The Universe has been telling me lately, that I NEED to take better care of myself. From my unretouched roots, to my dark under- eye circles, it is obvious, that I have been looking after everything in my life, but ME. (Hey, I considered ordering the free trial size of Hydrolize off TV, but I didn’t have time, and besides, I forgot where I wrote down the number... probably on the back of a bill, or something… Oh, back to Hydrolize, isn't it supposed to DRAMATICALLY reduce under eye circles and age spots? I am not sure. One thing IS for sure. I don’t need any more DRAMA in my life! Negative, on the Hydrolize... )
As I drove home from work today, I faintly recalled a rule here in the South, a rule that requires you to get a pedicure before May 1st. This goes something like, the “No wearing white after Labor Day” rule… Also, I believe in Karma, and I faintly recall laughing cruelly last year at a GORGEOUS woman, walking in front of me downtown, in a designer skirt and cracked heels. Click, click, ICK!
On impulse, I decide to stop and get a pedicure at my neighborhood Vietnamese nail salon. I walk up to the counter and select a hot little OPI color, “Mexico”, and wait for Lin Chung, who usually does the pedicures, to open up.
What? She’s busy? Ok…
The husband of the lady who runs the salon comes forward and directs me to the other pedicure chair. At least, I THINK that is what he said. His accent sounds a bit like a cat…Meow. Meow. It is getting close to 6 PM, and they probably want to get out of there soon… I begin to roll my pant legs up, when I notice this strange aura projecting about ½” from my leg, a bit like a halo.
Oh Dear God!
I realize I have forgotten to shave… evidently I gave it up for Lent, and either surging hormones or Jesus must have caused the hair to grow even FASTER!
There is only one thing to do. I pretend NOT to notice.
I climb up in the chair, bitterly eyeing the twenty something beside me in Lin Chung’s chair. Mr. Vietnamese Nail Man begins to systematically dip my feet into the hot, soapy water. He uses the pumice- like device to scrub the dead skin off the bottom. It must not work very well, because he puts me back into soak. This is NOT a good sign.
When he comes back, he begins to sand and sand and sand. He looks around the salon, like he is looking for something. I am afraid that he is looking for a belt sander, a meat grinder, something to make his job easier…
Then, he begins to sand my arches. Now, one thing about a pedicure that is VERY embarrassing for me, is the fact that I amVERY ticklish. With every scrape, I wince and suck my breath in. I try acting stoic, but it is impossible. My knee convulses, and I almost kick him in the chin. “I have VERY ticklish arches,” I offer lamely. (Mr. Vietnamese Nail Man looks at me absently, as if I have said NOTHING. This is something that is happening more FREQUENTLY as I approach 50 years old. HELLO???) He does NOT seem to understand; my eyes plead with Lin Chung to translate. She is busy painting the toes next door a garish shade of pink. Hell, she is probably getting a DECAL, for goodness sake!
After the sexual assault on my feet has been completed, I relax a bit, smoking my Winston Light. Mr. Vietnamese Nail Man begins to use the blade-like device, which operates much like the infamous Pedi-egg. (You know, the LAST time I checked at Wal-Mart, the Pedi-egg device only comes in an average chicken-egg size, evidently, none were laid by ostriches.) Back to my pedicure… In Vietnam, they must feed the skin to the chickens, instead of the skin to the egg. Here, at Starr Nails, there is NO skin gathering device and the chunks fall around me like flies dropping on old fruit. This part of the pedicure gives me the willies… I am always afraid I am going to lose a toe.
After my size 7 ½ feet have been whittled down to a petite size 5, he commences to massage my calves. Yes, the same calves that I forgot to shave. In my mind, I am compassionate and I say "No, never mind. I am sSO sorry I forgot to shave today. " But no, we or at least, I , am in denial of this fact. I imagine that he is wincing, as if my bristly leg hairs are inflicting actual pain on him. No, correction … he WAS wincing. Either that, or a Vietnamese sigh resembles an expression of disgust. I really couldn’t tell…
Then, he slaps me with a hot towel, perhaps a little harder than necessary. “Take that, white American pee-ee-eeg, and THAT, and THAT!”
MEOW!
Then , finally comes the rusty brilliance of OPI “Mexico”. The color slides on my toes, smooth like a Yucatan sunset. (I have never seen a Yucatan sunset, but we can always dream, right?) The door exiting the salon, beckons to me like a mirage. Could it be? Am I ALMOST done?
NO! NO! Here comes the rubber foot thingies and the plastic toe splayers. One is pink, the other is orange. He weaves them in and out of my toes, like he is playing a game... “If she hollers, let her go, eenie, meenie , miney, TOE! My- mother –told- me –to- pick- this- one, YOU!"
Me, again…
I waddle over to the drying area, and hide my shame, I mean my feet, beneath the fluorescent blue glow.
A few minutes later, I am through. Completed. Spent. I CANNOT put on my shoes, for fear of smearing “Mexico” into my brown winter mules. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight. I leave Mr. Vietnamese Man a $5 tip, if only for having to touch my disgusting legs. I begin to slither through the parking lot, scrunching my toes, but am unable to hold the rubber thingies on my feet. It is like walking while holding a piece of paper beneath your feet. I think I also forgot to roll my pants legs back down. After glancing around to be sure there is no one I recognize, I resort to a tactic, that allows me to stop every few feet to adjust. I am thinking, it’s a good thing I am such a great actress…
“Oh, here I am, stopping for traffic…”
“Oh, look at me, I forgot where I parked my car…”
“Oh, here I am, the “Thinker”, contemplating going in the grocery store...”
By Tuesday, I have made it to my car. Maybe no one noticed that it took, like, two days…
Relieved, I shed the rubber foot thingies, and for a minute or two, I feel SO much better. Then, I realize the joke is on me, another delusion. My last few ounces of dignity were already shed in the parking lot. The foot thingies were just a formality.
I crank the car, and get the hell outta there. I am going home to shave my legs!
Monday, April 26, 2010
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Dad and a Soft Spot for Old Men...
The first Monday in October marks the anniversary of my father’s death, over 17 years ago. The end was hard for him, and for my whole family. I know without a doubt he is in a better place. Time has healed the rawness of the wounds and the surface scabs of a daughter’s heart, but anyone who has lost someone close, knows the gaping hole that is left below the surface.
My father was a “doing” and a “fix-it” kind of father. We didn’t often relate on an extremely personal level, but he made sure my oil was changed in my car, that my tires weren’t dangerous, and would help take care of things around the house when they were broke. When I was a teenager, he would make sure my boyfriends left the house early enough, and when my mother worked 2nd shift, he tried to be the best “mother” he could, taking me to the mall, and back and forth to school functions. He could make a really wonderful breakfast, “gravy” eggs , country ham and red eye gravy, and a sweet, creamy rice that was nothing like the papery stuff I make in my rice- steamer.
In the months after his death, I remember “losing it” with my artsy, intellectual husband. Something had broken in my closet, a rod or a shelf, and I fell apart, so upset that he couldn’t “fix-it”. It didn’t take long for me to see that the problem wasn’t really the lack of my husband’s carpentry skills; I was missing my dad to do this for me. At 30 years old, it was the beginning of my seeing that ‘fixing it ’ was something I would have to do for myself.
I visit dad’s grave on occasion, though not as much as I should. I take out his memorabilia from WWII and wish I could ask him questions about it. I look no farther than my own body, to see his short feet and shapely calves at the end of my own legs. Yes, dad is still with me.
The absence of a father in my life leaves a soft spot there for old men. I collect them like dust balls. Their tales about the war, growing up in the depression, living alone… it is a kind of balm to my soul. One of my elderly friends is of Lebanese descent. He gave me a copy of a family cookbook years ago. I have learned to make a mean hummous, kibbie and taboulli. He brings me gifts of olive oil and pine nuts. Recently, I had a business lunch with a 90 year old, who still (somehow) runs his own business. His talks were mostly self-serving; he was always the hero, and always came out well in his tales. Over a mushroom pizza, I mostly sat and listened. Then, there is my former teacher at the old folks home. Talking is difficult, but he plays a mean game of checkers. Despite his affliction with Parkinson’s Disease, I never throw the game.
I am grateful for all my surrogate family. Surrogate relationships are sometimes easier and more rewarding than being the wife-daughter-mother to those of whom we are blood-related. They fill the voids left in the absence of the real thing.
They are my friends, and that is what friends, of all ages, are for.
