Striking Her Silent
From time to time our office receives marketing, promotional items from companies that we deal with. Today we received two large golf umbrellas. My first thought was we could pass these along to a couple of clients who play golf regularly. Then for no reason at all I started thinking that having an umbrella that large on a golf course on a wide open fairway is like having your own personal lightening rod.
Only once have I been on a course when it started raining and all teams were brought inside to the cart barn to wait out the thunder and lightening. I was part of a foursome which included Carrie and two of our best friends at the time. None of us are all that spectacular at golf but our bags contained a full bar so we were happy. After a few minutes of sitting around waiting everyone was getting restless.
The caddy for the course insisted that we did not want to go back out until all threat of lightening was gone. He went so far as to say that a lightening strike was how he lost his own leg. Not one to be taken advantage of easily, one of my teammates told him “Suuure you did. Prove it.” He promptly pulled up one pants leg on his coveralls revealing a metal prosthesis. She turned as red as the Bloody Mary she had been sipping and didn’t say another word. Back on the course we could hear her muttering to herself every time she teed off “Suuure you did. Prove it. Ugh!”
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Wednesday, August 30, 2006
Times They are a Changin’
My sister turns 9 on Sunday (if you don’t know already she is my half sister and there are 27 years between us). My parents are having what they refer to as the family party that day and then on the ninth she will have another slumber party. The family party consists of my father, my stepmother, my grandmother and me. Sometimes I think he separates the two so he can have two cakes. I feel for my stepmother because my father tends to go a little overboard every year. Year before last he planned make overs, panning for gold, swimming, make your own pizza, and movies among other things as activities for the slumber party. Are kids that much more difficult to entertain these days? When I was ten I had a slumber party but all we did was eat pizza and sit around giggling. No make up, no panning for gold, no swimming. Last year it was rock climbing then swimming then on to the house for cake and ice cream before the slumber party started.
I called her Monday night to see what she wants for her birthday. Last year it was Neopets. If you don’t know, look them up. They are these creepy Pokeymon looking things with the weirdest names and they are hard to find. This year she tells me that she has made a list of movies for family members to buy her. Her friends it seems have another list. So I asked which movies. My dad maintains the family gift list so he got on the phone and gave me the following:
“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”
“The original?” I ask.
“No the new one”
“Shaggy the Dog”
“The original?” I ask again.
“No the new one”
At this point I am beginning to see a pattern and I can honestly say I do not like it very much. These are classics! I guess much like everything else her generation needs more special effects to enjoy. What are we teaching them by over sating their desire to be entertained? I can’t help but think that imagination is going to be loser in the long run.
My sister turns 9 on Sunday (if you don’t know already she is my half sister and there are 27 years between us). My parents are having what they refer to as the family party that day and then on the ninth she will have another slumber party. The family party consists of my father, my stepmother, my grandmother and me. Sometimes I think he separates the two so he can have two cakes. I feel for my stepmother because my father tends to go a little overboard every year. Year before last he planned make overs, panning for gold, swimming, make your own pizza, and movies among other things as activities for the slumber party. Are kids that much more difficult to entertain these days? When I was ten I had a slumber party but all we did was eat pizza and sit around giggling. No make up, no panning for gold, no swimming. Last year it was rock climbing then swimming then on to the house for cake and ice cream before the slumber party started.
I called her Monday night to see what she wants for her birthday. Last year it was Neopets. If you don’t know, look them up. They are these creepy Pokeymon looking things with the weirdest names and they are hard to find. This year she tells me that she has made a list of movies for family members to buy her. Her friends it seems have another list. So I asked which movies. My dad maintains the family gift list so he got on the phone and gave me the following:
“Charlie and the Chocolate Factory”
“The original?” I ask.
“No the new one”
“Shaggy the Dog”
“The original?” I ask again.
