Living Happily Ever After
test123

Blog Articles

Blue Train

Date: April 8, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

In my old life, world travel was a part of the perks. Once we even rode The Blue Train in South Africa. (The Blue Train is a luxury travel experience, I’ve heard it compared to The Orient Express.) The personal butler was fun, the scenery (like watching ostriches race alongside the train during parts of the journey) is unforgettable. My children loved hanging out at the bar and having friendly bar staff in jungle-themed tuxedos prepare unlimited milkshakes and specialty non-alcoholic drinks. But mostly, The Blue Train is less about the scenery and more about the experience of the train itself. And the more I ponder that travel memory, the more I realize it’s a lot like life.

The book on my nightstand reminded me of that.

“Tucked away in our subconscious is an idyllic vision. We see ourselves on a long trip that spans the continent. We are traveling by train. Out the window, we drink in the passing scene of cars on nearby highways, of children waving at the crossing, of cattle grazing on a distant hillside, of smoke pouring from a power plant, of row upon row of corn and wheat, of flatlands and valleys, of mountains and rolling hillsides, of city skylines and village halls.

But uppermost in our minds is the final destination. On a certain day at a certain hour, we will pull into the station. Bands will be playing and flags waving. Once we get there, so many wonderful dreams will come true, and the pieces of our lives will fit together like a completed jigsaw puzzle. How restlessly we pace the aisles, damning the minute for loitering—waiting, waiting for the station.

‘When we reach the station, that will be it!’ we cry. ‘When I’m 18.’ ‘When I buy a new 450 SL Mercedes-Benz!’ ‘When I put the last kid through college.’ ‘When I get a promotion.’ ‘When I reach the age of retirement I shall live happily ever after!’

Sooner or later we must realize there is no station, no one place to arrive at once and for all. The true joy of life is the trip. The station is only a dream. It constantly outdistances us.

‘Relish the moment’ is a good motto, especially when coupled with Psalm 118:24: ‘This is the day which the Lord hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it…’

So stop pacing the aisles and counting the miles. Instead, climb more mountains, eat more ice cream, go barefoot more often, swim more rivers, watch more sunsets, laugh more, and cry less. Life must be lived as we go along. The station will come soon enough.”

(Robert J. Hastings, “A Penney’s Worth of Minced Ham: Another Look at the Great Depression,” [Carbondale, Ill.: Southern Illinois University Press, 1986], 90-91)

Do-Be-Do-Be-Do

Date: January 21, 2012  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Do be do be do.” (Frank Sinatra)

Too soon, the final night of the cruise, THE show, was upon me. I was dressed, I was ready to go (well, as ready as I’d ever be—HATING the costume, especially the wig I had to wear; filled with dread at what I was about to do; and unable to do anything but just get it over with.) The good news? I hated the wig so much, I was more focused on that than the fact I had to sing a solo in front of hundreds of strangers!

More good news? I wasn’t alone.

My husband was also in the show, dressed in a tuxedo and hat (looking very handsome, I might add!) to sing a Frank Sinatra song. He was backstage with me, sitting by me as we watched the show on monitors and waited for our call. As many times as I’ve sat in the audience and watched him perform, I confess I’ve wondered what he does backstage . Now I know. He says he sits and reads, but that night he sat and worried about another performer. And it wasn’t even me, it was Garth Brooks! (His brother, my brother-in-law, was singing a Garth Brooks song.) Apparently, the brother bond is stronger than even Madonna.

And before I knew it, my personal escort (the handsome young male dancer from Australia) came for me. They’d told us our escorts would walk us on stage, but instead, mine thrust the mike in my hand, whispered, “Go!” and sent me out into the spotlight alone as my boys (the male dancers in tight, tiny shorts and tight, tiny shirts with sequined “M”s on the front) started busting their moves.

I sang my song. I don’t think I forgot the words, but yet, I don’t have a clue what words I sang. My husband was right about the muscle memory thing though—somehow my mouth sang the words of its own volition, because all I was doing was standing there thinking, “What in the world have I gotten myself into? THIS isn’t what I do. The last time I was on-stage impersonating a pop star and singing for a crowd was 1982! I wonder how much longer this will take? I wonder who is in the crowd? How many people are in the theater? What did I just sing? Who does this type of thing at 44 years old? I must be crazy. I wonder what the male dancers are up to behind me?” and a host of other thoughts.

