Ups and Downs
Posted: December 16, 2010 Filed under: family, kids Leave a commentOver the weekend, I was feeling really good. So good, in fact, I almost felt guilty (stupid Catholic upbringing). Things are just going so great, you know, I have a husband I love, I’m a good wife and mother, living in the house of my dreams, etc. I’d just hosted a really nice holiday cookie exchange with my friends, where everyone left feeling relaxed and happy. What more could I want?
I told this to Manfrengensen, who was unimpressed (he knows me too well). He said (and we laughed), “If you were a stock, I’d be selling right now.”
By Tuesday, the stock had taken a dive. Mothering can be a thankless, thankless job, but some days, when you work hard at it, you don’t expect praise, but you know, you’d just like to be able to do the job with a little less resistance from the troops. I got up in the morning and did the usual mom things, got everyone out of bed, made their breakfasts and lunches, took The Princess to school and then went to the dentist (a little “me” time!). I had broken a tooth and spent two hours in the chair. The last time I’d had Novocaine was in middle school perhaps, so I was a bit unpracticed. When they asked me to rinse and spit, everything went flying! They probably had to hose down the whole room after I left.
When I got home, I started dinner. Last winter I had made a delicious chicken pot pie soup, and wanted to make it again now that the weather warrants it. But I had kind of forgotten the procedure, and by the time the thing was done, I hadn’t really cooked the vegetables long enough to make them soft…but I’ll get to that. While that was cooking, I went down to the basement to start wrapping their presents; all the things I have been collecting since October with them in mind. After two hours of that, I realised that I hadn’t procured one of the things on Edison’s list that he wants:
Harry Potter Lego Years 1-4 for Wii, so I called around looking for a copy. He’s been rather obsessed with HP lately, having gotten on that bandwagon much later than his peers, and he has been quickly catching up, reading books 1-3 since the beginning of November. Found a copy of the game not too far away, and I left (chicken pot pie in the crock pot) to go in search of that as well as some gifts to give their Sunday school teachers this week.
Took care of all that, picked up The Princess, and got back here in time for Clooney’s bus. Clooney’s a bit under the weather with a runny nose, and the cough is actually starting now, so I figured I would go out and get him some Mucinex, the grape kind that dissolves on their tongues, which my kids seem to find the most palatable. Edison got home, I got everyone started on homework, which isn’t easy because they are all distracting each other, and after-school snacks need to be distributed and all.
So then, at 5:00, the boys had guitar lessons, so we had to load up and go over there. I dropped them off, took The Princess with me to the drugstore for the Mucinex; the whole time, she’s complaining — she wants me to buy her something. What’s with kids that they think any time we step out of the house, they deserve something new? Mind you, I don’t give in. This just the constant battle of shopping with my kids. Usually I try not to do it because it’s such a pain.
We got back to where the boys were, and The Princess pulled out her little suitcase full of Polly Pockets for us to play with while we waited for her brothers. I always have to be the bad guy (and there’s always a bad guy who kidnaps either a princess or a baby of some kind) and these days he’s a Happy Meal manifestation of Sam Worthington’s avatar. Once the kidnapped baby was rescued, the storyline began again. Polly Pockets go to sleep; avatar slips in, steals the baby; policeman comes (he’s a PP version of the prince from The Princess and the Frog, and he speaks with a crazy accent); he finds the avatar and fights for the baby; the avatar gets away and they all go back to sleep. That’s the whole playing dynamic, like a CD on maniacal continuous play.
When the lesson was over, we headed back home, got homework finished, dinner served, and then the complaints really began. “I don’t like this.” “What’s this green stuff?” “I don’t want this…” etc. Now, I’m a pretty good cook. I admit that particular night’s dinner wasn’t my best effort, but it was a lot of effort, and after a whole day of just doing stuff for them (other than the dentist) I was a little touchy. Enough, you know? So I said some things about feeling unappreciated, because I was.
