Ten Things About Me That I Bet You Didn't Know.
1) I have never seen a porno movie.
Well, that is not all the way true. I have seen the beginning of one. And I just couldn't get through it. I mean, boy howdy, can't they just TRY to get reasonably decent actors and actresses? I realize that some of the lines they have to say are just stupid ("I try so hard to be good, but sometimes, I just have to be....a bad girl.")...Okay, look in the mirror and try to say that line without having it come out sounding stupid no matter how you say it. Meryl Streep couldn't pull off that line. I start laughing before the sex scenes even start and then leave it to me to sit there staring at how that woman's boob just looks....wrong. Instead of watching the whole scene and getting hot, my mind starts to wander. Like I sit there wondering what our heroine does when she isn't being a porn star. Does she have kids? Or I notice the curtains. They are plaid and so ugly. Couldn't they have at least purchased some decent curtains?
2) Bing and I don't own any sex toys.
Not that she hasn't tried to bring them home. I just...can't play with them. I feel ridiculous. The one time she brought home a dildo, I started giggling uncontrollably when she turned it on. I mean, it sounded like a damn mixer, it really did. It kind of kills the mood when the woman who is supposed to be getting some good action from the dildo just can't stop giggling. So, I'm the party pooper. The giggler.
3) I am afraid of horses.
It is their heads. Their heads are so big. I have this terror that they are going to try to take a chomp right out of my cheek. I'm also afraid that I will be kicked. Now, I grew up on a farm. I milked cows. And cows heads are not all that different than horse heads. It's just...that horse heads look so..big.
4) I once dropped Liv when she was an infant.
She was about three months old and I was giving her a bath in the kitchen sink. I picked up her slippery self and was carrying her over to the bassinet to wrap her up in a towel and she just slid right through my fingers. I scooped her up right away, thinking that maybe it wasn't so bad when I noticed that it was simply that her mouth was wide open in horror and she was taking in a majorly huge breath right before she went into this ear splitting scream that left me in tears and scared to death. I examined her carefully and she seemed to be fine, but I worried for days that she might have a brain injury. She was fine. Not a bruise on her, but to this day, whenever I relive that moment, I just go ice cold inside with terror all over again.
5) I once had a math teacher call me an idiot.
I suck at math. But, when I was a freshman in high school, I just could not get geometry. I HATED it. It made no sense to me. At all. I finally plucked up the courage to ask the teacher, Mr. Seals, if I could come to his office after school so that he could give me individual help. He was always offering this service to students, so I thought he meant it. I went after school and he sat patiently with me for over an hour. No matter how hard I tried, I just. could. not. get. it. Finally, red faced with frustration, he looked me dead in the eye and said, "I'm sorry. I can't explain it anymore. You are just an idiot." I cried all the way home from school. I still hate geometry and I am so relieved that math seems to be a piece of cake for Liv. She is doing math in fourth grade that I couldn't do in high school.
6) I once made up an entire life for myself when I was on a plane.
I was in my twenties and flying to Maryland to interview for a job. I met this man on the plane and we got to talking. I made up a false name for myself and a fake life. Said I was an English teacher and spoke in an Irish brogue the entire plane ride. (My parents were Irish immigrants, so doing a brogue is not a stretch for me.) I made up this whole false life for myself and this guy bought it hook, line and sinker. He even introduced me to his mother when we got off the plane. I rightly figured I was safe since I didn't know a soul in Maryland and ventured that I would never see this man again. And I didn't. But, I found out something sort of unsettling about myself that day. I found out that I was a good liar.
7) I once had a makeout session with a boy in confessional at mass.
I was in high school. For one week every year, the girl's school that I went to had sessions with the neighboring boy's academy. I met this boy that week. He and I had flirted all through class that morning and since it was Lent, we went to mass every afternoon, a co-ed mass. We slipped off into the confessional and had a hot and heavy petting session during mass. It was the first time that I ever let a boy touch me there. You know where. There. Yeah. Just call me Joan Jett.
8) I won a baking contest once.
Stop sniggering. It is true. I entered a recipe for apple crisp (actually, we called it Apple Brown Betty) in a state fair when I was 14 and it won. It was the one and only time I ever baked anything so perfect. I have no idea how it happened. Lightning struck or something. When I told this story to Bing, she actually snorted and then looked at me apologetically. She honestly could not believe this was true since I can't even make toast without burning it.
9) I've slapped a midget (I'm sorry...I suppose the correct term is "little person.")
When I was in college, my friend, Win and I were driving home to the small Iowa town that we both came from for a weekend trip. She was driving and we saw her father's truck in the parking lot of a town about two hours outside of the town that we were heading for. Her father was sort of a slap dashy sort of guy. He was a gifted mechanic, did a great business in town,and it turned out that he had driven to this town to do some work on a guy's car for some big bucks. He had stopped at a diner for some pie and met this...little person. He invited us to come sit with them in the booth. Win sat next to her father and I ended up next to the little man. He and the little man talked about trucks for a long time while Win and I ate a piece of pie. Win's father excused himself to go to the bathroom and we were alone in the booth with this little man. He looked at me and said, "You know what I would love to do?" Stupidly, I asked him what he would love to do. He answered, "I would love to wave bye bye to your friend's pappy and then the three of us could go in my trailer and you bitches could take turns jumping on my face." I don't know what went off in my brain, but it was bad. I hauled off and slapped him so hard that he fell out of the booth. And then I hopped out before he could right himself and told Win that I was leaving, either she could come with me or go with her father. She came with me. We started laughing about it when we got to the car, although now when I think about it, I wished we had waited for her father and told him what had happened and hopefully he would have knocked the shit out of the um...little person. Now, no one needs to jump out at me about dissing little people. I know that not all are like that. I am not stupid. Well, just at math. At math, I am an idiot.
10) I am superstitious.
I have a ritual that I have to do before I leave my house. I have to make sure that all the kitchen chairs are pushed in to the table. After I get in my car and am leaving, I close my eyes for a moment and say in my head, "keep this house safe." If I forget to say this, I spend the whole day worrying that something terrible will happen. Once when I was halfway to work, I realized that I had forgotten to "bless" the house and I turned around and went back home to say my mantra, making me a half hour late to work.
So, your turn. Tell me something about you that I don't know. And, did anything surprise you about me?
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Saturday, March 28, 2009
Goodbye, Miss Brodie.
My sister, Celia, called me a couple of nights ago.
"I just wanted you to know that Miss Brodie died," she said. "I know how much you liked her."
To say that I liked her was an understatement.
She was my high school English literature teacher.
Miss Brodie was the spinster daughter of one of the richest men in town. She had three other sisters who married and settled in our small Iowa town. Miss Brodie never married. She taught high school English for as long as anyone could remember.
She was a smallish woman, only about an inch taller than I was. She and her sisters and mother would go to New York every year to shop for clothes, so she was always looking very smart and well put together. She wore her hair in a pageboy and wore small round wire rimmed glasses.
She looked like the spinster she was, a well dressed, fashionable spinster, but a spinster.
No one ever misbehaved in Miss Brodie's classroom. Even the clowniest girls just didn't even attempt it. She had a way of looking somberly around the classroom and defying anyone who dared to act up. Not that she was severe, she wasn't. She was not one of those huggy, motherly teachers, nope, not Miss Brodie. She was polite and well spoken, but she wasn't the type of teacher that you could tell that you had cramps and needed to go to the nurse's office.
She was not much of a laugher, but she smiled sometimes. She loved her subjects. She began with Shakespeare for freshman English and then went on to Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne. By the time we were seniors, we were expected to write our senior essay. We could pick any topic, but it had to be well researched.
I first got to know Miss Brodie when I was a freshman. She had assigned us Romeo and Juliet.
I had never read Shakespeare before. I was a voracious reader, but I read The Little House books, the Beany Malone series, everything by Maud Hart Lovelace.
I had never read...true literature.
Shakespeare shook me to the bone.
I was speechless with joy that there was someone who had written all these masterpieces. I couldn't believe how extraordinarily gorgeous the language was in his sonnets, his plays, his everything.
One day, I sat in the library reading my copy of Romeo and Juliet. I was spellbound. I would read one bit of dialogue and then go back and read it again and again, lost in the beauty of it all.
I could feel my throat tighten with love at his words. My eyes flooded. I surreptitiously wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my girls uniform.
And felt a hand on my shoulder.
I looked up to see Miss Brodie standing over me, smiling warmly. "Are you okay, Miss Lastname?" she asked.
I nodded. I debated telling her why I was crying and decided not to. I had cried over books before in my mother's presence and she had thought me odd. I didn't want to risk looking foolish.
I looked back down bleakly at the page.
"Why don't you come with me for a bit?" she asked.
It wasn't really a question. If Miss Brodie wanted you to go someplace with her, you went.
She lead me into her empty classroom and had me sit in a chair by her desk and then she sat down in her desk chair and waited patiently.
Finally, I spilled.
I picked up my copy of Romeo and Juliet and tapped it.
"It's just...I love this book," I said.
Miss Brodie looked skeptical. I'm sure she had been expecting me to come forth with some tale of a boy who didn't return my affection or a snub by some girl in the lunchroom.
I tried again. "It's just...I never knew that there was...writing....like this...in the world," I said, my voice shaking with emotion. "It's so beautiful. It hurts to read it, you know? But, I don't want to stop. Ever."
She frowned and then smiled a little. "So, you are crying over...William Shakespeare?" she asked.
I nodded again, looking down at my shoes. "I love how he makes you feel not just how Romeo and Juliet feel but how Mercutio feels to always be stuck playing the fool when he has so much in his heart, and how the nurse loves Juliet, but she knows that she can't go up against her father and come out okay. And the friar, how he knows that he will probably pay in the end, but he decides to do the right thing anyway because he believes in the power of love."
Miss Brodie asked me when my next class was and she stood up and wrote a note to my teacher and then went to the hall and found a student to deliver the note saying that I would be late to class. And then, she sat down with me and we talked for a long time about Shakespeare. We talked about the cadence of his words, how maybe it didn't always make much sense on paper, but how it all changed when you read it aloud. She said that his works were meant to be read out loud and how you could feel the power in how well he chose his words. She told me that she had the complete works of William Shakespeare in her home and that she would be bring me a volume at a time until I had read the whole set.
I was floating on air when I walked out of her classroom. She kept her word. I read the complete set of William Shakespeare by my sophomore year. And she didn't stop there. She always had a book to replace the one that I read. She had me read Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee. She had me read Animal Farm and Our Town.
She smuggled in a copy of The Catcher in the Rye and managed to convey to me that I should read it but not let the principal, Sister Alphonse, know.
I decided that Holden Caulfield was absolutely my cup of tea.
Miss Brodie was the subject of much speculation among the girls in my school. Someone had heard that she almost got married once, but had been jilted at the altar. Someone else heard that no, it was she who jilted the boy. No one knew. When I asked my mother if she knew anything, she sniffed.
"Those Brodies are all sure that their bowel movements don't smell," she said. "They all live in that big mansion on the edge of town and keep to themselves. So, hoity toity..."
I didn't mention her again.
