Telling the story

I was raised in a family of storytellers.
Every meal and gathering were replete with tales of yore. I could describe the farm where my mom visited as a child like I lived it because I have heard the stories so many times. It was at the feet of my mom, grandmother and aunt that I learned how to communicate. Those women fired the imagination that has served me well throughout my life as a writer and communicator.
My father is a storyteller too, but of a different ilk. His stories are often elaborate jokes or tales about funny incidents that are embellished every time he opens his mouth. I learned at his feet too. Dad always said I inherited my mom's intelligence and his ability to (curseword alert - but it is a direct quote) bullshit.
As it turns out, the Ump is a bit of a storyteller himself. I guess that's one of those things we have in common.
However, my storytelling is based on listening. I think his is based more on witnessing the event.
I never really thought about the difference before, but there is one and it could be the difference between men and women. Women get their information for a story from using their various senses. A woman's story is going to have details. Lots of details.
If I find out that someone has fallen ill, my story is going to have all the background on the illness, who is flying in to be at their bedside, who in the family had the same illness, etc.
The Ump might tell me that so-and-so is getting a divorce. He does not know who is getting the house and who is moving out. He doesn't know what's happening to the kids or the business or anything. He doesn't report on whether it is a trial separation or a real divorce. No details.
However, ask him to tell you a story from when he used to go out with his friends after a football game and he can give your more details that you ever wanted to know. But that is because he lived them, not because he ferreted out the information.
I look beneath the surface level of what we observe and try to find out why the event happened. I try to imagine what is going to happen next.
I think that is what made me a good journalist. I always try to think forward, predict the future or prevent problems. As a child, I became very hypervigilant in order to prevent arguments between my parents. If I knew they were going to argue about a bill, then I would hide the mail so that it wouldn't get found until after the evening meal. I did that because I could see how that story was going to end.
Now, as a journalist, I could make the stories end the way I wanted them to end, but I could tell it in a way that I felt would make the reader fully understand the situation. I tried to find all the details I could and, when the situation called for it, I allowed the reader to make up his own mind.
If it was a feature story, I had more leeway - more room to spin the tale.
Recently, I got the opportunity to work on my company's corporate museum that tells the story of the birth of the company in the early 1900s up to the 1960s.
So that visitors would understand the story, I had to learn about the history of the company and about the museum pieces and how they functioned. I didn't want to just sit things out on a pedestal to look at, I wanted to create a place that told a story and I think that is what I accomplished with the help of some very talented people.
It was a good assignment for me.
I miss working at the newspaper because I think there are many stories in our community that aren't being told anymore.
I guess that's why I am writing here.

Milestones

The phone rang and when I answered it, I heard Olivia's cheery voice on the other end.
After a few opening pleasantries, she got down to business. "How do you make spaghetti bake?" she asked. "What temperature and how long do you keep it in the oven?"
I told her how I make it and when the call ended I sat down in the chair beside my kitchen window and looked at fading blooms on the weeping cherry next door.
When I moved away from home, I frequently called my mother and grandmother for instructions on how to make certain meals - it was a connection with home. Familiar food sometimes made home seem closer.
To have Olivia call me and ask the same kind of questions I asked at her age was a sweet surprise. I was pleased she called and, well, somehow proud, I think. I called my mom and grandmom not just because they were excellent cooks, but because I loved and respected them. Could Olivia feel that way about me?
Technically, I am Olivia's stepmother, but she was already 18 when I married her Dad, so I really was her dad's wife more than a parent.
In the past five years, my role in Olivia's life has changed and evolved and grown. I think I have become an advisor and mediator, interpreter of her sometimes inscrutable father and I have become the one who reminds her of birthdays and other important dates. We have settled into a comfortable friendship that warms my heart.
Last weekend, Olivia graduated from Radford. We made the trek south on Saturday morning, arriving in time to pick up Olivia, her boyfriend and her cousin and his fiance. Olivia looked radiant. It might have been the chilly weather, but I think it was that she was excited to graduate.
Following the ceremony, we returned to the small house on Claytor Lake that she shares with her boyfriend. Olivia wanted all of her family to break bread together in celebration of her milestone achievement. We had a lovely time and enjoyed sitting on her screened in porch watching boats race on the glassy water.
It was a big week for the Rinker family with the Ump turning 50 (officially) on Monday and Olivia graduating on Saturday.
My joy came from sharing these important milestones with two people I love dearly. It was a good week, indeed.

There she is! You wouldn't believe how many Radford graduates had long brown hair and wore sunglasses. 

What do those guys wear under their kilts? 

Dad and daughter. 

Olivia - the graduate. 