My father was a “doing” and a “fix-it” kind of father. We didn’t often relate on an extremely personal level, but he made sure my oil was changed in my car, that my tires weren’t dangerous, and would help take care of things around the house when they were broke. When I was a teenager, he would make sure my boyfriends left the house early enough, and when my mother worked 2nd shift, he tried to be the best “mother” he could, taking me to the mall, and back and forth to school functions. He could make a really wonderful breakfast, “gravy” eggs , country ham and red eye gravy, and a sweet, creamy rice that was nothing like the papery stuff I make in my rice- steamer.
In the months after his death, I remember “losing it” with my artsy, intellectual husband. Something had broken in my closet, a rod or a shelf, and I fell apart, so upset that he couldn’t “fix-it”. It didn’t take long for me to see that the problem wasn’t really the lack of my husband’s carpentry skills; I was missing my dad to do this for me. At 30 years old, it was the beginning of my seeing that ‘fixing it ’ was something I would have to do for myself.
I visit dad’s grave on occasion, though not as much as I should. I take out his memorabilia from WWII and wish I could ask him questions about it. I look no farther than my own body, to see his short feet and shapely calves at the end of my own legs. Yes, dad is still with me.
The absence of a father in my life leaves a soft spot there for old men. I collect them like dust balls. Their tales about the war, growing up in the depression, living alone… it is a kind of balm to my soul. One of my elderly friends is of Lebanese descent. He gave me a copy of a family cookbook years ago. I have learned to make a mean hummous, kibbie and taboulli. He brings me gifts of olive oil and pine nuts. Recently, I had a business lunch with a 90 year old, who still (somehow) runs his own business. His talks were mostly self-serving; he was always the hero, and always came out well in his tales. Over a mushroom pizza, I mostly sat and listened. Then, there is my former teacher at the old folks home. Talking is difficult, but he plays a mean game of checkers. Despite his affliction with Parkinson’s Disease, I never throw the game.
I am grateful for all my surrogate family. Surrogate relationships are sometimes easier and more rewarding than being the wife-daughter-mother to those of whom we are blood-related. They fill the voids left in the absence of the real thing.
They are my friends, and that is what friends, of all ages, are for.
Friday, October 16, 2009
Dangerous Confessions of a "Do-It-Yourselfer"
Are you a “do-it-yourselfer” or a “do-it-for me” type of person? Forget Myers-Briggs…a lot can be learned about a person based on their approach to accomplishing the task at hand.“Do-it yourselfers” are not required to have the skills to install a laminate floor, change a flat tire, or make their own pasta, although these skills are advantageous and a bit sexy… No, “do-it- yourselfism ” is part attitude, part strategy, but definitely NOT a life skill that you can learn during a weekend workshop at Lowe's.
The yin and yang of “do-it-yourselfism” contains elements of both light and dark, that reciprocal relationship in a perpetual state of unbalance. The yang of the DIY is prevalent. Today’s “do-it-yourselfer” is independent, confident and self-reliant. They tend to “do- it- themselves” because of either physical necessity or ego (they believe they have the “better way ” ie. wiser, cheaper, faster, more efficient of doing a task.) The “do- it yourselfer” is a widely heralded hero, especially here in the US where the ghosts of our hardy pioneer ancestors still roam, leaving the spirit of independence and freedom in their wagon trails … The Feminist proudly continues along the path of self-reliance with a baby in one hand, a briefcase in the other, and a dust rag clenched between her teeth.
So, where is the yin in DIY? And how ironic is it, that “yin” is defined as “negative, dark, passive, cold, wet, and feminine?” Yuck! Who wants any of that? Move aside the propaganda. The yin is there, whether it is acknowledged it or not. Here is the flip side of a self-proclaimed “do-it-yourselfer”, my personal confession. This is where things get complicated.
DIY’s are uncomfortable being catered to and waited on, for a plethora of reasons. They are often perfectionists. When someone serves you, the outcome is out of your control and does not guarantee success or perfection. In personal relationships, grace makes it possible for someone to serve you, and vice-versa. When the Bible tells us of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet, it had to be an awkward moment, predominately for the one with the calluses and dust on their toes. When people are not allowed to serve you and learn by improving their own life skills, it undermines their growth and confidence. People learn best, by their mistakes, and often at other’s expense. Allowing people to do things for you can sew the seeds for their feeling “needed”. That is a very different feeling from the broad category of being "loved”, which is easier to do, at best, and probably easier to fake, at its worst.
I am a DIY…. I am a feminist, a strong independent woman in my home, work and family life. I am low-maintenance and don’t require a lot of sustenance beyond my middle class existence, except for an occasional out of body experience, the companionship of two dogs and a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookie dough every month or two. 25 years ago, I promised to love, honor and cherish , but I don’t recall that “need” was a part of the deal. Don’t get me wrong... I married a great guy whom I love and we have a great partnership. When I got home last night at 9:30 PM, he had washed 5 loads of laundry and taken care of dinner. He is always there for me. It is self-evident that my DIY struggles are mostly in my own mind. "Doing-it-myself" is definitely a badge of honor I wear pinned to my lapel, proudly exhibited for everyone to see. (Don't tell him, but yea, I kinda need him. And he definitely makes life a lot more FUN.)
Personally, it has always seemed risky to me, to be a “do-it-for-me” type. The “damsel in distress” thing HAS never and COULD never work for me. I think, deep in my soul, I am afraid that if I depend too much on others, I won’t be able to accept the disappointments in them when they let me down. And they will. It is inevitable. It’s hard enough to accept myself when I miss the mark, much less someone else.
The yin and yang of “do-it-yourselfism” contains elements of both light and dark, that reciprocal relationship in a perpetual state of unbalance. The yang of the DIY is prevalent. Today’s “do-it-yourselfer” is independent, confident and self-reliant. They tend to “do- it- themselves” because of either physical necessity or ego (they believe they have the “better way ” ie. wiser, cheaper, faster, more efficient of doing a task.) The “do- it yourselfer” is a widely heralded hero, especially here in the US where the ghosts of our hardy pioneer ancestors still roam, leaving the spirit of independence and freedom in their wagon trails … The Feminist proudly continues along the path of self-reliance with a baby in one hand, a briefcase in the other, and a dust rag clenched between her teeth.
So, where is the yin in DIY? And how ironic is it, that “yin” is defined as “negative, dark, passive, cold, wet, and feminine?” Yuck! Who wants any of that? Move aside the propaganda. The yin is there, whether it is acknowledged it or not. Here is the flip side of a self-proclaimed “do-it-yourselfer”, my personal confession. This is where things get complicated.
DIY’s are uncomfortable being catered to and waited on, for a plethora of reasons. They are often perfectionists. When someone serves you, the outcome is out of your control and does not guarantee success or perfection. In personal relationships, grace makes it possible for someone to serve you, and vice-versa. When the Bible tells us of Jesus washing the disciple’s feet, it had to be an awkward moment, predominately for the one with the calluses and dust on their toes. When people are not allowed to serve you and learn by improving their own life skills, it undermines their growth and confidence. People learn best, by their mistakes, and often at other’s expense. Allowing people to do things for you can sew the seeds for their feeling “needed”. That is a very different feeling from the broad category of being "loved”, which is easier to do, at best, and probably easier to fake, at its worst.
I am a DIY…. I am a feminist, a strong independent woman in my home, work and family life. I am low-maintenance and don’t require a lot of sustenance beyond my middle class existence, except for an occasional out of body experience, the companionship of two dogs and a batch of homemade chocolate chip cookie dough every month or two. 25 years ago, I promised to love, honor and cherish , but I don’t recall that “need” was a part of the deal. Don’t get me wrong... I married a great guy whom I love and we have a great partnership. When I got home last night at 9:30 PM, he had washed 5 loads of laundry and taken care of dinner. He is always there for me. It is self-evident that my DIY struggles are mostly in my own mind. "Doing-it-myself" is definitely a badge of honor I wear pinned to my lapel, proudly exhibited for everyone to see. (Don't tell him, but yea, I kinda need him. And he definitely makes life a lot more FUN.)
Personally, it has always seemed risky to me, to be a “do-it-for-me” type. The “damsel in distress” thing HAS never and COULD never work for me. I think, deep in my soul, I am afraid that if I depend too much on others, I won’t be able to accept the disappointments in them when they let me down. And they will. It is inevitable. It’s hard enough to accept myself when I miss the mark, much less someone else.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
"If Susie was a Candy Bar"... Tales from Facebook, and Beyond
Do you” Twitter?” Are you” Linked- In”? Does a Facebook sound like a group of mug shots… folks you’d rather not be associated with? Does “My Space” describe your favorite comfortable chair across from the wide- screen television? You know the place where you put your feet up and relax after a long, hard day… If you have been asleep in that chair the last few years, you may not be familiar with social networking sites and what they can do for you!
