Living Happily Ever After
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It’s A Lot Of Fun

Date: December 12, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“I can rock out anything. I mean, I can rock out a little ‘Time After Time’. I can do a little ‘Greased Lightning’. It depends on the mood…and it’s a lot of fun.” (Kristen Bell)

The extent of anything even approaching rocking out in my life took place, for the first and last time, during high school. I was the lead “singer” in an airband. I imitated Kim Wilde, we rocked “We’re The Kids In America,” and I have the pictures to prove it. Cut to 2011.

In honor of my husband’s 50th birthday, we went on a leaf peeping cruise with some of his family and friends. I wasn’t sure what to expect. We’d only been married 7 months, I didn’t know some of the people we were cruising with at all and I was nervous about leaving my children for 10 days. (In my entire 20 year marriage, all 7,300 nights of it if I’ve done the math correctly, I left my children a total of 16 nights–discounting hospitalizations, but those are another story! In fact, to avoid that very dilemma of leaving my children and for the sake of creating family memories, I’d taken my children to Africa, New Zealand, Turkey, Russia and many other places so that I could see the world and share it with my children without having to leave them. ) But my new husband is a big believer in couples’ “getaways.” So although wary about the whole thing, I agreed to go.

The closer we got to our departure, the more nervous I was, to which my husband would reassure me, “This is going to be great! Traveling without children is a WHOLE new world! You’ll be amazed at how fun it is, all the fun you can have, staying out late, dancing and socializing with adults!” So we went.

And the first night on the cruise ship, wouldn’t you know, we ended up in a karaoke lounge? I’m married to a performer, so it’s something he apparently is familiar with and participates in on occasion, however, my only brush with karaoke in my entire life was the karaoke scene in “My Best Friend’s Wedding,” when an apparently intoxicated Cameron Diaz belts out an awful performance and everyone claps and cheers her on anyway. But here’s what I learned that night in the Carnival karaoke lounge: I was surprised to discover how true-to-life that movie scene was.

Good, bad, or really terrible…anybody stood and sang for the room. The audience listened politely every time, cheered the singers on and actually clapped for them at the end! The really good performers got a louder show of appreciation, but everyone received pretty generous applause. I actually became a little more impressed at my fellow man after seeing them participate, on stage or in the audience, of karaoke! And I sat there innocently watching, not feeling threatened in the least by what was going on around me–it wasn’t my business or my world, at all, after all–until my husband said to me, “Ok, it’s your turn. What are you going to sing?”

NO.

I don’t “do” karaoke.

Never.

No way.

My husband wasn’t about to let me off easy, he insisted I participate, so I finally said, “I’ll only do it if they have ABBA,” knowing they’d never have music like that at karaoke. (I TOLD you I didn’t know anything about karaoke!) They had it. And before I knew what was happening, I found myself heading to the stage. Alone. Head spinning. All I could think was, “This is not me. This is not my life. This is not what I do. If someone had told me two years ago I’d EVER be doing karaoke…” Just the usual disbelief my old self has for the new me living the unexpected life.

I ended up singing a duet with the karaoke hostess who guided me through the whole experience because it was my first time. We even harmonized. Our own little version doing what Anni-Frid and Agnetha did best—”Dancing Queen.”

I don’t drink, so I can’t be sure, but I think it may not have been QUITE as bad as the movies.

“Everybody’s a filmmaker today.” (John Milius)

I wish I could say that was my last foray into film, but it wasn’t. It gets worse. Much worse.

Phone Calls and Boys, I Mean, Men

Date: January 20, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“America’s best buy is a telephone call to the right man.” (Ilka Chase)

The right man calling me on the phone has been sort of a struggle for me.

I was about 12 when the phone became a nuisance in my life. A boy I didn’t “like” called me several times each week after school. Each time he’d call, I’d tell my mom to tell him I wasn’t home. She’d look at me, say, “I’m not going to lie—YOU tell him!” and hand me the phone. Then the awkward conversation would begin until I’d make up an excuse and hurriedly hang up.