Edison ended up going to his room — adolescence has started and it’s a bitch. A little while later, this note came flying into the kitchen in the form of a paper airplane:
Mom,
I am sorry for my mistakes. The only reason I yelled was because you said I never say anything good about your dishes. Do I say “Thanks for the wonderful meal, Mom,” or am I speaking Parseltoungue (snake language in Harry Potter Year 2)? Maybe I’m deaf and I hear it in my head. If I am hearing things, please write back. Love (Maybe), Edison
Maybe???
LOL.
Community
Posted: December 7, 2010 Filed under: blogging Leave a commentTodays prompt: Community. Where have you discovered community, online or otherwise, in 2010? What community would you like to join, create or more deeply connect with in 2011?
This is kind of a weird question for me, because I have been in a few discordant communities this year. The first was my community of employment, where the only unifying factor seemed to be general disgruntlement. It was a community of malcontents being squeezed by an administration of incompetence.
So that gave me no sense of community.
Then there’s my book club. There used to be more of a sense of community there because we all lived in the same neighborhood, but as the years have passed, many of us have moved away, and what was once a nice walk to discuss the book has become a drive, and perhaps because there’s less drinking, it’s not as harmonious. There have been some divisive factions in the group. The other night we had our annual Christmas party, and where there have been a lot of laughs in the past, and a feeling of togetherness, there was no unity at all this year. Instead, the party broke into little clusters of conversation. Plus, while I like the majority of the members and all, there are too many of them. I think a general rule of thumb should be that no book club should have more members than the average person has wine glasses. Using that as a guide, we are over the limit. With all of those little factions, I’m beginning to view my book club much like I did high school.
The community at the Princess’s school is very nice and friendly. We have to do a significant number of service hours for the school, which is kind of a huge commitment, but it does help people get to know one another. I have been privileged to have some really great conversations with people this year, and it does feel good to be working toward the same goal. In 2011, I would like to become more deeply entrenched there.
Another community I enjoy is the Facebook. While it is quite the time burglar, which I mentioned yesterday, it is also a great tool for keeping in touch and reconnecting with old friends.
Philadelphia’s role in WWII
Posted: December 7, 2010 Filed under: family, Media Leave a commentA few weeks ago I wrote about my uncle Tom and his job at the Sun Shipyard outside of Philadelphia. Today’s Philadelphia Inquirer featured an article about the city’s role in WWII, noting the contributions of that facility.
An interesting note is that the place is now the site of a Harrah’s casino. I think I know what Uncle Tom would think of that…
Catching Up and Counting Down
Posted: December 6, 2010 Filed under: blogging 1 Comment
My friend Melissa turned me on to this site called Reverb 10 that offers some interesting prompts to help reflect upon the last year. I guess we are supposed to blog about each prompt on a daily basis (though I may need more time to brew my thoughts.)
I just found out about it today, so I will try to catch up quickly.
December 1 – One Word. Encapsulate the year 2010 in one word. Explain why you’re choosing that word. Now, imagine it’s one year from today, what would you like the word to be that captures 2011 for you? (Author: Gwen Bell)
My word is “evolution”. This was a year of change, from having a job I didn’t imagine I’d have the year before, to losing that job, then moving to a new home and moving the kids to new schools. It has all worked out for the best, but it was a bumpy ride at times. A word for 2011 is “hope”.
December 2 – Writing. What do you do each day that doesn’t contribute to your writing — and can you eliminate it? (Author: Leo Babauta)
One word: Facebook. The ultimate time burglar. I will eliminate it right after I beat my current score on Pathwords…
December 3 – Moment. Pick one moment during which you felt most alive this year. Describe it in vivid detail (texture, smells, voices, noises, colors). (Author: Ali Edwards)
The water is pretty clean, and the waves are those double rollers that I like. You can climb on top of the first one, ride it half-way in and the second one will come in over top of it and lift you back up. On a boogie board, you ride on your belly, and it’s like sledding, but there’s not that sting like the cold air of January or the prickles of snow that fly in your face. It’s just refreshing, and the water is splashing all around as you bounce up and over, dodging the legs of the people standing between you and the tide’s edge. The water drips down my forehead and into my eyes, I can hear myself giggling like a giddy schoolgirl just under the whoosh of the waves crashing around me. I keep going until there’s nothing beneath me but sand and broken shells, pick up my board and head back out.
