Wherever Is Your Heart ...
“Where are you from?” The hotel manager waiting for the elevator small talk question spurs the same response from Colin and me. Davenport. Thus satisfied, Mr. Inquisitive moves on to engage the next targets while Colin and me have the discussion walking down the hallway to 414. He’s from Wisconsin. I’m from California. But we were in the middle of Iowa so “Davenport” was the go-to reply.
The siftings coda is to include some helpful advice so, in case this meanders a bit later … there are only two places to stay in Ames, Iowa. The ISU President’s House and the Gateway. Secretary Moniz was at the former and we were at the latter; a Frank Lloyd Wrightish place with complimentary goldfish offered up for room companionship and Iowa-sized breakfast fare. Which is to say, imagine Montana on a plate, with cheese.
When I lived there, I enjoyed telling folks I was from Iowa. As they would pat me on the head like a puppy and try to remember if that was the potato state, I could skip a few moves forward in conversation chess and circle back to do an aw-shucks to keep the rural ruse going if I needed to. You can take the boy out of Chicago, but removing the Chicago from the boy is about as unlikely as beating the Cubs these days.
I have an operating theory of what a late 60s / early 70s (yikes, I’m ancient) childhood in the City of Broad Shoulders does to a person, but I’ll save that for another day since I have a more pressing operating theory. Or two, if you include the optimal Egg McMuffin strategy of grape jelly, no cheese. Is that meandering, or more helpful advice? Stay with me, here it is.
It only took me thirtyish years to figure it out. Want a good life? Don’t disappoint people. You could honestly stop reading now, never to return again. Because beyond grape jelly on Egg McMuffins, that’s the key to a good life. Don’t disappoint your parents. Don’t disappoint your siblings. Don’t disappoint your teachers (screwed that one up completely). Don’t disappoint your teammates. Don’t disappoint your life partner (or partners, if that’s your thing or it works out that way). Don’t disappoint your employers / shareholders / colleagues. Don’t disappoint your children.
There’s a few exceptions, as there always are. Jerks, bullies, jamokes? Disappoint the hell out of them. No matter if they’re teachers, coaches, parents or employers. If you’ve been dealt a hand of numbskulls, go with plucky ironic detachment (it makes them crazy). Better yet, just go. Life’s too short for jerks, bullies and jamokes. Oh, and if you’re a boss at something that isn’t fast food, disappoint the slackers, yes-men and organizational terrorists right out the door. That’s … how to put it? … your job.
Setting the exceptions aside, it’s that last one about not disappointing your children that is the capstone (and required thirtyish years to get to). Because that’s the whole meaning of life point to it all. If you are blessed with a child, for goodness sakes don’t mess it up. Square your life away, lay in a good supply of humility and hard work, and get to the essence of providing stability, support and love. If you do it anywhere close to right, there will be days like this weekend.
Where are we from, the man simply asks. Though the Malins are pluckily spread across the landscape these days, the deepest truth is we still live together. Families are such. We live together in custom; the Cubs, Portillo’s, and Scratch cupcakes, the stories told and jokes retold. We live together in memory; a stream with headwaters known only to parents, and deltas only to be seen by children. We live together in hope; that as the stream meanders, it features enough rapids to hold our interest, but otherwise flows gently and kindly.
The stream will meander, but it can’t really be separated. It is a single life force.
Wrong as I sometimes (er, often) am, it appears I under-judged Brandi Carlile’s #5 ranked 2015 iPod addition (list here). It’s moved into #1. Wherever are the Malin hearts, I call home.
photo credit: Colin Malin