“No the new one”
At this point I am beginning to see a pattern and I can honestly say I do not like it very much. These are classics! I guess much like everything else her generation needs more special effects to enjoy. What are we teaching them by over sating their desire to be entertained? I can’t help but think that imagination is going to be loser in the long run.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Monday, August 28, 2006
Love Letter
Dear Nola,
Sorry to have not written sooner. It’s not that I’ve forgotten you but things have been crazy here this last year. Just after tragedy befell you, we dodged a bullet of our own. I thought of you as we awaited Rita’s visit. We knew we would probably lose power so we started cooking everything in the refrigerator in preparation. I was able to throw together your famous barbeque shrimp. Knowing what it is like to evacuate via water, we blew up all of our pool floats just in case the boats took awhile to get to us again. In the end our preparations were all for naught as Rita chose to visit our neighbors in the East instead.
I am thinking of visiting again for my birthday. I miss your food, your music and your culture. I want to wake up to sounds of laughter outside my window from people intoxicated on your never ending entertainment. I want to sit at Café Du Monde licking sticky, sweet powdered sugar from my fingers. I have thought of having Central Grocery UPS me muffalettas but know that eating them on a bench in Jackson Square cannot be beat. Later maybe we’ll stuff ourselves on oysters at Desire. Last time I visited the shucker behind the counter kept them coming until we finally surrendered, unable to eat another bite.
When I get there can you arrange street musicians to welcome me? In particular make sure the little boy who always stood outside of the drug store in the Quarter is there playing his spoons. Oh how I love to watch him dance and play. If he’s not available don’t worry, I’ll take any jazz or Dixieland band you can find. I promise to be generous with my tips.
I hope the weather is nice because I am really looking forward to strolling through Audubon Park and visiting the zoo. I heard how the animals were lonely for awhile so I am ready to lend them my ear for a few hours at least. When we leave we’ll be taking the streetcar from the Garden District back to the Quarter. I hope that it too is up and running.
Nola, do you remember the time Mom and I brought Uncle Phippy for Mardi Gras? I remember sitting on her shoulders screaming “Mister, throw me some beads”. I remember standing in line at Popeye’s to get free chicken with the doubloons we caught. Mother and I still laugh about her forgetting I was on her shoulders and grabbing at beads on the ground. I thank God that police officer grabbed me before I was crushed by a float.
Now I know you think I have lived in Texas so long I have all but abandoned you but I assure you my roots stretch from my home here in Houston to Zachary, Daddy’s birthplace, to Baton Rouge, the city of my own birth and right to your doorstep. To me you are a bloom on a big Magnolia. Your petals may be a bit bruised and brown by last year's events but you still smell just as sweet. I’ll see you soon.
Love,
Jacqui
Dear Nola,
Sorry to have not written sooner. It’s not that I’ve forgotten you but things have been crazy here this last year. Just after tragedy befell you, we dodged a bullet of our own. I thought of you as we awaited Rita’s visit. We knew we would probably lose power so we started cooking everything in the refrigerator in preparation. I was able to throw together your famous barbeque shrimp. Knowing what it is like to evacuate via water, we blew up all of our pool floats just in case the boats took awhile to get to us again. In the end our preparations were all for naught as Rita chose to visit our neighbors in the East instead.
I am thinking of visiting again for my birthday. I miss your food, your music and your culture. I want to wake up to sounds of laughter outside my window from people intoxicated on your never ending entertainment. I want to sit at Café Du Monde licking sticky, sweet powdered sugar from my fingers. I have thought of having Central Grocery UPS me muffalettas but know that eating them on a bench in Jackson Square cannot be beat. Later maybe we’ll stuff ourselves on oysters at Desire. Last time I visited the shucker behind the counter kept them coming until we finally surrendered, unable to eat another bite.
When I get there can you arrange street musicians to welcome me? In particular make sure the little boy who always stood outside of the drug store in the Quarter is there playing his spoons. Oh how I love to watch him dance and play. If he’s not available don’t worry, I’ll take any jazz or Dixieland band you can find. I promise to be generous with my tips.
I hope the weather is nice because I am really looking forward to strolling through Audubon Park and visiting the zoo. I heard how the animals were lonely for awhile so I am ready to lend them my ear for a few hours at least. When we leave we’ll be taking the streetcar from the Garden District back to the Quarter. I hope that it too is up and running.
Nola, do you remember the time Mom and I brought Uncle Phippy for Mardi Gras? I remember sitting on her shoulders screaming “Mister, throw me some beads”. I remember standing in line at Popeye’s to get free chicken with the doubloons we caught. Mother and I still laugh about her forgetting I was on her shoulders and grabbing at beads on the ground. I thank God that police officer grabbed me before I was crushed by a float.