December 4 – Wonder. How did you cultivate a sense of wonder in your life this year? (Author: Jeffrey Davis)
I wouldn’t say that cultivating a sense of wonder is something I do often enough. You always hope to introduce your kids to new things, keep them learning and exploring, but it doesn’t always work out the way you want it to.
A few weeks ago, Manfrengensen and I decided to take the kids into the state park near our home for the first time. We are city folk, so we aren’t really what I would call acclimated to the outdoors, if you know what I mean. We decided to take off on one of the trails around 4 p.m. on Saturday, and we followed it down, down, down into the ravine and close to the river’s bank. The whole time, (or at least the times between the moments when we were trying to stifle the bickering about whose turn it was to be in the front of our line on the trail) I was trying to point out “nature” things to them, “Hey look, that tree fell down…there’s a squirrel…look at all the different color leaves, etc,” but they weren’t really biting because of the leader argument.
When we got to the bottom of the trail, we noticed it was really starting to get dark. We’d never been in the park before, and because we are city
people, it didn’t occur to us to bring a flashlight…or a map…or our cell phones. As we trudged along in the waning light I began to imagine headlines like “Family of 5 found eight days later…” or “mauled by cougars” etc. By the time Manfrengensen found a promising trail that appeared to have some kind of rise to it, we could barely see anything beyond the length of our own arms.
We climbed out of the ravine along a treacherous, rocky path punctuated by tree roots and sticks. Clooney must have fallen to his knees five times. I held on to the Princess’s hand lest she disappear into the darkness. Just off the path, in the dark beyond where I could see, from time to time I would hear movement, rustling in the leaves. Was that a squirrel? A raccoon? Cougar? The kids had stopped complaining about who was the leader and instead joined forces to complain about tired feet, being thirsty, feeling tired, wanting to sit down, who had the water bottle and just about everything else they could think of to complain about.
When we finally reached the entrance to the park (almost two hours from the time we had started our hike), Manfrengensen mused, “I think we have forged some new wilderness lovers today!”
But I think they will end up like me. I consider “roughing it” to be something like a 3 star hotel.
December 5 – Let Go. What (or whom) did you let go of this year? Why? (Author: Alice Bradley)
Three things actually. First, I let go of a job I enjoyed. It was difficult to let go, but I know I am better off. I still have to let go of some of the anger I have for one person who was involved in the whole ordeal, but I am working on that.
Second, I let go of the house we lived in for the last six years. The house where the Princess
was born, with the yard where the kids ran under the sprinklers every summer. I did love that house. It was a good one.
Most importantly, I have decided to let go of the Mean Girls. Sometimes I have played the Lindsey Lohan character in my group of lady friends, and I have realized that I don’t really like those mean girls. I want to be everyone’s friend, and I have no malice toward anyone. I won’t be hanging out with the mean girls in the future.
December 6 – Make. What was the last thing you made? What materials did you use? Is there something you want to make, but you need to clear some time for it? (Author: Gretchen Rubin)
The last thing I made was a big pot of meatballs for dinner. This is the Princess’s favorite meal, and making them always reminds me of my paternal grandmother, who taught me how to make them. She used to make them every week
(Mondays?) and we would come home from school to a house that smelled like her tomato sauce. She used to save me one or two meatballs, which were still raw when I got home, and she would fry them up in a pan for me like patties. I still keep one or two out to taste like that after the rest are cooking in the sauce. It always reminds me of her, the time she walked me through the process of making them on the phone while I was at Purdue, and how much I still miss her.
So there, I am all caught up. I hope to be able to keep up in the coming weeks. Feel free to join in at the site above.
All settled
Posted: November 25, 2010 Filed under: family | Tags: Animal Farm, late, parenting, school projects Leave a commentTuesday was the day we settled on our old house. Settlement was set for 4 p.m., and the boys were off from school, but I had my mother-in-law coming over to watch them. Mid-day I got a call from my step-mom who’s also our realtor, and she said that the buyer’s final walk-through had gone well except for one thing: where were the rugs?