Social networking sites (SNS) have revolutionized the way we communicate with each other. With a minimum investment of time, adults can connect with their friends, acquaintances and relatives, even their enemies and the occasional pervert! Specialized search engines allow you to locate people through schools they attended, e-mail addresses, or just by name. Privacy is always controlled by the user. Connections are made through online postings about anything from important events to insignificant ramblings…
Facebook is my networking site of choice. Facebook (FB) was designed for college students but is now used predominantly used by the 35-54 year old group… my demographic! It is very easy to use… go to www.facebook.com, and walk through the instructions for set up.
My husband does not understand my affinity for FB… He says, “ I don’t want Little Johnnie to know my biz-ness…”… or “What do I care if Susie was a candy bar, she’d be an Almond Joy! “ I understand his desire to keep his private life separate from his professional life as an educator.
Case in point, did you hear in the news a few months ago, about John Sawyers, the incoming head of Britain’s international spy agency? This man is the equivalent of 007! Mr. Sawyers had his identity compromised when his wife posted information about him on her Facebook account. In addition to giving information about his family and residence, he was photographed in a SPEEDO , for goodness sakes, frolicking on the beach… Mr. Sawyers’, (aka 007) , secret was almost exposed, and it wasn’t his name, rank or serial number!
Horror stories aside, Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with friends from all over the world, all of whom, according to their profile photos, are more appropriately dressed than Mr. John Sawyers! Recently, I was reunited with two friends, whom I had not seen or spoken to in almost 15 years…
The first face that I was reunited with is my friend, Alcira. After attending college together, we continued our friendship during our first professional jobs at a small design firm in Greensboro. Alcira eventually married, moved back to her native home of El Salvador. Somewhere along the way, my computer crashed with her e-mail address, we changed service providers for our e-mail accounts, and I eventually failed to get her mailing address and phone number transferred into new address books as they were updated. She was literally “lost.”
Interestingly enough, technology had intervened on our behalf many years prior to help us stay in touch… back in the 80’s , while she was home in El Salvador , my husband and I were watching CNN, only to see that some terrorists had taken over a hotel in her hometown. One phone call later and my pitiful attempts at Spanish, “Al-ceera Sah-ca, pour four VORE”, (she had written out phonetically before she left)… And we both quickly discovered that news travels much faster here in the US. Unbeknownst to her family, civil war was just breaking out in El Salvador and she had to be smuggled out of the country. Her life and her family’s lives were in danger. Our connection, albeit before the age of the internet, may have saved her life!
Fast forward to a few short weeks ago… Imagine my delight at finding a “friend request’ from her on Facebook, and learning that she was planning a visit here to North Carolina in a few short weeks. Imagine also my delight earlier this week, as the virtual world melted into the real world, when I was finally able to hug her, talk to her, see her smile in person, and to meet her new family!
Facebook was also the impetus that allowed me to reunite with my friend, Jan Foster Mack. Jan was an acquaintance in high school that became a good friend in my early years of college. … I last saw her at a class reunion in 1995. While many of my former high school classmates have reconnected online, she, like many others, was “lost” to me. I was eventually contacted by her brother via Facebook. Through him, I found out that Jan was really sick, living in Maryland, dying really, with a rare simultaneous disease of Leukemia and pancreatic cancer. In addition to her illness, I learned that she and her family had faced some huge challenges during the last years. I wish I had known…
Jan passed away last week, and ironically, I attended her funeral just one day after my reunion with Alcira. I was grateful to learn of her illness in time to send her a card a few weeks before she passed… an opportunity that would have been missed entirely had her brother, Rex, not found me online. While attending her memorial service, her friends and family spoke about the details of her life. It was comforting to know that the tremendous spirit contained in such a little person, never really waivered, never really changed, despite insurmountable odds. It was with regret however, that I found myself thinking, “Oh, I didn’t KNOW she loved to travel… I didn’t KNOW she was so interested in the arts… We would have had SO MUCH in common.” It was this realization that made me wish we had maintained our friendship over the years”.
There are more faces out there…Can you see them? Could it be someone in your life? Is there someone out there you need to reconnect with? Is there someone you have “lost”?
My great friends, (and you know who you are out there), my sisters… you are THE REAL DEAL! Your friendships are among the greatest treasures of my life. Facebook is no substitute for these kinds of relationships … the one-on-one friendships that require much more of us than a witty response or a sassy photo, the sustaining relationships that nourish our spirits. Most communication on Facebook is casual, even mundane, friends joking around, that kind of thing… but my point is, you never really know when it could matter… sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know….and that could have a PROFOUND effect on a life… a REAL life, not a virtual one.
Reconnecting with old friends, making new friends, a word of appreciation, making someone laugh, just letting people know they are not alone…that is what life is all about. Facebook , along with the other social networking sites , is just one of the many ways to help make that happen, to open the door of POSSIBILITY.
Social networking sites (SNS) have revolutionized the way we communicate with each other. With a minimum investment of time, adults can connect with their friends, acquaintances and relatives, even their enemies and the occasional pervert! Specialized search engines allow you to locate people through schools they attended, e-mail addresses, or just by name. Privacy is always controlled by the user. Connections are made through online postings about anything from important events to insignificant ramblings…
Facebook is my networking site of choice. Facebook (FB) was designed for college students but is now used predominantly used by the 35-54 year old group… my demographic! It is very easy to use… go to www.facebook.com, and walk through the instructions for set up.
My husband does not understand my affinity for FB… He says, “ I don’t want Little Johnnie to know my biz-ness…”… or “What do I care if Susie was a candy bar, she’d be an Almond Joy! “ I understand his desire to keep his private life separate from his professional life as an educator.
Case in point, did you hear in the news a few months ago, about John Sawyers, the incoming head of Britain’s international spy agency? This man is the equivalent of 007! Mr. Sawyers had his identity compromised when his wife posted information about him on her Facebook account. In addition to giving information about his family and residence, he was photographed in a SPEEDO , for goodness sakes, frolicking on the beach… Mr. Sawyers’, (aka 007) , secret was almost exposed, and it wasn’t his name, rank or serial number!
Horror stories aside, Facebook has allowed me to reconnect with friends from all over the world, all of whom, according to their profile photos, are more appropriately dressed than Mr. John Sawyers! Recently, I was reunited with two friends, whom I had not seen or spoken to in almost 15 years…
The first face that I was reunited with is my friend, Alcira. After attending college together, we continued our friendship during our first professional jobs at a small design firm in Greensboro. Alcira eventually married, moved back to her native home of El Salvador. Somewhere along the way, my computer crashed with her e-mail address, we changed service providers for our e-mail accounts, and I eventually failed to get her mailing address and phone number transferred into new address books as they were updated. She was literally “lost.”
Interestingly enough, technology had intervened on our behalf many years prior to help us stay in touch… back in the 80’s , while she was home in El Salvador , my husband and I were watching CNN, only to see that some terrorists had taken over a hotel in her hometown. One phone call later and my pitiful attempts at Spanish, “Al-ceera Sah-ca, pour four VORE”, (she had written out phonetically before she left)… And we both quickly discovered that news travels much faster here in the US. Unbeknownst to her family, civil war was just breaking out in El Salvador and she had to be smuggled out of the country. Her life and her family’s lives were in danger. Our connection, albeit before the age of the internet, may have saved her life!
Fast forward to a few short weeks ago… Imagine my delight at finding a “friend request’ from her on Facebook, and learning that she was planning a visit here to North Carolina in a few short weeks. Imagine also my delight earlier this week, as the virtual world melted into the real world, when I was finally able to hug her, talk to her, see her smile in person, and to meet her new family!