I liked her so much. I loved her English classes. She didn't just teach literature and writing, she would teach us what the conditions were like where the books were written, how the writer lived. I remember her bringing in slides of the three types of architecture to show us what it looked like where the ancient writers wrote.
"Who can tell me what sort of column this?" she would ask, showing us a slide. "Is this doric, ionic or corinthian?"
In my junior year, she began to teach us to write our own stories. She asked us to write about an everyday hero in our lives. I chose to write about the woman who came to help my mother do the wash. Miss Brodie asked me to stay after class the next day. I saw her holding my paper in her hands and I stumbled as I walked to the front of the class, afraid that I had chosen badly. Most of the other girls had written about a family member. Maybe I should have chosen better?
But no. She sat down with me. The first sentence she said to me was, "Maria, you are a born writer."
I flushed with pleasure.
She praised my writing and told me that I should begin keeping a journal. I told her that I didn't dare, that my mother might find it. That she already hated it that I spent too much time reading, if she thought I was cooping myself up in the house to write...well, she would find a closet for me to clean.
Miss Brodie smiled. "Ah, it seems we have similar mothers," was all she said.
It was tradition in our girl's academy that each senior girl was invited for tea with Miss Brodie. My turn came in December. I dressed carefully for the occasion, putting on my nicest dress and my patent leather pumps that made me wobble just a little bit. My mother drove me to the Brodie mansion on the edge of town, grumbling again about how those Brodies just thought they were god's gift, didn't they? But, she knew enough not to forbid me to go. In fact, she told me to keep my manners on and remember to keep my left hand in my lap at all times and not to slurp my tea.
As if.
It was a lovely afternoon. Miss Brodie served our tea in a hodgepodge tea set. The saucers and cups were mismatched but somehow looked perfect together. I found the courage to ask her why she didn't use a matched set and she cocked her head and told me that she collected china and that she had a fondness for each piece and felt they should all be used. Just because they didn't have a matching cup didn't mean that they shouldn't be used, right? And didn't I think they looked pretty?
I did think so. And told her this.
We talked about books and my writing. She again told me that I was talented and expressed the hope that I would find a way to leave this little town and "give the world the gift of yourself."
I told her that wild horses couldn't keep me here, that once I graduated, I was gone for good. She smiled and for the first time, I noticed that her eyes were a merry bluish purple.
"I hope you have a wonderful life, Maria. I have enjoyed having you for a student," she told me. "I have taught for over twenty years and you are the first student that I have had who cried over William Shakespeare. I think you are going to go places."
My heart swelled with gratitude. I lived on a working farm. I milked cows and slopped pigs, spent many hours weeding the garden and feeding the chickens. My Da was dead and my Mother had no place in her heart for a girl who cried over William Shakespeare. She wanted me to get good grades, yes. But, she didn't want me mooning over some dead English writer. She would have found that ridiculous. It was bad enough that I wanted to go to college. Her hope for her daughters was that they find good men to marry and settle down in that small Iowa town.
I was going to disappoint her and I knew it.
But, as I said, wild horses couldn't have kept me there.
As I was getting ready to leave the tea party, I worked up my courage and blurted out, "Why did you stay here? Why did you come back here after college?"
Miss Brodie looked at me carefully before she replied.
"My mother needed me to come home," she finally said. "My sisters were all married and my father had died and she wanted one of us to take care of her. Since I was unmarried, it was left to me to do that."
I felt badly for her. "Did you ever want to move away?" I asked.
She was quiet for a moment.
"Yes," she answered. And I knew not to ask any more. So, I didn't. I thanked her for the tea and cookies and fumbled with my coat when the butler brought it to me. We had a strained moment when he tried to help me on with it and I tried to take it out of his hands, not understanding what he was doing.
The rest of the year passed. Miss Brodie introduced me to Oscar Wilde. To Ernest Hemingway (who I must admit that I disliked, to this day I think it is bizarre that all his wives called him Papa.) She gave me a book of poems by ee cummings on my graduation day with a bookmark marking this poem.
I have a poster of that poem framed and hanging in my office at home. It reminds me that I never have to be stuck.
I didn't see much of Miss Brodie after that. She continued to teach English. She taught my little sister, Jessie. Jessie disliked her, said that she was always asking her if she loved books as much as her older sister did.
Jessie was more of a Seventeen magazine sort of reader and she was more into cheerleading and dancing with the Irish dancers. She wasn't in the nerdy Hermione Granger set the way that her older sister was. She liked Shaun Cassidy, not William Shakespeare. She was in the popular group.
When my mother disowned me for coming out as a lesbian, I didn't come back home for over ten years. But, one day, out of the blue, I received a package in my mail with a postmark from my little Iowa town.
There was a book inside. A worn copy of Thoreau's Walden. Inside, was a small, neatly written blue note card. It quoted from the book:
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured and far away.
It was signed by Miss Brodie with the words: I have always counted you as one of my brightest students. I am proud of all you have accomplished. Be strong.
I cried when I read that and gently fingered the book, raising it to my nose and smelling deeply of it. There is no smell like that of an old, well loved book. I tucked the card into the book and put it on my bookshelf. It is still there.
After my mother died and my sisters and I patched things up, I came back to that small Iowa town for one of my niece's graduations. Liv was a toddler by then. After the graduation ceremony, I found Miss Brodie sitting in the teacher's section. She must have been in her 80's then, but she was still teaching English. My niece had her for a teacher and said she was hard and expects too much. Good.
Set that bar high. She always did.
I leaned down and re-introduced myself, holding Liv close to me on my hip. Miss Brodie recognized me at once, told me that of course she recognized me, that I had been one of her favorite pupils. How could she forget me? Poppycock. She would always remember me.
We smiled at each other. She told me that she had heard that I had done well for myself and was this my daughter? She had heard that I had one...
I proudly showed her my Liv. Liv had just woken up from sleeping in my lap for the whole graduation ceremony and was all pink cheeked and tossle haired, adorable.
We didn't speak much. No time. I gently hugged her and she let me. And then I said goodbye and left with my family, looking back once at her before I slid Liv into her car seat. She was still sitting in the teacher's section, talking to a graduate and her parents.
I hadn't seen her since. I heard that she retired a few years ago. I heard that one of her sisters had moved in with her after her husband died and that they prattled around in that old mansion, just the two of them, their four cats and various servants.
I hope that her death was peaceful.
I hope that she knows what a difference she made in my life. She was an important bridge that crossed me over. I probably should have told her that. I wish I had. I don't think I ever told her exactly how much she meant to me. How she made this small town farmer's daughter feel like it was okay to adore William Shakespeare.
Goodbye, Miss Brodie...and hey, guess what? I collect china too. I have a cabinet full of mismatched saucers, cups and plates and I use them often.
I'm glad that you made this drummer feel good about stepping to the music she hears.
Thank you.
"I just wanted you to know that Miss Brodie died," she said. "I know how much you liked her."
To say that I liked her was an understatement.
She was my high school English literature teacher.
Miss Brodie was the spinster daughter of one of the richest men in town. She had three other sisters who married and settled in our small Iowa town. Miss Brodie never married. She taught high school English for as long as anyone could remember.
She was a smallish woman, only about an inch taller than I was. She and her sisters and mother would go to New York every year to shop for clothes, so she was always looking very smart and well put together. She wore her hair in a pageboy and wore small round wire rimmed glasses.
She looked like the spinster she was, a well dressed, fashionable spinster, but a spinster.
No one ever misbehaved in Miss Brodie's classroom. Even the clowniest girls just didn't even attempt it. She had a way of looking somberly around the classroom and defying anyone who dared to act up. Not that she was severe, she wasn't. She was not one of those huggy, motherly teachers, nope, not Miss Brodie. She was polite and well spoken, but she wasn't the type of teacher that you could tell that you had cramps and needed to go to the nurse's office.
She was not much of a laugher, but she smiled sometimes. She loved her subjects. She began with Shakespeare for freshman English and then went on to Emerson, Thoreau, Hawthorne. By the time we were seniors, we were expected to write our senior essay. We could pick any topic, but it had to be well researched.
I first got to know Miss Brodie when I was a freshman. She had assigned us Romeo and Juliet.
I had never read Shakespeare before. I was a voracious reader, but I read The Little House books, the Beany Malone series, everything by Maud Hart Lovelace.
I had never read...true literature.
Shakespeare shook me to the bone.
I was speechless with joy that there was someone who had written all these masterpieces. I couldn't believe how extraordinarily gorgeous the language was in his sonnets, his plays, his everything.
One day, I sat in the library reading my copy of Romeo and Juliet. I was spellbound. I would read one bit of dialogue and then go back and read it again and again, lost in the beauty of it all.
I could feel my throat tighten with love at his words. My eyes flooded. I surreptitiously wiped my eyes on the sleeve of my girls uniform.
And felt a hand on my shoulder.
I looked up to see Miss Brodie standing over me, smiling warmly. "Are you okay, Miss Lastname?" she asked.
I nodded. I debated telling her why I was crying and decided not to. I had cried over books before in my mother's presence and she had thought me odd. I didn't want to risk looking foolish.
I looked back down bleakly at the page.
"Why don't you come with me for a bit?" she asked.
It wasn't really a question. If Miss Brodie wanted you to go someplace with her, you went.
She lead me into her empty classroom and had me sit in a chair by her desk and then she sat down in her desk chair and waited patiently.
Finally, I spilled.
I picked up my copy of Romeo and Juliet and tapped it.
"It's just...I love this book," I said.
Miss Brodie looked skeptical. I'm sure she had been expecting me to come forth with some tale of a boy who didn't return my affection or a snub by some girl in the lunchroom.
I tried again. "It's just...I never knew that there was...writing....like this...in the world," I said, my voice shaking with emotion. "It's so beautiful. It hurts to read it, you know? But, I don't want to stop. Ever."
She frowned and then smiled a little. "So, you are crying over...William Shakespeare?" she asked.
I nodded again, looking down at my shoes. "I love how he makes you feel not just how Romeo and Juliet feel but how Mercutio feels to always be stuck playing the fool when he has so much in his heart, and how the nurse loves Juliet, but she knows that she can't go up against her father and come out okay. And the friar, how he knows that he will probably pay in the end, but he decides to do the right thing anyway because he believes in the power of love."
Miss Brodie asked me when my next class was and she stood up and wrote a note to my teacher and then went to the hall and found a student to deliver the note saying that I would be late to class. And then, she sat down with me and we talked for a long time about Shakespeare. We talked about the cadence of his words, how maybe it didn't always make much sense on paper, but how it all changed when you read it aloud. She said that his works were meant to be read out loud and how you could feel the power in how well he chose his words. She told me that she had the complete works of William Shakespeare in her home and that she would be bring me a volume at a time until I had read the whole set.
I was floating on air when I walked out of her classroom. She kept her word. I read the complete set of William Shakespeare by my sophomore year. And she didn't stop there. She always had a book to replace the one that I read. She had me read Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee. She had me read Animal Farm and Our Town.
She smuggled in a copy of The Catcher in the Rye and managed to convey to me that I should read it but not let the principal, Sister Alphonse, know.