Now I know you think I have lived in Texas so long I have all but abandoned you but I assure you my roots stretch from my home here in Houston to Zachary, Daddy’s birthplace, to Baton Rouge, the city of my own birth and right to your doorstep. To me you are a bloom on a big Magnolia. Your petals may be a bit bruised and brown by last year's events but you still smell just as sweet. I’ll see you soon.
Love,
Jacqui
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Special Delivery
My magazine arrived yesterday and by the way it did come in a slender, brown cardboard box stuffed full of Holly, Bridget and Kendra. No identifying marks on the return address. No averting my eyes from the mailman every time I see him. First thing I did was plop down on the couch with my magazine on my lap. I was awed by the sheer masculinity of it all, the ads, the music and movie reviews and obviously the pictures. I think the last time I looked at a Playboy magazine I had taken it from the stack my father had under his bed. Safely locked in the bathroom at my grandmother's house, I did a comparison study between my flat as a board body and the buxom blonds. This time I read the articles.
My magazine arrived yesterday and by the way it did come in a slender, brown cardboard box stuffed full of Holly, Bridget and Kendra. No identifying marks on the return address. No averting my eyes from the mailman every time I see him. First thing I did was plop down on the couch with my magazine on my lap. I was awed by the sheer masculinity of it all, the ads, the music and movie reviews and obviously the pictures. I think the last time I looked at a Playboy magazine I had taken it from the stack my father had under his bed. Safely locked in the bathroom at my grandmother's house, I did a comparison study between my flat as a board body and the buxom blonds. This time I read the articles.
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Ghosts of Friendships Past
Old friends have been visiting me in my dreams. It has happened a few times the past week. I have been racking my brain to figure out what is triggering these visits. Am I repressing a need to relive my past and that need gets its only release when I lose consciousness? I wouldn’t mind so much if these dreams didn’t leave me with the most profound sense of loss the next day when I realize that I truly miss them.
My first ghost was the girl I called my “best friend” for years. Back when everyone had a “best friend”. Back when we weren’t too old to use the expression “best friend”. We met when I was thirteen after she stole my boyfriend and formed a close friendship that continued until I was twenty-five at which point we grew apart. Occasionally we call each other and catch up but ever increasing amounts of time have been wedging themselves between those calls. Before long I fear we will only see each other at funerals. What I miss about her is how well she knew me. It was a bond that had no need for verbal communication.
My second ghost was the opposite. We met when I began seeing Carrie eight years ago and for the first year she didn’t like me. It is always hard when your friends break up to see someone replace one partner or the other and besides, I am not the easiest person to get to know. Our friendship moved in baby steps until eventually we arrived at a comfortable spot. She has a wit that awes me and a sense of style I always envied. We didn’t so much grow apart as she went in a new direction. A journey she didn’t want to take too many of us from her past on with her. I miss her and the little ones she brought into this world. I consider calling but feel disappointed when we make plans that are canceled or changed or only promised that I shield myself from the possibility. Instead I wait to see them in a store or at a restaurant or any number of places you run into people in passing. If I never see them again at least they are visiting in my dreams and I guess that will just have to do for now.
Old friends have been visiting me in my dreams. It has happened a few times the past week. I have been racking my brain to figure out what is triggering these visits. Am I repressing a need to relive my past and that need gets its only release when I lose consciousness? I wouldn’t mind so much if these dreams didn’t leave me with the most profound sense of loss the next day when I realize that I truly miss them.
My first ghost was the girl I called my “best friend” for years. Back when everyone had a “best friend”. Back when we weren’t too old to use the expression “best friend”. We met when I was thirteen after she stole my boyfriend and formed a close friendship that continued until I was twenty-five at which point we grew apart. Occasionally we call each other and catch up but ever increasing amounts of time have been wedging themselves between those calls. Before long I fear we will only see each other at funerals. What I miss about her is how well she knew me. It was a bond that had no need for verbal communication.
