A Date With Fate (19 page)

My only niece initially made the decision to be vegetarian at age fourteen, and got flak from a lot of the adults in her life. Pushing the great age of twenty nine, I’ve observed the older some people get, the less they seem to remember what it was like to be a teen full of zest and purpose. They thought it was just a phase and humored her. Four years later, when the phase didn’t go away but became a way of life, it made some people uncomfortable.

Stella is often patronized for her beliefs and asked really stupid questions. She normally handles these people and their intrusive, arrogant questions with a patient grace.

My personal favorite was from Marge Clausen, an overweight, sedentary busybody in her forties that has been coming to Bel’s Books since I was a kid. I overheard Marge asking the lithe, athletic, glowing-with-health Stella, “Are you sure you are getting enough protein, dear?”

Aside from the obvious, the question brought home to me that when you are vegetarian people take an uncommon interest in whether or not you are getting all your protein and vitamins. I don’t recall ever hearing an adult ask a flesh-eating teenager those types of questions, regardless if their physical condition was bulimic skinny from barfing up their vitamins, or morbidly obese from a steady diet of junk food and no exercise.

Eating organic was not as trendy four years ago. To be a vegetarian, paired up with insisting on organic whenever possible, was to some people downright un-American and threatening. I got a good chuckle out of this attitude, as if slaughtering cows and chomping down steaks built character, good health, and a powerful nation.

Personally, I am a chomper, but I buy organic and local wherever possible. I take an interest in knowing where my meat comes from—especially beef--what it is fed, and how it is processed for two piggybacking reasons.

One, can you say Creuetz-Jakob disease? This is the disease named for the human related result of eating cattle infected with Bovine Spongiform
Encephalopathy, more commonly known as mad-cow disease. The idea of contracting this disease scares the-you-know-what out of me. I have not completely eliminated beef from my menu, but I consider eating it an extreme sport.

Two, having your fourteen-year-old niece sadly shake her head at you when seeing the burger in your hand and saying, “Auntie, you know you are eating sad, sick meat that had a face.”

Good god, I’m only human and have a heart, even if on the shriveled side, and a brain, hopefully not spongy. Stella masterfully played me like a violin. Now, I try to make sure the animals I eat have a happy life on a nearby farm. I like knowing they’re running around frolicking and eating grass free of pesticides or organic, vegetarian feed. I like thinking their teats are not abused. I like imagining they don’t know what hit them when they are butchered locally for my eating pleasure.

I’ve always steadfastly supported Stella all the way in her convictions--just because. More and more, I was coming to believe she has the right way of it with many of her practices; they were sensible and realistic. My niece is full of true grit and determination, two traits I admire greatly in women when used in the pursuit of self discovery and personal goals.

I had to give her kudos for being able to pull off the shoes, too. They looked like a throwback to old pictures I’d seen of the seventies fashions. The saying, “Keep on Truckin” flashed across my brain. The girl was stylin’. This was a good thing since she’s majoring in fashion design.

Stella is eighteen and a freshman at St Catherine’s College. She also works at Bel’s as my right hand woman. Mac is footing the tuition bill for this private school and it is not trivial. Stella is a hardworking kid. She is earning her own money to help contribute to the cause, and otherwise supports herself. She also has a serious addiction for clothes to feed.

When Stella chose St Catherine’s in St Paul, I think we were all a little stunned. The only thing she seemed to have in common with the private, all-girl, catholic St Kate’s is the fact she’s female. We are a heathenish lot when it comes to organized religion. Most of my siblings went to state schools and majored in partying for their first couple of years.

I’m the only one without a degree. I considered it a waste of time and money for me since owning Bel’s has always been my focus. NanaBel, surprisingly, didn’t try to dissuade me, but said I could always go to school should the urge arise. I haven’t regretted the decision to not pursue a traditional college career, but initially I did miss the continual learning a structured school setting had given me. I hadn’t understood how much I loved soaking up knowledge until I was done with high school and putting in long hours at the store. For the first couple of years, Bel’s Books consumed my every waking hour. It was exciting. I kept taking on more and more responsibilities. I had tons to learn, but as I became more familiar with all aspects of managing the store, I knew it was not enough.