And then it was done. Over. Relief! I’m pretty sure the audience felt the same way.

That is the tale of my one chance in life to sing with a live band.

And I survived it.

“I’m for whatever gets you through the night.” (Frank Sinatra)

Another totally unexpected adventure in my unexpected life.

More Embarrassing Than…

Date: August 1, 2011  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Lost a planet Master Obi-Wan has. How embarrassing.” (Yoda)

I took 5 kids to see my husband’s dress rehearsal for “The Sound of Music” at Sundance resort the other night.

It was the first time my youngest has ever seen this daddy on stage. He was thrilled with each and every appearance. (My husband plays the butler, so there were quite a few entrances to catch my son’s attention!) Pretty soon it became apparent that my youngest was only interested in the show when he got to see his daddy on the stage; and eventually, after one small tantrum, and finishing the licorice Nibs he chose at intermission, he fell asleep.

Sadly, he slept through the best part—the part where my husband has abandoned the tuxedo-wearing butler role—and comes out, instead, in embroidered leiderhosen and knee socks, bowing over and over again, as the 3rd place winner in the music festival the Von Trapp family singers perform at and then escape from. (If I’m not mistaken, and based on the audience’s roaring laughter, that moment may have stolen the show!)

The most entertaining part of that moment for me, however, was NOT what was taking place on stage. It was looking at the row of kids beside me and their reaction. They were uproariously laughing and totally enjoying the sight. I’ll never forget my oldest son, laughing and shaking his head, looking at me with tears coming out of his eyes, at his stepdad’s lack of inhibition. (By the way, that is one of the things I love about my husband—he is always willing to do unexpected, crazy things, on or off the stage, in the name of entertainment, and especially to make people laugh. I have some special memories of those attempts, let me tell you, most of which cannot be publicly shared or he might be tempted to quit them altogether to preserve his reputation!)

In that moment, however, everyone was entertained. Everyone except for one. My stepson.

He sat there in shock, his jaw on the ground, disbelief masking his expression, at the sight of his dad. He shook his head in absolute mortification (he is a teenage boy, 13 years old, after all) and looked like he wanted to crawl under the bench! His embarrassment was so palpable, I reached over and gave his should a squeeze of reassurance as if to say, “It’s ok, you’re going to survive this moment.”

Because it’s my experience that the embarrassment eventually dims. The difficult becomes endurable. And then…you’re on to another adventure! That is life. (And the teens, isn’t it?)

However, as a parent who unknowingly and sometimes knowingly, I admit it, frequently embarrasses her children—like every time I dance—it was a priceless moment for so many reasons (not the least of which was the realization that I may have married my soulmate.)

‘I was always embarrassed because my dad wore a suit and my mother wore flat pumps and a cozy jumper while my friends’ parents were punks or hippies.’ (Shirley Manson)

The things parents do.

Apparently, there are things more embarrassing than losing a planet.:)

I Didn’t

Date: October 3, 2010  Author: Andrea Merriman

“Now the choice has finally been made, you’ve put the story on the front page and produced the sort of collection of special reports that usually accompanies a major news event, not the announcement of the casting of one tired old film role.” (James Bond)

It was my 4th marriage proposal since becoming single.

It’s the first one I seriously considered.

And unlike Carrie Underwood, who said, “It’s nice to know you have support. Last night I got a marriage proposal. I just laughed,” I didn’t laugh.

I didn’t even throw up.

I cried.

And then I said yes.

I was getting married. To Bachelor #5.

I’d searched high (and low, as documented by some of the men I dated!) for him. And in the end, there were 31 men but there was only one winner. Bachelor #5. Mr. Awesome. The one I said, “Yes,” to; my “yes” man.

“I only have ‘yes’ men around me. Who needs ‘no’ men?” (Mae West)

By the way, his name is Mike. But since I’m pretty sure he doesn’t want anyone to know his name, and for the sake of his anonymity and to honor the stealth in which he won my heart by simply being himself while making me think he was never even remotely interested in me, and because I don’t think we can really call him a “bachelor” anymore, shall we call him…Agent M?

I think James Bond, or Albert Broccoli, would approve. And besides, you should see Agent M in a tuxedo.