I decided that Holden Caulfield was absolutely my cup of tea.
Miss Brodie was the subject of much speculation among the girls in my school. Someone had heard that she almost got married once, but had been jilted at the altar. Someone else heard that no, it was she who jilted the boy. No one knew. When I asked my mother if she knew anything, she sniffed.
"Those Brodies are all sure that their bowel movements don't smell," she said. "They all live in that big mansion on the edge of town and keep to themselves. So, hoity toity..."
I didn't mention her again.
I liked her so much. I loved her English classes. She didn't just teach literature and writing, she would teach us what the conditions were like where the books were written, how the writer lived. I remember her bringing in slides of the three types of architecture to show us what it looked like where the ancient writers wrote.
"Who can tell me what sort of column this?" she would ask, showing us a slide. "Is this doric, ionic or corinthian?"
In my junior year, she began to teach us to write our own stories. She asked us to write about an everyday hero in our lives. I chose to write about the woman who came to help my mother do the wash. Miss Brodie asked me to stay after class the next day. I saw her holding my paper in her hands and I stumbled as I walked to the front of the class, afraid that I had chosen badly. Most of the other girls had written about a family member. Maybe I should have chosen better?
But no. She sat down with me. The first sentence she said to me was, "Maria, you are a born writer."
I flushed with pleasure.
She praised my writing and told me that I should begin keeping a journal. I told her that I didn't dare, that my mother might find it. That she already hated it that I spent too much time reading, if she thought I was cooping myself up in the house to write...well, she would find a closet for me to clean.
Miss Brodie smiled. "Ah, it seems we have similar mothers," was all she said.
It was tradition in our girl's academy that each senior girl was invited for tea with Miss Brodie. My turn came in December. I dressed carefully for the occasion, putting on my nicest dress and my patent leather pumps that made me wobble just a little bit. My mother drove me to the Brodie mansion on the edge of town, grumbling again about how those Brodies just thought they were god's gift, didn't they? But, she knew enough not to forbid me to go. In fact, she told me to keep my manners on and remember to keep my left hand in my lap at all times and not to slurp my tea.
As if.
It was a lovely afternoon. Miss Brodie served our tea in a hodgepodge tea set. The saucers and cups were mismatched but somehow looked perfect together. I found the courage to ask her why she didn't use a matched set and she cocked her head and told me that she collected china and that she had a fondness for each piece and felt they should all be used. Just because they didn't have a matching cup didn't mean that they shouldn't be used, right? And didn't I think they looked pretty?
I did think so. And told her this.
We talked about books and my writing. She again told me that I was talented and expressed the hope that I would find a way to leave this little town and "give the world the gift of yourself."
I told her that wild horses couldn't keep me here, that once I graduated, I was gone for good. She smiled and for the first time, I noticed that her eyes were a merry bluish purple.
"I hope you have a wonderful life, Maria. I have enjoyed having you for a student," she told me. "I have taught for over twenty years and you are the first student that I have had who cried over William Shakespeare. I think you are going to go places."
My heart swelled with gratitude. I lived on a working farm. I milked cows and slopped pigs, spent many hours weeding the garden and feeding the chickens. My Da was dead and my Mother had no place in her heart for a girl who cried over William Shakespeare. She wanted me to get good grades, yes. But, she didn't want me mooning over some dead English writer. She would have found that ridiculous. It was bad enough that I wanted to go to college. Her hope for her daughters was that they find good men to marry and settle down in that small Iowa town.
I was going to disappoint her and I knew it.
But, as I said, wild horses couldn't have kept me there.
As I was getting ready to leave the tea party, I worked up my courage and blurted out, "Why did you stay here? Why did you come back here after college?"
Miss Brodie looked at me carefully before she replied.
"My mother needed me to come home," she finally said. "My sisters were all married and my father had died and she wanted one of us to take care of her. Since I was unmarried, it was left to me to do that."
I felt badly for her. "Did you ever want to move away?" I asked.
She was quiet for a moment.
"Yes," she answered. And I knew not to ask any more. So, I didn't. I thanked her for the tea and cookies and fumbled with my coat when the butler brought it to me. We had a strained moment when he tried to help me on with it and I tried to take it out of his hands, not understanding what he was doing.
The rest of the year passed. Miss Brodie introduced me to Oscar Wilde. To Ernest Hemingway (who I must admit that I disliked, to this day I think it is bizarre that all his wives called him Papa.) She gave me a book of poems by ee cummings on my graduation day with a bookmark marking this poem.
I have a poster of that poem framed and hanging in my office at home. It reminds me that I never have to be stuck.
I didn't see much of Miss Brodie after that. She continued to teach English. She taught my little sister, Jessie. Jessie disliked her, said that she was always asking her if she loved books as much as her older sister did.
Jessie was more of a Seventeen magazine sort of reader and she was more into cheerleading and dancing with the Irish dancers. She wasn't in the nerdy Hermione Granger set the way that her older sister was. She liked Shaun Cassidy, not William Shakespeare. She was in the popular group.
When my mother disowned me for coming out as a lesbian, I didn't come back home for over ten years. But, one day, out of the blue, I received a package in my mail with a postmark from my little Iowa town.
There was a book inside. A worn copy of Thoreau's Walden. Inside, was a small, neatly written blue note card. It quoted from the book:
If a man does not keep pace with his companions, perhaps it is because he hears a different drummer. Let him step to the music he hears, however measured and far away.
It was signed by Miss Brodie with the words: I have always counted you as one of my brightest students. I am proud of all you have accomplished. Be strong.
I cried when I read that and gently fingered the book, raising it to my nose and smelling deeply of it. There is no smell like that of an old, well loved book. I tucked the card into the book and put it on my bookshelf. It is still there.
After my mother died and my sisters and I patched things up, I came back to that small Iowa town for one of my niece's graduations. Liv was a toddler by then. After the graduation ceremony, I found Miss Brodie sitting in the teacher's section. She must have been in her 80's then, but she was still teaching English. My niece had her for a teacher and said she was hard and expects too much. Good.
Set that bar high. She always did.
I leaned down and re-introduced myself, holding Liv close to me on my hip. Miss Brodie recognized me at once, told me that of course she recognized me, that I had been one of her favorite pupils. How could she forget me? Poppycock. She would always remember me.
We smiled at each other. She told me that she had heard that I had done well for myself and was this my daughter? She had heard that I had one...
I proudly showed her my Liv. Liv had just woken up from sleeping in my lap for the whole graduation ceremony and was all pink cheeked and tossle haired, adorable.
We didn't speak much. No time. I gently hugged her and she let me. And then I said goodbye and left with my family, looking back once at her before I slid Liv into her car seat. She was still sitting in the teacher's section, talking to a graduate and her parents.
I hadn't seen her since. I heard that she retired a few years ago. I heard that one of her sisters had moved in with her after her husband died and that they prattled around in that old mansion, just the two of them, their four cats and various servants.
I hope that her death was peaceful.
I hope that she knows what a difference she made in my life. She was an important bridge that crossed me over. I probably should have told her that. I wish I had. I don't think I ever told her exactly how much she meant to me. How she made this small town farmer's daughter feel like it was okay to adore William Shakespeare.
Goodbye, Miss Brodie...and hey, guess what? I collect china too. I have a cabinet full of mismatched saucers, cups and plates and I use them often.
I'm glad that you made this drummer feel good about stepping to the music she hears.
Thank you.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
Death
We were huddled in the basement last night, the tornado sirens blaring. Liv had her ear phones on and was doing her homework. She gets jittery when we have to head to the basement, so long ago we bought her earphones and an ipod.
Bing tried to read the Wall Street Journal, but kept muttering about how she just cleaned the yard of branches last week and now, look...she'd have to do it all again...
I read my book, attempted to get comfortable on the lumpy sofa. There is a reason that we keep it in the basement. I commented out loud that I was not going to miss Heroes. This storm would just have to sashay out of here before then.
It had been a wicked day and now here was coming a wicked night.
Work had been hard that day. Some days just are. I haven't been feeling well lately, my md upped my drugs again and I am paying the price in side effects. And it had been one of those days when I lose my hope for the future. I see the best of the best and the worst of the worst in my job and that day was nothing but the worst.
There was the 17 year old mom who brought her young daughter in for testing. When I asked her if the child's father was in her life, she told me that no, he was in prison. For shaking their baby.
"At first they tried to cop it on me, but I didn't do it, no sirree. I get mad, hey, I'm a human. But, they can just think agin if they try to pin this on me. I done tole them that it was Erskin who done it. He has a temper. He lied at first and said that Precious just had a seizure, but the doc, he said that she had blood on her brain and that wasn't caused by no seizure. So, then he tried to make out like it was me that done it, but finally he admitted that he done it. So, yeah. He's in prison now. I still visit him now and agin, though. I mean, he IS my husband and I can't stay mad at him forever, can I?"
Um...YEAH. You can. If he shakes your baby, yes, you have the right to stay mad at the fucker. Forever.
Idjit.
I kept my face passive and resolved to give this little girl the best care I was capable of giving. Her mother sat there, jittery with wanting to smoke the whole time of the session. The little girl showed no stranger anxiety with me, none. I would bet that she was used to being handed off to strangers and had decided that just about anyone was better than her mother.
I held her gently on my lap and did some flash card exercises with her and then tried telling the mother that she should be watching so that she could do this at home.
The mother laughed. "Well, sheeettt. Ain't that yer job?"
I sighed. This child would have so few chances to come out okay with this woman as her parent. And all I had to do was look like I suspected her for one moment and she would never bring this child back for fear that I would want to test her hair for drugs.
It was that kind of day all day long. One forlorn appointment after another. Some days, I walk away from my job at the end of the day feeling as if I have made some good difference in the world. Other days, like this one, I walk away feeling like there are so many children and so many cracks for them to fall through.
So, I was feeling dejected and sad. And mad and cranky in that basement.
Bing's cell phone rang. I looked up briefly and knew at once that it was bad news. I went over to sit by her on her end of the sofa. She spoke softly for a bit and then hung up.
She looked at me steadily. "That was my cousin Marnie," she said. "Aunt Eileen just died."
Her voice cracked on the word died.
I put my arms around her and she let me pull her into my shoulder. I felt her shudder twice and then she began to silently cry.
Liv looked up alarmed and came over to us, asking what was wrong.
I told her. She immediately jumped in Bing's lap and threw her arms around her neck. Bing let herself be held by both of us. Socks came over to look worriedly at us. He is terrified of thunder to begin with, but seeing us all in a huddle...well, his dog radar leaped up. Liv patted her lap and he joined our circle. We sat huddled until Bing stopped crying.
"You know," I told her. "Eileen must have been waiting for this storm. It is so like her to want to go out in an electrical spring storm. All that drama!"
Bing laughed shakily and agreed.
Liv patted her arms and put her ear plugs into Bing's ears. "Listen to this pretty song. You'll feel better," she told her. Bing listened, smiling.
