Through a Glass, Darkly

I have a lot of great friends who have been doing a lot of taking care of me. Some of the girls from church have shared meals with me, talked with me about sad things, deliberately not talked about sad things, and have called and sent emails just to let me know they were thinking of me. My board friends have sent care packages galore - chocolate, a dancing hula girl, coloring books and crayons and a magic wand, cards, letters, and all kinds of thoughtfulness. Friends have shared coffee with me, stopped by, and called. Melissa let me call her and cry on a rainy Sunday afternoon. Theresa let me cry while we drank tea. I have talked before about how I used to feel left out and alone when it came to friendships, but I don’t feel that way anymore.

This weekend, we went to see Scott and Kelly, as we always do on Memorial Day weekend. Seriously, this was the fourth Memorial Day in a row that I went to visit Kelly, and Mike has also come the past two years. We went to the beach, made drinks in the blender, ate chicken wings, made hamburgers, watched dumb television, enjoyed some movies, and played poker. Basically, it was “the usual.”

Kelly and I are both going through a lot of changes right now, and we talked about that some. But we also spent a lot of time not talking about it. It was just kind of understood that when I was crying while watching Elizabethtown and Return to Me, that I was crying about other things, too, and that was okay. I felt very taken care of this weekend. I didn’t help in the kitchen as much as I usually do, but it was nice to feel like I was on vacation a bit.

Last week, when people asked how I was doing, I said that my eye surgery felt like a reprieve from real life, because of the drugs and the adjusting. This didn’t feel quite so much like an emotional reprieve, but it was nice to be away.

(In reading this post, it sounds a bit like a downer, so let me say that we had a lot of fun, it’s just that it was low-key. We made fun of people on the beach, I laughed until I cried at Mike’s new version of “When a Man Loves a Woman,” Kelly had better cards than I did (but I had a king!), and I scared everyone with my bionic eye. What I love most about spending time with Scott and Kelly is just sharing life.)

One of the ways that I know I am very Southern is that, aside from going to workout and going to have my wisdom teeth removed, the last time I can remember leaving my house without eye makeup is when I was a sophomore in college. And that was unintentional - it was when I was living with my aunt and uncle, and they were out of town, and I overslept and had to feed the cats and forgot my engagement ring as well as finishing my eye makeup. That was also the last time I forgot my engagement ring, because I saw a girl I knew, who asked where it was, and when I said I had forgotten it, she said, in a reproving tone, “I never take mine off, so I couldn’t possibly forget it.” Well, I take mine off every night, but the rebuke worked, because I haven’t forgotten to put it on since.

Back to the makeup - what I am saying is that the last time I intentionally left my house without eye makeup was . . . before I started wearing makeup. So, around high school. I don’t think I wear a lot of eye makeup, but I do wear some, and I wear it regularly. And it makes me look better, which makes me feel better about myself. Up until two weeks ago, the last time I intentionally left my house without eye makeup and while wearing glasses was probably middle school. (I’ve been wearing contacts since I was 10.)

The week before my surgery, I had to wear my glasses. No big deal. I mean, I didn’t love it, but it was pretty much the last time I’d have to wear glasses in public, so I could deal. But the last few days before my surgery, I was not supposed to wear eye makeup. That was a slightly bigger deal, since I was wearing the glasses, too. I was unhappy about it, but I tried to suck it up and hoped that no one noticed, since my glasses make my eyes look so small anyway.

After my surgery, I was told to “use my common sense” about resuming everyday things. This morning I finally decided I could shower without using my eye patch (no pirate jokes), but I still haven’t put on any eye makeup. It does make getting ready in the morning a little faster, I have to say. And I don’t think I look terrible (it would be worse in the winter, I think, but it’s not so bad to look fresh-faced in the spring), but it appears that others do. So far this week I have been asked if my eyes are weak (nope, just not wearing eye makeup), told that I look washed out (probably because I’m not wearing eye makeup), and asked if I was especially tired (actually, I slept fine, but you should know that I’m not wearing eye makeup).

I am definitely a makeup kind of girl, but I secretly enjoyed not wearing any, if only because I survived it and I didn’t look horrible (at least not to most people). I’m still going to wear makeup regularly, if only because it makes me feel good to do myself up, but it wasn’t so bad after all. This weekend, though, marks the return of mascara, eyeliner, and eye shadow. We’re going to see Scott and Kelly, and I don’t want Kelly’s friends thinking I am weak-eyed, washed out, or tired. I want to look like myself again.

The other night I had a dream in which I saw myself returning to a place from my past, a place I’m not really interested in revisiting. It’s not that it was wholly or even mostly bad for me, it’s just that I was in a period in my life where I thought relationships and growth were more systematic, that I had to do certain things to make them work. I thought I was doing the right things, but I was trying to make myself fit a certain mold instead of thinking about the ways that I have seen myself learn and grow in the past.

In the dream, I had reverted to my former ways of interacting with the people of that place, and I felt . . . trapped. I wasn’t comfortable and I wasn’t expressing what I really thought, and I felt patronized. I was very unhappy. I wasn’t sure why I was there, or why I had changed my mind and decided to go back, but I knew that it was the wrong step for me. And then I woke up, and I was very relieved to find out that I was in bed next to Mike instead of being in that place.

Normally, a dream like that can be kind of upsetting. At the very least, it starts the day off wrong - I woke up feeling distressed instead of rested, and it can be hard to change gears after that (just ask Mike: two nights ago I dreamed that we were at my Master’s graduation, which was - in my dream - held at a water park. And for some reason, Mike couldn’t come. I reminded him of that all day). Surprisingly, though, after I realized it was all a dream, I wasn’t all that upset. It made me feel good about the decision I made several years ago to leave that place, and it made me realize that I know myself a lot better than I did back then. That’s a good thing, not something to get worked up about, no matter how disconcerting it was to be floundering in that place just like I remember.

