I get that a lot.
I am a forgettable person, apparently. I could sit next to you all basketball season and talk to you the whole time, and then when you see me at a school function you will look at me as if I have six heads when I say hello to you. You will try to smile and pretend to know me, but I know what you are thinking.. "Who the hell are you?" Then it will dawn on you, usually because you will see who my kids are or my husband who are much more memorable, and then you will rush up to me and say something like, "Oh my, did you change your hair color or something? I didn't recognize you! "
Um. No. I might have dyed my hair a shade darker, but I'm still me.
What's funny is that I have been the same forever. My hair is the same, my clothes are the same (pathetically so) and I have worn the same jewelry for years, earrings included (yea, I'm that lazy). So my only conclusion is that I am completely forgettable.
This is not something new, either. It has been happening to me my whole life. I even have a cousin who lives in town who walks right by me every time when I see him and I have to actually say, "hi.. it's me.. your cousin, Elle." Every. time.
When I was a teenager, I used to have a blond streak in my hair. It was my lame attempt at being punk. I wasn't fond of the streak, but it did serve a purpose, it made me memorable. I was known as the girl with the blond streak. I kept it for years for that reason.
Maybe I should bring back the blond streak...
Showing posts with label person~elle~. Show all posts
Showing posts with label person~elle~. Show all posts
Friday, March 07, 2008
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Lights, Camera, ACTION!
I don't get too involved in all the bullshit anymore.
I've learned to sit back a bit in my life and just watch the drama unfold before me. That doesn't mean that I don't get involved, I most certainly do. But I don't get mired in the muck. People can be so intense sometimes. Relax, folks, it's just life. Something I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs sometimes.
I wasn't always like this. I used to get way too caught up in all the crap that people threw about, and it most certainly took its toll on me emotionally and physically. I used to take everything so personally and right to the core of my being. Why? There was really no good reason. People create drama to alleviate their own distress. They want to share the lurve and pull you into their toxicity. Misery loves company, you know.
I jotted a quick email to a co worker today. "I never got the file." Within seconds, phones were ringing, memo's written, email sent, more phone calls. It wasn't a big deal, but these folks decided to take this small speck of dust and turn into a raging sand storm. High drama fueled by hidden agendas.
People are usually not really freaking out about what they are freaking out about. (Follow that?) When people want to solve a problem, they typically go about it in a calm, systematic way. If they are freaking out, you can be sure that there is something else driving their freak.
People who try to overwhelm you are usually overwhelmed. People who try to make you feel inadequate, feel inadequate themselves. If someone is trying to control you, it is their own life they are trying to control. See a pattern here? Remember this the next time you are lacing into someone. (Never let them see your freak!)
I used to work with this guy who helped put things into perspective. When things got really intense, he would announce, "It's all just a movie." Which was his twist on "all the world's a stage."
And it is.
Lights, Camera, ACTION!
I've learned to sit back a bit in my life and just watch the drama unfold before me. That doesn't mean that I don't get involved, I most certainly do. But I don't get mired in the muck. People can be so intense sometimes. Relax, folks, it's just life. Something I wish I could scream at the top of my lungs sometimes.
I wasn't always like this. I used to get way too caught up in all the crap that people threw about, and it most certainly took its toll on me emotionally and physically. I used to take everything so personally and right to the core of my being. Why? There was really no good reason. People create drama to alleviate their own distress. They want to share the lurve and pull you into their toxicity. Misery loves company, you know.
I jotted a quick email to a co worker today. "I never got the file." Within seconds, phones were ringing, memo's written, email sent, more phone calls. It wasn't a big deal, but these folks decided to take this small speck of dust and turn into a raging sand storm. High drama fueled by hidden agendas.
People are usually not really freaking out about what they are freaking out about. (Follow that?) When people want to solve a problem, they typically go about it in a calm, systematic way. If they are freaking out, you can be sure that there is something else driving their freak.
People who try to overwhelm you are usually overwhelmed. People who try to make you feel inadequate, feel inadequate themselves. If someone is trying to control you, it is their own life they are trying to control. See a pattern here? Remember this the next time you are lacing into someone. (Never let them see your freak!)
I used to work with this guy who helped put things into perspective. When things got really intense, he would announce, "It's all just a movie." Which was his twist on "all the world's a stage."
And it is.
Lights, Camera, ACTION!
Saturday, February 02, 2008
under attack
I am going through something at work that has me a little crazed. Have you ever worked with someone with a serious personality disorder? If you are thinking about this then you haven't. Because believe me, if you have then there is no "thinking about it."
In the past I have written extensively about growing up with a person with a personality disorder, and to be honest, I never thought I'd have to actually work with one... I mean who does?
It is horrible.. This person has no sense of reality or such a skewed sense it's disturbing, and basically, I'm under attack... personally, professionally, spiritually... ugh...
In the past I have written extensively about growing up with a person with a personality disorder, and to be honest, I never thought I'd have to actually work with one... I mean who does?
It is horrible.. This person has no sense of reality or such a skewed sense it's disturbing, and basically, I'm under attack... personally, professionally, spiritually... ugh...
