Galumphing About

ga·lumph

/ɡəˈləmf/

verb: INFORMAL

To move in a clumsy, ponderous, or noisy manner.

"She galumphed along beside him."

---Oxford English Dictionary

 The other day someone used this word to describe me (and they are not wrong) and while I thought it was a made-up word, Oxford says it’s real. It’s hard to argue with the big book of the mother tongue, so galumph it is. Seriously, my family doesn’t call me Grace because I look like that other famous Kelly girl, who was in the movies. They call me that because, more often than not, I galumph about, bashing into walls and dropping things. It’s been that way my whole life, and while it’s occasionally mortifying, it’s my normal.

When actress Jennifer Lawrence tripped up the stairs on the way to getting her Oscar in 2013, everyone thought she was delightful. It was a well-executed move; honestly, there aren’t a lot of people who can rock an evening gown, stilettos, and a face-plant, but she managed it. Twice, actually. When she arrived at the 2014 Oscars, she biffed it on the red carpet. America’s sweetheart, take two. Somehow it never works that way for me. My random gravity checks seem to happen most often in my kitchen, reaching for a can of frosting…I mean, an apple, and winding up Lulu’s over teakettle onto the floor. I did complete a glamour fall once, wearing a prom dress, and it was epic, but that was before E! and TMZ were around. Also, no red carpet, just a pesky sidewalk curb. It was also pre-social media, thankfully.

 

It’s not just my bones that get bumped around; there’s a real cost to my housewares budget. While paper plates and plastic reduce some risk, you know the real reason we can’t have nice things? Sure, there’s a snorty, hyperactive pug at my house, but she’s innocent. It’s me; it’s all me. Waterford crystal is a favorite of mine, but the few pieces I have are located up on high shelves, and not handled by me. It’s really a bit sad; it’s Irish, beautifully made, and when the sun hits the facets cut into the triangle of my New Year’s Eve Times Square crystal ball ornament, it’s really gorgeous and yet, untouchable.

Still, it’s no use crying over spilled milk, right? A good friend recently nailed it when she said, “You’re a glass half full kind of girl, until you break it, that is.” Spot on, Rickey. It’s become about safety more than grace at this point. When you galumph, rather than glide, there’s often a trail of destruction that follows. Ceramics, glass, sharp objects, and precious knick-knacks are best kept out of my reach. Also, open flames. You know how instead of cursing the darkness, we are told to light a single candle? 

That’s for everyone but me. You can all glow in the flickering light of beeswax; I’ll be the one with the flashlight, likely cursing because the batteries are gone from when I dropped it and broke the cover. You start one small kitchen fire and it’s all, “Can someone check the smoke detectors? Brenda’s making dinner.” In my defense, how could I be expected to know that a glass cooktop stays hot for nearly twenty minutes after you shut it off, so while I didn’t burn the cookies in the oven, they were pretty crispy after sitting on top of the stove…on parchment paper. Pro tip: parchment paper is flammable outside of an oven. Somehow that was never covered in my high school physics and chemistry classes, or Home Ec for that matter.

Actual photo of untouchable Waterford, right next to where I started a fire

So far, there haven’t been any major injuries, if you don’t count a concussion from a run in with a mop and a tile floor, which, truthfully, could happen to anyone. The upside is I am now exempt from mop duty, which is a win if you ask me. As time goes by however, safety has to be a priority. Perhaps wearing my bike helmet in the shower might be a good idea? I’m a big fan of firefighters, but it’s probably wise to just buy a cheeky calendar instead of having them show up at my door because “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up.” That’s just not a good look for me. In the meantime, flat shoes (but still red) are probably best, along with staying away from stairs, breakables, slippery surfaces, and heavy objects that are easily dropped. Here’s to staying upright:::lifts paper cup in a toast::::

Excess and Moderation

“Never go to excess, but let moderation be your guide.”

---Cicero

Well, I did just get back from Italy, so quoting a famous Roman orator and statesman is appropriate, right? Moderation? You could say that’s a goal for me, rather than a reality. All things in moderation? ALL OF IT? No, not so much. Somewhere someone has to have said moderation should be taken in moderation. Oh wait, someone did. Ben Franklin. Smart guy. While many expressions are trite and overused, if you really wade into the kind of boring tea bag quotes that are found on internet memes, you can find one that says anything you like. Moderation? That could be countered with, “Anything worth doing is worth overdoing” and other gems like, “Everything in moderation, especially this inspirational BS.”

Moderation is a good concept in most areas. You shouldn’t drink too much. Hell, some of you shouldn’t drink at all if the police log is any indication. There is no safe amount of drunk driving or heroin use, this is obvious. Then again, can there ever be too much time spent near a beach, listening to the waves, with a nice fruity beverage? Ok, perhaps those in the path of the recent hurricane would say yes, but that’s an extreme example. While we could do a deep, philosophical dive on how much of whatever is too much, that’s not the point. The point is: when are we going too far on something, and when do we need to damn the torpedoes and go full speed ahead?

I have no idea.

On the cruise my family and I just took, moderation was never discussed. One look at the buffet every night would prove that. Also included in our package were unlimited beverages. Now I need to find an unlimited salad bar, that only has lettuce and ice water, and an unlimited personal trainer who will scream at me to get my fat butt back to the gym. The bank balance is at the other end of the spectrum. For every jump on the scale, it seems there was an equal and opposite dip in the checking account. Funny how that works. Still, there are no regrets. Math was never my strong suit, but even I know that you have to take in more than goes out, but if you do that at a buffet, well, it could be trouble. It kind of knocks the moderation concept out of the water. 