Facebook was also the impetus that allowed me to reunite with my friend, Jan Foster Mack. Jan was an acquaintance in high school that became a good friend in my early years of college. … I last saw her at a class reunion in 1995. While many of my former high school classmates have reconnected online, she, like many others, was “lost” to me. I was eventually contacted by her brother via Facebook. Through him, I found out that Jan was really sick, living in Maryland, dying really, with a rare simultaneous disease of Leukemia and pancreatic cancer. In addition to her illness, I learned that she and her family had faced some huge challenges during the last years. I wish I had known…
Jan passed away last week, and ironically, I attended her funeral just one day after my reunion with Alcira. I was grateful to learn of her illness in time to send her a card a few weeks before she passed… an opportunity that would have been missed entirely had her brother, Rex, not found me online. While attending her memorial service, her friends and family spoke about the details of her life. It was comforting to know that the tremendous spirit contained in such a little person, never really waivered, never really changed, despite insurmountable odds. It was with regret however, that I found myself thinking, “Oh, I didn’t KNOW she loved to travel… I didn’t KNOW she was so interested in the arts… We would have had SO MUCH in common.” It was this realization that made me wish we had maintained our friendship over the years”.
There are more faces out there…Can you see them? Could it be someone in your life? Is there someone out there you need to reconnect with? Is there someone you have “lost”?
My great friends, (and you know who you are out there), my sisters… you are THE REAL DEAL! Your friendships are among the greatest treasures of my life. Facebook is no substitute for these kinds of relationships … the one-on-one friendships that require much more of us than a witty response or a sassy photo, the sustaining relationships that nourish our spirits. Most communication on Facebook is casual, even mundane, friends joking around, that kind of thing… but my point is, you never really know when it could matter… sometimes you don’t know what you don’t know….and that could have a PROFOUND effect on a life… a REAL life, not a virtual one.
Reconnecting with old friends, making new friends, a word of appreciation, making someone laugh, just letting people know they are not alone…that is what life is all about. Facebook , along with the other social networking sites , is just one of the many ways to help make that happen, to open the door of POSSIBILITY.
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Travel: New York, Summer 2009
We are OFF for summer vacation… This year to THE CITY! Not the big city, not New York City, not the Big Apple, THE CITY, as it is called, and IT IS!
Well, I never found the shoe I misplaced while packing last night! (Yes ONE HALF of my favorite, ancient pair of Merrell’s).The car was finally loaded to the brim and Perry, Brennen and I were ready for our week of fun and frolic with my sister Janie, nephew Phillip and niece Irene. While I LOVE a road trip, I had forgotten how simultaneously dull and nerve-wracking the ride up I-85 and 95 can be. Now that Brennen is seventeen, there are three of us to rotate driving. Like The Three Bears and their preferential temperatures of porridge, Papa Bear doesn’t drive in heavy traffic, Mama Bear doesn’t drive the speed limit , and like a drunken sailor , Baby Bear has a driving style that approximates an Indy 500 Champion, all the while muttering what might be swear words … It is hard to say for sure, since I cannot hear the exact words being spoken over the alternating heavy metal and rap music booming over the radio…
All went well til the traffic came to a standstill near the south side of Washington DC. For about an hour, I inched along, with the voice on our GPS, fondly named “The Bitch”, explaining the obvious traffic delays. Perry was sleeping, Brennen was complaining… I could take it no more! Like Eve eying the apple, I could no longer fight the temptation. I pushed the dreaded button that said “REROUTE”! BAD IDEA! Who knew there was an exit, right on I-95 that led directly down into the heart of Washington DC? Here we go, on a driving tour by the front steps of the Washington Monument, Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials. Tour of the Smithsonian, anyone? I cruise through the rolling green hills and stark tombstones that mark our militarty deceased. Perry awakes when he hears me talking to the “nice officer” at Arlington Cemetery who helps direct me into a u-turn . He is NOT happy, in the least. He swears, if he should fall asleep again while I am driving, we might end up in China!
We eventually make our way back to I-95, arriving in Brooklyn by car just as Janie and Phillip arrive fresh from the airport! Irene’s mother, Mary Tsonatos, has thrown together a “little something light”… words she uses to describe every meal she prepares in her lovely kitchen, with the exceptions of Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Our feast consisted of leg of lamb and roasted potatoes, pork tenderloin and gravy , stuffed peppers, chickpea and mushroom salad, broccoli rabe, tomato croquettes, cheese pies, lobster and crab filled endive leaves followed by fresh fruit (cantaloupe, mango and plums ) and a mille feulle pastry filled with custard. It was vegetarian friendly and delicious!
Later that evening, we arrive at the Westin Times Square . It is an amazing hotel on the corner of 42nd/ 43rd and 8th Streets. Our room is really large for NY… a typical- sized room with a little “L’ for at the end for Brennen’s extra roll- away bed and sitting area, creating a little “nest” of his own.
DAY #1: The first morning of our stay, we are “dragging” after our late night, but are excited to explore the city. We purchase a 48 hour bus tour pass from Grey Line, and took the Downtown Loop. (Empire State Building, Flat Iron Building), the South Street Seaport Area, Greenwich/ Soho. These bus tours help us understand the nuances and personalities of the different boroughs, and gives us an overview of the architecture of the city. Brennen spotted some shops at Greenwich Village, and we stopped for some back – to –school shopping at American Apparel, Urban Outfitters and H&M. We continued past the UN Building and some of the ethnic neighborhoods and tenement areas, settled by the areas ‘earliest immigrants. For dinner, we strolled around until we found a little Italian place, Alfredo’s and picked up dessert t (banana pudding, piece of pie and a macaroon) at the famous Magnolia Bakery, touted by Martha Stewart.
DAY #2: We continued with another loop on our Grey Line bus tour… this time cruising around uptown at Central Park, the upper East and West Sides and Harlem, home of the famous Apollo Theater. Central Park is huge… a 200 acre oasis in the big city , with everything from a huge reservoir, intimate little gardens and pools, vast meadows, a ball field, miniature sailboat rentals, the famous Tavern on the Green Restaurant, and so much more! All landscaping in the park (every plant, topsoil and water features) was designed, created and implemented by man. The forethought to have created this respite in the midst of this urban jungle is amazing.
We learned why Billy Joel sang about Christie Brinkley being an “Uptown Girl”. The Upper East and West Sides are where the wealthiest New Yorkers live, and we enjoyed seeing where many of the celebrities reside including Demi Moore and Ashton Kucher , Dustin Hoffman, Barbara Walters as well as the late John Lennon, Farrah Fawcett and Walter Cronkite. We spotted “ The Naked Cowboy” in the middle of Times Square!
After lunch, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, browsing through the masterpieces of this great museum. After the museum, we stroll through the refreshing shade of the Upper East Side of Central Park, returning to the hotel to catch a late comedy show by the National Comedy Theatre (format was like “What’s my Line”. ) The show was hilarious, and was funny enough for all but not so raunchy that it made anyone uncomfortable. It was one of the few “bargains” in this city! It is fun to see Brennen having so much fun here. He is in love with this city!
DAY #3: We ventured out for a quick New York breakfast at a streetside shop for bagels , a papya juice smoothie of sorts, and yes, I had a plain hotdog for breakfast ( it looked so good!) We head out via the subway to a park near Brooklyn Bridge. There is a pedestrian walkway on the bridge that is isolated from the street traffic, and we enjoyed seeing the amazing view of Manhattan as we walked across the top of the bridge, safe from the busy traffic below. Once we crossed the bridge, we made our way to a small Flea market Under the Brooklyn Bridge, where we purchased homemade granola, T-shirts for Brennen, and photographs for Perry to use in his artwork. Phillip, Irene, and their friend Elvia met us, and we enjoyed the most amazing, fresh lobster rolls, sushi and cookies from the vendors within the market. The lobster rolls were the best I had ever tasted rivaling the best Maine has to offer, no kidding!
After strolling around this little area called DUMBO ( Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass) we made our way to the trendy (up and coming) area called Willliamsburg/ Bedford. This place is an eclectic and artistic- filled neighborhood inhabited primarily by folks called “Hipsters” . Hipsters are 20 and 30 somethings that appear to have a lot of disposable income but never work! None of them weigh over 120 lbs. and they all seem to be wearing their grandma’s clothes! The graffiti art along the streets was fascinating and very colorful. We had dinner at a very cool, hip venue which featured a type of Thai-fusion cuisine. The restaurant was rocking with ambient music, and cool décor consisting of suspended ”space chairs” and porch swings, Asian water features, and circular pod-like bathrooms with a communal “water station” in the center of the pods which Perry mistook for a fountain! (Attention my Designer friends, they laugh in the face of ADA regulations here! I love it!)Also, the men’s room had TV screens that allow you (the occupant) to view out into the activities of the restaurant.