Rugs? We had taken everything with us when we moved, and then the house was prepared for sale. We refurbished the outside, sealed the basement, and painted all the walls a neutral color. I had left some junk behind to be tossed, including a rug I had bought about eight years ago. The thing was so cheap that the ink bled onto our white socks every time we walked on it. When we moved into that house six years ago, I bought all new rugs and kept that one rolled up in the attic.
When it came time for the open house, my step-mom unrolled it, along with some other scatter rugs that she often uses in open houses. The rugs were placed here and there, but none of them fit any particular space. So, none of us noticed that the other realtor had slipped a clause about them into the contract under “inclusions.” Who wants other people’s old rugs?
My rug was old and cheap, I don’t really care, but the other rugs had been walked on by HUNDREDS of people in various open houses over the years. Why would someone want those rugs?
I guess the buyer really thought they tied the rooms together.
Anyway, those rugs went along with the deal.
In the meantime, I was dealing with other fires. Edison, our mad genius, had failed to turn in a rather large reading project, that absolutely HAD TO BE HANDED IN by 3:00 or his first semester grade for Reading would be a C.
Edison is really great at starting projects, and he thinks big, so big that sometimes it’s hard for us to follow along. Finishing projects, he’s not so good at.
So, there we were, at 2:00, frantically searching for context clues in George Orwell’s Animal Farm. He was frustrated; I was frustrated, but you know, as a mom, you think, let’s just get through this. I’ll help him a little, we’ll turn it in and be on our way. My plan was to turn the thing in by 2:30, swing by and pick up The Princess, who had school Tuesday, and be back here by 3:30 for my mother-in-law before heading to settlement.
It’s always crazy getting out the door. Does everyone have his coat? Got your shoes on? Would you get your shoes please? I don’t know where they are. Where did you leave them? Just get the shoes! Yes, you can bring your DS. Shoes! Meanwhile the clock is ticking. I don’t know why, but it always seems to take 15 minutes just to get out the door, despite the fact that I start saying from the early morning, “Okay we have to be out of here by 2:15.”
So we got out of here by 2:20, headed over to Jake’s school, and pulled up to the door. Edison opened his folder, which was full of different papers, and he says (I kid you not), “Where? Where is my project?”
I don’t think I need to tell you that I was as close to being a mushroom-cloud-laying-mother as I have ever been at that particular moment. My delicate genius of a son had left the thing on the kitchen counter, I guess, while he went to look for his shoes, and then he left it there. LEFT IT THERE!
So I sped out of the parking lot, back down the interstate, into our driveway and got the thing. There it was, waiting innocently on the kitchen counter, and we circled back to turn the thing in.
By the time I got to settlement, I am sure my hair was a wild swirl of strands around my head. We signed the papers and got out of there, happily the owners of only one home.
We all learned lessons Tuesday though. I learned that my fifth grader is not really mature enough to handle the autonomy he has been given. He needs me to guide him a bit, to teach him to be a bit more organized. I have to remember he’s ten, and even though he talks to me like he thinks he’s my equal, he’s not ready to fly solo just yet.
On a separate note: Today is Thanksgiving, and I am thankful for my family. Thankful for good kids, a loving husband and the wonderfully supportive extended family we are blessed enough to have.
The Bigger Picture
Posted: October 12, 2010 Filed under: Day-to-Day, Entertainment, family, Media, movies, television, TV Leave a commentSo Universal Studios has decided not to convert the latest installment of the Harry Potter franchise in 3-D, which is good news no matter where you stand on 3-D. What passes for 3-D content is often more gimmick than substance, and in most cases, it doesn’t add much more to the film than increased ticket prices, especially in those instances where the 3-D conversion was done after the movie was filmed. Avatar (which was shot in 3-D) was fine, but didn’t the 3-D images kind of distract us from the primarily cheesy dialogue in the movie? Do we really need 3-D TV? Do we really need EVERYTHING to be in 3-D? Does the public really care? Are the effects really worth it?