We sat on the sofa until the sirens stopped and the weather channel gave us the all clear. And then we went upstairs to peer out into the yard to see if there was any damage. Typically, the sun came out, spreading it's weak twilight rays across the yard. The storm had passed with minimal damage, just a few branches down in the yard.
Bing decided to take Socks for a walk. I knew she wanted some alone time, so I didn't offer to join them. I suggested to Liv that we take showers and get ready for Heroes. So we did.
Later, in bed, I reached for Bing, stroking her hair, asking if there was anything I could do. She told me no, just to hold her. I did.
She told me this morning that she had hoped to dream of Eileen, hoped that she would get some sort of message from her. I told her to sit tight, wait a while.
"She's probably too busy partying with her husband and all those relatives that she missed so much after they died," I told her.
I thought about Eileen a lot today. I thought about how glad I was to have known her. She was one of the good ones. She will be missed.
And then I thought about life. And death. About how we all have all these home movies playing in our heads, the story of our lives unfolding, knocking into each other, finding each other, losing each other and then finding each other again. And again.
I thought about goodbyes and how hard they are no matter what the circumstances.
It was a better day today. My hope for the future is alive and well again. I see so many brave parents, so many children who just need someone to untangle a few knots for them to set them free.
We are all going to die. But, the beauty is that we get to witness some spectacular little moments before we do.
I have always loved this video. It is a big long, but if you stick with it, you won't be sorry. It says to me exactly what death is. And life.
Let's go out there and have some fun with it, shall we? There will be storms, but they will pass and then the sun will come out. Just part of the circle.
And look...there we all are, standing in that circle together. I'm really glad you could make it.....
Bing tried to read the Wall Street Journal, but kept muttering about how she just cleaned the yard of branches last week and now, look...she'd have to do it all again...
I read my book, attempted to get comfortable on the lumpy sofa. There is a reason that we keep it in the basement. I commented out loud that I was not going to miss Heroes. This storm would just have to sashay out of here before then.
It had been a wicked day and now here was coming a wicked night.
Work had been hard that day. Some days just are. I haven't been feeling well lately, my md upped my drugs again and I am paying the price in side effects. And it had been one of those days when I lose my hope for the future. I see the best of the best and the worst of the worst in my job and that day was nothing but the worst.
There was the 17 year old mom who brought her young daughter in for testing. When I asked her if the child's father was in her life, she told me that no, he was in prison. For shaking their baby.
"At first they tried to cop it on me, but I didn't do it, no sirree. I get mad, hey, I'm a human. But, they can just think agin if they try to pin this on me. I done tole them that it was Erskin who done it. He has a temper. He lied at first and said that Precious just had a seizure, but the doc, he said that she had blood on her brain and that wasn't caused by no seizure. So, then he tried to make out like it was me that done it, but finally he admitted that he done it. So, yeah. He's in prison now. I still visit him now and agin, though. I mean, he IS my husband and I can't stay mad at him forever, can I?"
Um...YEAH. You can. If he shakes your baby, yes, you have the right to stay mad at the fucker. Forever.
Idjit.
I kept my face passive and resolved to give this little girl the best care I was capable of giving. Her mother sat there, jittery with wanting to smoke the whole time of the session. The little girl showed no stranger anxiety with me, none. I would bet that she was used to being handed off to strangers and had decided that just about anyone was better than her mother.
I held her gently on my lap and did some flash card exercises with her and then tried telling the mother that she should be watching so that she could do this at home.
The mother laughed. "Well, sheeettt. Ain't that yer job?"
I sighed. This child would have so few chances to come out okay with this woman as her parent. And all I had to do was look like I suspected her for one moment and she would never bring this child back for fear that I would want to test her hair for drugs.
It was that kind of day all day long. One forlorn appointment after another. Some days, I walk away from my job at the end of the day feeling as if I have made some good difference in the world. Other days, like this one, I walk away feeling like there are so many children and so many cracks for them to fall through.
So, I was feeling dejected and sad. And mad and cranky in that basement.
Bing's cell phone rang. I looked up briefly and knew at once that it was bad news. I went over to sit by her on her end of the sofa. She spoke softly for a bit and then hung up.
She looked at me steadily. "That was my cousin Marnie," she said. "Aunt Eileen just died."
Her voice cracked on the word died.
I put my arms around her and she let me pull her into my shoulder. I felt her shudder twice and then she began to silently cry.
Liv looked up alarmed and came over to us, asking what was wrong.
I told her. She immediately jumped in Bing's lap and threw her arms around her neck. Bing let herself be held by both of us. Socks came over to look worriedly at us. He is terrified of thunder to begin with, but seeing us all in a huddle...well, his dog radar leaped up. Liv patted her lap and he joined our circle. We sat huddled until Bing stopped crying.
"You know," I told her. "Eileen must have been waiting for this storm. It is so like her to want to go out in an electrical spring storm. All that drama!"
Bing laughed shakily and agreed.
Liv patted her arms and put her ear plugs into Bing's ears. "Listen to this pretty song. You'll feel better," she told her. Bing listened, smiling.
We sat on the sofa until the sirens stopped and the weather channel gave us the all clear. And then we went upstairs to peer out into the yard to see if there was any damage. Typically, the sun came out, spreading it's weak twilight rays across the yard. The storm had passed with minimal damage, just a few branches down in the yard.
Bing decided to take Socks for a walk. I knew she wanted some alone time, so I didn't offer to join them. I suggested to Liv that we take showers and get ready for Heroes. So we did.
Later, in bed, I reached for Bing, stroking her hair, asking if there was anything I could do. She told me no, just to hold her. I did.
She told me this morning that she had hoped to dream of Eileen, hoped that she would get some sort of message from her. I told her to sit tight, wait a while.
"She's probably too busy partying with her husband and all those relatives that she missed so much after they died," I told her.
I thought about Eileen a lot today. I thought about how glad I was to have known her. She was one of the good ones. She will be missed.
And then I thought about life. And death. About how we all have all these home movies playing in our heads, the story of our lives unfolding, knocking into each other, finding each other, losing each other and then finding each other again. And again.
I thought about goodbyes and how hard they are no matter what the circumstances.
It was a better day today. My hope for the future is alive and well again. I see so many brave parents, so many children who just need someone to untangle a few knots for them to set them free.
We are all going to die. But, the beauty is that we get to witness some spectacular little moments before we do.
I have always loved this video. It is a big long, but if you stick with it, you won't be sorry. It says to me exactly what death is. And life.
Let's go out there and have some fun with it, shall we? There will be storms, but they will pass and then the sun will come out. Just part of the circle.
And look...there we all are, standing in that circle together. I'm really glad you could make it.....
Monday, March 23, 2009
Only on the prairie....
I have to stay off the computer tonight because we are right smack dab in the middle of a tornado warning and the sirens have started going off.
Only here on the prairie does this shit happen. We just had snow last week! And now we are having a tornado warning. We are supposed to get another snow storm this weekend because mother nature just loves to keep us prairie people wearing parkas one day and shorts the next....
And there comes the lightning....time to go down into the basement. Have to set a good example for Liv and all that shit.
Ugh. Why do I live here?
Only here on the prairie does this shit happen. We just had snow last week! And now we are having a tornado warning. We are supposed to get another snow storm this weekend because mother nature just loves to keep us prairie people wearing parkas one day and shorts the next....
And there comes the lightning....time to go down into the basement. Have to set a good example for Liv and all that shit.
Ugh. Why do I live here?
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Her own personal rebel yell.
I took a half day off of work yesterday to go to Liv's school to donate some time. The beauty of her Montessori school is that not only is it almost completely green, part of the deal of tuition is that both parents and students must put sweat equity in the school. I used to have lots more free time, so I always signed up to volunteer for pre-school and kindergarten lunch supervision. That is how I met my bff, Harriet. She and I both did lunch for three years.
Now, her kids all go to public school and I work full time, so...no time.
But, I had signed up to help till the garden to get it ready for spring planting, so I took the half day off. I stopped at the grocery store on the way to the school and picked up ten gallons of milk for lunch next week, since I am the designated milk lady for that week. I carted the milk in, stowed it away in the big fridge in the lunchroom, and then went out to help in the garden. We finished early and I went inside to clean up and then peek in on Liv's classroom. Her school is very small. She is in a classroom for 4th through 6th grades. Her teacher, Miss Perry, informed me that Liv and her best friend, Constance, had volunteered to help in the 1st grade room with reading. I stopped to use the bathroom and as I walked out, I caught sight of Liv and Constance just ahead of me down the hall, heading back to their classroom.
I almost called out to them, but stopped to watch instead. It is a long, long hallway. Halfway down is the head mistress' office, with a line of windows looking out into the hall, so that Miss Brody can look out and monitor the doings in the halls.
Liv and Constance had arms linked and were skipping happily until they got to the head mistress' office. Then, they stopped and carefully walked slowly and angelically past the office, peeking in the window and smiling sweetly as they waved their gentle, saintly little waves to Miss Brody and her secretary, Miss Natt.
As soon as they were out of eye sight of the office, they both grinned evilly at each other and clasped hands.
And they were off, skipping again, their legs making huge skipping leaps and their clasped hands swinging madly. They stopped a few feet shy of their classroom door and both took a running leap and slid the rest of the way, giggling with their hands over their mouths. Once in front of the door, they did a brief do-si-do and then carefully put their quiet, angel smiles on again and walked serenely into their classroom.
I stood, leaning against a wall and watched this all play out, smiling.
Well, my daughter had her own private little rebel yell.
Good for her.
I walked down the hall and stopped to wave at Miss Brody and Miss Natt and then headed towards Liv's classroom.
And I couldn't help it, I decided to skip.
Rules are rules and there is a reason that the children can't run and skip in the halls....
But, sometimes we all just have to bust out a little rebel yell.
It's good for us.
I got to the classroom doorway and plastered my calm motherly smile on my face and walked into Liv's classroom to say hello.
Now, her kids all go to public school and I work full time, so...no time.
But, I had signed up to help till the garden to get it ready for spring planting, so I took the half day off. I stopped at the grocery store on the way to the school and picked up ten gallons of milk for lunch next week, since I am the designated milk lady for that week. I carted the milk in, stowed it away in the big fridge in the lunchroom, and then went out to help in the garden. We finished early and I went inside to clean up and then peek in on Liv's classroom. Her school is very small. She is in a classroom for 4th through 6th grades. Her teacher, Miss Perry, informed me that Liv and her best friend, Constance, had volunteered to help in the 1st grade room with reading. I stopped to use the bathroom and as I walked out, I caught sight of Liv and Constance just ahead of me down the hall, heading back to their classroom.
I almost called out to them, but stopped to watch instead. It is a long, long hallway. Halfway down is the head mistress' office, with a line of windows looking out into the hall, so that Miss Brody can look out and monitor the doings in the halls.
Liv and Constance had arms linked and were skipping happily until they got to the head mistress' office. Then, they stopped and carefully walked slowly and angelically past the office, peeking in the window and smiling sweetly as they waved their gentle, saintly little waves to Miss Brody and her secretary, Miss Natt.
As soon as they were out of eye sight of the office, they both grinned evilly at each other and clasped hands.