My second ghost was the opposite. We met when I began seeing Carrie eight years ago and for the first year she didn’t like me. It is always hard when your friends break up to see someone replace one partner or the other and besides, I am not the easiest person to get to know. Our friendship moved in baby steps until eventually we arrived at a comfortable spot. She has a wit that awes me and a sense of style I always envied. We didn’t so much grow apart as she went in a new direction. A journey she didn’t want to take too many of us from her past on with her. I miss her and the little ones she brought into this world. I consider calling but feel disappointed when we make plans that are canceled or changed or only promised that I shield myself from the possibility. Instead I wait to see them in a store or at a restaurant or any number of places you run into people in passing. If I never see them again at least they are visiting in my dreams and I guess that will just have to do for now.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
Monday, August 21, 2006
Snakes in the Water
It is too hot these days to do any big projects at the ranch. Lately we’ve been thinking of a couple of small things that need to be done, things that don’t take too much effort in the broiling sun. This weekend one of our projects was to remove the hay ring that has been sticking out of the pond for the past two months. I was selected to perform the task because I am a veteran in pond retrievals having recovered a skull from its murky water this time last year.
With no rain and the pond at a record low, the water is a greenish brown that you absolutely cannot see an inch into. I stepped in wearing my rubber boots, took a few steps then panic rose in a giant wave inside me. I ran back to Carrie who was waiting on the banks saying, “I can’t do it, I’m scared.” She gave me sufficient encouragement that I entered the water again. This time I tried to throw a ratchet strap with a hook on the end from about three feet away. Instead of hooking the ring, I released the whole thing watching as the strap sank from the weight of the metal hook. Turning around Carrie informed me that now I would be expected to get the sunken strap out as well. I once again retreated to the dry bank to regroup.
My third time in the water I reached the hay ring. The water was up to my chest and I was shaking from fear. My rubber boots were full of nasty water and all I could think was in a second I am going to feel something crawling into my boot. I grabbed the hay ring and started to rock it towards me trying to get it to roll along the muddy bottom. When the first couple of inches were exposed, on the other side of the ring, there were two snakes coiled around the metal staring directly at me. I began running for the banks screaming “SNAKES IN THE WATER! SNAKES IN THE WATER!”, while Carrie for her part started laughing so hard I thought she would pass out.
It took me two more attempts to shake off my fear and the snakes but eventually the task was accomplished. I don’t know if there is any truth to “they’re more afraid of me than I am of them” but at least they had the decency to swim away from me after uncoiling. If anything else goes in that pond it’s going to have to stay there. I am not tempting fate another time.
It is too hot these days to do any big projects at the ranch. Lately we’ve been thinking of a couple of small things that need to be done, things that don’t take too much effort in the broiling sun. This weekend one of our projects was to remove the hay ring that has been sticking out of the pond for the past two months. I was selected to perform the task because I am a veteran in pond retrievals having recovered a skull from its murky water this time last year.
With no rain and the pond at a record low, the water is a greenish brown that you absolutely cannot see an inch into. I stepped in wearing my rubber boots, took a few steps then panic rose in a giant wave inside me. I ran back to Carrie who was waiting on the banks saying, “I can’t do it, I’m scared.” She gave me sufficient encouragement that I entered the water again. This time I tried to throw a ratchet strap with a hook on the end from about three feet away. Instead of hooking the ring, I released the whole thing watching as the strap sank from the weight of the metal hook. Turning around Carrie informed me that now I would be expected to get the sunken strap out as well. I once again retreated to the dry bank to regroup.
My third time in the water I reached the hay ring. The water was up to my chest and I was shaking from fear. My rubber boots were full of nasty water and all I could think was in a second I am going to feel something crawling into my boot. I grabbed the hay ring and started to rock it towards me trying to get it to roll along the muddy bottom. When the first couple of inches were exposed, on the other side of the ring, there were two snakes coiled around the metal staring directly at me. I began running for the banks screaming “SNAKES IN THE WATER! SNAKES IN THE WATER!”, while Carrie for her part started laughing so hard I thought she would pass out.
It took me two more attempts to shake off my fear and the snakes but eventually the task was accomplished. I don’t know if there is any truth to “they’re more afraid of me than I am of them” but at least they had the decency to swim away from me after uncoiling. If anything else goes in that pond it’s going to have to stay there. I am not tempting fate another time.
Thursday, August 17, 2006
Hello from Kampala!