The whole story reminded me of growing up with my uncle Tom. Uncle Tom was actually my great-uncle, my mom’s uncle, and my grandmother’s youngest brother. He’d been a go-between in my grandparents’ courtship, running letters between them on a daily basis. He was
a bachelor his entire life. After his mother died, he and my great-grandfather moved in with my grandmother, the family’s only daughter. Even though she had her own family, she took them in, and another brother or two came along with the deal as well, although they eventually got married, moved out and had their own families.
This was a time we often forget or discount as old-fashioned, a time when men had certain roles and women had others. He was the kind of man who wouldn’t have been able to fend for himself. Not that he wasn’t a strong man, because he was. He was a god to us kids. But he never would have been able to cook for himself, or iron his own shirts. Maybe he would have learned how, if he had needed to, but he didn’t need to because he could rely on his sister. It was a time when families stuck close together. Afterall, they were first generation Americans. Where were else was he going to go after their mother died?
He worked outside of Philadelphia at the Sun Shipyard as a welder. He worked long hours and came home filthy every day at 5 o’clock, where the dinner my grandmother had cooked was waiting for him on the table. He always had black under his nails, and he had these big, meaty thumbs. He once told us that he had “worked on the bomb”, or I would guess part of its outer shell, which I suppose could have been possible. The whole operation was compartmentalized and so secret. He said they “didn’t know what they had been working on” until after August 6, 1945.
Uncle Tom had three domains. His primary one was a garage he rented in the alley across the street from my grandparents’ house. It was filled with all kinds of things that we always thought of as “real man” related, fishing poles, styrofoam coolers, auto parts, sports equipment, tools and things he would just find and collect. Truth be told, we kids were not allowed to venture far into the garage (tetanus being the primary danger there, I’m sure), but he would take us over to collect the items for our afternoons of play. Sometimes we would play softball, or he’d take us fishing at the state park. We’d go crabbing in the Chesapeake, searching for fossils along its bed (and we’d find some!), or more often, we would just take long walks in the park, which in those days was almost as dense as a forest. And he would point to the surrounding neighborhoods and say, “You see all this? When I was a kid, it was all trees, as far as the eye could see.”
He would open that garage door and the smell would hit us. I can still remember it, though I couldn’t say what it was exactly, nor have I smelled anything like it since. A mixture of motor oil with a pinch of gasoline and a whole lot of fishing residue baking inside the walls of those coolers while enclosed in the hot garage; to us kids, that smell was heaven. That smell meant fun.
His other domains included his bedroom, the threshold of which we rarely crossed. The room was immaculate. The bed was always made with military smoothness, and though it smelled like an old man, it looked relatively untouched, not a doily out of its place. He would sleep late on the weekends, which often drove us crazy waiting for him to come play with us when we visited. My grandmother had
this fox stole that looked like several foxes, each biting the tail of the one in front of it. We used to like to leave it outside his door when he was sleeping so that he would step on it when he got up. I can still hear him yelling, “Get those crazy cats out of my way!” putting us in hysterics.
Uncle Tom’s other, and most sacred domain, was the basement where he shaved in the morning looking at his reflection in a small mirror over the utility tub, and changed every evening into the freshly pressed shirts that my grandmother would leave down there for him near her ironing board. We used to have long talks with Uncle Tom in that back room there. He’d be shining his shoes or doing some other man-task while we sat on a hard box full of dark brown Balantine empties (“The champagne of beers!”).
The finished part of the basement was where he kept his chair and his TV, which was always black and white, even though color TVs were readily available in those days. I asked him one time why he didn’t have a color TV, and he responded that it “hurt” his eyes.
That line has always stuck with me, not because I really believe that his eyes hurt, but I do think there was something to what he said. I think that watching TV in black and white helped him and his generation to distinguish the difference between reality and TV, a line that we in the 21st century see getting more and more unclear every day. We live in a society that is currently obsessed, almost terminally distracted by “Reality Television.” I personally find this ironic, because while most Americans watch some form of reality television, almost an equal number, if not more eschew what is ACTUAL reality television, network news. Networks over the last two decades have put less and less money into producing news programs and more and more into the cheap form of “reality TV” and it’s been wildly profitable for them.