Sometimes you just cannot “moderately” work; you have to work like the Energizer bunny, because there’s a deadline (as I write this 90 minutes before the print deadline) or a project has gone off the rails. Then it’s catch up time and you’re manically trying to juggle an overflowing inbox, house and a family, and still find time to breathe and chill out. Moderation is off the table at that point. Also, if there is a custom crepe station and a bacon table at a buffet, there will be no attempts at moderation. 

#SorryNotSorry

Truthfully, if you look up the definition of the adjective moderate it means “average in amount, intensity, quality, or degree.” Well, no one ever sits down when they are reviewing their life goals or planning a career and says, “Average, that’s what I want. Nothing intense for me, no way, just middle of the road, that’ll do.” Again, extreme examples aside, moderation just isn’t all that sometimes. I was far from moderate when someone, who should have known better, said to me, “Don’t you think that was a little overboard?” after I ripped off someone’s head and spit down their neck for coming after one of my children. No, it was not “too much.” Quite honestly, looking back, it wasn’t nearly enough. And so it goes.

I love a good ocean metaphor, and I suppose it’s like the tide. Some days the water is calm, like glass, barely kissing the coast in little bubbly bits of surf, and other days it’s roaring up over the rocks and pounding the seawall. Would it really be even worth being on a beach if it wasn’t like that? Should we all be on an even keel, all the time? Good luck with that, it’s never happening. 

Why does everything always have to be right in the middle? The whole too hot, too cold, just right thing, with Goldilocks? She’s not real, for one thing; it’s a made-up story that's supposed to teach moderation, and maybe something about interspecies symbiosis. The story isn’t a life lesson though; she was just picky. She was searching for moderation, but how did she do it? By breaking into the home of a bear family, eating their food and sleeping in their beds. Doesn’t sound like moderation to me.


There will be times when I have to choose a moderate, average, safe course of action, it’s unavoidable. There will also be times when I am the living equivalent of an ancient Irish banshee. Sounds workable, right? Who’s with me?

Time and Travel

"There's never enough time to do all the nothing you want" – Bill Watterson

Boiled down to its essence, this quote means, "Re-entry stinks." I'm just back from a two-week vacation that was awesome. There were blue seas, bright sunny days, too much good food, way too much good wine, and lots of laughs. New friends were made, memories cemented, inside jokes and bad photos happened, and not one travel mishap occurred. I am beyond grateful for having been able to take a trip that was two years in the making. Saving, planning, and then going was fabulous, and who doesn't love some fabulous at the end of a long, hot summer?

My first day back in the office though? That was tough. On top of all the backed-up emails, projects that were off track, and missed memos, there were a scary few minutes where I looked around at my co-workers and asked, "What is it I do here again?"

That was likely the jet lag talking. On a good day, my math skills are remedial; throw in jet lag and it's comical. Telling time, a skill I've had since kindergarten, suddenly became difficult. "Well, we left Rome at 3:00, which is 9:00 here, so that means now it's…pancakes. It's pancakes o'clock."

 

Travel really does change one's outlook, and not just in terms of time zones. When you go places you've never been, it's like a door to a hidden room of treasures opens up and you get to oooh and ahhh over everything that's in there. Like those big white luxury yachts? I've watched Below Deck, I've seen shows on that wealth channel about these boats, but I'd never been near one. Man, they're big. And nice too. A cruise on one of those babies is going on my lottery list, which is like a bucket list, only it's not about getting things in before I die. It's about a silly dream that's fun to think about, which always beats contemplating one's demise, don't you think?

For the record, Italy and Greece are both beautiful countries, with nice people and phenomenal historical sites. They are also both wicked hot and crowded in August. Being American, I'm sure we stuck out like sore thumbs, but still, we were welcomed. Tramping around the Acropolis, the Tower of Pisa and the Greek Isles is both exhausting and exhilarating. Where else can you walk on the same bit of earth that Aristotle walked on? See the land the famous general Pericles fought for and walk some of the same steps as the Apostles? Also, there was plenty of book reading and balcony sitting and staring at sunsets, it wasn't all highbrow history.

One part of the trip that surprised me was seeing how other families interact. Growing up, my family was loud and Irish. Which is kind of the same thing, come to think of it. Many of the families on our boat were Italian, or British or Australian. One family on a beach on the island of Mykonos was surprised to see the Americans hollering, "Polo!" every time they yelled at their kid Marco. There are only about a dozen words in Italian that I can speak and understand, but somehow, the language of families transcends translation, and Marco was definitely in trouble. After a few smacks from Papa, he smartened up, the family posed for a lovely photo together, and they were all laughing like fools, once the Marco Polo game was explained to them by their fellow cruisers. The British families used many of the same slang terms I heard growing up and an Australian family we had breakfast with most days had great stories of "schoolies" (summer break) and "Muck up day" which happens at the end of a school year, right before final exams and involves costumes and pranks.

The coming back though? While difficult, it's part of the price we pay to see these amazing parts of the world, and for me, it's worth it, even if I do miss the endless cruise ship buffets, the daily tidying up that someone else did for us, and the sound of the waves outside my window. Traveling will always be a priority for me, whether it's a quick weekend with absent friends or a carefully planned tour of islands, white sand beaches, and big boats. There is nothing that I find more centering than going off to some new place and seeing what's there so that when it's time to come home, while there is less in my piggy bank, there is way more in my memory bank. So, home again it is, for a little while anyway. Now, does anyone know a good hotel in Sorrento? That's just one of the places I'm going back to, someday.