Life vs. Living

Major-league pet peeve of mine: In tribute to a teacher or mentor of profound impact, a speaker cites numerous examples of small lessons learned from said subject. Just prior to the presentation of meaningless plaque (which probably contains the heading: “In appreciation for [insert thankless job]”), the speaker then states “But more than teaching us about [insert primary subject area of teacher/mentor’s interest], s/he taught us about life.”

Holy Copulating-without-consideration-of-love-or-procreation Deity, I hate that. That crap is straight out of the moral wrap-up of a Rodney Dangerfield movie.

Nevertheless, I find it necessary to differentiate between life and living, citing specific examples from the past five days with my folks. As I share a very strange relationship with my family, being a strange person and all, I have to dig and ignore a bit to find some substance in a vacation, but it’s there. Shall we? (yes)

Life: Being conscientious about what you eat on vacation, knowing it will show up in some place that will make you look even less-correctly proportional than you already are.
Living: Eating one (which becomes four) more of Granny’s homemade biscuits with sorghum molasses with the full knowledge that it isn’t exactly carb-free.

Life: Having to speak cautiously about your plans for the future, knowing that the revelation that you don’t exactly have the next year “figured out” will throw your folks into a worry-fit, being as they have planned everything that has happened for the last fifteen years or so.
Living: Watching your mother’s eyes near the point of explosion when you let it slip that you don’t yet "have a place to live," though your move date is some 55 days away.

Life: Dealing with the effects of losing power and phone service in your condominium, rendering your intention to work on vacation a pipe dream.
Living: Holding your dad’s laptop open in the passenger seat of the Caddy, reading aloud the available networks and number of bars as he mopes down US 17 seeking wireless internet service so neither of you feels disconnected from the real world.

Life: Resigning yourself to the fact that going to dinner requires five minutes to buckle your nephews in, not to mention your own sitting unsecured on the floor of the minivan, due to the doubling of the size of your immediate family in the last eight years.
Living: Being the designated co-rider with your 22-month old nephew and realizing as the “Himalayan” begins that: 1) you are only secured by what most might refer to as “a string;” 2) that centrifugal force (is that right, Trina?) will gradually drive his entire body under your right leg, thus endangering your nether-regions, and 3) remembering that rides that go around in circles make you horribly nauseous; yet finding a way to say “Weeeeee” every time you go around, hoping all the while that your face doesn’t turn green and that you don’t vomit on your brother’s second child.

Life: Playing golf with your dad, watching his follow-through really, really shorten up, and recognizing this as a symptom of something quite a bit worse than the ailment you already know to be troubling him.
Living: Refusing to use this as a reason not to rib him without mercy, as follows: “Nice drive Dad, until that part where it went into the bunker.”

Life: Knowing your nephews will probably render a key or two of your penano useless by banging on it incessantly like a “Beat the shit out of this car for $2.00” car.
Living: Watching your sister-in-law force a smile and restrain a laugh as your four-year-old nephew forces her to listen to a Gb (b5, add b9, #9, 11, #11, b13, 13) chord. Editor’s note: This sounds like Damien incarnate, and its only known use in modern music was in the Castro Symphony for Saxophones and Manual Stapler, op. 12.

Life: Trying to force members of your family who may be contributing to the Ralph Reed Election Fund to change the channel from the NASCAR wrap-up post-show outro review or Fox News.
Living: Jumping up and down like a four-year-old at the dinner table when you see Knight and his merry band on Wheel of Fortune.

Life: Tiring of the SC Interstate road seams beating the following rhythm against your tires over and over and over and over and over again: 1, 2-a, (3)a, (4)&a, (1), (2)e a, 3, (4)e&a.
Living: The change as you cross over the Savannah River and the rhythm changes to “Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.”

I am going to be more careful the next time I say “That’s life.” I’m not sure that’s what I always mean.