DAY #4: Today’s agenda is one I have been looking forward to! The Gugenheim Museum is hosting a Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit, marking the 50th anniversary of the museum. (FLW was the architect for the project.) Many of his drawings, sketches and models are exhibited here… not only for his many famous buildings, but also many of the projects that were never built and whose genius has been locked away in the archival files at Taleisin, Wisconsin. As a designer, I enjoyed his “working drawings” with all the typical notes, dimensions and scribble you would expect on any set of drawings being used on a jobsite! Phillip went with us to Little Italy to a great pizza place . We strolled the streets in nearby colorful Soho , and made our way back, exhausted again, to the hotel.
DAY #5: This city makes me feel jittery …like I have had too much caffeine! It’s hard to settle down at night and I am always too excited to sleep in!
July 28th(today)is our 25th Anniversary! How lucky we are to still love and like each other after so many years! I am truly married to my best friend! All week long, Perry has been spoiling me with little anniversary gifts and today was no exception! I have received some beautiful art- gifts to fuel my creativity (handmade notebooks, a cool pen, a beautiful bookmark, some bed and bath items…) He knows me so well, and his gifts reflect that he knows what means the most to me. Perhaps, what meant the most to me was the beautiful card . I love you, too, Perry! xxooxxoo
Today, we take a field trip to Brooklyn, and we manage to get there via subway without gettin lost! ( To say we are getting good at this is a blatant lie, but we ARE getting better!) We met Phillip in Bay Ridge and checked out the progress on the “new” house, which is actually a 100 year old Brownstone. It is going to be beautiful! We are looking for ceramic tile and stone for the kitchen and bathes checked out a few tile shops in the area… We found some great tile, so it was a productive trip! We bought theater tickets at the TKTS in Brooklyn (much faster than Times Square locations) and look forward to seeing the Broadway production of HAIR tomorrow!
In the evening, we celebrated our anniversary at Swing 46, a dinner and dance venue between Times Square and Hell’s Kitchen. Janie and Brennen went with us, and we all had a great time. Perry and I had Fillet Mignon, wine and cheesecake for dessert! The band was phenomenal,...We even participated in the group dance lesson learning “The Charleston.” We had so much fun, that Perry and I are going to take dance lessons this year! Perry surprised me with another gift… a beautiful turquoise bracelet! I love it! (But I thought we were not doing gifts???)
DAY #6: Our last full day in New York, and we are trying to squeeze in as much as possible! Janie and I got up at 5:30 AM, grabbed breakfast on the run, and walked the 4 or 5 blocks to Rockefeller Plaza/ NBC Studios where they film The Today Show. Although we arrived a little after 6:00AM, we were pretty far back in line! Since I watch/ listen to this show every morning getting ready for work, it was really interesting seeing the production crew in action! They have large TV monitors around the plaza and broadcast for you from “behind the scenes”, so we could see the anchors preparing. You can look right into the studio from the street, and the anchors will sometimes wave right back at you, which is cool! (Meredith did!)
Later, we went back to the room to collect the boys, and took the subway to catch the Staten Island Ferry. It is free, and a great way to see Lady Liberty, as well as cruise the harbor to Staten Island!
On the way back, we stopped in Chinatown/ Canal Street and bought “cheap” things… t-shirts, glasses, scarves, watches, etc… we also ate lunch at an authentic Thai restaurant, that was excellent! (The better places throughout NY have a Zagat Rating, which means they are award winning, in specific categories…that is how we knew/ hoped we were not eating cat or dog!)
Our last highlight of the trip was attending the Broadway showing of HAIR! Boy , was that WILD! I expected the nudity,( which thank God was done with dim lighting) , but I was not expecting all the sexual innuendos and what appeared to be ( and smelled like) pot smoking! The music brought back lots of memories… “Aquarius”, “Good Morning Starshine” and “Let the Sun Shine In”! This show won the 2009 Tony Award for “Best Reprisal of an Original Show” . Not your “conventional” Broadway show, I can only imagine how powerful show this show was when it first appeared in the turmoil of the late 1960’s. It still makes a powerful statement today, especially as our brave young men and women fight and die for us in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Tomorrow, we will head for home! Packing is never fun! Brennen has been a real trooper, but is homesick for his friends! Me, I am missing the dogs… while I think Perry is missing the peace and quiet! New York has been great and we have all had a BLAST. We were especially glad to spend time with Brennen, who is starting his last year of High School in a few weeks. Our home, in Welcome, is a small place. Our goal was to show him some of the BIG WORLD out there, and for that we truly succeeded!
Well, I never found the shoe I misplaced while packing last night! (Yes ONE HALF of my favorite, ancient pair of Merrell’s).The car was finally loaded to the brim and Perry, Brennen and I were ready for our week of fun and frolic with my sister Janie, nephew Phillip and niece Irene. While I LOVE a road trip, I had forgotten how simultaneously dull and nerve-wracking the ride up I-85 and 95 can be. Now that Brennen is seventeen, there are three of us to rotate driving. Like The Three Bears and their preferential temperatures of porridge, Papa Bear doesn’t drive in heavy traffic, Mama Bear doesn’t drive the speed limit , and like a drunken sailor , Baby Bear has a driving style that approximates an Indy 500 Champion, all the while muttering what might be swear words … It is hard to say for sure, since I cannot hear the exact words being spoken over the alternating heavy metal and rap music booming over the radio…
All went well til the traffic came to a standstill near the south side of Washington DC. For about an hour, I inched along, with the voice on our GPS, fondly named “The Bitch”, explaining the obvious traffic delays. Perry was sleeping, Brennen was complaining… I could take it no more! Like Eve eying the apple, I could no longer fight the temptation. I pushed the dreaded button that said “REROUTE”! BAD IDEA! Who knew there was an exit, right on I-95 that led directly down into the heart of Washington DC? Here we go, on a driving tour by the front steps of the Washington Monument, Jefferson and Lincoln Memorials. Tour of the Smithsonian, anyone? I cruise through the rolling green hills and stark tombstones that mark our militarty deceased. Perry awakes when he hears me talking to the “nice officer” at Arlington Cemetery who helps direct me into a u-turn . He is NOT happy, in the least. He swears, if he should fall asleep again while I am driving, we might end up in China!
We eventually make our way back to I-95, arriving in Brooklyn by car just as Janie and Phillip arrive fresh from the airport! Irene’s mother, Mary Tsonatos, has thrown together a “little something light”… words she uses to describe every meal she prepares in her lovely kitchen, with the exceptions of Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner. Our feast consisted of leg of lamb and roasted potatoes, pork tenderloin and gravy , stuffed peppers, chickpea and mushroom salad, broccoli rabe, tomato croquettes, cheese pies, lobster and crab filled endive leaves followed by fresh fruit (cantaloupe, mango and plums ) and a mille feulle pastry filled with custard. It was vegetarian friendly and delicious!
Later that evening, we arrive at the Westin Times Square . It is an amazing hotel on the corner of 42nd/ 43rd and 8th Streets. Our room is really large for NY… a typical- sized room with a little “L’ for at the end for Brennen’s extra roll- away bed and sitting area, creating a little “nest” of his own.
DAY #1: The first morning of our stay, we are “dragging” after our late night, but are excited to explore the city. We purchase a 48 hour bus tour pass from Grey Line, and took the Downtown Loop. (Empire State Building, Flat Iron Building), the South Street Seaport Area, Greenwich/ Soho. These bus tours help us understand the nuances and personalities of the different boroughs, and gives us an overview of the architecture of the city. Brennen spotted some shops at Greenwich Village, and we stopped for some back – to –school shopping at American Apparel, Urban Outfitters and H&M. We continued past the UN Building and some of the ethnic neighborhoods and tenement areas, settled by the areas ‘earliest immigrants. For dinner, we strolled around until we found a little Italian place, Alfredo’s and picked up dessert t (banana pudding, piece of pie and a macaroon) at the famous Magnolia Bakery, touted by Martha Stewart.
DAY #2: We continued with another loop on our Grey Line bus tour… this time cruising around uptown at Central Park, the upper East and West Sides and Harlem, home of the famous Apollo Theater. Central Park is huge… a 200 acre oasis in the big city , with everything from a huge reservoir, intimate little gardens and pools, vast meadows, a ball field, miniature sailboat rentals, the famous Tavern on the Green Restaurant, and so much more! All landscaping in the park (every plant, topsoil and water features) was designed, created and implemented by man. The forethought to have created this respite in the midst of this urban jungle is amazing.
We learned why Billy Joel sang about Christie Brinkley being an “Uptown Girl”. The Upper East and West Sides are where the wealthiest New Yorkers live, and we enjoyed seeing where many of the celebrities reside including Demi Moore and Ashton Kucher , Dustin Hoffman, Barbara Walters as well as the late John Lennon, Farrah Fawcett and Walter Cronkite. We spotted “ The Naked Cowboy” in the middle of Times Square!