And they were off, skipping again, their legs making huge skipping leaps and their clasped hands swinging madly. They stopped a few feet shy of their classroom door and both took a running leap and slid the rest of the way, giggling with their hands over their mouths. Once in front of the door, they did a brief do-si-do and then carefully put their quiet, angel smiles on again and walked serenely into their classroom.
I stood, leaning against a wall and watched this all play out, smiling.
Well, my daughter had her own private little rebel yell.
Good for her.
I walked down the hall and stopped to wave at Miss Brody and Miss Natt and then headed towards Liv's classroom.
And I couldn't help it, I decided to skip.
Rules are rules and there is a reason that the children can't run and skip in the halls....
But, sometimes we all just have to bust out a little rebel yell.
It's good for us.
I got to the classroom doorway and plastered my calm motherly smile on my face and walked into Liv's classroom to say hello.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Always welcome here.
Liv and I were taking Socks for a walk by the pond near our house this evening. There were lots of people out, the pond is stocked with trout, so lots of fishing going on.
The sun was out; a cool sun, but sun is sun. And it was a just-before-twilight sun, not much warmth in it, but still.....
Liv and I walked along, sharing our day and giving Socks lots of room.
Suddenly, Socks stood stock still for a brief second and then leaped forward, dragging Liv along behind him. Liv and I looked to see what he was lunging at and then we both stood perfectly still, gaping.
Because, yes...it was a robin.
The first robin and not even Spring yet.
If you live on the prairie or in a place with long hard winters, you know how we felt.
Like smiling. Big large.
Which we did. Socks, who had not liked the indignity of the leash, gave us a baleful look. He is not fond of robins. The ones in our back yard tease him unmercifully every summer.
But, Liv and I...we watched the robin hopping about, his black beady eyes watching the ground intently, looking for a worm maybe.
And then Liv called, "Hello, robin. Nice to see you again. You are always welcome here."
The robin looked at her curiously, looked at Socks and then disdainfully flew away.
"I feel like skipping now," Liv commented, and she did, with Socks running along beside her, happy but not sure why he was.
I watched until they circled and came back to me. And then we walked back to the hill that lead to home.
"I can smell hamburgers on the grill," Liv said. "And ice cream on the back steps on hot summer nights."
"I can feel the grass on my skin as we lay down in the back yard to look up at the stars and sing the vegetables to sleep," I told her.
"Shorts," Liv added.
"Iced tea in a glass that is all slippery because it is so humid out," I said.
We both smiled at each other. The sun was sinking in the sky, all pink and gold and just a small red line then.
"Almost time for us to watch LOST," I told her, swinging her hand a little.
"Can we have a bowl of ice cream when we get home?" Liv asked.
I said yes.
"And will you stir it for me so it is all melty and gushy?"
Yes, again yes.
We went into the house and Liv went to find Bing.
"WE SAW A ROBIN!" I heard her say.
I heard Bing's murmur back to her.
I leaned down to unleash Socks. He gave me a disgusted look.
"What is the big deal about a pesky robin?" he asked me.
"You know you missed them too...." I told him.
But I did give him an extra hug. He hates to play second fiddle and to play it to a...bird. Well, his dignity suffered.
And then I took the ice cream out of the freezer and looked at the clock.
Almost time for LOST.
But, we had seen a robin.
WE HAD SEEN A ROBIN.
You are always welcome here, robin red breast.
The sun was out; a cool sun, but sun is sun. And it was a just-before-twilight sun, not much warmth in it, but still.....
Liv and I walked along, sharing our day and giving Socks lots of room.
Suddenly, Socks stood stock still for a brief second and then leaped forward, dragging Liv along behind him. Liv and I looked to see what he was lunging at and then we both stood perfectly still, gaping.
Because, yes...it was a robin.
The first robin and not even Spring yet.
If you live on the prairie or in a place with long hard winters, you know how we felt.
Like smiling. Big large.
Which we did. Socks, who had not liked the indignity of the leash, gave us a baleful look. He is not fond of robins. The ones in our back yard tease him unmercifully every summer.
But, Liv and I...we watched the robin hopping about, his black beady eyes watching the ground intently, looking for a worm maybe.
And then Liv called, "Hello, robin. Nice to see you again. You are always welcome here."
The robin looked at her curiously, looked at Socks and then disdainfully flew away.
"I feel like skipping now," Liv commented, and she did, with Socks running along beside her, happy but not sure why he was.
I watched until they circled and came back to me. And then we walked back to the hill that lead to home.
"I can smell hamburgers on the grill," Liv said. "And ice cream on the back steps on hot summer nights."
"I can feel the grass on my skin as we lay down in the back yard to look up at the stars and sing the vegetables to sleep," I told her.
"Shorts," Liv added.
"Iced tea in a glass that is all slippery because it is so humid out," I said.
We both smiled at each other. The sun was sinking in the sky, all pink and gold and just a small red line then.
"Almost time for us to watch LOST," I told her, swinging her hand a little.
"Can we have a bowl of ice cream when we get home?" Liv asked.
I said yes.
"And will you stir it for me so it is all melty and gushy?"
Yes, again yes.
We went into the house and Liv went to find Bing.
"WE SAW A ROBIN!" I heard her say.
I heard Bing's murmur back to her.
I leaned down to unleash Socks. He gave me a disgusted look.
"What is the big deal about a pesky robin?" he asked me.
"You know you missed them too...." I told him.
But I did give him an extra hug. He hates to play second fiddle and to play it to a...bird. Well, his dignity suffered.
And then I took the ice cream out of the freezer and looked at the clock.
Almost time for LOST.
But, we had seen a robin.
WE HAD SEEN A ROBIN.
You are always welcome here, robin red breast.
Monday, March 16, 2009
The Mom Survey
This one is courtesy of Trop.
The mom survey.
Questions for Liv to answer:
1) What is something that your Mama always says to you?
I've got you. I'm right here. (When I'm upset or scared.)
2) What makes your Mama happy?
Watching me play sports or going to a movie.
3) What makes your Mama sad?
When I talk with a smarty pants mouth.
4) How does your Mama make you laugh?
She becomes Auntie Grizelda.
Um, no, folks, I don't have a split personality. Auntie Grizelda appears when Liv is having a sucky day. She wears a dish towel on her head like a babushka and grimaces when she talks. She only eats with chopsticks and does not do well with them. She slurps her tea. She has a made up language called "grizelda-ese" and it is part English, part French and part ridiculousness. She also farts and laughs uproariously. She has very bad manners. Liv once laughed so hard at Auntie Grizelda that strawberry milk came out of her nose. Now that Liv is older, Grizelda doesn't come around that often. When Liv is a teenager, I intend to yank out Grizelda from time to time as blackmail, especially when she has a boyfriend (or girlfriend...but I kind of think this one is going to be heterosexual..) over....
5) What was your Mama like as a child?
She read all the time and went to church a lot.
Bingo.
6) How old is your Mama?
Really old. Older than all my friend's parents.
7) How tall is your Mama?
Not tall. She is shorter than all my friend's Mamas.
8) What is her favorite thing to do?
Read. She reads all the time.
9) What does your Mama do when you aren't around?
She reads or cleans the house.
She mostly reads....
10) If your Mama became famous, what would she be famous for?
Writing something.
11) What is your Mama really good at?
When she reads out loud to me, she doesn't just read, she becomes the character in the book. When she reads Harry Potter, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all have different voices.
12) What is your Mama not very good at?
Crafts. She gets really crabby when I have to make a project for school. She doesn't like messes.
13) What does your Mama do for her job?
She helps children with autism.
14) What is your Mama's favorite food?
Cream of wheat or oatmeal.
15) What makes you proud of your Mama?
She is nice to all of my friends and they like her.
16) If Mama was a cartoon character, which would she be?
Daria.
17) What do you and your Mama do together?
We do the garden in the summertime. In the wintertime, we bake or read books. We sit in my rocker and talk.
Excuse my shock that she thinks we bake a lot.
18) How are you and your Mama the same?
We both really like to read.
19) How are you and your Mama different?
We don't look at all alike. I have blonde hair like my Aunt Celia. I have brown eyes like my Father. I am tall for my age. She has brown hair with lots of gray. She has blue eyes and she is short.
20) How do you know your Mama loves you?
She hugs me a lot. And she says she loves me every day when she says goodbye to go to work.
21) Where is your Mama's favorite place to go?
Either the book store or the library.
I am smelling a theme here....Do you think I read too much?
I was not surprised by any of Liv's answers. So, what would be the theme of your survey if your child or another family member took it?
Just curious......
The mom survey.
Questions for Liv to answer:
1) What is something that your Mama always says to you?
I've got you. I'm right here. (When I'm upset or scared.)
2) What makes your Mama happy?
Watching me play sports or going to a movie.
3) What makes your Mama sad?
When I talk with a smarty pants mouth.
4) How does your Mama make you laugh?
She becomes Auntie Grizelda.
Um, no, folks, I don't have a split personality. Auntie Grizelda appears when Liv is having a sucky day. She wears a dish towel on her head like a babushka and grimaces when she talks. She only eats with chopsticks and does not do well with them. She slurps her tea. She has a made up language called "grizelda-ese" and it is part English, part French and part ridiculousness. She also farts and laughs uproariously. She has very bad manners. Liv once laughed so hard at Auntie Grizelda that strawberry milk came out of her nose. Now that Liv is older, Grizelda doesn't come around that often. When Liv is a teenager, I intend to yank out Grizelda from time to time as blackmail, especially when she has a boyfriend (or girlfriend...but I kind of think this one is going to be heterosexual..) over....
5) What was your Mama like as a child?
She read all the time and went to church a lot.
Bingo.
6) How old is your Mama?
Really old. Older than all my friend's parents.
7) How tall is your Mama?
Not tall. She is shorter than all my friend's Mamas.
8) What is her favorite thing to do?
Read. She reads all the time.
9) What does your Mama do when you aren't around?
She reads or cleans the house.
She mostly reads....
10) If your Mama became famous, what would she be famous for?
Writing something.
11) What is your Mama really good at?
When she reads out loud to me, she doesn't just read, she becomes the character in the book. When she reads Harry Potter, Harry, Ron, and Hermione all have different voices.
12) What is your Mama not very good at?
Crafts. She gets really crabby when I have to make a project for school. She doesn't like messes.
13) What does your Mama do for her job?
She helps children with autism.
14) What is your Mama's favorite food?
Cream of wheat or oatmeal.
15) What makes you proud of your Mama?
She is nice to all of my friends and they like her.
16) If Mama was a cartoon character, which would she be?
Daria.
17) What do you and your Mama do together?
We do the garden in the summertime. In the wintertime, we bake or read books. We sit in my rocker and talk.
Excuse my shock that she thinks we bake a lot.
18) How are you and your Mama the same?
We both really like to read.
19) How are you and your Mama different?
We don't look at all alike. I have blonde hair like my Aunt Celia. I have brown eyes like my Father. I am tall for my age. She has brown hair with lots of gray. She has blue eyes and she is short.
20) How do you know your Mama loves you?
She hugs me a lot. And she says she loves me every day when she says goodbye to go to work.
