Month: February 2018

Here is installment 2 of my February series:

 

“Though she be but little, she is fierce.” That line from Shakespeare always makes me think of Dorothy. She stood 4 feet 10 inches tall in her prime. She shrunk a bit with age, but she claimed her full height all her life. Her personality could rival those of men twice her size.

Dorothy was a nurse in the World War 2 era, worked hard, loved her parents, and was devout in her faith. She spitefully told the story of how she was born left-handed, but the nuns in her Catholic school tied her arm behind her back until she learned to use her right hand. As a senior citizen, Dorothy would joke around with her priests, but give nuns the side-eye…probably a little grudge held from those early years.

She wasn’t afraid of hard choices. In the prime of her life, she took in children and raised them as her own. One of her good friends had a rocky marriage and Dorothy agreed to give some of the kids a place to stay for as long as needed. At least one of the children stayed for the long haul…my grandmother. Dorothy loved her as her own child, and became a “grandmother” and “great-grandmother” over the subsequent decades. I never knew my grandmother (she died young), but I knew Dorothy.

Oh, Dorothy was a force. She had zero tolerance for crap. She spoke her mind freely. Most of the priests in the archdiocese knew of her…and grew to love her. Inside that tough old bird exterior was a heart of gold. She had a soft spot for the rambunctious and rebellious kids, whether in church or within our own family.

My favorite thing to do with her was bingo. If she didn’t have a ride from a friend, we’d take the public bus to the parish or the Knights of Columbus. I learned all about the ritual of bingo. People are serious about their cards, the set-up of their lucky troll dolls, and the quality of the snacks for sale. I preferred the Knights of Columbus because they sold pizza and the sodas came out of the tap. She rarely won money, but the social aspect of the game was a big part of her life.

When I spent time with her, we didn’t do a lot of “kid” stuff. She lived her life and I tagged along. I got to observe her independence, tenacity, and unconditional love. She stayed in touch with in-laws, exes, and step-relatives long after other parts of the family cut them off.  No one dared give her a hard time about it because they knew they’d get a tongue-lashing or one of her infamous stares.

Dorothy lived on her own until the day she left this earth. She never had a spouse and she once jokingly referred to her hope chest as the pit of despair. I’m sure she had lonely moments, but she never regretted her life. She built a family and a rich legacy of love. She didn’t have much money, but Dorothy volunteered and served throughout her life. She taught me not to waste a minute because there’s always someone who could use some help.

When I decided to throw myself a 30^th birthday party, I remembered the twinkle in her eye when she was up to something. That night I gave a tribute to my grandmother who’d passed the previous year, but there was a also a subtle tribute to Dorothy. The event took place in that old Knights of Columbus hall where she taught me all about bingo. I had a soda from the tap just for her.

During this month of love, I thought I’d profile a few people who matter quite a bit to me. They’ve all passed away, but they helped shape the person behind The Fantastic Introvert. It might help you understand why this site covers such a variety of topics. On this site you’re likely to see a product review followed by a deeply personal story…because that’s the kind of person I am.

Without further ado, here is installment #1:

I enjoy finding adventures and memories in unexpected places with people who matter to me. I attribute some of that joy to my experiences with a man I called Fahfie. In technical terms, he was my stepfather’s stepfather…but he was so much more to me.

He taught me to find the joys in life. I have many memories with him, but my favorite took place when I was approximately eight years old. We hopped into the car with a picnic basket and set off for a large bookstore. The two of us wandered through the stacks until we found a bit of a clearing where a trio of jazz musicians were preparing to play. As they performed, Fahfie would quietly point out different techniques or musical elements that he enjoyed. I was a kid raised on classic rock, country, and pop…so jazz was a completely new world for me. It was a world I was ready to explore.

Eventually, it was time to eat the picnic that rested in the basket. You’d think we would eat in the coffee shop of the store or in the car, but Fahfie wouldn’t entertain those options. He stepped away and spoke to the store manager. Next thing I knew the two of us were following the manager to the back of the store into the area reserved for employees. The manager led us out back to the loading dock and promptly left. Fahfie set up the picnic with great fanfare on the dock. We ate with our legs swinging off the edge of the dock and you’d have thought we were in the grandest place in the world.

I had several opportunities to put on fancy dresses to attend the symphony and shows with Fahfie, and while they were amazing experiences, I’ll always have a fondness for that first concert among the books. It’s not just because that was my first exposure to jazz (though I’m sure that’s why I chose the clarinet when I joined the elementary band). See, Fahfie ate in fancy restaurants with important people…but on that day I was the important person and he didn’t want to be anywhere other than on that loading dock. His attention was focused on that moment, not on other things or other people. It was also incredibly fun to “break the rules” and eat in an unconventional space.

Fahfie believed I had things to contribute to this world when I was young and he made sure I knew it. He introduced me to fine food, art, and music because it was never too early to learn. He challenged me to grow, but he also showed me how to pause and enjoy the present. He took time to enjoy a meal with people and to laugh. Life must be a balance.

All of the ways he invested in my life not only contributed to my knowledge…they reinforced the belief that I mattered. The knowledge was great, but the confidence that came from feeling significant is what I needed most.

I carry those lessons with me to this day. I give my best when I’m at work, but when I’m spending time with people I strive to give them my undivided attention. I also remember that I have to take time to enjoy the good parts of life. Sometimes when I’m stressed, I’ll grab some nice chocolate and play some jazz to remind myself how to smile.

The next time you’re with people who are important to you, put the phone away. Spend some undivided time. You might discover something!