After lunch, we went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art, browsing through the masterpieces of this great museum. After the museum, we stroll through the refreshing shade of the Upper East Side of Central Park, returning to the hotel to catch a late comedy show by the National Comedy Theatre (format was like “What’s my Line”. ) The show was hilarious, and was funny enough for all but not so raunchy that it made anyone uncomfortable. It was one of the few “bargains” in this city! It is fun to see Brennen having so much fun here. He is in love with this city!
DAY #3: We ventured out for a quick New York breakfast at a streetside shop for bagels , a papya juice smoothie of sorts, and yes, I had a plain hotdog for breakfast ( it looked so good!) We head out via the subway to a park near Brooklyn Bridge. There is a pedestrian walkway on the bridge that is isolated from the street traffic, and we enjoyed seeing the amazing view of Manhattan as we walked across the top of the bridge, safe from the busy traffic below. Once we crossed the bridge, we made our way to a small Flea market Under the Brooklyn Bridge, where we purchased homemade granola, T-shirts for Brennen, and photographs for Perry to use in his artwork. Phillip, Irene, and their friend Elvia met us, and we enjoyed the most amazing, fresh lobster rolls, sushi and cookies from the vendors within the market. The lobster rolls were the best I had ever tasted rivaling the best Maine has to offer, no kidding!
After strolling around this little area called DUMBO ( Down Under Manhattan Bridge Overpass) we made our way to the trendy (up and coming) area called Willliamsburg/ Bedford. This place is an eclectic and artistic- filled neighborhood inhabited primarily by folks called “Hipsters” . Hipsters are 20 and 30 somethings that appear to have a lot of disposable income but never work! None of them weigh over 120 lbs. and they all seem to be wearing their grandma’s clothes! The graffiti art along the streets was fascinating and very colorful. We had dinner at a very cool, hip venue which featured a type of Thai-fusion cuisine. The restaurant was rocking with ambient music, and cool décor consisting of suspended ”space chairs” and porch swings, Asian water features, and circular pod-like bathrooms with a communal “water station” in the center of the pods which Perry mistook for a fountain! (Attention my Designer friends, they laugh in the face of ADA regulations here! I love it!)Also, the men’s room had TV screens that allow you (the occupant) to view out into the activities of the restaurant.
DAY #4: Today’s agenda is one I have been looking forward to! The Gugenheim Museum is hosting a Frank Lloyd Wright exhibit, marking the 50th anniversary of the museum. (FLW was the architect for the project.) Many of his drawings, sketches and models are exhibited here… not only for his many famous buildings, but also many of the projects that were never built and whose genius has been locked away in the archival files at Taleisin, Wisconsin. As a designer, I enjoyed his “working drawings” with all the typical notes, dimensions and scribble you would expect on any set of drawings being used on a jobsite! Phillip went with us to Little Italy to a great pizza place . We strolled the streets in nearby colorful Soho , and made our way back, exhausted again, to the hotel.
DAY #5: This city makes me feel jittery …like I have had too much caffeine! It’s hard to settle down at night and I am always too excited to sleep in!
July 28th(today)is our 25th Anniversary! How lucky we are to still love and like each other after so many years! I am truly married to my best friend! All week long, Perry has been spoiling me with little anniversary gifts and today was no exception! I have received some beautiful art- gifts to fuel my creativity (handmade notebooks, a cool pen, a beautiful bookmark, some bed and bath items…) He knows me so well, and his gifts reflect that he knows what means the most to me. Perhaps, what meant the most to me was the beautiful card . I love you, too, Perry! xxooxxoo
Today, we take a field trip to Brooklyn, and we manage to get there via subway without gettin lost! ( To say we are getting good at this is a blatant lie, but we ARE getting better!) We met Phillip in Bay Ridge and checked out the progress on the “new” house, which is actually a 100 year old Brownstone. It is going to be beautiful! We are looking for ceramic tile and stone for the kitchen and bathes checked out a few tile shops in the area… We found some great tile, so it was a productive trip! We bought theater tickets at the TKTS in Brooklyn (much faster than Times Square locations) and look forward to seeing the Broadway production of HAIR tomorrow!
In the evening, we celebrated our anniversary at Swing 46, a dinner and dance venue between Times Square and Hell’s Kitchen. Janie and Brennen went with us, and we all had a great time. Perry and I had Fillet Mignon, wine and cheesecake for dessert! The band was phenomenal,...We even participated in the group dance lesson learning “The Charleston.” We had so much fun, that Perry and I are going to take dance lessons this year! Perry surprised me with another gift… a beautiful turquoise bracelet! I love it! (But I thought we were not doing gifts???)
DAY #6: Our last full day in New York, and we are trying to squeeze in as much as possible! Janie and I got up at 5:30 AM, grabbed breakfast on the run, and walked the 4 or 5 blocks to Rockefeller Plaza/ NBC Studios where they film The Today Show. Although we arrived a little after 6:00AM, we were pretty far back in line! Since I watch/ listen to this show every morning getting ready for work, it was really interesting seeing the production crew in action! They have large TV monitors around the plaza and broadcast for you from “behind the scenes”, so we could see the anchors preparing. You can look right into the studio from the street, and the anchors will sometimes wave right back at you, which is cool! (Meredith did!)
Later, we went back to the room to collect the boys, and took the subway to catch the Staten Island Ferry. It is free, and a great way to see Lady Liberty, as well as cruise the harbor to Staten Island!
On the way back, we stopped in Chinatown/ Canal Street and bought “cheap” things… t-shirts, glasses, scarves, watches, etc… we also ate lunch at an authentic Thai restaurant, that was excellent! (The better places throughout NY have a Zagat Rating, which means they are award winning, in specific categories…that is how we knew/ hoped we were not eating cat or dog!)
Our last highlight of the trip was attending the Broadway showing of HAIR! Boy , was that WILD! I expected the nudity,( which thank God was done with dim lighting) , but I was not expecting all the sexual innuendos and what appeared to be ( and smelled like) pot smoking! The music brought back lots of memories… “Aquarius”, “Good Morning Starshine” and “Let the Sun Shine In”! This show won the 2009 Tony Award for “Best Reprisal of an Original Show” . Not your “conventional” Broadway show, I can only imagine how powerful show this show was when it first appeared in the turmoil of the late 1960’s. It still makes a powerful statement today, especially as our brave young men and women fight and die for us in Iraq and Afghanistan.
Tomorrow, we will head for home! Packing is never fun! Brennen has been a real trooper, but is homesick for his friends! Me, I am missing the dogs… while I think Perry is missing the peace and quiet! New York has been great and we have all had a BLAST. We were especially glad to spend time with Brennen, who is starting his last year of High School in a few weeks. Our home, in Welcome, is a small place. Our goal was to show him some of the BIG WORLD out there, and for that we truly succeeded!
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Did you have a Booger Red? Toys of the ME Generation!
What were your favorite childhood toys?
As a child of the 60’s and 70’s, I remember searching out the Sears or JC Penney’s catalogues for my holiday “wish lists”. Before the days of Toys R Us, these catalogues seemed to have anything a 6 year old could desire! In between the Saturday morning cartoons, we were introduced to the newest crazes in toys and games. Thanks to the television, my generation was the first to have advertisers fighting en masse for our parent’s hard- earned cash in order to satisfy the imaginations, creativity and excessive desires of the deep-pocketed ME-generation.
The first toy that I recall was a ragdoll of sorts, with the unfortunate name of “Booger Red”. Yes, “Booger”, which is most commonly known as an alternately crispy or gooey- textured substance residing in the cavernous depths of one’s nostrils, but more often in my family, it referred to a spook… neither of which usage was an appropriate name for a doll. The “Red” came from her bright red hair. Poor Booger Red suffered frequent and daily abuse from my chubby little fingers. Like Elvis or Kilroy, there was (secretly) more than one “Booger Red.” At bedtime and naptime, I twirled the crimson strands of Booger Red’s hair until I could fall asleep. It took the balding of multiple dolls for me to outgrow this habit!
