Mulligatawny Soup For the Soul

I've got two daughters; the word "drama" has become a cliched, painful, repetitive, soul-sapping term in our household.

For example, an innocent, "Who's turn is it to set the table?" will inevitably be met with an, "Awwwwwww, but Daaaaaaaad...I'm so hungry...I can't move...!" ...in conjunction with the throwing of the body on the floor.

In a perhaps pointless attempt at levity, I might counter with a, "...Hence, the setting of the table in preparation for the satiation of the appetite." ...But of course, the drama would then inevitably culminate with one of three actions: open weeping in a futile attempt at volume-raping attention, contorting oneself on the floor and feigning a life-sapping inability to move at all (unless a dessert, TV show or new Webkinz suddenly appeared), or, my personal favorite, the redirection of the request by blaming the of the other sibling (typically combined with the first two tactics), "It's not my turn tonight!"

But watching last night's Survivor, I was reminded that drama can be a good thing. Not a "Chicken Soup For the Soul" type of deal where intellectually insulting drivel attempts to teach you that contrived drama can make you a better person, but instead a more bent, twisted, unexpected and entirely fulfilling drama. Like Mulligatawny Soup For the Soul.

"No crappy, contrived life lessons for you!"

It's the twentieth season - how could we not be expecting much of the same formulaic patterns that have both bolstered the success of the show and yet saddled it with predictable, increasingly boring components? Exile island/continent. Hidden immunity idols. Reward challenge ("You wanna know what your playing for?). Immunity challenge ("Survivors ready? Go!"). Grotesquely gigantic fake mammaries. The inadvertent slip (and inevitable pixelation) of the random testicle, nipple, vulva and peen.

OK, true - they're not all bad.

But I noticed last night that the show has been edited different this year. Perhaps a new director as well? There's significantly more character development. Less challenges (combining of the reward/immunity). More confessionals. More drama.

This is a good thing - at least, it is with this cast. They're actually quite interesting - for once, each person actually really wants to win, and are mentally trying their hardest to stay alive as long as possible. They're sharper. More aware. Consistently funny. And they call each other on their bullshit.

My biggest complaint with a show like The Amazing Race has been that it's almost entirely action/tension, and very little character development. It's all of the bad parts of travel (transportation schedules, communication challenges, confusing directions...), and none of the good (relaxing on an unexpected beach paradise, savoring the local cuisine, meeting and getting to know the locals...). In my mind, if that show spent 10 minutes each episode with all of the cast members sharing a meal after or before the next challenge, it would be infinitely more interesting. Believe me, you can't get to know someone by only watching how they interact with others while immersed in a constant stream of anxiety and stress. Interesting? Perhaps. Fulfilling? Kill me.

But Survivor is doing a fine job this season. Nuances of mini catfights. Paranoia mixed with humor. Clever strategic thinking mixed with the reality of having to react to others in unexpected conversations at a moment's notice. Long voice overs. Hatched schemes and failed plots. More talking, less action.

This is life - interesting life - and not just the sensationalism of constant action, bloody backstabbing and vulva/peens.

By the way, wasn't that a children's book? The Vulvapeen Rabbit? Where the rabbit learns that if the child loves vulva and peens that it will become real? Such a heartwarming story...

But I digress...

The point is, the growing character development component of Survivor this season is good drama. Coach's prolific philosophical rantings used as a voice over in conjunction with building music and wide, sweeping panoramic shots was tremendous! Jerri's slowing festering hatred of Parvati, ultimately erupting in her admission that her deepest desire is to murder her was heartwarming. And Russell's tangible disgust combined with his incredible prose outlining his perceived world dominance against anyone who dares to believe they have more power than him is entirely satisfying.

It's the little things in life that make the mundane interesting. It's the unexpected added colors that brighten our perspectives. It's the Vulvapeen on the rabbit that titillates and satiates at the same time.

I kid, but this realization actually reminded me of a story that occurred almost exactly ten years ago...

Paige and I had been looking to buy our first house for over six months: an unending stream of frustration, outrageously expensive non-options, and dead ends. We went through a pattern of finding something we liked, but having someone else beat us to the punch with an offer. It got the point that when we finally found a house even remotely in our price range, we put an offer on it on the spot, had it accepted almost immediately, and then backed out of it hours later when the buzz wore off and we realized neither of us even liked the house.

We were nearing the end of our patience.

But then our brother-in-law, Tim, mentioned that he had heard that his neighbor, a reclusive widower two doors down, might be thinking about moving. Having heard that the best opportunities were the ones in which you could swoop in on a house either before the owner put it on the market or immediately after their untimely death, we pounced.

