Author Unknown)

When I tired of skiing, I played in the snow and around the lodge while my dad got in some real runs on slopes more advanced than the bunny hill. In my wanderings, I saw a dog that looked exactly like Lassie. I LOVED Lassie and made a beeline for her before my mom could stop me. “Lassie” bit a hole in my ski pants that cut all the way through to my leg; it was then I realized she was no  Lassie. I went home tired, dog-bitten, tear-stained and not entirely in love with the sport–not to mention upset that the ski pants I loved were ruined.

My dad didn’t let me quit. The next year, he took us skiing again. This time I skied on my own. My memory of this ski trip exists solely of following my dad down the hill and falling into the  horizontal “splits” position, face down in the snow. I’ve never been flexible, not even as a child; I was in pain, and I couldn’t move. In trying to help me, my mom and my sister ended up in the same position, splits, face down in the snow. And we had to stay that way for the time it took for my dad to hear us calling him for help; for him to stop and yell encouragement to us to rescue ourselves, and finally, for my dad to side step all the way up the hill to help us when we couldn’t help ourselves.

But again, my dad didn’t let me quit.

It was 1974. I was in second grade. And this time, my dad hired a private instructor named Bruce to teach my sister and me how to ski. I was only seven years old, but I had such a crush on dark-haired, tan-skinned, patient and nice, happy and handsome Bruce. And it’s a good thing I loved him, because I didn’t love what he taught me. I did as he instructed, but I did everything not for the love of skiing, but for the love of Bruce. For example, my entire first day of skiing consisted of side-stepping up hills on my skis! Not fun. But you have to endure the “hard stuff” to get to the ease of the downhill experience.

Eventually I learned to ski. I skied anywhere and everywhere my dad led me. In fact, I was in college (and skiing alone for the first time, without my dad) when I learned ski hills were rated for difficulty. My entire life I had simply followed in my father’s footsteps, or ski tracks, to be exact.

So there I was, in 2009, breezing down the slopes of life when an avalanche hit. I was knocked off the mountain of my life and buried under the heavy snow of a disaster of epic proportions. But I couldn’t quit. I had the beacon of a lifetime of teachings and parental example to guide me; I knew what was expected of me; and I never considered anything but digging myself out of my misery.

Because in life, as in winter, when snow falls, you shovel it. You clear pathways so you can get around and continue to live your life. You endure the storm that brought the snow. You wait out the cold. You have to admire the beauty of the snowy landscape–even if you don’t love the storm that brought it. And eventually, the snow melts and life returns to normal…until the next big storm hits. When you fall, you don’t quit skiing. You pick yourself up, side-step up the hill if you need to, but you always get back on the slopes.

How grateful I am for a dad who taught me how to ski; who didn’t let me quit when the going was rough, painful, or cold; who led by example and made it easier for me by carving tracks down the mountains all I had to do was follow. Who made me expert in navigating rocky terrain. And who prepared me for any and every slope, not matter how steep or the amount of moguls, I’ve ever encountered.

“Skiing combines outdoor fun with knocking down trees with your face.” (Dave Barry)

And I think it’s an apt description of the unexpected life, too.

Life is SOME Book

Date: October 30, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Ideally a book would have no order to it, and the reader would have to discover his own.” (Mark Twain)

I began college as an English major. Somewhere along the way, I realized I just wasn’t deep enough (make that insightful enough) to compete with my peers; and at the same time, I realized they were ruining literature for me.

Here are just a few examples.

One class required we recite a poem. I opened a book, picked one that began “Tiger, tiger, burning bright, in the forest of the night…” (You’ve probably heard of it, it’s a pretty famous one.) I was prepared to recite it, but I confess it sounded comparable to how an elementary school student might have done it.

I knew I was in trouble when a young woman in my class stood to recite her poem, and began, “I’ll be doing such-and-such poem in a Meryl Streep, ‘Out of Africa’ accent because…” She went on to explain her deep rationale, but I completely missed her poem because I was so blown away by the fact she had even THOUGHT to do an accent! And that she COULD do an accent! And that she was up there DOING an accent, and didn’t appear to be mortified at all!

Other times we read poems and other literature as a class and discussed them. The things my peers inferred from what appeared to me to be an ordinary story about an ordinary event made me realize English wasn’t for me. Where were they getting their deep thoughts and all of that meaning? I had spent my life getting lost in stories, and simply enjoying the escape into whatever book’s reality I was reading at the time, NOT looking beyond what was right in front of my face for…meaning. Their “meaning” began to ruin it for me.

I found myself beginning to dislike the classics because of the analyses that took place in my college English courses. I started to dread reading (something I’ve always loved to do–I never dreaded reading, reading assignments or writing research papers. I had always enjoyed everything associated with reading and writing.) So I knew it was time to make a change.

I got out. I changed majors.

I tried interior design for a semester because I liked decorating things. Little did I know how much artistic talent was required for a career in that, and unfortunately, I had zero practical art background and no  skill. (I drew like a preschooler, and still do.) THAT was a tough semester, with a very benevolent end, when my professors basically gifted me with “C”s–as long as I promised to change majors!

About the only thing I did somewhat decently as an English major was write. As often as not, my papers would be returned to me with lots of red markings and notes by my professors encouraging me to submit the piece to a magazine or newspaper for publication. I finally took an aptitude test. It recommended public relations. I’d never heard of such a thing, but I was told strong writing was necessary for that career, so I signed on. And I never looked back. I had found my thing.

It was very unexpected.

One of the most valuable things I gleaned from my PR education was the counsel, “Don’t be afraid of getting fired.” Fired? I’d never been fired, but I knew enough to dread it and consider it a failure. Instead, my professor taught us getting fired can be the best thing that ever happens to you. In fact, he encouraged us at some point to “fire ourselves” if no one else ever did. He said it was good for every career, and every person, to make a big change at least once in their life. He said oftentimes, the situation you end up with after being fired (voluntarily or involuntarily) is often better than your previous one.

I never forgot that. And I’ve been amazed how well it correlates to the unexpected life. Especially mine.

I was living life, loving being a wife and mother, serving others in my own small ways and trying to contribute to the world…and then one day the bottom fell out of my world. Shawn Merriman revealed the lies and crimes he had been perpetuating for 15 years, he went to prison, and I was left alone to provide for and raise our children; forced to re-enter the workforce. I got fired from my life. And had to find, or create, a new one.

Like networking in the business world that leads to job placement, I didn’t find my new life on my own. I was blessed with tender mercies, miracles and a friends (old and new) who stood by me, encouraged me and helped me begin again.

And now, on this side of it, just 18 months later, I wonder if my unexpected life isn’t one of the best things to ever happen to me? Not because it’s easy, it’s not. Not because it has been fun, it hasn’t always been–especially in the beginning. But because of all that I have learned, the many ways I have grown and the good things that have come to me and my children because of it.

An unexpected life is an abrupt plot twist filled with antagonists that threaten to overwhelm. Sometimes it seems its chapters goes on far too long. Yet if you keep pressing forward through the drama, you’ll make it through some difficult chapters, and the NEW story directions that come unexpectedly into your life can amaze and overwhelm you, this time, in a good way. I believe you can actually end up with a story (and a life) better than it would have otherwise been.

Life is SOME book.

You just can’t put it down.

And like the few special books that have touched me deeply, enough to make tears roll down my cheeks as I read them, I think I’ll cry when it’s over.

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, ‘A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!’” (Robert Browning)

The Unexpected Life.