In the social group of 1960’s 8-12 year old girls, your social status was directly proportionate to the number of Barbies, Barbie- pals, and accessories that you owned. There was bisexual boyfriend Ken, (forerunner of the male model), miniature cousin Skipper, and the less attractive red-headed Midge. Like Cybil, multiple- personality Barbies could be simultaneously dressed for a tennis match, the beach, an evening out or nursing. There were also the requisite accessories including tiny plastic handbags and shoes in transparent watercolors, all the size of a thimble, so tiny that you could hardly get them on and off. Ultimately, I owned one of each shoe, since they were always being lost. Much to my dismay, there was never an Amputee Barbie to benefit from my ownership of single shoes, not even after the Vietnam War. You also had to own a decent and respectable carrying case for carrying Barbie on play dates with friends. I am sure the future sorority princesses among us owned the Corvette and the Barbie Dream House … I suppose they still do!
The best toys, not only occupied our time- they transformed us into other people, and took us to other times and places. Armed with our favorite toys or dress up clothes, we could go anywhere our imaginations would carry us. My favorite Christmas, I received a cowboy outfit, real cowboy boots, and a blonde wig. I’m not sure if I was trying to be a country music singer, rodeo star or Annie Oakley… probably all three! There is still a picture of me posing by the shiny aluminum Christmas tree with blue balls and a rotating color wheel. I look just like a miniature Dolly Parton, BEFORE the boob job.
Actually, some of my favorite toys were not really toys at all. Although I inherited a sweet little playhouse from my big sister, I often preferred to play at “Moss Hill”. This was nothing more than an area of the woods, near the house on the north side of a gulley, where moss grew abundantly under a canopy of pines and tall deciduous trees. To an aspiring interior decorator, the moss was perfect carpeting for a home, and the abundance of trees and limbs formed architecture that was as limitless as my imagination.
The house on Goat Pasture Road was located near the Yadkin River, and the woods and trails around there occupied my time in many ways. Along the river basin, I would dig up the cool red clay and form it into pots and dishes, placing it up in the safety of the tree branches to dry into a fragile, brittle vessels. Depending on the summer drought, it would be days or weeks until they would be reduced to mud. I spent hours exploring those trails, retracing the steps of Daniel Boone, who was rumored to have hid from the Indians in a small, local outcropping called Boone’s Cave .
The streams and creeks that fed the river could be dammed up as crude, shallow swimming holes. You could catch fish or look for crayfish, “craw fish”, as we called it then… In the fall, hundreds of yellow leaves would sail down that creek like sailboats, and were as beautiful as any regatta I have seen since!
Music was another form of entertainment, a toy of sorts. My family owned an old upright piano, a gift from my Grandmother Swicegood , to the only grandchild who could play it, ME! Certain I was a prodigy, my mother made me suffer through YEARS of piano lessons. I loved the piano, but detested the lessons and the boring scales and silly little songs. I was a prodigy alright… I cheated my way through 3 years of lessons and recitals, and never learned to read a single note. To this day, I still can play anything, all with the style and technical finesse of an 8 year old!
I loved crafts, and spent hours on the sewing machine, or making potholders on a plastic loom using strips made of colored tube socks. I could crochet aphgans and baby clothes, but never learned to knit. I developed an affinity for candle making til my father discovered the excess wax was being deposited into the basement sink. He was not happy to have to dig up the sink drain, even for the perfection of a multicolored 6” taper. You could also drip the wax down the side of a wine bottle, giving me my first taste of bohemia. Much to my disappointment, I never owned a Thingmaker or Incredible Edibles, although my boyfriend in 3rd grade did! By accepting a plastic red centipede of sorts, on Valentine’s Day, we were officially GOING TOGETHER!
The most impressive toy of my childhood was the Easy Bake Oven. This was a miniature oven, about the size of a small microwave that looked just like a REAL oven. It came with a set miniature round cake pans, and a variety of cake mixes. Without mother’s help, and powered only by a light bulb, it baked real cakes… that (Wait, wait, this was the BEST part) you could actually EAT! Unfortunately, the initial set came with a limited number of cake mixes, which did not last a Girl’s Size 14 Chubby for very long. I could never convince my mother to let me bake in the Easy Bake using her homemade recipes. Mother suffered from worms as a child, and was certain that 100 watts of pure baking power would not bake at a high- enough temperature to kill any parasites.
In our generation, man first landed on the moon. Inspired by this giant leap for mankind, toy manufacturers came out with a lot of strange, space- influenced products… I was fortunate to own a pair of Moonwalker shoes. These were almost like roller skates, but instead of wheels, they had giant springs. Thick white straps fastened over your shoes and the soles were composed of large red springs. Although the advertisements made it appear you would bounce like an astronaut walking on the surface of the moon, they did NOT work very well. You could bounce much higher on a pogo stick! Also, do you remember silly putty, etch a sketch, spirograph and the slinky, all products of the age of technology?
Now, you may not have owned a pair of authentic Moonwalkers, but who among us can argue, our childhoods WERE defined by our toys. Today, some 40 years later, what are we defined by? Have all these possessions that now possess us become our TOYS? They certainly cost a GREAT deal more. Online shopping and mega- malls have replaced the Wishbooks of our childhood, but they have only succeeded in perpetuating our quest for the dream, not the fulfillment of it. Why is it that we enjoy our toys today half as much?
I turn 47 years old this week, and it surprises me how little I have changed, on the inside. I still have my boots, but where is that BLONDE wig???
As a child of the 60’s and 70’s, I remember searching out the Sears or JC Penney’s catalogues for my holiday “wish lists”. Before the days of Toys R Us, these catalogues seemed to have anything a 6 year old could desire! In between the Saturday morning cartoons, we were introduced to the newest crazes in toys and games. Thanks to the television, my generation was the first to have advertisers fighting en masse for our parent’s hard- earned cash in order to satisfy the imaginations, creativity and excessive desires of the deep-pocketed ME-generation.
The first toy that I recall was a ragdoll of sorts, with the unfortunate name of “Booger Red”. Yes, “Booger”, which is most commonly known as an alternately crispy or gooey- textured substance residing in the cavernous depths of one’s nostrils, but more often in my family, it referred to a spook… neither of which usage was an appropriate name for a doll. The “Red” came from her bright red hair. Poor Booger Red suffered frequent and daily abuse from my chubby little fingers. Like Elvis or Kilroy, there was (secretly) more than one “Booger Red.” At bedtime and naptime, I twirled the crimson strands of Booger Red’s hair until I could fall asleep. It took the balding of multiple dolls for me to outgrow this habit!
In the social group of 1960’s 8-12 year old girls, your social status was directly proportionate to the number of Barbies, Barbie- pals, and accessories that you owned. There was bisexual boyfriend Ken, (forerunner of the male model), miniature cousin Skipper, and the less attractive red-headed Midge. Like Cybil, multiple- personality Barbies could be simultaneously dressed for a tennis match, the beach, an evening out or nursing. There were also the requisite accessories including tiny plastic handbags and shoes in transparent watercolors, all the size of a thimble, so tiny that you could hardly get them on and off. Ultimately, I owned one of each shoe, since they were always being lost. Much to my dismay, there was never an Amputee Barbie to benefit from my ownership of single shoes, not even after the Vietnam War. You also had to own a decent and respectable carrying case for carrying Barbie on play dates with friends. I am sure the future sorority princesses among us owned the Corvette and the Barbie Dream House … I suppose they still do!
The best toys, not only occupied our time- they transformed us into other people, and took us to other times and places. Armed with our favorite toys or dress up clothes, we could go anywhere our imaginations would carry us. My favorite Christmas, I received a cowboy outfit, real cowboy boots, and a blonde wig. I’m not sure if I was trying to be a country music singer, rodeo star or Annie Oakley… probably all three! There is still a picture of me posing by the shiny aluminum Christmas tree with blue balls and a rotating color wheel. I look just like a miniature Dolly Parton, BEFORE the boob job.
Actually, some of my favorite toys were not really toys at all. Although I inherited a sweet little playhouse from my big sister, I often preferred to play at “Moss Hill”. This was nothing more than an area of the woods, near the house on the north side of a gulley, where moss grew abundantly under a canopy of pines and tall deciduous trees. To an aspiring interior decorator, the moss was perfect carpeting for a home, and the abundance of trees and limbs formed architecture that was as limitless as my imagination.
The house on Goat Pasture Road was located near the Yadkin River, and the woods and trails around there occupied my time in many ways. Along the river basin, I would dig up the cool red clay and form it into pots and dishes, placing it up in the safety of the tree branches to dry into a fragile, brittle vessels. Depending on the summer drought, it would be days or weeks until they would be reduced to mud. I spent hours exploring those trails, retracing the steps of Daniel Boone, who was rumored to have hid from the Indians in a small, local outcropping called Boone’s Cave .