We knocked on his door and introduced ourselves. Paige had grown up in the neighborhood and the man, George, actually remembered her. He was tickled pink that we had stopped by, and confirmed that yes, he was in fact thinking of selling the house. His wife had died a few years earlier, his kids were long gone, and his health was failing. His problem was that he absolutely didn't trust realtors and refused to use one.

He invited us in, walked us through the house, asking about our lives (we had just moved back to Sacramento and were hoping to start a family), sharing his own, and clearly displaying a deep affection for what the house meant to him: the memories, the experiences, his connection to it all through his soul mate that had passed. He hadn't even slept in the Master Bedroom since her death almost five years earlier, having moved to a smaller room down the hall, and desperately missed his grown kids. "I just want the house to feel alive again!" he remarked more than once. "I want a new family to live here and make it their own!"

We ended the tour 45 minutes later out front and didn't know how to proceed. Paige finally said, "Well, if you are really thinking of selling, I think we're definitely interested."

He was clearly relieved. "That's great, that's great!" he remarked. "But I won't use a realtor." We didn't have a problem with this, although we told him that we would likely hire someone on our end - and entirely out of our pocket - to handle all the details, since we had no clue about what needed to be done.

And then came the topic of price. We asked him what he wanted to sell it for. "Whatever you want," he told us.

We were extremely uncomfortable with this, and told him so. He then told us that he didn't really care about the money. His main goal was to find a nice family who would bring children back into the house, take care of it and appreciate it like he and his family had. He was so excited to meet us and get to know us, that he wanted us to have the house... He wanted us to name the price.

But, of course, we couldn't possibly go into a deal thinking that we had lowballed this incredibly generous man. We told him we knew how much two houses on the same court had sold for over the past year - how about we split the difference between the two? He looked at us with a half smile and a gleam in his eye and suddenly named a price literally 1/3 lower than the price we had suggested.

"No - we couldn't possibly do that," we protested (however much we wanted to - this price was actually in our price range - granted, the extreme top of our price range...).

But he would have none of our arguments. "That's the price. Take it or leave it - no discussions."

So we took it. And we moved in. And George moved out. And life went on. We went to work every day. We came home at night and cooked dinner. We watched the first season of Survivor. We read the Vulvapeen Rabbit...you know - all the normal, everyday things that people do.

Although we knew we had been the recipient of an incredible deal, the "story" of how we got the house wasn't exactly earth-shattering, or something our kids would tell their grandkids, or even remember one day...

But then we found out Paige was pregnant, and soon Reese was born. We'd worked very hard on the house - removing wallpaper, painting, fixing things, etc. We put our mark on it, and after about a year, it really finally felt like our house. There was life in it again - our lives and our growing family.

But then unexpectedly one summer day a little over a year after we'd moved in, there was a knock on the door while I was at work and Paige was home with the new baby. It was George - with his nurse.

We hadn't heard a peep from George over the past 10 months or so; the realtor we'd hired had befriended him and had told us that soon after he moved out, he'd moved into a full-time hospice as he was on 24 hour dialysis when his health had took a turn for the worse. We'd sent him a couple cards after we'd moved in and had even shared the news of Paige's pregnancy, but had never heard a word from him.

Until now.

Paige, baby in tow, immediately invited them in and George was the picture of happiness. He saw Reese and started crying, patting her on the head and saying how happy he was that kids were back in the house and that a new family was making it their own. Paige walked them through the house like he had done with us a year earlier, and George was so happy and so proud of the changes we had made - he loved them all.

After about 30 minutes, George began to get tired and he told his nurse it was time to leave. Paige invited him to stay for some coffee, but he thanked her profusely and politely declined. "I've got to get back to the hospital," he told her.

Out on the sidewalk, he turned around one more time to look at the house; Paige was standing on the porch waving goodbye with one of Reese's tiny hands... George waved again - tears in his eyes - then turned and climbed into the car and was gone.

Three days later our realtor phoned us: George had passed away. It was like he had been holding on with everything he had in order to ensure that the house had been passed into the right hands, and when he saw that it was loved once again with a new family, he could now let go.

This was a story we could tell our grandkids about. The added drama - good drama. Real drama.

That little extra something that makes the "normal" seem sensational.

It's the roasted coriander and white poppy seeds to the mulligatawny.

The vulva and the peen to the rabbit.

The delicious nuances in Survivor.

Take the time to flesh things out. Invite the details to get filled in. Be patient, and allow yourself to love that rabbit...one day it just might become a real vulvapeen.

And really, what more can any of us ask for?

OK, Parvati's kind of a bitch - how about her getting booted soon as well?

Until next week,

PB