We are opposites. She has a creativity and talent for writing I have never processed. She would write my grandfather poetry books that she illustrated herself with colorful paintings sharing the pages with her words. She is quiet at family gatherings while I consume too much wine and debate with the others. She graduated Princeton last month with highest honors from her department. Five mentions in the official programs. Five! All were properly tagged by her mother for easy identification.
I called her last month to say congratulations on her graduation and to see what we could buy her as a gift. She had not sent out announcements because she doesn’t like to be the center of attention. A friend told me on the phone yesterday when I told her about the lack of any formal announcement, “If I had graduated from Princeton I would have taken an ad out in every newspaper in the nation.” No doubt I would have done the same. That congratulatory phone call was my first real conversation with her. During the call I realized that I had let jealousy come between us for all of these years. I wanted to impress my grandfather the way she did. She in turn wanted to be close to my grandmother the way I am.
She asked for a water bottle to carry fresh water in because she was leaving for Uganda to work with the CDC and World AIDS Organization for a year beginning August. We bought her two and a couple of shirts that are supposed to keep the sweat away from your body. It was more than she asked for but again she is the type who won’t ask. She and I agreed that once she was overseas she would e-mail me every month. I would print them out and mail them to grandmother who refuses to get e-mail and make it easy on us all to stay in touch.
Today I received her first e-mail. Hello from Kampala! is the subject. There was a mix up with her fellowship while she was in Spain hiking the week before she flew to Uganda. It seems the CDC no longer has the funds to employ her but they are working that out so she can stay. While they work it out, she is exploring the city. There are women in brightly colored African dresses carrying plantains and tomatoes and storks which are as common as squirrels resting on top of her apartment building. She feels full of color and sound at the end of each day. I in turn feel full of pride and love for this cousin I have neglected for far too long.
We are opposites. She has a creativity and talent for writing I have never processed. She would write my grandfather poetry books that she illustrated herself with colorful paintings sharing the pages with her words. She is quiet at family gatherings while I consume too much wine and debate with the others. She graduated Princeton last month with highest honors from her department. Five mentions in the official programs. Five! All were properly tagged by her mother for easy identification.
I called her last month to say congratulations on her graduation and to see what we could buy her as a gift. She had not sent out announcements because she doesn’t like to be the center of attention. A friend told me on the phone yesterday when I told her about the lack of any formal announcement, “If I had graduated from Princeton I would have taken an ad out in every newspaper in the nation.” No doubt I would have done the same. That congratulatory phone call was my first real conversation with her. During the call I realized that I had let jealousy come between us for all of these years. I wanted to impress my grandfather the way she did. She in turn wanted to be close to my grandmother the way I am.
She asked for a water bottle to carry fresh water in because she was leaving for Uganda to work with the CDC and World AIDS Organization for a year beginning August. We bought her two and a couple of shirts that are supposed to keep the sweat away from your body. It was more than she asked for but again she is the type who won’t ask. She and I agreed that once she was overseas she would e-mail me every month. I would print them out and mail them to grandmother who refuses to get e-mail and make it easy on us all to stay in touch.
Today I received her first e-mail. Hello from Kampala! is the subject. There was a mix up with her fellowship while she was in Spain hiking the week before she flew to Uganda. It seems the CDC no longer has the funds to employ her but they are working that out so she can stay. While they work it out, she is exploring the city. There are women in brightly colored African dresses carrying plantains and tomatoes and storks which are as common as squirrels resting on top of her apartment building. She feels full of color and sound at the end of each day. I in turn feel full of pride and love for this cousin I have neglected for far too long.
Monday, August 14, 2006
Reaching an All Time Reality Low
Friday night, as we sat around with a group of friends visiting, the conversation turned to guilty television pleasures. One most unexpected revelation from a friend was her obsession with Dog the Bounty Hunter’s recent wedding. Should she watch the wedding or Rock Star Supernova? Rock Star won out on the logic that the Dog episode would likely be replayed soon. Other favorites among friends included Lock Down: Life in Maximum Security, American Idol, Big Brother All Stars and Intervention.