But what’s crazy is that it’s not reality. It’s orchestrated and staged for the greatest possible effect. Read any of these blogs about behind the scenes of Kate Plus 8 or any of those shows, and you know that the producers put these characters (and that’s what they are — CHARACTERS) into situations that will produce the best footage, and then they weave that footage in such a way that viewers see the version of reality that is the most sensational.
In addition, we’ve created a society where almost everyone expects to have the 15 minutes of fame that Andy Warhol promised, and once some get it, they cling tenaciously and become such train wrecks that some of us can’t look away. (See: Spencer/Heidi Pratt, John and Kate and the like.) Some of these nobodies who are instantly propelled to arbitrary fame just refuse to go away. But what’s even more disturbing is that so many Americans think they could have a shot at it as well. In the early days, and even into the 70’s and 80’s you needed actual talent to be famous. Now it’s just a competition to see who can be the lowest of the lowest common denominator.
Every kid is a star. Parents talk about their kids’ talents like everyone’s a prodigy. If one girl kicks another in a soccer game, the parents consider suing for what might be a lost career, or a potential scholarship. Couples have multiples, five kids, six kids, one family’s even considering having a 20th child just to stay in the limelight. Doesn’t matter that their 19th child was born prematurely, spewed from a womb too tired to keep it going for another couple of months. Doesn’t matter what effect it will have on the child’s health or quality of life. It’s all about the fame.
And the media celebrates it. The Daily Show talked recently about how the media is like Doug, the dog, in Up, who is easily distracted by squirrels. Their point rang true for me. The media are too easily distracted, and because we are a media-centric society, we follow the lead.
3-D may be part of the never-ending push for reality in entertainment, but is it necessary? Is it like color, or hi-def, or is it just a gimmick? In a world where you don’t have to do anything special to be famous, where “reality TV” personalities are considered “talent” how much further do we really need to go?
I don’t want to sound old-fashioned or anything, but personally, 3-D hurts my eyes.
October
Posted: October 11, 2010 Filed under: Day-to-Day, writing | Tags: october poem, poetry Leave a commentpumpkins wait by the side of the road
trying to hitch a ride
a hollowed out squash
ghosts swinging in the trees
skeletal trees
shivering in the breeze
leaves steal rides on the soles of my shoes
I wonder what you’re doing
the october wind
she
flirts with november
cries when he doesn’t call
calls out all her ghosts
he
leaves
everything cluttered on the ground
blows
leaves
calls his name
november
november’s in the air
dancing with skeletons
dangling from my ears
they hear
the wind
she’s howling
like a dozen giggly ghosts
the leaves snicker behind her back
she
leaves
her soul
in a downward spiral
wet leaves
stuck to my soles
-MKC ’91–
Silly Bandz make some kidz do silly things
Posted: October 5, 2010 Filed under: Day-to-Day, family, kids, parenting, Relationships, school, teaching moments | Tags: kids, LEGO mini-figures, morality, school, silly bandz, stealing, teaching moments Leave a commentClooney began collecting Silly Bandz this summer. I cannot say when these things first put their rubbery feet through our door, but it built and built until he amassed a gallon-sized Ziploc bag full of them. I don’t buy them; he gets them at parties or at camp, and he’s been known to spend his allowance on them, at least until the Series 2 LEGO mini-figures were released a few weeks ago. But his
eyes still get all glassy when he sees them in a store. The combinations of shapes, colors and other features (i.e. glow in the dark, tie-dyed, or sparkly) continue to mesmerize him whenever we pass a rack of them. And they are EVERYWHERE.
I have allowed it without encouraging it, because he’s into it, and because ultimately they are no more harmful than collecting baseball cards (though not as intellectually appealing), but I was a little disturbed yesterday when he came home and showed me two new ones on his wrist.
“Guess where I got these,” he began proudly. “Lucy and Gina dropped their Silly Bandz on the floor at lunch, and a bunch of people picked them up and I got these two!”