21) Where is your Mama's favorite place to go?
Either the book store or the library.
I am smelling a theme here....Do you think I read too much?
I was not surprised by any of Liv's answers. So, what would be the theme of your survey if your child or another family member took it?
Just curious......
Sunday, March 15, 2009
A great weekend and some googly fun.
Ah. Temps in the high 50's. This is so incredible. I have capri pants on! Sandals!
It has been a busy weekend. Tinton and Nirand are visiting. Liv had a concert with a youth orchestra on Saturday and she was nearly sick with excitement when she learned that her father was coming down, especially for her concert. He has never been to one of her music concerts before and he was floored at how talented a group she plays with.
I sat in my hard wooden chair, beaming with pride. Liv looked grand, dressed in her concert black, her hair pulled back tight in a ponytail. She looked like a little gazelle, so graceful with her long swan neck and serene expression. She held her violin delicately and played with her eyes closed, as she always does. Afterwards, we took her out for dinner to her favorite Chinese restaurant.
And then this morning, we awakened to a sunny day with temps already in the 40's. Joy. Nirand, Liv, and I all took Socks to the park for a morning run. Nirand brought along his boom box. We had stopped and bought donuts at the bakery and they were still warm in the bag as we sat at a picnic table, getting our fingers sticky on long johns while we sipped milk in cartons. And then, Nirand turned his boom box to a scrambled assortment of songs and the first song was Stop! In The Name of Love. He stood up and held his hands out to Liv and me.
"Anyone feel like dancing?" he asked.
We did. So, we began to dance. I felt shy at first and then relaxed, stopped worrying that other park patrons would stare at my elderly, less-than-graceful self.
And a young teenaged couple came over and joined us. And then two older ladies. By the time we got to this song there was a small crowd of us.
It was grand, it was. The sun was shining, we were all a little nuts with the warm weather flying all around us. And we were dancing. Even a guy in a wheel chair was being slowly wheeled around in a lyrical circle by his tall black attendant.
Spring has begun peeking out of the shadows on the prairie and we are all just a little insane with joy.
Another song started and I took Liv's hands in mine.
"This reminds me of you," I told her, as we danced together as Socks ran around our legs and Nirand courtly bowed to an older woman in a bright orange sweatsuit and began dancing with her.
The song was For Baby.
By the end of the song, I was awash in memories of Liv as a toddler, making her first breathless steps and me with my arms out to catch her....just in case.
I didn't weep, though. It was too gorgeous out to even think about crying.
We walked slowly home after a few more songs. As we left, one older man and his wife called over their shoulders, "See you here next Sunday!"
Sounds like fun.
And now I am home, sitting in the office typing as I listen to Bing, Nirand, Tinton and Liv all jam in our living room. Not sure what the song is, but it is soft and full of Spring, like us.
In an hour, Bing and I will head off to see the movie, Doubt. Nirand, Tinton and Liv are going to a children's art exhibit downtown and then off to shop for groceries so that Nirand can make us dinner.
Tomorrow, we all go back to our scheduled lives. Bing and I to work, Liv to school and Nirand and Tinton will leave to go back to Colorado. But, it has been a sweet weekend.
And now, I will close with some googly fun. I saw this on another blog months ago and today is a good day for it.
Google your first name and the words: needs, wants, loves, hates, believes, wishes, sleeps, smells, eats, tastes, and realizes. See what you get. This is what I came up with:
Maria needs constant care.
God, is it that obvious?
Maria needs further surgery.
I think I am about due for a face lift, folks...my neck looks a bit chickenish.
Maria needs a job.
I already have one, thanks.
Maria needs a pumpkin spice latte.
Make that a vanilla caramel one and you will own my heart.
Maris needs a reality check.
Ah, so that is what you've all been discussing behind my back, huh?
Maria wants Adam for a night session.
Ok...whatever you think...but I get sleepy around 9 these days, I am elderly.
Maria wants to pose for Playboy.
Well, that is a lie. And at this point, I would have to pay Playboy, not vice versa. Did I mention that I am 50 years old and need a face lift?
Maria loves a riot.
Ah, those days are long gone, folks.
Maria loves water.
Well, um. Duh.
Maria hates bowling.
Not true! I not only enjoy bowling, I actually have a name when I bowl. I am Shirl. Bing is Brenda Sue and Liv is Small Fry.
Maria hates stairs.
Ok, that is true. I have been known to take the elevator at every opportunity. But, this is merely because I am lazy. And elderly. With a chicken neck.
Maria believes America should lead the way.
Not so. Please don't follow us. We have no idea where we are going.
Maria believes it is wrong and illegal to use wire taps.
You tell 'em, buddy.
Maria wishes she could sleep.
Actually, I wish I could sleep less. I can easily sleep for ten hours these days. Because, yes...I am elderly. With a chicken neck....
Maria wishes everyone a Merry Christmas.
Well, of course. And it is so like me to be a day late and dollar short....
Maria sleeps with earplugs.
Probably to try to not have to listen to my own snoring. Bing swears that some nights I sound exactly like a vacuum cleaner.
Maria sleeps with an average of 30 clients a week.
Like I said, I am slowing down...I used to do 70, easy.
Maria smells like teen spirit.
I'm just glad I have something on me that is young....
Maria smells like cat poo.
How rude! Shut the fuck up. I do not!
Maria eats noodles.
I like angel hair pasta the best....
Maria eats a cupcake.
Yup. The vanilla bean ones are to die for....
Maria tastes like a potato.
And I will soon look like one too if I don't lay off the girl scout cookies.
Maria tastes like the ocean.
Ah, Bing. You silver tongued devil....
Maria makes some old guy's day.
Well, I am glad!
Maria makes risotto.
Ah, but not like Dive can.....
Maria realizes that she is only a woman.
ONLY??? Hey, hear me roar, bitch.
Maria realizes that Henry is not in love with her.
Well, why not? Tell me the truth, is it because I have a chicken neck and smell like cat poo?
And that is all I have for you, folks...
Find a soft place to land today and get out there and enjoy this weather....
Ah................
It has been a busy weekend. Tinton and Nirand are visiting. Liv had a concert with a youth orchestra on Saturday and she was nearly sick with excitement when she learned that her father was coming down, especially for her concert. He has never been to one of her music concerts before and he was floored at how talented a group she plays with.
I sat in my hard wooden chair, beaming with pride. Liv looked grand, dressed in her concert black, her hair pulled back tight in a ponytail. She looked like a little gazelle, so graceful with her long swan neck and serene expression. She held her violin delicately and played with her eyes closed, as she always does. Afterwards, we took her out for dinner to her favorite Chinese restaurant.
And then this morning, we awakened to a sunny day with temps already in the 40's. Joy. Nirand, Liv, and I all took Socks to the park for a morning run. Nirand brought along his boom box. We had stopped and bought donuts at the bakery and they were still warm in the bag as we sat at a picnic table, getting our fingers sticky on long johns while we sipped milk in cartons. And then, Nirand turned his boom box to a scrambled assortment of songs and the first song was Stop! In The Name of Love. He stood up and held his hands out to Liv and me.
"Anyone feel like dancing?" he asked.
We did. So, we began to dance. I felt shy at first and then relaxed, stopped worrying that other park patrons would stare at my elderly, less-than-graceful self.
And a young teenaged couple came over and joined us. And then two older ladies. By the time we got to this song there was a small crowd of us.
It was grand, it was. The sun was shining, we were all a little nuts with the warm weather flying all around us. And we were dancing. Even a guy in a wheel chair was being slowly wheeled around in a lyrical circle by his tall black attendant.
Spring has begun peeking out of the shadows on the prairie and we are all just a little insane with joy.
Another song started and I took Liv's hands in mine.
"This reminds me of you," I told her, as we danced together as Socks ran around our legs and Nirand courtly bowed to an older woman in a bright orange sweatsuit and began dancing with her.
The song was For Baby.
By the end of the song, I was awash in memories of Liv as a toddler, making her first breathless steps and me with my arms out to catch her....just in case.
I didn't weep, though. It was too gorgeous out to even think about crying.
We walked slowly home after a few more songs. As we left, one older man and his wife called over their shoulders, "See you here next Sunday!"
Sounds like fun.
And now I am home, sitting in the office typing as I listen to Bing, Nirand, Tinton and Liv all jam in our living room. Not sure what the song is, but it is soft and full of Spring, like us.
In an hour, Bing and I will head off to see the movie, Doubt. Nirand, Tinton and Liv are going to a children's art exhibit downtown and then off to shop for groceries so that Nirand can make us dinner.
Tomorrow, we all go back to our scheduled lives. Bing and I to work, Liv to school and Nirand and Tinton will leave to go back to Colorado. But, it has been a sweet weekend.
And now, I will close with some googly fun. I saw this on another blog months ago and today is a good day for it.
Google your first name and the words: needs, wants, loves, hates, believes, wishes, sleeps, smells, eats, tastes, and realizes. See what you get. This is what I came up with:
Maria needs constant care.
God, is it that obvious?
Maria needs further surgery.
I think I am about due for a face lift, folks...my neck looks a bit chickenish.
Maria needs a job.
I already have one, thanks.
Maria needs a pumpkin spice latte.
Make that a vanilla caramel one and you will own my heart.
Maris needs a reality check.
Ah, so that is what you've all been discussing behind my back, huh?
Maria wants Adam for a night session.
Ok...whatever you think...but I get sleepy around 9 these days, I am elderly.
Maria wants to pose for Playboy.
Well, that is a lie. And at this point, I would have to pay Playboy, not vice versa. Did I mention that I am 50 years old and need a face lift?
Maria loves a riot.
Ah, those days are long gone, folks.
Maria loves water.
Well, um. Duh.
Maria hates bowling.
Not true! I not only enjoy bowling, I actually have a name when I bowl. I am Shirl. Bing is Brenda Sue and Liv is Small Fry.
Maria hates stairs.
Ok, that is true. I have been known to take the elevator at every opportunity. But, this is merely because I am lazy. And elderly. With a chicken neck.
Maria believes America should lead the way.
Not so. Please don't follow us. We have no idea where we are going.
Maria believes it is wrong and illegal to use wire taps.
You tell 'em, buddy.
Maria wishes she could sleep.
Actually, I wish I could sleep less. I can easily sleep for ten hours these days. Because, yes...I am elderly. With a chicken neck....
Maria wishes everyone a Merry Christmas.
Well, of course. And it is so like me to be a day late and dollar short....
Maria sleeps with earplugs.
Probably to try to not have to listen to my own snoring. Bing swears that some nights I sound exactly like a vacuum cleaner.
Maria sleeps with an average of 30 clients a week.
Like I said, I am slowing down...I used to do 70, easy.
Maria smells like teen spirit.
I'm just glad I have something on me that is young....
Maria smells like cat poo.
How rude! Shut the fuck up. I do not!
Maria eats noodles.
I like angel hair pasta the best....
Maria eats a cupcake.
Yup. The vanilla bean ones are to die for....
Maria tastes like a potato.
And I will soon look like one too if I don't lay off the girl scout cookies.