It also made me realize that I just don’t have the energy to be upset because of a dream right now. I would have been upset about this dream two months ago. I would have gotten worked up about it, and I would have thought about that place and what those people think about me, because I didn’t get the closure I wanted. But I don’t have time for that right now. I have more important things going on. So I’m going to focus on the good things - the fact that I can see how I’ve grown in the years since leaving that place, the fact that I have Mike to help me make decisions, the fact that I have a group of people who support me and know me and let me be myself.

And, as I said to Mike, perhaps that’s a sort of closure after all - I finally feel like I am letting go of some of those feelings, because I realize that there are things that are a lot more important than the opinions of people I don’t even see anymore. You can call it growing up, or you can call it God being faithful to answer the prayers I have prayed. Or maybe it’s just that time heals wounds and I’ve got more perspective on the situation. Whatever it is, it’s nice to feel like I’m moving on.

KARI: At work today, they said my eye looked better.

MIKE: Really?

KARI: Yeah, you don’t think so? It’s a little red, but that’s because of my cold.

MIKE: Oh, the redness is better. It’s just more purple underneath.

KARI: My makeup has worn off.

MIKE: It looks like I hit you.

KARI: That’s what I tell people.

MIKE: Well, I made the stuffed pablano peppers for dinner, and the sauce will help open your sinuses.

KARI: Great! Let me taste!

MIKE: Just get a little. It’s really spicy.

KARI: *tastes* Wow! That’s good. It’s really spicy!

MIKE: I know. I’m surprised at how spicy it is.

KARI: But the rice will cool it off.

MIKE: There’s a lot, too. This is supposed to be for four peppers.

Later, while eating dinner.

KARI: This tastes really good. But . . . I like spicy things. I don’t know how you’re eating it.

MIKE: It’s not that spicy.

KARI: Right. *gets more water*

More time has passed.

KARI: So, on the recipe, did it say it was going to be this spicy? Did it have lots of flames or chili peppers next to it or something?

MIKE: No.

KARI: I didn’t know that chipotles were this spicy. Can I look at the recipe?

MIKE: Yeah, it’s in the book over there.

KARI: It doesn’t say it’s this spicy. That’s so weird.

MIKE: *gets refill*

KARI: Will you bring me a tortilla or something so I can cool my mouth off?

MIKE: That’s a good idea.

KARI: I’m just surprised . . . hey, Mike?

MIKE: Yeah.

KARI: How many chipotles did you use?

MIKE: How many does the recipe call for?

KARI: One canned chipotle in adobo sauce.

MIKE: One canned?

KARI: Yes.

MIKE: Not one can?

KARI: Oh, my.

MIKE: …

KARI: How many did you use?

MIKE: *gets can out of trash, laughs uncontrollably*

KARI: HOW MANY DID YOU USE?

MIKE: 18.

KARI: *cackles*

MIKE: I didn’t actually read the recipe. I just used the stuff I bought.

KARI: Well, this has been a very informative meal.

MIKE: There’s a big difference between one can of peppers and one canned pepper.

KARI: My whole mouth is burning.

MIKE: But are your sinuses open?

KARI: My sinuses will never close again.

MIKE: We’re going to have to pour it out.

KARI: I would like to disagree with you, but . . . I’m dying.

MIKE: Farewell, spicy sauce.

KARI: We can use salsa on the rest of the peppers.

MIKE: I really like chipotle flavor.

KARI: It’s kind of hard to tell the flavor when your taste buds are being scalded.

MIKE: Don’t touch your eyes. Now my mouth and my eye are burning.

KARI: This was a dangerous dinner.

MIKE: You’re going to write this up, aren’t you?

KARI: I think people need to know. For safety.

MIKE: Read the recipe. Learn the difference between “can” and “canned.”

KARI: Your mouth will thank you.

At the end of last year, after having to wear my glasses for a few weeks, I decided that one of my goals for this year was to find out about getting my eyes fixed. And get it done if at all possible. With support from Mike and my family, I decided to get lens implants, and scheduled the surgery after Mike’s semester ended.

And so, on Monday morning, I found myself sitting in a little room (if it can be a “room” when the walls are just curtains) at the Duke Eye Center wearing two surgical gowns and some nice soft socks. I had already relinquished my clothes and my glasses to Mike and said goodbye to him. And I waited. I thought I would be more nervous, but . . . I guess I’ve had a lot going on lately, because I just hadn’t had time to get worked up about it. A very nice nurse named Patience took my vitals, asked me my name, where I was from, and if I’d had anything to eat or drink since midnight. A very nice nurse named Phyllis gave me a not-so-nice IV in my hand and asked me my name, where I was from, and if I’d had anything to eat or drink since midnight. Somewhere in there, someone (it might have been Phyllis) put an X over my left eye, indicating that was the one we were having done first. A very nice nurse whose name I was not given (and, remember, I didn’t have my glasses, so there was no reading off of nametags) called me “Pippi” (I wore my hair in pigtails because it seemed like it would be easier to lie back for the surgery if I didn’t have a ponytail in the back. Wearing pigtails also means you are making an attempt to be cute, despite the gown, fuzzy socks, and lack of makeup) and was surprised to find out that I am almost 27. A nice-sounding doctor put JD (his initials, which I am still scrubbing off. And I resisted the urge to ask him if he likes Scrubs) under my left eye, as confirmation that it was being operated on. He also asked me my name and where I was from. And if I’d had anything to eat or drink. A very nice male nurse who had a wonderful voice and an African name that I don’t know how to spell got me on the gurney. I remember thinking, “This is what it’s like to be on ER,” as I watched the lights in the ceiling roll by.