“What do you mean??” I asked, highly concerned.
It happened, just as I had thought. Six kids swooped in and stole the girls’ Silly Bandz off the floor. You always imagine that your child will be Superman, or the hero, the one who steps in and tells the others that what they are doing, if what they are doing, is not the right thing. So, I was more than a little shocked when not only didn’t my son do that, but he was also an eager participant in the crime. He and I had a long talk about what it meant, and how I saw the situation, and I hoped that he understood that what he had done was wrong and why. I tried to make him feel empathy for Lucy and Gina, and he promised to return the bracelets, but I wonder what he really learned. Did he learn that it’s wrong to do what he did, or did he just learn that it’s wrong to share stuff like that with Mom?
It’s a fine line. How do you teach kindness and morality, right and wrong, without choking the open line of communication between parent and child? Obviously, he’s never seen Manfrengensen or me take something that doesn’t belong to us, so it’s not a learn-by-example situation. I can only imagine that it will get tougher as he gets older and the pressure to really fit in plays a factor.
Have you had any experience with this kind of thing? Please share below if you have. Thanks.
Misty Watercolored Memories
Posted: September 24, 2010 Filed under: family, friends | Tags: college, The Sound 1 CommentHaving moved recently, I came across a photo of myself with my friends in college. I’m not the kind of person who has chronicled her life much in photographs. There have been periods, certainly, that I have tried to capture, but for the most part, there are some gaps in documentation that I was in certain places at certain times. And even then, photos of myself are rare, like sightings of the Sasquatch. Oh, there I am. I guess it’s because I’m usually the one with the camera, at least, these days, when we mark certain moments in our family life, but also, I don’t really consider myself that photogenic.
I’m not exaggerating when I say that. I once worked for a newspaper, which decided to do a feature section on the people who worked there. A photo of me appeared in
the section that Manfrengensen claimed made me look like “Mickey Rooney in Breakfast at Tiffany’s,” which most people would agree, is not a good thing. I just got my picture taken yesterday for my driver’s license. Now, in my defense, the DMV woman told me that I was not allowed to smile (not that smiling would have made a difference, because it’s what made me look like Mickey Rooney) because computer scans of faces can’t recognize those with smiles. (So, if you do commit any crimes, be sure to smile for the security camera if you want to foil law enforcement.) Anyway…I got the license. It looks like I just escaped from Alcatraz, and I am ready and willing to kick anyone’s ass.
Back to my photo find:
That’s me in the middle, somewhere between 18 and 19, with my college boyfriend on the left, and another friend on the right. Who was I then? I mean, I look back, and I wonder, what the hell was I thinking? And I’m not even talking about that pseudo-mullet I have going on. Nothing had happened to me yet…sure I had lost my mom, but all the great stuff that I’ve experienced, marriage, giving birth, travelling to Europe had yet to come. I’d never smelled a baby’s head or worked on a computer that showed anything but green digits. I’d never swum in the Carribean or walked the streets of Paris. Aside from my mother, at that point nothing too traumatizing had happened either. I had yet to be robbed at gunpoint; I had yet to lose a job. So I wonder, why did I think I knew it all then? And even with that, I was so lost; so willing to bend to belong. So open, and yet totally with blinders.
I wanted to work for Rolling Stone then. I loved music. Those guys in the basement, I met them because they were in a band, and I interviewed them for a story about a gig they were playing on campus. Next thing I knew, I was with them all the time, and even though we were only together a short period and I haven’t seen them in almost 20 years, they are beloved to me. Of course we all keep in touch on the Facebook, but before its inception, we didn’t hear from each other for years. And yet, as I said, I still miss a handful of people in Indiana with all my heart.
I think about that girl in the photo and it makes me so sad. I don’t even know why. Is it because I am not her anymore, or is it because she breaks my heart? Don’t you see what’s coming Egghead? Why are you in such a rush? It’s all going to be good.
And even though I was so lost, these people took me in. Even though I was in the wrong place at the time, they helped me become who I am, and so they guided me to where I needed to be.