Maria tastes like the ocean.
Ah, Bing. You silver tongued devil....
Maria makes some old guy's day.
Well, I am glad!
Maria makes risotto.
Ah, but not like Dive can.....
Maria realizes that she is only a woman.
ONLY??? Hey, hear me roar, bitch.
Maria realizes that Henry is not in love with her.
Well, why not? Tell me the truth, is it because I have a chicken neck and smell like cat poo?
And that is all I have for you, folks...
Find a soft place to land today and get out there and enjoy this weather....
Ah................
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
The person she is.
I love my Bing.
She is just so....good. So strong and so take charge.
Of course, the down side of all that strength and take chargeness is that she can also be bossy and stubborn.
But, sometimes it comes in handy.
Like yesterday.
I was getting ready to fly out the door with Liv to school and work when the phone rang.
It was Bing. Her car had died about halfway to school and she was in an elementary school parking lot, stranded.
So, I sighed and took Liv to Hal and Nora's and set off to go pick Bing up.
I was feeling wicked. My doctor had nearly doubled my dose of methotrexate and since it made me sick to my stomach and prone to headaches with the smaller dose...well...the larger dose was just...even worse headaches and nausea.
Plus, Bing was having a bad week too.
Her favorite Aunt Eileen is in the last stages of her life and is not expected to live out the week.
Eileen and Bing are close. Closer than Bing is to her own mother. Eileen is 96 and a spitfire. She lived on her own until she was 94 and bad knees forced her into one of those retirement villas. Still, even there, she was the woman who wheeled around the other wheel chair bound people and she played a fierce game of canasta. She also organized secret parties on her floor, including one fourth of July party that included accidentally igniting a floor rug with a stray sparkler and nearly getting her booted out.
Then, about a year ago, she began going quickly downhill. She became forgetful, didn't recognize Liv or me or anymore, although she has never not known Bing. She became incontinent and had to have the indignity of diapers. She began refusing to eat, said that food tasted strangely metallic and odd.
Her organs have begun shutting down and her doctors now say that she probably has less than a month to live. Bing is devastated. Eileen is one of her favorite people in the world and she had gotten into the habit of stopping to see her several times a week, bathing her and making sure her diaper was dry and powdered. Eileen did not recognize her own daughter and son, but she has never forgotten Bing.
So, when I picked up Bing from her dead car, she got into the car and hung her head.
"I was planning to visit Eileen on my way to work," she said.
I looked at my watch.
Shit.
I would have to cancel my first appointment.
So, I did.
We stopped to see Eileen, who kept referring to me as "that pretty little nurse" and Bing helped her sit up and drink some juice, kissing her hands and making sure she was diapered dryly and comfortably.
On the way to take Bing to school, I glanced over to see the tears running down her cheeks.
I think I have seen Bing cry maybe five times tops.
I reached over and took her hand. Squeezed it. We didn't speak. I knew that she didn't want me to say anything.
I dropped her off at school and went on to work. And then picked her up after work was over.
"Hey, we need to go pick up Danny Waffles," she said.
It turns out that Bing had called her friend, Danny, whom she had met at a car part store years ago to ask what he thought could be wrong with her car. Danny no longer worked at the car parts store, she was told, but the sales clerk gave her his home number. It turned out that Danny had been laid off weeks ago and was frantically looking for work since he is a family man.
He thought he might be able to fix Bing's car.
So, we picked him up. Bing insisted that we buy him dinner too, so Liv, Bing, Danny and I all went to Danny's favorite restaurant: Denny's.
And hey, it wasn't too bad.
The eggs were excellent. Who knew?
And then Bing drove Liv and me home and she and Danny went to go look at the car.
He was able to fix it. It was some sort of complicated coil in the engine. But, she said that he fixed it perfectly.
He only wanted to charge her 50 bucks plus parts.
She gave him double that.
And then she came home, tired and sad. She had stopped to visit Eileen on her way home from taking Danny home.
She said she was asleep.
"But, I stayed and held her hand. She knew I was there," she said.
Bing just takes care of it all.
And does it with grace.
Today, as I kissed her goodbye, I said, "Will you be okay today?"
She smiled.
"I'm always okay when I get to kiss you goodbye in the morning," she said.
God, is she real?
She is actually THAT perfect.
And she's mine.....
She is just so....good. So strong and so take charge.
Of course, the down side of all that strength and take chargeness is that she can also be bossy and stubborn.
But, sometimes it comes in handy.
Like yesterday.
I was getting ready to fly out the door with Liv to school and work when the phone rang.
It was Bing. Her car had died about halfway to school and she was in an elementary school parking lot, stranded.
So, I sighed and took Liv to Hal and Nora's and set off to go pick Bing up.
I was feeling wicked. My doctor had nearly doubled my dose of methotrexate and since it made me sick to my stomach and prone to headaches with the smaller dose...well...the larger dose was just...even worse headaches and nausea.
Plus, Bing was having a bad week too.
Her favorite Aunt Eileen is in the last stages of her life and is not expected to live out the week.
Eileen and Bing are close. Closer than Bing is to her own mother. Eileen is 96 and a spitfire. She lived on her own until she was 94 and bad knees forced her into one of those retirement villas. Still, even there, she was the woman who wheeled around the other wheel chair bound people and she played a fierce game of canasta. She also organized secret parties on her floor, including one fourth of July party that included accidentally igniting a floor rug with a stray sparkler and nearly getting her booted out.
Then, about a year ago, she began going quickly downhill. She became forgetful, didn't recognize Liv or me or anymore, although she has never not known Bing. She became incontinent and had to have the indignity of diapers. She began refusing to eat, said that food tasted strangely metallic and odd.
Her organs have begun shutting down and her doctors now say that she probably has less than a month to live. Bing is devastated. Eileen is one of her favorite people in the world and she had gotten into the habit of stopping to see her several times a week, bathing her and making sure her diaper was dry and powdered. Eileen did not recognize her own daughter and son, but she has never forgotten Bing.
So, when I picked up Bing from her dead car, she got into the car and hung her head.
"I was planning to visit Eileen on my way to work," she said.
I looked at my watch.
Shit.
I would have to cancel my first appointment.
So, I did.
We stopped to see Eileen, who kept referring to me as "that pretty little nurse" and Bing helped her sit up and drink some juice, kissing her hands and making sure she was diapered dryly and comfortably.
On the way to take Bing to school, I glanced over to see the tears running down her cheeks.
I think I have seen Bing cry maybe five times tops.
I reached over and took her hand. Squeezed it. We didn't speak. I knew that she didn't want me to say anything.
I dropped her off at school and went on to work. And then picked her up after work was over.
"Hey, we need to go pick up Danny Waffles," she said.
It turns out that Bing had called her friend, Danny, whom she had met at a car part store years ago to ask what he thought could be wrong with her car. Danny no longer worked at the car parts store, she was told, but the sales clerk gave her his home number. It turned out that Danny had been laid off weeks ago and was frantically looking for work since he is a family man.
He thought he might be able to fix Bing's car.
So, we picked him up. Bing insisted that we buy him dinner too, so Liv, Bing, Danny and I all went to Danny's favorite restaurant: Denny's.
And hey, it wasn't too bad.
The eggs were excellent. Who knew?
And then Bing drove Liv and me home and she and Danny went to go look at the car.
He was able to fix it. It was some sort of complicated coil in the engine. But, she said that he fixed it perfectly.
He only wanted to charge her 50 bucks plus parts.
She gave him double that.
And then she came home, tired and sad. She had stopped to visit Eileen on her way home from taking Danny home.
She said she was asleep.
"But, I stayed and held her hand. She knew I was there," she said.
Bing just takes care of it all.
And does it with grace.
Today, as I kissed her goodbye, I said, "Will you be okay today?"
She smiled.
"I'm always okay when I get to kiss you goodbye in the morning," she said.
God, is she real?
She is actually THAT perfect.
And she's mine.....
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Quid Pro Quo
I knew something up was up as soon as I saw the daffodil bulbs.
Bing never gets me flowers. She thinks they are a waste of money, but will occasionally buy me bulbs for my garden when she is feeling especially tender or if she wants something.
She hadn't sounded particularly tender when she had called me at work that afternoon ("Hey, there is another holy message about Lent on the answering machine from your sister; willya please listen to it and erase it because, honestly, her voice is just THAT strident...")
I was already missing Liv. I had just dropped her off at a weekend music camp for children. It was a weekend study of Debussy and something that had cost a huge sum, but Liv had begged to go and her piano teacher thought she would enjoy it....so...I called Tinton and he agreed to split the cost with me. And in preparation, Liv had been bombarding us with Debussy for weeks now. I was up to my ears in Reverie, Nocturnes, Fantaisie and Petite Piece. She would be home on Sunday morning...
I had stopped to pick up some baby oil at the store for my skin that was thirsty enough to suck up the whole bottle. I planned a long, hot soak in a bathtub with two full caps of baby oil.
And then I noticed the daffodil bulbs on the kitchen table, all yellow and winsome looking with their willowy stems and cheerful sunniness.
There was a Wall Street Journal article placed carefully next to the bulbs, with a particular article circled.
I sighed. It was a review of the movie Watchmen.
I glanced through the article and went in to find Bing in the office on her computer.
I leaned down to kiss her.
"Hi, hon. Thanks for the bulbs..."
She smiled up at me.
"Sure..."
We shared a look.
Hers was a please look. Mine was a please don't ask one.
"So, did you get Liv off to music camp? Did you remember to bring her pajamas this time?" she asked.
Because, yes, I am the mother who forgot to pack pajamas the last time Liv went to a sleepover.
I nodded.
Bing stretched and smiled again at me, ever so sweetly.
"So...what should we do this weekend? I um...was thinking..."
I interrupted her.
"You want to go see WATCHMEN, yes?"
"Yes," she answered quickly. "And there is a matinee tomorrow. I was thinking that we could go see it and then maybe I could take you to dinner at that little place you like a few blocks from the theatre. That place that has those cheddar biscuits that you like so much...."
Bribery.
I sighed. "Isn't there anyone else you can see that movie with? I just...isn't it based on a comic book?"
It was Bing's turn to sigh.
"Maria, they are called graphic novels."
I snorted.
"Oh, for fuck sakes, Bing. Call it what it is. It is a comic book.
She stiffened.
"It won a Hugo award!"
I snickered. "So, it won a comic book award...."
She tried another tactic. "I think you would like it. One of the main characters is called Rorshach....right up your alley."
I didn't answer.
She put her arms around me and brought the big guns.
"If you go see this with me, I will, I will...."
She took a deep breath.
"I will get us tickets to WICKED. It is coming in May..."
Wow.
She HATES plays and especially hates musicals.
She must really, really want to see this movie.
"Okay," I reluctantly agreed.
She didn't tell me until we were sitting in the theatre that the movie was THREE FUCKING HOURS LONG.
I groaned. Wasn't it bad enough that the entire theatre was filled with teenaged boys in long black coats?
"C'mon," she cajoled. "I sat through Twilight with you, and the only decent part of that movie was the music...."
"Well,TWILIGHT wasn't three hours long...." I countered.