Feeling safe with the conversation I put it out there that I am obsessed with The Girls Next Door, the reality show chronicling the lives of Hugh Heffner’s three girlfriends Holly, Bridget and Kendra. So much so that I had Carrie DVR all new episodes in the event I miss one and consequently don’t know what’s going on the next week. Carrie groaned when I admitted this but was soon comforted in the sympathizing faces of our friends that she has to put up with me at all.
Last night was an all new episode centered on The Girls second photo shoot for Playboy. I know you would think there would be more but apparently dating Hef doesn’t get you too much special treatment. So I’m watching thinking I must have that issue of the magazine. Why? Not sure but it must have something to do with my absolute fascination with these girls who live with a man my grandfather’s age and seem to really love him. It is a fascination I can’t quite explain myself but it is what it is and I am positive it won’t last like my fascination with all things Asian didn’t last. This obsession is so much more tawdry than wanting to learn calligraphy and wear a kimono. At the end of the episode I found myself online at Playboy.com ordering the upcoming issue. Oh how I hope that sucker comes in a brown paper wrapper.
Friday night, as we sat around with a group of friends visiting, the conversation turned to guilty television pleasures. One most unexpected revelation from a friend was her obsession with Dog the Bounty Hunter’s recent wedding. Should she watch the wedding or Rock Star Supernova? Rock Star won out on the logic that the Dog episode would likely be replayed soon. Other favorites among friends included Lock Down: Life in Maximum Security, American Idol, Big Brother All Stars and Intervention.
Feeling safe with the conversation I put it out there that I am obsessed with The Girls Next Door, the reality show chronicling the lives of Hugh Heffner’s three girlfriends Holly, Bridget and Kendra. So much so that I had Carrie DVR all new episodes in the event I miss one and consequently don’t know what’s going on the next week. Carrie groaned when I admitted this but was soon comforted in the sympathizing faces of our friends that she has to put up with me at all.
Last night was an all new episode centered on The Girls second photo shoot for Playboy. I know you would think there would be more but apparently dating Hef doesn’t get you too much special treatment. So I’m watching thinking I must have that issue of the magazine. Why? Not sure but it must have something to do with my absolute fascination with these girls who live with a man my grandfather’s age and seem to really love him. It is a fascination I can’t quite explain myself but it is what it is and I am positive it won’t last like my fascination with all things Asian didn’t last. This obsession is so much more tawdry than wanting to learn calligraphy and wear a kimono. At the end of the episode I found myself online at Playboy.com ordering the upcoming issue. Oh how I hope that sucker comes in a brown paper wrapper.
Friday, August 11, 2006
When The Mind Takes An Unannounced Vacation
A good friend is having to care for her mother who in addition to a stroke is now suffering dementia. I speak to her every morning and my heart goes out to her as she recounts the previous evening’s events. Fortunate to have parents that are very young, I have not idea what it feels like to care for one of them. What her stories have brought to mind however is memories of my grandfather when dementia settled inside his head like an unwelcome visitor. One who moves all of your furniture and places things out of reach where no amount of searching yields the desired object.
Before we knew Parkinson Disease was taking a neurological toll, we assumed he had gone a little nuts. Common variety craziness is what we thought. He had other thoughts. For a long time he was convinced of the knowledge that the FBI was after him. His crime? Transporting a typewriter over state lines. You didn’t know it was a illegal did you? It’s not. The trash men? My father sent them to spy on him. Why? Not sure since my parents had been divorced for nine years at this point. The smoke detectors in his apartment? Listening devices. He would call the apartment manager to ask that she do something about the residents upstairs who were so obviously spies sent to listen in on his conversations via the smoke detectors.
The first time Carrie met him he showed her his emergency kit. He kept it nearby in the event he had to flee at a moments notice. Inside were the essentials; clean underwear, clean socks and lottery tickets. Yep! He was going to run away from home with nothing but underwear, socks and lottery tickets.
Eventually it became clear that he could not live alone so my mother moved him in with her. She would wake up to him crawling in the dark into her room to let her know “they were out there”. A few times he actually got out the front door before she woke up and convinced him to come back inside to safety. We laugh about it now. Not because it wasn’t serious but because sometimes life throws stuff your way you can’t do a damn thing about. It sucks and you find yourself mourning a person who is living and breathing right in front of you but you know it’s not really them. What was that line in Steel Magnolias? Laughter through tears.
