spock lives

Yesterday in traffic, I was behind a car with vinly lettering in the back window that read, "SPOCK LIVES." I wasn't sure if it was an over-the-top Trekkie or if I was missing the joke.

I do confess that I don't have an issue with "SPOCK LIVES" in the back window like I do with those "Cruisin' in memory of" stickers. I'm bound to be perceived as disrespectful in this regard, but I recognize that and am willing to put myself out there.

Part of my introduction to moving to Virginia 17 years ago was seeing vehicles with these elaborate vinyl lettering stickers in their back windows that read "Cruisin' in memory of..." followed by the deceased's name and the years they lived. The first one I saw seemed a bit strange to me. But then I began seeing more and more of them.

I didn't get it. Was the driver really thinking about the deceased while they were driving -- sorry... cruisin' -- or were they just going to get some milk and toilet paper? It seems a strange way to immortalize someone.

I have two friends who are like-minded with me in this regard.

Jess' and I used to call each other at each new sticker sighting to give Cruisin' updates. Horrible, aren't we? Once I called her because the truck in front of me was a company truck for an auto parts store. The lettering in the back window read, "Deliverin' parts in memory of..."

No lie.

My friend, Ed, and I not only share the same opinion of these stickers, but we also are a bit Type-A when it comes to grammar and punctuation. I have strong feelings toward misplaced apostrophes. Several years ago, I saw lettering in the back window of a car that read, "Cruisin' in memory of my Pop's."

(Blink. Blink.)

Okay. Knowing that apostrophes are used to show possession or take the place of the missing letters in a contraction, this sticker felt incomplete to me. The next day, at work, I discussed this with Ed, whose cubicle was adjacent to mine. "What was she cruisin' in memory of, Ed? Her pop's what? Her pop's couch? It could be anything!"

Ed was very comforting to me and suggested we use our dry erase boards that hang outside our so-called cubile doors to display that, today, we would be "Working in memory of..." something.

I was inspired. I began simulating vinly lettering on my board and asked Ed how I should finish it. Workin' in memory of... what? Ed suggested, "...my pop's parrot, Petie."

It was beautiful. Ed warned me that in a couple of hours someone would stop and ask, "Did your dad's bird die?"

It only took ten minutes.

I had my back to my so-called door, and heard a compassionate and heart-broken voice mutter, "Awwwww." I honestly did not know how was I going to turn around and face this person. I could hear Ed stifling his laughs on the other side of the cubicle wall.

Slowly, I turned around to face my visitor.

"Was it sick or just really old? 'Cause parrots live a real long time."

So, yeah, I'm kinda likin' "SPOCK LIVES." Even if I don't get the joke.

joie de vivre

A week and a day wasn't enough.

My parents came for Thanksgiving. I made a vacation out of it. We didn't travel. We didn't go to Smithsonians. We didn't see any monuments. We didn't go to any caverns or take any scenic drives.

We drank coffee. We laughed. We cooked. We ate. We savored (and not just the food). We played games. We went to see friends. Friends came to see us. We sang. We danced (in the kitchen). We watched football -- passionately. And then we did it all again.

And come to think of it, we weren't just passionate about the football. We were were passionate about all of it.

Living 1214.92 miles apart stinks. But, man, when we get together... joie de vivre.

[Smiling. Nodding.]
Yep. That's what that was.

Joie de vivre.