This is a picture of what was supposed to be a wonderful, entertaining concert by the Kenosha Pops Band – and my first appearance with them this year, since I had to miss last week’s season-opener because of a family reunion. I was so excited for the concert, especially because I was going to get to sing “You Raise Me Up,” which is one of my favorites. Unfortunately, Mother Nature must not have been quite so enthusiastic about the idea, because at 6:45 the skies opened up in a downpour I can only describe as savage. And because the storm was so ferocious and dumped such an enormous amount of rain, there was just no choice but to cancel the concert altogether. Believe it or not, about 75 hardy souls were at Pennoyer Park tonight at concert time, despite the bleak forecast and the threatening skies – and it was only when director Craig Gall came out and yelled that a huge storm was about to strike that people finally headed back to their cars. There was something pretty amazing and inspiring about that- although other words like ‘slightly crazy’ come to mind as well. . . although I should add that my beloved father-in-law was one of those good people who stayed put until the last possible moment, hoping against hope that the concert would still be played. As disappointed as those would-be audience members might have been, those of us who were supposed to be on that stage tonight were sadder still – especially the members of the band who had rehearsed the music this past Monday evening. (There is something really frustrating and sad about preparing a concert only to have the chance to perform it snatched away.)
As it turns out, the concert cancellation was just the latest in a string of frustrations that the day served up. The first headache of the day came as I pulled up to the radio station at 7, only to realize that I had left a book at home that I needed for one of my interviews- and I had no choice but to get right back in my car and circle back home to retrieve it.
No such luck. The good folks at the Olive Garden in Kenosha apparently were sent a memo about the Greg & Kathy Curse, and they managed to deliver one of the most maddening lunchtime experiences we have ever had. We were shown to our table with no problem- but then we sat there …. and sat there …. and sat there …. watching every table around us being served while we were completely ignored. Finally I went to find the hostess and told her – or did I growl at her? – that we were still waiting to see our first sign of a waiter. She apologized and scurried off (we thought) to send someone our way. But we continued to wait ….. and wait …. and wait. I wish I had paid closer attention to the time so I would have known how long we waited. It was at least 12 minutes but it felt like 112 minutes- and when our waitress finally appeared, she smothered us in heartfelt apologies that actually made us feel even more irritated. I’m pretty sure it was a delicious lunch, but it was hard to tell because we were crabbily eating our food through clenched teeth – and although we were cordial to our waitress, I think she couldn’t help but sense our displeasure. <And at the end of the meal, when I paid our bill with the little electronic kiosk at our table, I made a point of taking the customer survey in order to tell them about the frustration we had experienced- and I actually typed so much in that comment box at the end that I actually ran out of room before I was done. Under the best of circumstances I am not succinct. When I’m ticked off, I can’t shut up.>
But the day’s biggest bummer came as we were walking the aisles of Costco, when Kathy got a voice mail informing us that the earliest that our broken A/C could be replaced would be …… drum roll ….. July 12th. I think we both felt like we’d been kicked in the solar plexus – and still do. We were already rather sick at the thought of having to shell out $2500 – or more – for a new A/C …. but to have to wait two and a half weeks for it to be installed was almost more than we could stand. I called them back to play the My-Wife-Has-Asthma Card in the hopes that they could find a way to shorten our wait, but all we got was a rather limp “I’ll see what I can do.” We are not getting our hopes up.
So that’s what our day has entailed …. one frustration after another, coming on the heels of other frustrations that have piled up thus far this summer. Maybe not the Book of Job- but close.
So what does this have to do with Burned Mashed Potatoes? As I reflected back on this miserable day, it got me thinking about a very telling moment from the memoir of Christopher Kennedy Lawford, the son of Peter Lawford and a nephew to JFK and RFK. I got to interview him on the Morning Show after the publication of his memoir Symptoms of Withdrawal: A Memoir of Snapshots and Redemption, which describes his descent into addiction and his struggle for recovery. At one point in the book, he talks about what it was like to be part of a family that has suffered through so much unimaginable tragedy. He says that one consequence of that is that you learn to discern the difference between “true tragedy” and “burned mashed potatoes” – meaning that we tend to spend way too much of our time and energy ruminating over things that scarcely matter at all in the grand scheme of things.
Lawford goes on to say that this turned out to be a bit of a problem because it became exceedingly difficult to complain about anything at all because it would feel like one was just whining about something completely inconsequential, compared to the heartbreaking tragedies that had beset the family. I mean, how do you complain about flunking a test or getting a dent in your car when your Uncle Jack has been assassinated or one of your beloved cousins has gone to jail? In such a household where ordinary complaint was tacitly discouraged – if not forbidden- it became really hard to process and move on from all of the small setbacks and frustrations that are part of anyone’s life. Lawford believes that living in this sort of atmosphere contributed to the mental and emotional difficulties which ultimately led him into the abyss of addiction.
So the lessons I’m taking away from this Day of Burned Mashed Potatoes are these: There is a place for plain old ‘complaint’ in our lives. And for some of life’s nastier reversals, it’s okay to shed a tear or two – and maybe even shake one’s fist at the heavens, at least figuratively. Lord knows q
But there comes a time when that frustration or disappointment or setback needs to be viewed as what it really is: Burned Mashed Potatoes. And when life piles on the frustrations and challenges – as has been the case for Kathy and me in recent weeks – it’s even more important to see them for what they really are – …. just more Burned Mashed Potatoes- maybe more than what seems to be one’s fair share (whatever that means) but a part of everyone’s life to some extent. In the midst of yesterday’s woes, Kathy was telling me about a term that has been recently coined in social media: “Adulting” – which is when you are busy doing crummy ‘adult’ things like shelling out thousands of dollars to replace your air conditioner or to repair your car’s catalytic converter …. money that you would much rather spend on something fun and exciting like- for example – a special treat for your upcoming 25th wedding anniversary. I like that term “adulting” in part because it’s a subtle reminder that what is supposed to distinguish the typical adult from the typical middle schooler is our capacity to distinguish between life’s true tragedies and all of the other stuff (as in “don’t sweat the small stuff”) that we might be tempted to view in similarly tragic terms. After all, there’s nothing more tragic than failing to enjoy all that is right with our lives because we’re too busy lamenting over whatever is wrong. I think that if Kathy and I have anything going for us, it’s our capacity to help each other see beyond life’s immediate headaches ….
even on those days when life’s Burned Mashed Potatoes tower above our heads like ugly, unpleasant mountains.