It was that same pattern for years: Joe, Joestes, Espada, Rick, Wes, a young man in college who called before I was even old enough to date…I can’t remember the names of all the “wrong” boys who called me during my youth. It seemed like the right one never would. But then, when I was 15 years old and the boy I “liked” actually liked me at the same time, the phone began to mean something new! The history of my relationship with phones was pretty good from that time on through college, especially when the young man I  loved moved to Bolivia for two years when I was 20 and 21 years old and I lived for his twice-yearly telephone calls! In 1989, I married (someone else), and for 20 years, took calls from a husband. I’ll probably never get phone calls like his again in my life–from his “office” where he was “working;” and from unique destinations via satellite phone connections all around the world as he traveled “for business”–England, Tanzania, Etheopia, South Africa, Zambia, Cameroon, Zimbabwe, Austria, Russia, Armenia, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium and more. And then I got divorced.

After that much time had passed, though, dating, romance, phones, EVERYTHING about being single, had changed! Communication was an entirely different scene. There was even a phenomenon known as “Love Language” that had been invented. Most men didn’t call me on the phone, they emailed, instant messaged and texted me. All of the time. Morning, noon and night. I woke up to “Good Morning” texts, I went to sleep to “Goodnight” texts and everything in between. I got some interesting and unsolicited photo texts. I got some stalker texts. I even got one marriage proposal text. (Really. I promise, I don’t make this stuff up—it is 100% my unexpected life!)

Apparently, “Texting is a way to remind your partner that you’re thinking about him or her throughout the day…Send them whenever you please!” (Cellphones, “Good To Know”)

I didn’t have a lot of time to talk on the phone anyway. I worked all day, so in the evenings I needed to be free to talk to my children. I didn’t have time to talk to men on the phone for hours. I realized that early into my return to the singles scene, when a man called me a lot and wanted to talk on the phone…every night…for hours…and I just couldn’t take it. I suggested he email or text instead as I didn’t have time for telephone chit chat because I needed to spend time with my children, and that was pretty much the last I heard from him!

Now you have the 411 on phones and the singles scene today.

Eventually I narrowed the texts down to one man, Bachelor #5 (sometimes known as Agent M.)

Although, “Easy is to occupy a place in a telephone book. Difficult is to occupy someone’s heart; know that you’re really loved,” (Carlos Drummond de Andrade) let’s just say #5 doesn’t only occupy a spot in my contact lists, he occupies my heart! But even he doesn’t call that much–he texts, emails and talks to me in person—the perfect man for a woman who doesn’t like to waste time talking to men on the phone when she’d rather be with them in person!

We’ve been engaged for 8 1/2 months now and I have to say things were pretty quiet on the phone/texting front the first four months of my engagement. And then unexpectedly one night, I heard from the Stalker. Again. Out of the blue he contacted me, I told him I was engaged, and things were silent. From that moment on. Until the other night.

I love phones! (Not.) Their connections are so unexpected.

I received a mystery text, “Are you married yet?” Followed one hour later by, “Hi,” questions about where I was (home), was I going to bed (nope, too much housework), and an invitation to meet for a drink! I thanked him for asking, but told him I was still engaged. He said, “Oh, I did not know you were engaged,” (guess he forgot about the previous 9 months), then “When are you getting married?”

Isn’t THAT the million dollar question? And it came to me, courtesy of a phone. And my Stalker!

“I’m not just any stalker, I’m YOUR stalker.” (Unknown)

Every four months. Like clockwork. In my unexpected life.

What wasn’t unexpected, however, was #5′s response to the following question: “So, when you’re engaged, does that mean it’s inappropriate to meet a stalker for a drink?” He shook his head and smiled at me, made a joke about my “friendly” dating past, and we both laughed as he said, “Andrea, you’re NOT going!”

I sort of expected that.

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)