I met another nice nurse named Theresa (that’s a good sign, right?) who stood close enough that I could almost make out her features, which I thought was very considerate of her. I have to admit that every time I met a new nurse or doctor, I said, “I can’t see you, but it’s nice to meet you.” It’s disconcerting not to be able to see the people you are interacting with. So, thanks, Theresa. She asked me my name and where I was from, and told me she would be assisting in the surgery. I was still remarkably calm at that point, and Theresa made it easy to stay calm.

And then I met an anesthesiologist, who talked me through what would happen next (after asking me my name, where I was from, and if I’d had anything to eat). I was going to be put under just long enough for the doctor to do local anesthesia around my eye. For whatever reason, though, he wasn’t actually the guy who put me under. I was getting more nervous, so I have to admit that I don’t remember the names of either of my anesthesiologists. But I had been trying all day to make sure I was polite to the nurses, asking what they’d had for breakfast, making jokes, complimenting their names and voices, so I can surely be given a pass for this.

I finally saw my doctor (well, I couldn’t see him, but you get the idea), and he asked how I was doing. I said, “I thought I would be nervous, but I’m surprisingly calm.” He said, “I’m surprisingly calm, too!” Mike and I have debate whether this was appropriate. He says it was funny. I said, not so much. And as the one who was HAVING HER EYE SLICED OPEN, I think my opinion counts more. Seriously, though, it didn’t offend me, although I thought it was an odd thing to say.

When the second anesthesiologist came in to hook me up, I said, “When they put me under for my wisdom teeth, the doctor said he had hooked me up and that I would start feeling the effects in just a few minutes. And that’s the last thing I remember. So I am onto your game.” He laughed. And that’s about all I remember for a while. At least he wasn’t tricky about it.

I started coming out of the anesthesia in time to realize that the surgery was going on. I couldn’t see anything, but I couldn’t feel anything, either, so I didn’t get freaked out about that. The doctor was aware that I was slightly awake, because he said my name and I think I responded. And then I was in and out of consciousness for the rest of the surgery, so I remember bits of their conversation. My doctor, Dr. Carlson, said, “Tire,” a lot, and at first I thought it might have had something to do with the blood pressure thingie on my arm, because it seemed to happen around the time that the blood pressure thingie tightened, but . . . that’s just dumb. I was on drugs, though, and weird things make sense when you’re on drugs.

And then it was over, and Dr. Carlson was saying that I needed to stick around for another 75 minutes and I was maybe sleeping a bit and they wheeled me into the recovery room and gave me a Diet Coke and some peanut butter crackers. And I got to see Mike, who gave me my glasses.

I have to say that the lady I talked to in the recovery room was the only nurse I didn’t like all day. I don’t know what her name was, because I was pretty woozy at that point, but she didn’t have a nice voice, and she seemed kind of impatient. I thought this at the time, so you can imagine how I felt when I heard, on Tuesday, that she wasn’t supposed to have sent us home when she did. That’s right, she said, “You can leave now,” and I thought, “Has it been 75 minutes already? I must have slept longer than I realized.” Even in my woozy state, I was right. It had not been 75 minutes. I am not too impressed with her.

However, I was very impressed with Mike, who got me lunch and Coke Zero and drove me home and brought me crackers and did a wonderful job of taking care of me. I felt pretty nauseated all afternoon, but I didn’t get sick at all (thanks to Mike). I left crazy rambling voicemails for my friends, I watched Pride and Prejudice, and I . . . was kind of bored, actually.

Since I was released a little early, I didn’t get the final words from the doctor. I did get the care instructions, but I didn’t get to hear about what my eye would look like. Not to gross everyone out, but they put an air bubble in to protect my cornea, and I didn’t know that, and I was kind of scared I had messed something up. So, on Monday night, I didn’t sleep well, because I was so worried. Tuesday morning, bright and early, Mike and I went back to Durham for my follow-up appointment, where everything was pronounced to be fine. Tuesday, though, was a rough day overall, since I was tired and feeling a little pain. And I couldn’t take a shower. I love showering. I slept for 10 hours Tuesday night, and Wednesday was much better. I think I can do this again.

So, how is my vision? I can tell a huge difference already - on Tuesday morning my eye measured at 20/200, which is a marked difference over what it was (something like 20/2000). It will stay at this level for the next three weeks, and then I’ll get most or all of the stitches that are left taken out, and it should settle in at better than 20/40. The next three weeks will be difficult, but I’m pretty determined to make the best of them. I’ve been wearing glasses since I was four years old . . . I can make it through three more weeks of discomfort.

We won’t schedule the surgery for my right eye until this one is all healed up, so it won’t be until the end of June or early July at this point. But this week was a good first step. I’m going to be able to see!

I don’t know when I’ll feel like posting again, so here’s the picture we had framed for Mom for Mother’s Day to distract you. Look how pretty we all are.

Recently, Mike has discovered The Beatles. I mean, sure, he knew about them, and he listened to some of the albums I owned, but he finally got around to watching The Beatles Anthology on DVD, and, suddenly, I feel the need to apologize to my parents for my Beatles fan-girl-ness back in high school. Mom and Dad, thanks for putting up with that. And thanks for taking me to buy the second Anthology at midnight. And for letting me watch my tapes of the Anthology as much as I wanted. And for not killing me. (I probably should have said that last one first.)