A good friend is having to care for her mother who in addition to a stroke is now suffering dementia. I speak to her every morning and my heart goes out to her as she recounts the previous evening’s events. Fortunate to have parents that are very young, I have not idea what it feels like to care for one of them. What her stories have brought to mind however is memories of my grandfather when dementia settled inside his head like an unwelcome visitor. One who moves all of your furniture and places things out of reach where no amount of searching yields the desired object.
Before we knew Parkinson Disease was taking a neurological toll, we assumed he had gone a little nuts. Common variety craziness is what we thought. He had other thoughts. For a long time he was convinced of the knowledge that the FBI was after him. His crime? Transporting a typewriter over state lines. You didn’t know it was a illegal did you? It’s not. The trash men? My father sent them to spy on him. Why? Not sure since my parents had been divorced for nine years at this point. The smoke detectors in his apartment? Listening devices. He would call the apartment manager to ask that she do something about the residents upstairs who were so obviously spies sent to listen in on his conversations via the smoke detectors.
The first time Carrie met him he showed her his emergency kit. He kept it nearby in the event he had to flee at a moments notice. Inside were the essentials; clean underwear, clean socks and lottery tickets. Yep! He was going to run away from home with nothing but underwear, socks and lottery tickets.
Eventually it became clear that he could not live alone so my mother moved him in with her. She would wake up to him crawling in the dark into her room to let her know “they were out there”. A few times he actually got out the front door before she woke up and convinced him to come back inside to safety. We laugh about it now. Not because it wasn’t serious but because sometimes life throws stuff your way you can’t do a damn thing about. It sucks and you find yourself mourning a person who is living and breathing right in front of you but you know it’s not really them. What was that line in Steel Magnolias? Laughter through tears.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Happy New School Year
The Yorktown News View and the Schulemberg Sticker both published school supply list this week for returning students. What joy it gave me to read through the lists and remember how much I loved buying supplies for back to school. Spiral notebooks with their covers and pages clean. Ready to be filled with class notes, doodles and notes to friends when I should have been paying attention. The smell of No. 2 pencils being sharpened. Brand new colored pencils standing at attention in the yellow Crayola box.
One year my mother bought me a folder with a picture of Nadia Comaneci on the front doing a back bend on a balance beam. Oh how I coveted that folder. Unlike the others that sported stains and drawings, this one remained perfect the entire school year. In fact I saved it for years in my closet. Nothing it in just sitting on a shelf like a shrine.
School supplies embodied hope for a new beginning every year. It was a do over wrapped up in a three ring binder. This year I will make friends. This year I will try playing a sport. This year I will make all A’s. How could I fail with all of these tools at my disposal? Most school years ended the same. I didn’t make many new friends because I was too afraid to make the first move. I tried a couple of times to play a sport always with the same disastrous conclusion. As for the all A’s, never did happen until my fourth year of college. Still I look at these lists of school supplies for kids I will never know and I think how lucky they are to be getting a do over once again.
The Yorktown News View and the Schulemberg Sticker both published school supply list this week for returning students. What joy it gave me to read through the lists and remember how much I loved buying supplies for back to school. Spiral notebooks with their covers and pages clean. Ready to be filled with class notes, doodles and notes to friends when I should have been paying attention. The smell of No. 2 pencils being sharpened. Brand new colored pencils standing at attention in the yellow Crayola box.
One year my mother bought me a folder with a picture of Nadia Comaneci on the front doing a back bend on a balance beam. Oh how I coveted that folder. Unlike the others that sported stains and drawings, this one remained perfect the entire school year. In fact I saved it for years in my closet. Nothing it in just sitting on a shelf like a shrine.
School supplies embodied hope for a new beginning every year. It was a do over wrapped up in a three ring binder. This year I will make friends. This year I will try playing a sport. This year I will make all A’s. How could I fail with all of these tools at my disposal? Most school years ended the same. I didn’t make many new friends because I was too afraid to make the first move. I tried a couple of times to play a sport always with the same disastrous conclusion. As for the all A’s, never did happen until my fourth year of college. Still I look at these lists of school supplies for kids I will never know and I think how lucky they are to be getting a do over once again.
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