Romantic Stags

Valentines Day is off to a good start. At 8:30 this morning, I drove by a local flower stand at the corner of 19th and Ortega here in SF and there was a line of stags picking out their Valentine's Day presents for their sweethearts. John and I share the opinion that Valentine's day is so commercialized. "The perfect card, the perfect gift, the perfect date . . . Isn't there enough pressure in relationships without having to live up to some romantic ideal on Valentine's Day?" (http://mentalhealth.about.com/library/weekly/aa013100a.htm)

Yet, John's inner romantic still wins and he usually gets me something almost every year. John's gift to me, a bouquet of multi-colored roses arrived this morning with a sweet card. Commercialized or not, I love, love, love the presents from him...*sigh! It turns out that the romantic gene has been passed down to the first-born stag. Last night, Ian got all dressed up and smelling nice for his date with his girl. He asked his foodie friends for a good recommendation and made dinner reservations for a restaurant, Pisces. Armed with a present (a delicate pearl and Swarovski crystal necklace and earring set), he borrowed my car and picked her up all the way from Berkeley... well done, Son! He is off to a good start. Yes, the romantic gene strong in that one!

The little stag is at school right now cutting red construction paper into hearts. He will probably make a card for each of us here at home. Those cards are the best!

Signs of the Stags....

Welcome Year of the Rabbit, the fourth animal in the 12-year cycle of the Chinese Zodiac. Rabbit people (born in 1915, 1927, 1939, 1951, 1963, 1975, 1987, 1999, and 2011) are admired, trusted, and are often financially lucky. To celebrate the year of the Rabbit, I brought home two "money trees", also known as Pachira aquatica. It is commonly given during Chinese New Year and enhances good Feng Shui energy in the home. I don't practice Feng Shui, but I thought that the chances of me killing a low-maintenance, low-light plant are slim. I have a brown thumb, you see.

It turns out that some Chinese Zodiac signs get along better together than others. For example, the Dog (me) is most compatible with the Horse or Tiger and incompatible with the Rooster and Dragon. The Boar or Pig (John) is more compatible with a Rabbit or Goat. The Snake (Ian) gets along well with Rooster and Ox. And finally Monkey (such an appropriate sign for Lucas!) is most compatible with Rat or Dragon.... hmmmm. According to these Zodiac compatibility rules, our little household of wild animals is not very compatible. This might explain the chaos one can hear in the background when we are conversing on the phone.

On the other hand, Zodiac-Shmodiac, I think we get along just fine (most days).

The hyper-focused Stag

Our living room is small. Actually our entire downstairs is small. I can sit with my laptop in the dining room and still sort of be able to read John's computer monitor across the room while he's in the living room. If you've ever been to our place, you know! Today, I have been having trouble getting John's attention. I don't mean in a naughty way or anything. More like when I ask him a question from across the room, he doesn't move, doesn't flinch, and DOES NOT ANSWER for like 5 minutes. By the time he utters an answer, I am left wondering what he is talking about because I already forgot my question. When John is killing monsters, the eyes are continuously glued to the monitor. The ears don't work so well.

So, out of irritation, I pulled up my Yahoo messenger tab on my laptop and typed out a message to John. "This is your wife speaking," and then I pressed "send". I looked across the room to see if he notices the message blinking on the corner of his monitor. His head turned slightly toward the blinking, and I heard the keyboard clicking away.... "I am all ears," he responds.

The First Stag

The steam from the shower started to evaporate from the mirror when I heard someone call me.

"Phone call!" My grandma shouted. I barely heard her through the closed bathroom door. I thought Grandma was asleep already. That's weird. Who's calling me? I don't know a lot of people here. I just talked to Mary Anne less than an hour ago. Who else could be calling me? Carla?

"Ok, I'm coming!" I called back to Grandma. I put the phone to my ear and said "Hello?" while trying to balance the towel wrapped around my wet hair. "Hi. I'm John. My, ummm, Mom gave me your number."

I don't know how long I was silent. A flood of images started to rush past me.

One week ago: My Aunt decided that I should, no, I NEEDED, to go to my Junior Prom. It was April of 1988. I had just moved to her city in January. My Aunt was very concerned that I would miss out on a lot if I didn't try to go. I had a great argument against that. I just moved here. I don't know any boys. I had four solid friends at school and a few acquaintances. We had one boy, Paul, who hung out with us everyday. He was really sweet, but more like a girlfriend, not a prom date. Plus Paul already had a date for Junior Prom. I thought that was the end of our discussion about Prom.

Two days ago: After dinner, my Aunt pulled out a fuzzy black-and-white photocopy of some sort of class picture of boys in military uniforms. Hmmm. Ok. "He's really cute," my Aunt pointed at one boy. He looked okay considering his eyes looked like the fuzz or lint on the glass of the copy machine used to make this particular copy. I squinted to see more clearly. They all looked very similar. My five-foot nothing Aunt was a force when she decided on something. All my Mom's sisters are.

"He's half-Filipino," my Aunt's focus on that same boy was unwavering. "But HE is the one you should go to Prom with!" her finger moved to the fuzzy boy next to the first one. "I work with his Mom. She's the one who gave me this picture."

I wondered what she was up to.... "I guess," I muttered, not really paying attention. I guess I didn't really understand what she meant until she said, "His mom will ask him to call you to introduce himself." I was only 17, but I could feel a furrow on my brow starting to form. Call me? Who is this boy? He doesn't even go to my school. He's like in the Army, or something.

"He is a Junior like you. He goes to St. John's Military School." I still didn't fully comprehend what was brewing around me.

I think I said something like "Okay." I didn't give it much thought anyway because when a Junior in high school gets handed some random girl's phone number by his Mom and is asked to call, the answer, in most cases, is a swift and unadulterated "NO".

-----

So there I was standing in the hallway, dripping from parts that weren't dried off yet. "Hi!" I said a little to eagerly. I might have even followed with "How are you?".... more like "Who are you?"... I couldn't believe this was happening.

"My name is John. I got your phone number from my Mom." --- (how romantic!)

I tried to imagine the conversation at his house before he made this call:

Mom: John, call this number.

John: Who's number is this?

Mom: My co-worker's niece. You should call her.

John: That sounds awkward, Mom. I don't even know her.

Mom: Just do it.

John: You're serious, aren't you?

Mom: I told her Aunt you would call her.

I'm sure the actual conversation, if one actually took place, wasn't like that.Before either one of us said anything else, I knew he must really love his Mom.

the word stag

A stag is a male deer. In Old English, the word "deer" had a broader meaning: a wild animal of any kind. How appropriate. If you call my home on an evening when both my sons AND my husband are downstairs with me, you will hear wild animal sounds coming from the background coupled with the sound of the TV and the computer games.