Not that I’m going to kill Mike. It’s actually fun to see him find out songs that I remember discovering, and telling him which are my favorites. As usual, he’s taken it to extremes, but if there was ever a band to go a little crazy about, well, The Beatles certainly make the cut. We spent time last night talking about what an “essential Beatles” CD would look like, and how we would go about choosing the songs.

Last night he was showing me Rolling Stone’s 500 Greatest Albums and we were comparing it to VH1’s 100 greatest albums (note: that link is weird, because VH1 put Revolver as 1, not 11, and Sgt. Pepper as 10, not 20). Those two lists have very different Beatles philosophies, because Rolling Stone put Sgt. Pepper as number 1, and VH1 put Revolver as number 1. I like Revolver, I do. I think it’s a great album, and I see how we go from Help! to Rubber Soul to Revolver to Sgt. Pepper. In other words, you can’t get to Sgt. Pepper without Revolver. But, Mike and I were talking about this last night, yeah, Sgt. Pepper is overplayed now, and it’s really lost its impact, but . . . I remember the first time I listened to it (on vinyl at my friend Kim’s house), and it blew me away. I had never heard anything like it. It’s not that those are my favorite Beatles songs (please don’t make me choose any favorite Beatles songs). It’s just that, for me, as an album, it always comes first.

I am sure that says some interesting things about me. I have to admit that, in high school, the Beatles-loving side of me never seemed to be quite in line with some of the other aspects of my goody-two-shoes personality (black clothes and purple tights aside). Especially the acid-dropping Beatles. If I was going to like The Beatles, shouldn’t it have been the more innocent version? And, yeah, I like those songs. But they’re just not as interesting as the Rubber Soul/Revolver/Sgt. Pepper era. I’ll admit that the band loses me a bit after The White Album, though there are plenty of songs from that and later albums that I love.

What does it say about me that I love Sgt. Pepper, but prefer most of what came before it to what came after it? Maybe deep down inside I’m the girl who likes to toy with being edgy, but who doesn’t really want to make the full jump out of the mainstream into drug-addled hippiedom. Maybe I’m the girl who likes it when people are getting along instead of fighting. Maybe I’m just a little too conventional after all.

Maybe Yoko Ono really did wreck The Beatles. Or maybe the problems they were already having couldn’t be ignored anymore.

In the book I’ve been reading, A Southern Family by Gail Godwin, a character who is an author said that one fo the things she didn’t like about her own writing was her tendency to wrap things up: “What ugly truths of human existence had I been regularly avoiding in my life and work in order to maintain my vision of life and my belief in myself?” I related to that because I, too, like to wrap things up neatly. In Beatles terms, I would probably be a Paul more than a John, espousing a more hopeful view. Or at least wanting to. I go to great efforts to make that happen in the things I say and write, in real life. I prefer books and movies where there is a clear sense of closure. I don’t like it when relationships are unavoidably messy. I think maybe I like the earlier Beatles because of that, too - those later relationships were a mess, and, no, they couldn’t “just get along.” And it shows. The music doesn’t gloss that over, as much as I want to. Maybe I don’t like the end of the Beatles simply because it’s so raw it makes me uncomfortable.

KARI: Where’s the guacamole?

MIKE: It was turning brown on the top.

KARI: Sooooo?

MIKE: . . .

KARI: So, where is it?

MIKE: I ate it.

KARI: All of it?

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: You ate the whole container of guacamole?

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: The whole container? That my aunt flew up from Florida?

MIKE: Yes.

KARI: The whole container that my aunt flew up from Florida for both of us to share?

MIKE: It’s the only thing I had to eat today.

KARI: I didn’t even get to taste it.

MIKE: You don’t like guacamole.

KARI: Yes I do! I introduced you to guacamole!

MIKE: It was in the house at least . . . eight hours. You had your chance.

KARI: I was sleeping then! We brought it home last night!

MIKE: And then you left me alone with the guacamole.

KARI: And then I went to work! To make money!

MIKE: I have lost weight since yesterday. The guacamole diet. Just eat chips and guacamole, and you, too, can lose weight.

KARI: What about cholesterol?

MIKE: My diet is for those Hollywood stars who don’t care about cholesterol. They only care about being thin.

KARI: I am pretty sure that your diet is not going to make anyone thin.

MIKE: Look at the scale. You can’t argue with results.

KARI: You are trying to distract me. But I will not forget that you ate the whole container of guacamole. And I got none.

MIKE: You snooze, you lose.

KARI: I was sleeping, yes, but I don’t think I should be penalized for sleeping at night instead of eating guacamole.

MIKE: Those are the rules.

KARI: Did you eat all the salsa, too?

MIKE: No. You like the salsa.

KARI: I LIKE THE GUACAMOLE, TOO.

MIKE: I thoughtfully left you the salsa.

KARI: Did you have any?

MIKE: No.

KARI: If you eat my salsa, I will cut you.

MIKE: It’s just food.

KARI: Says the man who ate an entire container of guacamole.

MIKE: It went really well with the piece of cheese I stole from your bag.

KARI: . . .

MIKE: Please don’t cut me.

Many days I bring a Granny Smith apple and some cheddar cheese for lunch. When I am packing my lunch, I take the block of cheese and cut four slices from the short end. Lately, though, the past few times I have brought apple and cheese, when I have gone to eat my lunch there were only three slices. At first I thought, you know, perhaps I am misremembering how many pieces I brought. Perhaps I left one on the counter at home. Perhaps one fell out in my tote bag.

Or PERHAPS someone is eating ONE PIECE OF MY CHEESE. Every day.