Loving the business I own and run doesn’t mean it is continual fun and games. Mainly, it is routine tasks; a lot of the same old, same old. Once I determined what my restless problem was, I solved it.

I came up with a life action plan I refer to, please forgive me, as the Bel Curve. Continued education is the overall goal, and having fun while achieving this broadening of my horizons is the overall focus. The subheadings BRAIN, BODY, and SOUL organize my pursuits of a well-rounded education. This system works well for me. I’ve always devoured books, but sometimes I will take a class on a specific subject. Sometimes I will learn an active skill, try a new hobby, or take on a sport. My only rule of operations; I gotta love what I am learning or doing. It’s fine to continue on one subject and delve as deep as my interest lies, but if I don’t love it, I move on to the next challenge.

At our gentle teasing and questioning, Stella stubbornly insisted St. Kate’s has the program she wanted. She proved once again she knows her own mind, and has thrived in her first quarter in the diverse, small class environment. It’s a great school.

My heart swells with love for my niece as I watch her today unawares. She is extremely pretty in a vibrant palette with her lustrous, dark chocolate-brown hair and aquamarine eyes under slashing, dark brows. She is rosy cheeked with the MacKenzie dimples, and has a beautiful smile with white, slightly crooked teeth. She insisted she didn’t want braces in the interests of perfection once the dentist admitted her bite was fine. She thought her one or two, slightly crooked teeth were interesting. Such confidence from a sixth-grade girl boggles the mind.

Mac had Stella at seventeen. She got pregnant by her longtime, high school sweetheart, Freddy DeVere. I recall vividly the drama at the time. From my nine-year-old prospective, I was repulsed at the idea of Mac having a baby. NanaBel supported Mac in whatever choice they made about the pregnancy; keeping, adoption, or abortion. Her only requirement was that Mac discussed what she was thinking, feeling, and reasoning with her family as she made her decision with Freddy.

I kept my lips zipped so I could listen, round-eyed and big ears, to all the discussions around the dining room table without being sent out of the room. Years later, I grasped how NanaBel turned a difficult situation that often rips families apart into a time of family unity and excitement. She showed us all the stepping stones to making sound decisions while incorporating our very human strengths and weaknesses into the equation.

One of NanaBel’s favorite axioms has always been, “Your actions should bear scrutiny--your own.” All my life, I’ve watched her in action practicing what she preaches. I have come to greatly admire her philosophies.

She doesn’t give much credence to public opinion other than as a tool to weigh the lay of the land, and then manipulate to her own ends. She also doesn’t consider “manipulate” a four-letter word. My grandmother is quite Machiavellian in her thinking. You’ve got to love that trait in a woman, especially a woman solely in charge of your family’s future.

What NanaBel does believe is that it’s very important to be able to sleep at night after deciding on the path you’ll take, so don’t ever lie to yourself in the privacy of your own mind.

Self-delusion is major no-no. Even if it’s admitting you’re selfish, unfair, unethical, immoral, twisted, or just plain wrong. Vigorous self-honesty, self-examination, and self- acceptance promotes the eventual best choices.

Liking yourself and striving to be the person you want to be; along with plenty of exercise, regular meals, and a good night’s sleep, gives you the energy to have a fun, hardworking, and productive life. NanaBel’s formula is all about life being hard work and a good time. After twenty some cognizant years of my own empirical observation, it’s my conclusion my grandmother is the coolest woman in the world.

Mac and Freddy chose to have the baby. Freddy was a year older and going to school at the U of M. They waited until after Mac had graduated high school, and baby Stella was born in July, before getting married. After the wedding, they lived in a tiny apartment in Dinkytown near the University. They were a happy, little family—deliriously in love and flowing with plans for a bright future.

Seven months later, Freddy was T-boned on an icy, February day by a delivery truck running a red light while doing fifty. Poor Freddy was hit on the driver’s side and killed instantly.

A devastated Mac and baby Stella moved home to their Division Street family. Eventually, Mac used the resulting insurance settlement to pay for schooling to become a nurse. She socked away the rest. We all chipped in our time and it was a group effort raising baby Stella. For the first few months, Mac was sleepwalking through the days while dealing with the reality and grief of being a new mother, a bride, and a widow--all at the age eighteen.