The streams and creeks that fed the river could be dammed up as crude, shallow swimming holes. You could catch fish or look for crayfish, “craw fish”, as we called it then… In the fall, hundreds of yellow leaves would sail down that creek like sailboats, and were as beautiful as any regatta I have seen since!
Music was another form of entertainment, a toy of sorts. My family owned an old upright piano, a gift from my Grandmother Swicegood , to the only grandchild who could play it, ME! Certain I was a prodigy, my mother made me suffer through YEARS of piano lessons. I loved the piano, but detested the lessons and the boring scales and silly little songs. I was a prodigy alright… I cheated my way through 3 years of lessons and recitals, and never learned to read a single note. To this day, I still can play anything, all with the style and technical finesse of an 8 year old!
I loved crafts, and spent hours on the sewing machine, or making potholders on a plastic loom using strips made of colored tube socks. I could crochet aphgans and baby clothes, but never learned to knit. I developed an affinity for candle making til my father discovered the excess wax was being deposited into the basement sink. He was not happy to have to dig up the sink drain, even for the perfection of a multicolored 6” taper. You could also drip the wax down the side of a wine bottle, giving me my first taste of bohemia. Much to my disappointment, I never owned a Thingmaker or Incredible Edibles, although my boyfriend in 3rd grade did! By accepting a plastic red centipede of sorts, on Valentine’s Day, we were officially GOING TOGETHER!
The most impressive toy of my childhood was the Easy Bake Oven. This was a miniature oven, about the size of a small microwave that looked just like a REAL oven. It came with a set miniature round cake pans, and a variety of cake mixes. Without mother’s help, and powered only by a light bulb, it baked real cakes… that (Wait, wait, this was the BEST part) you could actually EAT! Unfortunately, the initial set came with a limited number of cake mixes, which did not last a Girl’s Size 14 Chubby for very long. I could never convince my mother to let me bake in the Easy Bake using her homemade recipes. Mother suffered from worms as a child, and was certain that 100 watts of pure baking power would not bake at a high- enough temperature to kill any parasites.
In our generation, man first landed on the moon. Inspired by this giant leap for mankind, toy manufacturers came out with a lot of strange, space- influenced products… I was fortunate to own a pair of Moonwalker shoes. These were almost like roller skates, but instead of wheels, they had giant springs. Thick white straps fastened over your shoes and the soles were composed of large red springs. Although the advertisements made it appear you would bounce like an astronaut walking on the surface of the moon, they did NOT work very well. You could bounce much higher on a pogo stick! Also, do you remember silly putty, etch a sketch, spirograph and the slinky, all products of the age of technology?
Now, you may not have owned a pair of authentic Moonwalkers, but who among us can argue, our childhoods WERE defined by our toys. Today, some 40 years later, what are we defined by? Have all these possessions that now possess us become our TOYS? They certainly cost a GREAT deal more. Online shopping and mega- malls have replaced the Wishbooks of our childhood, but they have only succeeded in perpetuating our quest for the dream, not the fulfillment of it. Why is it that we enjoy our toys today half as much?
I turn 47 years old this week, and it surprises me how little I have changed, on the inside. I still have my boots, but where is that BLONDE wig???
Saturday, May 9, 2009
Reflections on Mothers Day, 2009
Mothers Day is almost here. While all of us may not have claimed that title of honor, are not mothers, all of us HAD mothers, in one form of the other. Marie Osmond , mother of eight, recently said in an interview, “I may not be a perfect mother, but my love for my children is perfect.” Her simple, yet profound statement resonates with me as I view motherhood from two diverse vantage points. As women, we are often torn between two models of motherhood, the one we experienced as children, and the one we exemplify to our own offspring.
I heard a similar approach to mothering discussed a few years back, called “The Good Enough Mother”. This concept echoed Marie’s position, and emphasized also that as mothers , we cannot be perfect, but we can be good enough. I won’t admit to seeking “perfection” in motherhood, however it’s cousin “excellence”, seemed like a more realistic goal, especially when viewed from a distance. To pursue “excellence” sounds like a moderately challenging walk up slightly rough terrain, perhaps like Pilot Mountain, compared to that cousin “perfection”, which is an almost impossible climb, like the Alps or the Himalayans…
Like a mountain that looks small miles away, but grows larger as you attempt to climb it, even “excellence”, is a challenging and difficult pursuit. “Good enough” once seemed like a weak position, a cop-out of sorts , not something to aim for in a task as important as motherhood . The reality of motherhood is very different from its ideology, and I have found that in the grind of daily life, there are days even “good enough” feels barely attainable! On the days we are late for school, having a disagreement about cleaning his room, or when I am just crabby, I must admit that I don’t feel “good enough”. On those days, it can be hard to feel good at all!
I worry…What is “good enough”? Is it the same for every child? What will be “good enough” for my child?
Do we ever really know our children? In the book, The Prophet, philosopher Kahlil Gibran says,
Your children are not your children.They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts.You may house their bodies but not their souls,For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your childrenas living arrows are sent forth.The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
As a daughter , I now view my own mother with a lot less criticism and with a lot more compassion. Mother is 83, living with the middle stages of dementia in a nursing home. Like many mothers and daughters, we have not always had a great relationship. My mother always struggled with her own insecurities of a mother who did not love her enough, and had her own demons to fight in the battles of her own head. For many years, she was a troubled woman.
There are many things I have doubted in this world, yet I have never doubted my mother’s love for me, her belief in me and joy at my mere existence. Her belief in me, even more than her words, helped give me an inner stability, a foundation to pursue my dreams and find my own path. She encouraged me to create a unique life, based on my choices, not based on her expectations. As my mom continues to fight both the disease and demons in her head, I am THANKFUL for the fact that.
In this world of imperfection, that feels beyond “ good enough”…that feels close to “ perfect” ! I hope I can exemplify this lesson to my son! While I may not be an award-winning archer, I can keep a steady hand as my son is being launched into his own unique life.
Experience has taught me, looking down that mountain is easier than looking up!
Happy Mother’s Day Everyone!
I heard a similar approach to mothering discussed a few years back, called “The Good Enough Mother”. This concept echoed Marie’s position, and emphasized also that as mothers , we cannot be perfect, but we can be good enough. I won’t admit to seeking “perfection” in motherhood, however it’s cousin “excellence”, seemed like a more realistic goal, especially when viewed from a distance. To pursue “excellence” sounds like a moderately challenging walk up slightly rough terrain, perhaps like Pilot Mountain, compared to that cousin “perfection”, which is an almost impossible climb, like the Alps or the Himalayans…
Like a mountain that looks small miles away, but grows larger as you attempt to climb it, even “excellence”, is a challenging and difficult pursuit. “Good enough” once seemed like a weak position, a cop-out of sorts , not something to aim for in a task as important as motherhood . The reality of motherhood is very different from its ideology, and I have found that in the grind of daily life, there are days even “good enough” feels barely attainable! On the days we are late for school, having a disagreement about cleaning his room, or when I am just crabby, I must admit that I don’t feel “good enough”. On those days, it can be hard to feel good at all!
I worry…What is “good enough”? Is it the same for every child? What will be “good enough” for my child?
Do we ever really know our children? In the book, The Prophet, philosopher Kahlil Gibran says,
Your children are not your children.They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.They come through you but not from you,And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.
You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts.You may house their bodies but not their souls,For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your childrenas living arrows are sent forth.The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.Let our bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.
As a daughter , I now view my own mother with a lot less criticism and with a lot more compassion. Mother is 83, living with the middle stages of dementia in a nursing home. Like many mothers and daughters, we have not always had a great relationship. My mother always struggled with her own insecurities of a mother who did not love her enough, and had her own demons to fight in the battles of her own head. For many years, she was a troubled woman.
There are many things I have doubted in this world, yet I have never doubted my mother’s love for me, her belief in me and joy at my mere existence. Her belief in me, even more than her words, helped give me an inner stability, a foundation to pursue my dreams and find my own path. She encouraged me to create a unique life, based on my choices, not based on her expectations. As my mom continues to fight both the disease and demons in her head, I am THANKFUL for the fact that.
In this world of imperfection, that feels beyond “ good enough”…that feels close to “ perfect” ! I hope I can exemplify this lesson to my son! While I may not be an award-winning archer, I can keep a steady hand as my son is being launched into his own unique life.
Experience has taught me, looking down that mountain is easier than looking up!
Happy Mother’s Day Everyone!
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