Today, I was absolutely sure that I had cut four pieces of cheese. And when I pulled the bag out of the refrigerator, there were only three pieces. I went on a cheese rampage. I went around to different people saying, “Could you just let everybody know that the cheese and apple in the refrigerator are my lunch? That’s what I bring for lunch most days.” And, you know, now that I know for sure this is happening, I will bring my lunch in a grocery bag. To hide the cheese.

But this is not enough. I’m going to go all Veronica Mars on everyone. I’m going to interrogate people. I’m going to set a cheese booby trap. I’m going to find the person who is eating one piece of my cheese. What kind of freak eats one piece of cheese from someone’s lunch?

However, I am not Veronica Mars. So I don’t really have a plan. Help me think of a plan. Help me save my cheese.

So now you know why I was so glad the Palladinos are gone. As The Star-Ledger said yesterday, “The Palladinos have said in interviews that they wrote the finale with the intention of continuing the story next season — and, tonally, it fits in with some of their more unpopular story arcs of years past — but with all that happened afterwards, it plays out like a raised middle finger to both their replacements and the viewers.”

I read another article in USA Today that concludes, “[Lauren Graham], her fans, and her character deserve a better ending than they’ve been given tonight.”

No kidding.

The season began with a desperate plea in a diner and a Rory/Logan theme party, and it ended with a desperate plea in a diner and a Rory/Logan theme party. I get the bookends. Only, you know, it would have been a heck of a lot better without that last scene, which I am convinced is a big “screw you” to the WB, the fans, and the characters. As far as Luke and Lorelai are concerned, neither one seemed to get anywhere emotionally this season. In fact, we’re at a worse place than we were when we started.

Okay, so, I’ve had a little more time to think about this. I know you’re in shock. I was in shock, too, for a few days after I found out (accidentally) that this was happening. And I said, “This is the one thing I always said I would not tolerate. It’s ridiculous.” And if Amy and Daniel were staying, I probably wouldn’t keep watching, because they were the ones who said, “Invest in this couple,” and that Luke and Lorelai are soulmates. And then screwed everything over to create more drama and extend their contracts. But they’re gone. So keep that in mind. Someone can fix this mess.

Here’s what I know. If you look at interviews from the first part of the season, Amy and Daniel made it clear that they were heading in the direction of Luke and Lorelai going to the altar. And then a few things happened. UPN and the WB merged, the Palladino pilot for a new WB show got the axe, David Sutcliffe was available, and, suddenly, it seemed as if the Palladinos switched gears. Don’t believe me? Watch the first half of season 6 again. Read some of those interviews again. Then read interviews from the second half of season 6, where it’s clear that they’ve changed gears and are messing things up. It was set up clearly that Luke and Lorelai, who, as Amy said many times, are both adults with baggage, were learning how to deal with that baggage and have lives together. Great stuff! I can even believe that the Long Lost Daughter storyline was planned from last summer, as was claimed, because the Long Lost Daughter storyline could have been constructed in such a way to bring Luke and Lorelai together.

Instead, the Palladinos, trying to stretch the show out for two more seasons instead of just one (since no pilot = no job past the end of GG), decided that what we really needed was another diversion to keep Luke and Lorelai from the altar. The network did not want to offer them two seasons, so they trashed the show and the characters, and then left a mess. Those are the facts. The fact that both fans and critics have been upset with the second half of the season is no accident. It’s not just the people who love Luke and Lorelai who are upset. Although, I will say, Luke and Lorelai were not given one single episode to be happily engaged this whole season. First there was the Rory stuff and then the April stuff. Completely ridiculous. And so the Palladinos sacrificed their characters. They made Lorelai passive and Luke a jerk. They brought Christopher in and made him a good guy. Come on, if, a year ago, I had said that Lorelai was going to end up in Christopher’s bed at the end of this season, would you have believed me? The Christopher road was closed after Richard and Emily’s wedding last season. This is not organic storytelling, no matter what Amy thinks. It’s contrived and ridiculous. Good riddance to her.

In fact, I did not think that Luke and Lorelai should have eloped at the end of this episode. They have spent too much time not talking to each other. The promise of the first half of the season was not followed up on. If they still had so many things to work out, it would have been better for Luke to have (gently) said no at the beginning of the season and for them to spend this year working on their relationship. It would have made more sense for them to break up after the bad Martha’s Vineyard trip and then for them to spend the rest of the season getting back together. There’s an organic story. Instead, we have the season ending much like last season, with a frantic Lorelai running into the diner to propose, only this time Luke says no. Would the Luke Danes who said, “Yes,” without hesitation at the beginning of this season really have acted the way we’ve seen Luke Danes act this season? Would the Luke Danes who could “see her face” at the end of season 4 have acted this way? That Luke Danes wanted to tell Lorelai about big news, wanted to talk to her when he was sad. The Luke Danes from the first half of this season could read Lorelai better than he’s been doing in the past 10 episodes. That’s the kind of thing that makes me think, “Character assassination for the sake of a (not very good) story, plain and simple.” Would Lorelai really have acted so passively? If it was supposed to be leftover fear from confronting Rory and losing her, couldn’t they have said that? Because I am stuck believing that the Lorelai who dumped Jason because he was suing her dad would just say, “I need to meet your daughter. And can we set a wedding date?” Does Luke have NO friends in the town to tell him how Lorelai is actually feeling? Not even Kirk?

One of the worst things from last night is that Luke didn’t even follow her. I just don’t buy that. The only explanation I can think of is that he thought perhaps she just needed to cool off and then they could talk in private. Of course, we also have the possibility that Luke doesn’t know for sure that they’re broken up . . . she was still wearing the ring when she walked away, after all. We had an ambiguous breakup last season, Palladinos. Thanks for the original storyline.