I was just eleven when they moved back into the apartment with us in Northfield. It was a sad time; Freddy had been dear to us all. My sadness was eased a little since it took about one nanosecond for me to fall irrevocably in love with having the baby Stella around 24/7. Time went on, Mac slowly dealt with her loss, and eventually she moved back into the sunlight of the living. She had to tackle me to wrest baby Stella out of my grubby, little arms. We agreed to share.

I now think about how hard Stella works going to school and holding down a full time job. I think about how friendly and kindhearted she is---the girl takes a spider outside rather than kill it, (which in the winter I find an interesting choice), and I press my hands against my chest. I almost feel my heart swelling; I’m so proud of her. Stella’s probably the closest I’m going to get to a daughter of my own, even though she’s only ten years my junior.

Stella glances up at that moment, her pretty face inquisitive. “Why are you standing there holding onto your boobs like that, Auntie Bel?”

She grins at me as I drop my hands, laughing at her valid question. “Oh, just enjoying feeling myself up this fine, Saturday morning. These are the things I get up to if left to my own devices for too long.”

Stella burst out laughing, shoving me playfully in the shoulder. She unlocked the big drawer under the checkout counter near where I was standing. She stowed away her Big Buddha purse.

“Nifty shoes, hippy chick.”

Stella pointed her foot, the better for me to admire. “Thanks. I ordered them online through a website on Etsy. Only thirty bucks!”

I point nonchalantly to the yellow, gift bag tantalizing me on her arm. “What’s that little morsel?”

Stella holds the bag up in surprise, as if just noticing it. “This gift bag, you mean?”

“Yes, that gift bag. Is it a present for someone….like me, for instance?” I ask without shame.

“Now, why would I have a present for you?” Stella teased, pursing her lips in thought. “What have you done for me lately?”

I clapped my hands. I love presents. “Hmm…let’s see. What have I done for you lately? Good question. Does it have to be something I have actually done, or does what I
intend
to do count?”

Stella giggled. She handed the bag over to my greedy, clapping hands. “I believe you would do anything for a present, wouldn’t you?”

Distractedly, I pushed my long hair behind my shoulder while murmuring, “You ask that like its wrong. Have I taught you nothing, Stell?”

I opened the sparkly bag and pulled off the decorative, tissue paper that serves no purpose other than to keep me from the loot underneath. Inside were two wrapped items. I took both out and laid them gently on the wooden counter. Savoring the gifts was as fun as opening them. Well, not really, but a close second.

I carefully folded the gift bag and handed it back to Stella. “You really shouldn’t have, Stella sweetness, but here you go. Recycle this for next time.”

She stuck the yellow bag under the counter while dramatically snorting and rolling her eyes. I don’t know where she gets some of her facial tics from; must be my sister, Mac.

I opened the gift on the left first. “Thank you so much! What is it, exactly?”

Stella took it out of my hands. Using scissors, she sliced off the tab wrapping covering up the white, slim tube. She popped off the lid. Her bright blue eyes were intent and serious, little frown lines of earnestness on her forehead. “It’s called lip stain. You are going to love how it feels and looks. Jane Iredale’s line may not be certified organic, but I have checked out the ingredients. There is no propylene glycol in her stains. Or sodium lauryl sulfate. It is safe and nontoxic for you to use.”

Oh, man, I could just squeeze her endlessly for being so incredibly cute when she’s so serious, but I settle for a quick hug and warm praise. “I appreciate your research. Thanks for being so smart. I cringe at the poisons I’d consume without you policing the profit hungry, corner-cutting bastards of the cosmetic industry.”

Eyes sparkling, she nodded, pleased. “Put some on and try it. Then hurry and open the next one.”

I live to obey. Stella was right; the lip stain felt great and tasted even better. Jane and I had a future. “Mmm…delish.”

Stella handed me the second wrapped package. I laughed in delight when I opened it and saw the earrings. They were shiny, delicate silver in the shape of an elongated sphere with a blue topaz stone dangling in the center.