She thought for a moment and then threw me a bone.
"There is a minor lesbian character in this movie called Silhouette. I think you might like her..."
Well, now. That was incentive.
She offered to buy me malted milk balls. I agreed, pouting just enough that she was well aware that this was a big compromise for me.
So..we saw WATCHMEN.
It was merely okay. Of course, Bing loved it. Adored it. She and a theatre full of teenaged boys clapped at the end of the thing.
It was incredibly violent. It was also pretty clever in some parts.
Not that I would admit that to her.
In fact, I drove her batty by leaning over in the middle of it to say, "Did I hear that one of the characters is named Ozymandias? Do you know what that is from? It's from a famous poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley!"
She shushed me. Nicely. And then patted my hand to let me know that yes, that was pretty cool, but could I please shut up now?
After the movie, we went to the diner only to discover it was closed. Ugh.
On the way home, I told her that I would be buying those tickets to WICKED asap and I wasn't going to buy nosebleed seats either. I was buying the choice seats. She nodded, a little glumly. But, a deal is a deal.
And marriage is full of them.
And she also agreed to go see The Reader with me soon.
So, I made a pretty good deal, Howie.
This kind of thing happens when two very different people live in the same house. And
when one readscomic books graphic novels and the other reads, well....REAL books.
Not that I am arrogant or anything.
Okay. Maybe a little.
Okay.
Maybe more than a little.
But, boy howdy, I am like...all sophisticated and stuff.
(And no, BBC, not a hog, but you keep on dreaming.)
The best part of the movie?
The trailers in the beginning.
Especially this one.
God help me.
Johnny Depp as a bad boy. As if Jack Sparrow didn't make me go all limp kneed enough?
And now we are home and I am sitting smiling at my daffodils, sitting on my dining room table.
Not such a bad trade off.
Bing never gets me flowers. She thinks they are a waste of money, but will occasionally buy me bulbs for my garden when she is feeling especially tender or if she wants something.
She hadn't sounded particularly tender when she had called me at work that afternoon ("Hey, there is another holy message about Lent on the answering machine from your sister; willya please listen to it and erase it because, honestly, her voice is just THAT strident...")
I was already missing Liv. I had just dropped her off at a weekend music camp for children. It was a weekend study of Debussy and something that had cost a huge sum, but Liv had begged to go and her piano teacher thought she would enjoy it....so...I called Tinton and he agreed to split the cost with me. And in preparation, Liv had been bombarding us with Debussy for weeks now. I was up to my ears in Reverie, Nocturnes, Fantaisie and Petite Piece. She would be home on Sunday morning...
I had stopped to pick up some baby oil at the store for my skin that was thirsty enough to suck up the whole bottle. I planned a long, hot soak in a bathtub with two full caps of baby oil.
And then I noticed the daffodil bulbs on the kitchen table, all yellow and winsome looking with their willowy stems and cheerful sunniness.
There was a Wall Street Journal article placed carefully next to the bulbs, with a particular article circled.
I sighed. It was a review of the movie Watchmen.
I glanced through the article and went in to find Bing in the office on her computer.
I leaned down to kiss her.
"Hi, hon. Thanks for the bulbs..."
She smiled up at me.
"Sure..."
We shared a look.
Hers was a please look. Mine was a please don't ask one.
"So, did you get Liv off to music camp? Did you remember to bring her pajamas this time?" she asked.
Because, yes, I am the mother who forgot to pack pajamas the last time Liv went to a sleepover.
I nodded.
Bing stretched and smiled again at me, ever so sweetly.
"So...what should we do this weekend? I um...was thinking..."
I interrupted her.
"You want to go see WATCHMEN, yes?"
"Yes," she answered quickly. "And there is a matinee tomorrow. I was thinking that we could go see it and then maybe I could take you to dinner at that little place you like a few blocks from the theatre. That place that has those cheddar biscuits that you like so much...."
Bribery.
I sighed. "Isn't there anyone else you can see that movie with? I just...isn't it based on a comic book?"
It was Bing's turn to sigh.
"Maria, they are called graphic novels."
I snorted.
"Oh, for fuck sakes, Bing. Call it what it is. It is a comic book.
She stiffened.
"It won a Hugo award!"
I snickered. "So, it won a comic book award...."
She tried another tactic. "I think you would like it. One of the main characters is called Rorshach....right up your alley."
I didn't answer.
She put her arms around me and brought the big guns.
"If you go see this with me, I will, I will...."
She took a deep breath.
"I will get us tickets to WICKED. It is coming in May..."
Wow.
She HATES plays and especially hates musicals.
She must really, really want to see this movie.
"Okay," I reluctantly agreed.
She didn't tell me until we were sitting in the theatre that the movie was THREE FUCKING HOURS LONG.
I groaned. Wasn't it bad enough that the entire theatre was filled with teenaged boys in long black coats?
"C'mon," she cajoled. "I sat through Twilight with you, and the only decent part of that movie was the music...."
"Well,TWILIGHT wasn't three hours long...." I countered.
She thought for a moment and then threw me a bone.
"There is a minor lesbian character in this movie called Silhouette. I think you might like her..."
Well, now. That was incentive.
She offered to buy me malted milk balls. I agreed, pouting just enough that she was well aware that this was a big compromise for me.
So..we saw WATCHMEN.
It was merely okay. Of course, Bing loved it. Adored it. She and a theatre full of teenaged boys clapped at the end of the thing.
It was incredibly violent. It was also pretty clever in some parts.
Not that I would admit that to her.
In fact, I drove her batty by leaning over in the middle of it to say, "Did I hear that one of the characters is named Ozymandias? Do you know what that is from? It's from a famous poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley!"
She shushed me. Nicely. And then patted my hand to let me know that yes, that was pretty cool, but could I please shut up now?
After the movie, we went to the diner only to discover it was closed. Ugh.
On the way home, I told her that I would be buying those tickets to WICKED asap and I wasn't going to buy nosebleed seats either. I was buying the choice seats. She nodded, a little glumly. But, a deal is a deal.
And marriage is full of them.
And she also agreed to go see The Reader with me soon.
So, I made a pretty good deal, Howie.
This kind of thing happens when two very different people live in the same house. And
when one reads
Not that I am arrogant or anything.
Okay. Maybe a little.
Okay.
Maybe more than a little.
But, boy howdy, I am like...all sophisticated and stuff.
(And no, BBC, not a hog, but you keep on dreaming.)
The best part of the movie?
The trailers in the beginning.
Especially this one.
God help me.
Johnny Depp as a bad boy. As if Jack Sparrow didn't make me go all limp kneed enough?
And now we are home and I am sitting smiling at my daffodils, sitting on my dining room table.
Not such a bad trade off.
Wednesday, March 04, 2009
Girl scout cookies for breakfast.
It is all Bing's fault. She doesn't even like cookies that much.
But I do. Lots.
So, this morning when she was getting ready to leave for work, she suddenly remembered something in the car that she had forgotten to bring in the night before.
It was a big box filled with 6 boxes of girl scout cookies.
Apparently, one of the teachers at school was pimping them for her daughter and Bing decided to order a few boxes. Six boxes to be exact.
She brought them in and set them on the table.
"Here you go. Enjoy!" she said and kissed Liv and me goodbye and then headed off for work.
Liv and I pulled the boxes reverently out and gazed glassily at them.
Mmmm..
There were two boxes apiece of Thin mints and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. And one box each of Crunchy Coated Fudge Treats and a new offering called Lemonades.
Liv and I could smell them. In their boxes, wrapped up in plastic.
"Maybe it would be a good after school treat," Liv suggested. "Or maybe I could take one or two in my lunchbox?"
I said sure and we opened the box of thin mints. And lemonades.
I closed my eyes, asked for forgiveness for being a terrible mother and said, "How about we have them for breakfast too?"
Liv jumped in the air.
I poured a cup of milk for each of us and we settled in for some delightful morning dunking of cookies.
Delicious.
"You do realize that you will have a sugar high all morning and then will come slamming back into your seat at around 10 a.m.?" I asked her.
Liv nodded. "But...it is worth it one day a year, don't you think, Mama?" she asked.
Yes, I said. I did think so.
Okay. So...no good mother brownie points for me today.
But, a nice memory. Eating thin mints and drinking milk on a cold snowy March morning on the prairie. Priceless.
And I packed some in her lunch to surprise her.
And maintain that sugar high for some of the afternoon.
Hey, it's the American way.
Girl scout cookies for breakfast.
Try it. You'll like it.
I thought of that mother earth parent at Liv's school who would be shocked if she knew that I allowed my child to have cookies for breakfast.
Her children were probably eating multi grain oatmeal right this minute.
But, I bet they weren't smiling like my daughter.
Okay. We shared a half a lemonade cookie with Socks too.
Just don't tell Bing. She would not be happy.
Dogs do NOT eat people food. It is BAD for them.
But Socks was smiling too.
We all were.
And I am not one bit sorry.
So there.
But I do. Lots.
So, this morning when she was getting ready to leave for work, she suddenly remembered something in the car that she had forgotten to bring in the night before.
It was a big box filled with 6 boxes of girl scout cookies.
Apparently, one of the teachers at school was pimping them for her daughter and Bing decided to order a few boxes. Six boxes to be exact.
She brought them in and set them on the table.
"Here you go. Enjoy!" she said and kissed Liv and me goodbye and then headed off for work.
Liv and I pulled the boxes reverently out and gazed glassily at them.
Mmmm..
There were two boxes apiece of Thin mints and Peanut Butter Sandwich cookies. And one box each of Crunchy Coated Fudge Treats and a new offering called Lemonades.
Liv and I could smell them. In their boxes, wrapped up in plastic.
"Maybe it would be a good after school treat," Liv suggested. "Or maybe I could take one or two in my lunchbox?"
I said sure and we opened the box of thin mints. And lemonades.
I closed my eyes, asked for forgiveness for being a terrible mother and said, "How about we have them for breakfast too?"
Liv jumped in the air.
I poured a cup of milk for each of us and we settled in for some delightful morning dunking of cookies.
Delicious.
"You do realize that you will have a sugar high all morning and then will come slamming back into your seat at around 10 a.m.?" I asked her.
Liv nodded. "But...it is worth it one day a year, don't you think, Mama?" she asked.
Yes, I said. I did think so.
Okay. So...no good mother brownie points for me today.
But, a nice memory. Eating thin mints and drinking milk on a cold snowy March morning on the prairie. Priceless.
And I packed some in her lunch to surprise her.
And maintain that sugar high for some of the afternoon.
Hey, it's the American way.
Girl scout cookies for breakfast.
Try it. You'll like it.
I thought of that mother earth parent at Liv's school who would be shocked if she knew that I allowed my child to have cookies for breakfast.
Her children were probably eating multi grain oatmeal right this minute.
But, I bet they weren't smiling like my daughter.
Okay. We shared a half a lemonade cookie with Socks too.
Just don't tell Bing. She would not be happy.
Dogs do NOT eat people food. It is BAD for them.
But Socks was smiling too.
We all were.
And I am not one bit sorry.
So there.
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