So, do I think there’s hope for the show? Well, yeah. I wish it hadn’t gone this way, but I do think there’s hope. I think that fans who were manipulated into liking Chris and hating Luke this year can just as easily be manipulated back into liking Luke again. I never hated Luke this season. I did break up with him, but I watched the last few episodes in a state of shock, like, “These are not my characters.” I can’t hate Luke OR Lorelai, because I’m pretty sure that neither of them would actually act this way. And do I think there’s hope for their relationship? Yeah. I could see it being a detriment, Luke thinking, “She ran to his bed five minutes after we broke up,” but I can also see it being a way to finally get Christopher out of the picture. I am still of the opinion that Christopher was out of the picture after Richard and Emily’s wedding, but . . . okay. If it finally puts the “threat” of Christopher to rest, okay.

And the look on Lorelai’s face was something else. Lorelai has long been a rebound kind of girl - she went back to Max after Rachel showed up, she ran to Luke’s Diner when Chris was getting married to Sherri, she does that whole “stalking Max” thing after she’s seen Luke with someone else, she proposed to Luke after Rory dropped out of Yale. The three times we’ve seen her sleep with Christopher were at bad times - his parents trashed her and Rory, she was in a fight with Luke and Sookie was getting married, and, now, she’s just ended an engagement. So . . . despite the OOC things that have brought us here, sleeping with Christopher is not necessarily out of character for her. But it sure didn’t look to me like she was proud she had done it.

I have decided that I’m going to keep watching. I have hope for the new showrunner and the new writers. I think season 6 (especially the second half) was a mess, and it got too focused on the girls’ romantic relationships. There’s more to Lorelai than her relationship with Luke, and there’s more to Rory than Logan. Let’s get back to those roots, see the girls become themselves again, and then see what happens. Amy Sherman Palladino claimed that Luke was Lorelai’s soulmate, and before she got mad at the network, trashed the characters, and took her ball and left, I believed that was where they were ultimately heading. And I think that’s still where it’s going, good riddance to Amy. Let someone else tell the story now, someone who will take these characters back to the people that we know and love. I think it can be done. I don’t feel like I was foolish for believing that this season would end in a wedding, because I think that’s what was promised. I think the Palladinos are foolish for changing things up on their fans (and, as I noted above, it’s not just the fans who are upset), but I am not going to lose hope. I think there’s hope for the show . . . and if it turns out badly, I am just going to pretend that it ended with Luke telling Lorelai to stand still at the end of season 4. Because those were some good times.

(I’m not buying season 6 until I hear how season 7 turns out. And maybe not even then.)

(Rory’s story was great last night.)

(Next season WILL be better.)

(We can start figuring out how they’re gonna get out of this one now. . . . GO!)

On Saturday, after I read the recaps for the season one episodes we’d already seen, I checked tvshowsondvd.com for signs of Veronica Mars season two. Nothing. “Well,” I thought, “it must not be coming out this summer. Surely there would be a date by now if it was coming out before the fall.”

Turns out I was mostly right - on Sunday, tvshowsondvd.com announced that season two will be available on August 22nd. I was just a day off. I don’t feel so bad.

Mad props to Mike, who did not know I had checked about the DVDs, and found the date on Amazon. And mad props to the people who are giving us time to watch the second season before the third one starts. Bravo, I say. Bravo.

So, I take back the request for tapes. We’ll save our pennies and get caught up in August. (Let’s face it, we’ll be caught up before August is over.)

A few months ago, I came into a little extra cash, and I bought season one of Veronica Mars on DVD because I’ve been wanting to watch it. On Thursday night, Mike and I watched a couple of episodes and found it enjoyable. And then, on Friday, Mike came home early and we watched six straight episodes. Mike would have stopped, but when it comes to TV shows on DVD, I am almost incapable of stopping. This happened with Gilmore Girls, too - if Mike hadn’t made me stop, I would have watched whole seasons in a weekend. In this case, on Friday he kept saying, “This was supposed to last us the summer,” while pressing play. He made me promise not to watch any without him this weekend. But he’s going to be home earlier than expected tonight, so I demand more episodes.

For the record, I do think it’s a very good show. I don’t feel so much addicted to it at this point (though that could change after more episodes) as, “I have some questions I’d like answered . . . NOW.” I would hate to have to watch this show week to week, though. DVD is the way to go. I like the characters, but I like them in a different way than I usually feel when I get involved in a show. There’s not anybody I’m particularly rooting for couple-wise. I am just enjoying the story so far.

I was at a baby shower yesterday, talking to Melissa about the show (she watched the first season), and one of our mutual friends asked what we were talking about, and we told her Veronica Mars. She’d never heard of it, and was a little concerned about us when she heard it was on UPN. Now, I admit that I read a lot of entertainment news (EW is all about this show) and it’s very popular on TWoP (here’s where I admit I spent Saturday at work reading recaps of the episodes we’ve watched so far), but are there really people who don’t know about it? That makes me sad. The only reason I haven’t been watching it on TV is because I wanted to see it all from the beginning, so I had to wait for the DVDs to come out (and then to be able to afford them and THEN for time to watch them).

Now, here’s where I go into a desperate plea. There’s no word on how long it’s going to take for season 2 to come out on DVD. Do any of you have it saved on tape or TiVo or something? Mike and I got our signals crossed about TiVoing season 2 - I wanted to do that and save it up for when we finally got to see season 1, but he didn’t know I was serious about that. And, after all, it did take us until the end of the second season to even start season one. But if we can get our hands on season two this summer, we can be ready for season three this fall. Help a girl out.