Birthday bash or bust

It was a stealth operation of the highest order.
The Ump's 50th birthday would happen in 2006 and I was determined to give him a party to remember.
Unfortunately, many speed bumps dotted the road to a Happy Birthday, not the least of which was that I would have to greatly manipulate the truth to try to pull off a surprise birthday party.
There are very few things I don't tell the Ump - and most of the things I keep to myself aren't terribly consequential. So cooking elaborate lies and maintaining them for months turned out to be quite stressful. I don't know how Congress does it.
At the beginning of the year I secured the perfect location for a birthday party. Not far off Route 11, there is a family "cabin" that is used for different gatherings. Not my family, mind you, but a rather prominent - and especially large - local family. The cabin looks rustic but it has every amenity and then some. Large rooms with large tables that can accommodate dozens of people at a time. The perfect place.
I made up my mind early on that I would hire a caterer for the event because I wanted to invite about 50 people and I didn't want to spend the entire time cooking and cleaning.
The flip side of that coin is that catering a meal is not cheap. And I knew that Kenny would not want me to spend a bunch of money on him - especially since he has been working so hard to get us to a virtually debt-free (minus the house) state.
Fortunately, my job the past two months has required me to spend many extra hours at work - including two full Saturdays. I made enough in overtime to keep me from raiding our savings or putting anything on a credit card.
The most delicate work that had to be done was weaving a believable story that would get him to the cabin without figuring out what was going on.
In several stages, I created this multi-layered story with the help of his best friend Marty. I love Marty, but he is not the best conspirator (ask his wife!). However, he really tried hard and I think did an excellent job, even making a few embellishments of his own.
So the story was that I would have to work on this particular Saturday. And Marty and Roger wanted to take Kenny out for a special birthday dinner on that day. This was a delicate matter because I knew that the Ump would expect me to be ticked off that the guys were taking him to dinner without me. But I needed him to "go" so I made sure he understood how stressed I was about finishing my work project.
Then I had to come up with a reason to get him to the cabin. A friend of ours who is getting married in a few short weeks also happens to be a member of the large family that owns the cabin. So weeks before my event, I told the Ump that there was going to be a bridal shower at the cabin in the afternoon and that I needed to attend. I said that I would leave work and go straight to the cabin since the guys were going out to dinner.
The rest of the story was that Marty's wife was going to be out of town (true) and that she had a present she wanted Marty to drop off at the shower on his way to take the Ump to dinner (false).
I thought this was particularly clever because the Ump would not be suspicious when he spotted familiar cars at the cabin.
Complicating everything was the fact that I had to invite people who are around the Ump all the time and somehow keep them from spilling the beans.
I felt like the guy on the Ed Sullivan show who kept a dozen plates spinning on long poles at the same time, running back and forth between them to keep the plates from falling and breaking.
I can't say how many times I almost gave it all away myself by saying something like "Oh, I didn't mail Olivia her rent money because we'll see her this weekend."
But the thing about the plate spinning guy was that while he kept those plates going for quite a while, inevitably one or more of the plates hit the floor.
After weeks of plotting, the day before the party finally arrived. I was feeling especially proud of myself because the work project had ended ahead of time and everyone was pleased with the results. I could have the party with a completely clean conscience. Well, except for all those little white lies.
The Ump had a game in Page County that night and didn't get home until after 8 p.m. I was in the kitchen fixing him a late dinner as he got out of his umpiring gear. From the laundry room he asked me what time the bridal shower was going to be.
"Five o'clock," I told him, smirking as I chopped the lettuce. "I'm going there straight from the museum."
"Who is giving this shower?" he asked and there was something about his tone that I just didn't like. I did not dare look up. I kept chopping the lettuce for his salad.
"I don't know. Some of the women from the family. Christina is the one who invited me," I said, continuing to work on the salad.
There was a pause as he came around the corner and stood at the stove. "Are you planning something?"
ARGH! My heart sank. Can I convince him nothing is going on? How can I do that? It is one thing to create this elaborate fairy tale, but it is an entirely different matter to stare someone in the face and lie.
"Are you planning a party for my birthday?" he asked, and I could hear smile in his voice.
What could I do? I looked at him and steeled myself to shoot lies at him like a machine gun, peppering him with enough denial to persuade him to forget about the party idea.
I couldn't do it.
I wanted to so bad. But I could tell by his face that it was over.
I burst into tears.
"Don't cry. Don't cry," he said, immediately alarmed by my reaction. He reached out to put his arms around me and I punched him in the stomach. He stepped back a little.
"It hit me when I was driving over the mountain," he said. "It was like a vision. I was thinking about Saturday and what I had to do and suddenly everything just fell into place. It just came to me. I wasn't thinking about anything specific - I just suddenly knew it. Knew you were planning a party."
I can't say how deflated I felt. I had carefully nurtured a little flame into a full-blown, full-on flicker and in one unfortunate trip by himself with time to think, the Ump doused my flame.
I cried off and on for a half hour.
He ordered me not to tell anyone else. He wanted folks to think he was surprised because they were excited about surprising him. Why he couldn't have come to that conclusion for me is a mystery. Had the roles been reversed, I would have pretended that I did not suspect anything. In fact, I have done that twice - not that he had any idea I knew. Oops.
The party was great anyway. After we ate an excellent dinner, we went to the longest table and his friends took turns roasting him. It was an Ump lovefest. I think his parents may have enjoyed it more than the Ump did, but he did enjoy it.
I told one of my favorite Ump stories, but I couldn't tell the gathering of my feelings because I get too emotional and that would have been a definite downer.
But I can write them.
I threw the Ump a surprise birthday party (which he really didn't know anything about) for his 45th birthday. We been dating less than three months. I did surprise him that time.
Truthfully, I am the one who was surprised. I could not have imagined at that party five years ago where my life would be today. On our first date, I felt like something very special was happening. But I had been fooled before and I was in no hurry.
So here we are five years later and my life is so much richer. By marrying the Ump, I have my own family which includes my stepdaughter Olivia. She is a real treasure. I was so worried about being someone she could accept in her father's life. Because she went to college a couple of weeks before we married, it took a little longer for us to define our relationship, but she always supported the Ump and I as a couple. Something that meant a lot to him. And to me.
I love my in-laws. They remind me of my Dad's family. Country folk. Salt-of-the-earth. Two people who have welcomed me and made me feel like part of the family.
If I could have said these words the other night, I would have had to choke back tears because these things mean so much to me. Listening to his friends recall stories was great, but it was even more touching to hear how much they respect him as a teacher, as a friend, as a good man.
My heart swells with pride just thinking about the man he is and how fortunate I am that some strange guy we both know suggested that the Ump ask me out. One casual comment led to the most significant event of my life in the backyard of my friend's house on a cool September evening in 2001.
Happy birthday, Kenny. I could not love you more.