I seem to be attracting bad luck lately.

Saturday, after work, I was waiting for my friend Theresa in the parking lot and rolled down my window to talk to a coworker who walked by. And then, for no reason, it wouldn’t roll back up. I got another coworker to look at it, and he couldn’t do anything. While this would normally be no more than an irritation, since Mike was out of town and his car was in Greensboro, things got kind of complicated. Plus, unbeknownst to me, Theresa had locked her keys and her phone in her car, and I wasn’t sure where she was exactly.

It’s often the little things that break you. You have your cry about the bigger things, but you remain composed. You want to be strong, you know the right things to say. But then something relatively small just completely bowls you over. That’s what happened to me yesterday - I have had a lot going on, and I have been dealing, but the car thing made me feel completely overwhelmed. Between Mike and my dad, we got things figured out, so now I’m driving my grandparents’ truck for the next few days.

The last time I drove a truck was two weekends ago when I borrowed Brian’s to move our new picnic table and hydroplaned. I woke up this morning, and it was raining. I started to cry.

When I had to drive the truck home last night, I had a bit of a hard time. It wasn’t raining, but the fact that I was in a truck meant that I took things really slow. Today, though, just about did me in. The highway that I take to Greensboro has a speed limit of 65, but I never went more than 55. I just couldn’t.

When I was in high school, I had a friend who often had car trouble. We sometimes drove to Asheboro to see movies or have dinner, and when it rained her car would often act up. She was Catholic, and firmly believed that as long as she kept reciting the Hail Mary, her car would keep running. And, from what I saw, it worked. From being around her, I got into the habit of repeating it as something calming to myself, not really praying, but thinking about Mary and the grace that she was given to deal with some very difficult things. If she could handle that, surely God can give me the grace to handle the difficult things in my life. It helps me calm down to say it over and over, and so, today, in my grandpa’s truck, I repeated the Hail Mary a lot of times.

A couple of weeks ago, when I was driving my car back from Brian’s house, I was really scared to drive the same route that I’d driven when I had my accident. That time I really did pray. That time I prayed the Jesus prayer over and over, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.” I remember that in one of her books, possibly A Rock That is Higher but more likely something from The Genesis Trilogy, Madeleine L’Engle talks about praying the Jesus Prayer, and what I remember is that she says something about how it makes her feel anchored. I really like that, and that’s why I pray it sometimes when I don’t know what else to pray. Saying the Hail Mary, even though I don’t believe in praying to saints, makes me feel kind of anchored, too, because what it really reminds me is of how faithful God was to Mary, and how faithful he has been throughout time. I almost feel like I need to apologize for not being Catholic, not believing in praying to saints, and yet still saying the Hail Mary, but it’s just one of my ways of remembering the bigger picture. I had two conversations today about saints and how they were real people who hurt and struggled, and that’s one of the things that I remember when I think about Mary. She got through her struggles, and so will I.

Today was pretty hard. Actually, this weekend was hard. This week was hard. I’ve had a lot of indigestion this week, taking lots of Tums, drinking decaf coffee (which, I know that’s strange, but it usually helps me when I have indigestion, although not really this week). My stomach was in knots the whole time I was driving today, and there were some other emotional stressors. In the midst of that, though, I had great time with Theresa last night and this morning. She let me cry, we talked about Gilmore Girls, we drank tea, we watched The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. This afternoon, I got to hang out with Melissa and go to Emily’s baby shower. And tonight I had dinner with three other women and some spirited little boys. The day has ended better than it began, and I am hopeful that my coping skills will be slightly better tomorrow.

Meanwhile, I’m going to read in bed until I fall asleep.

The newspaper reported today that, though the pro-liquor side is down by 13 votes (with pending provisional ballots still to be counted), all hope is not lost. Because there appears to be a scandal! People who do not actually live in our town are registered to vote and several of them actually did vote. Against the liquor.

Now, I don’t think voter fraud is funny. But I do think it’s funny that people who are probably normally fine upstanding citizens are so worked up about liquor in restaurants (remember, we’re one of the only towns in this county where you can actually buy beer and liquor - this is just for restaurants) that they will commit a felony.

I also think it’s funny that, as soon as the paper came to work this morning, everyone made sure I saw the article so I could go into another rant about The Man keeping me down. Which I did. I don’t like to disappoint.

Spoilers for “Driving Miss Gilmore” below.

I will go down with this ship
And I won’t put my hands up and surrender
There will be no white flag above my door
I’m in love and always will be

I had kind of thought that I might have to come to this post today and say, “I surrender! I can’t do this anymore!” But then I decided that, no, I’m not giving up. Good or bad, I’m still sticking with this show. I have been watching for a long time, I’m really invested, I only expect there to be one more season, there are still moments of greatness, and I’m hanging in until the (hopefully not) bitter end. I’m not going to be talked out of that, either. The Dido song I quoted is my new mantra. I love this show, and I’m sticking around, no matter how many storytelling mistakes there have been this year.

Things are not looking too good for Luke and Lorelai right now, and I have some things to say about that, but I am going to save my “you can see how the Palladinos switched gears in the middle of the season, no wonder viewers are bailing like mad” rant for next week, the season finale, after we see how everything turns out. I just want to say, I’m holding out hope that things can be worked out. In fact, I believe things will be worked out. Not this season, because Luke and Lorelai need to learn how to communicate better (which they were learning at the beginning of the season, pre-April . . . but I promised not to rant, and I’m going to honor that promise). But I have hope that they’ll learn those things. I don’t think we’re completely doomed. It’s a TV show, and they have to create this kind of drama so that there are stories to tell. (Never mind that the Palladinos used to be able to get drama from the little things . . . I promised not to rant, so I’m not going down that road right now.)

One of the reasons I’ve been frustrated is that the Palladinos said that Luke and Lorelai were getting married, they said to invest in the couple. Now things seem to have changed, and, why? Because of a long-lost daughter. I expected better from this show. However, I still do really really believe that Luke and Lorelai will be together in the end, and it would be nice to think that they are really ready to be together, ready to make things work. I truly think that will happen next season. And, if it doesn’t, please don’t rub this in my face.

(And this weekend, Theresa, we can eat popcorn and watch chick flicks to soothe our wounded souls.)

Mike’s sister is having a little boy in the fall. They are planning on naming him Luke, which is a lovely name, but was vetoed in our house because of my past love of Luke Danes, so I’m happy for other people to use it. I will buy little Luke a blue baseball cap and encourage him to wear it backwards.

Mike has been lobbying for his sister to use the name Michael ever since he found out she was due six days after his birthday. Before we knew for sure she was having a boy, he pointed out that Michaela is also a very nice name, as is Michelle. But we were pretty confident they were having a boy, and it turns out we were right. Last night when Mike and his sister were talking, they worked out a deal: If Luke is born on Mike’s birthday, he will, instead, be given the name Michael. From my point of view, there are some serious problems with this plan.

1. They’re already calling him Luke. So what are they going to do, switch his name after he’s born? “Hey, you, whatever your name is!” Poor kid.

2. Mike’s sister may or may not have known how serious he was, but from the discussion I had with him, I think he was pretty dang serious (”Luke is not a family name! They should use a family name!” And when I pointed out that they hadn’t used family names for their other two children, I was blatantly ignored). If she thinks he’s joking and the baby is born on Mike’s birthday and given the name Luke, someone may get his feelings hurt.

So, I’m crossing my fingers that, either Luke will not be born on Mike’s birthday, or we can work out another plan. Perhaps Luke could be given three names, so instead of being Luke Stephen, he can be Luke Stephen Michael. Mike was somewhat placated by that idea last night. That’s really the only plan I can think of.

(Secretly, though, I love that Mike is so excited about his nephew possibly being born on his birthday that he has brought this name thing up repeatedly. I can’t wait to see what happens. Picture Mike duking it out with his sister, who has just had a baby and is therefore sure to win, about names and promises while his brother-in-law and I stand back and watch. It’s brilliant, I say. I’ll be sure and take pictures.)

I tried to participate in the political process this morning, but The Man is keeping me down.

You see, my town is one of the few places in our county where one can purchase alcohol. Except on Sundays. And not in restaurants. In today’s election, there was a referendum on liquor in restaurants. I decided to vote today just so I could vote for liquor. I did not care what any of the other issues were. I only cared that maybe we could get some good restaurants in our town. All day yesterday I was excited, because I think participating in the political process is important. And because I wanted to thwart the old people who would be voting against liquor. I cackled in excitement of casting my pro-liquor vote. As I passed each sign in town that said, “Vote NO on May 2!” I called out, “I’m voting YES!” I made Mike listen to a long boring monologue about how many signs there were on the way home, and how glad I was to vote yes.

Today, when I went to the school to place my vote, I realized that I was so excited to participate in the political process that I hadn’t really it through. You see, when I got up to the counter, I realized that . . . I live just outside the city limits. The city limits are just across from my neighborhood. I hadn’t considered that in all of my “VOTE YES!” enthusiasm. Not too bright, I know, but I blame it on the fact that I love voting (and, in case you hadn’t noticed, I love participating in the political process). The reason that no one in our neighborhood had signs about the referendum? Is because we aren’t allowed to vote on it. (Which, as our neighborhood is full of newer residents who would probably want liquor as well as better restaurants, is just an example of The Man keeping us down.) So I got my ballot and I voted for other things, but I was bitterly disappointed.

I am sure the referendum will fail, just as it always does, and we’ll never get any good restaurants. So we’ll go into some of the bigger cities instead of putting money into our own community. And people will speak knowingly about not letting “seedy bars” into the town, while the seedy “package stores” are allowed to stay.

But at least I got to vote. I’m wearing my sticker proudly (albeit bitterly).

Between Mike’s four English classes and my work schedule, this has been a difficult spring. Last week was especially difficult for many reasons, and I am grateful that it’s over. What really strikes me about last week, though, is not how difficult or draining it was, but how many “small graces” I was given to help me through. Here, in no particular order, are the things I’d like to remember.

I have a husband who makes me breakfast and pack my lunch when I am too overwhelmed to do it myself. He watches Friends with me when I need cheering up. He joins me in making fun of the ridiculous dialogue in Match Point. He juggles work and school to make time for me. He takes me out to Bianca’s to celebrate good news.

I have friends who cry with me on the phone, friends who rejoice with me when I get good news, friends who pass the tissues, friends who are right there with me when I go from good news to bad news, friends who watch Oprah with me when I don’t know what to say, friends who make plans with me for the summer. I have friends who have gone above and beyond in the past week.

I’m thankful for good news that makes things seem a little easier, and for people in my life who are thoughtful enough to consider whether I need good news on a particular day. I work with people who are kind and compassionate. Mike and I have an amazing support system. I made hushpuppies for dinner last night. I took a two-mile walk with friends. I drove around town with the windows rolled down, listening to Rich Mullins. I engaged in some retail therapy.

Mike says I always talk in terms of small graces, but when you have a hard week, a needed tissue, a hug, and a hushpuppy don’t feel small at all. Those things feel about as important as it gets.