Sunday, January 13, 2008
In training...
I have been "approved" for training to be a Jazzercise Instructor, so for the next couple of weeks, I'll be in Jazzer-bootcamp....
Big Deal, you say???
Well considering that 2 years ago I looked like I ate a Jazzercise Instructor... it is a big deal, right?
xo
Big Deal, you say???
Well considering that 2 years ago I looked like I ate a Jazzercise Instructor... it is a big deal, right?
xo
Monday, January 07, 2008
connection
My aunt gave me a dvd with our family old home movies. They are of my grandparents various anniversaries and of my parent's wedding.
It is an amazing thing to see your parents on their wedding day in action. Looking at all the hope and expectation in their face knowing what their future truly will be. I wonder if my sons will think the same when viewing mine in years to come.
It was such a strange thing to see them together. My parents have been divorced my whole life. They were married for about 5 years, and then had me, and basically divorced when I was 2, so I have no concept of them actually being together. They also used to fight terribly through me, and I couldn't imagine how 2 people who seemed to hate each other so much ever got together in the first place.
In their movie, they were kissing and hugging and they were in love. My dad was so young, barely 18, only recognizable by his mannerisms (God, I miss so much). My mom was pretty much the same, which makes sense as she really never grew up.
I watched this movie of these young people surrounded by their families with really bad hairdos, incessantly smoking, and I realized something. They were so normal. It was the scene of the typical American family sitting at long tables of food on those fold up chairs hiding in the corner of your basement this very minute, but of course that was just in the movie. I became a little angry that I wasn't afforded at least the appearance of normalcy in my life. In fact their normalcy shocked me it was so contrasting. I also realized as I stared at these two people of whom I am their only offspring, that I did not feel connected to them whatsoever.....
It is an amazing thing to see your parents on their wedding day in action. Looking at all the hope and expectation in their face knowing what their future truly will be. I wonder if my sons will think the same when viewing mine in years to come.
It was such a strange thing to see them together. My parents have been divorced my whole life. They were married for about 5 years, and then had me, and basically divorced when I was 2, so I have no concept of them actually being together. They also used to fight terribly through me, and I couldn't imagine how 2 people who seemed to hate each other so much ever got together in the first place.
In their movie, they were kissing and hugging and they were in love. My dad was so young, barely 18, only recognizable by his mannerisms (God, I miss so much). My mom was pretty much the same, which makes sense as she really never grew up.
I watched this movie of these young people surrounded by their families with really bad hairdos, incessantly smoking, and I realized something. They were so normal. It was the scene of the typical American family sitting at long tables of food on those fold up chairs hiding in the corner of your basement this very minute, but of course that was just in the movie. I became a little angry that I wasn't afforded at least the appearance of normalcy in my life. In fact their normalcy shocked me it was so contrasting. I also realized as I stared at these two people of whom I am their only offspring, that I did not feel connected to them whatsoever.....
Saturday, September 29, 2007
This is not here.... and this is not a rant...
And just for the record.. I hate rants.. (even though I rant all the time)...
I think them ridiculous and childish and annoying but I have a lot to rant about and keeping it bottled up inside of me is giving me a stomach ache, so I need to spew before it turns to cancer and fucking kills me, although at the moment that is a tempting prospect...... well not really..
because it is cancer I hate..
and not that anyone in this world loves cancer.. but I hate everything to do with cancer and cancer wards.... I hate the smell of the cancer ward and those ridiculous gowns you have to put on and pull off every time you leave the room and come back in.. which is constantly.. I hate the way the treatment kills your dignity and hopefully the shit that is killing you along with every other fucking living thing in your body.. Lest not forget the way it robs you of your precious hair.
It had to take his hair... What? Was it too beautiful for this world?? The universe was jealous that his hair was thick and luscious and beautiful.. it had to take it little by little.. Falling all over his pillow and onto the floor. How dare they let it touch the floor! Imbeciles. They couldn't take it all, though.. nope... he died with more hair on his head than many a living man is sporting now.... so fuck off, chemotherapy.
And the promises... of how this will work and how this will help. Lies.. I know they don't want you to lose hope, but do not tell a dying man he is not dying. Let him decide how he wants to leave this earth and what he wants to say on his way out. Don't make him think he is crazy for asking the question. Be a man, doctor, look him in they eye and tell him that YES he is dying.. And YES that is why his family is around him, and YES the priest has been called, and YES she is flying in from California, and YES I fucked up when I urged you to try this treatment and I'm sorry, I tried.
You can't get a straight answer in a hospital... not to your face. They tell you one thing and discuss the truth around the coffee pot.
So I am pissed.
I think them ridiculous and childish and annoying but I have a lot to rant about and keeping it bottled up inside of me is giving me a stomach ache, so I need to spew before it turns to cancer and fucking kills me, although at the moment that is a tempting prospect...... well not really..
because it is cancer I hate..
and not that anyone in this world loves cancer.. but I hate everything to do with cancer and cancer wards.... I hate the smell of the cancer ward and those ridiculous gowns you have to put on and pull off every time you leave the room and come back in.. which is constantly.. I hate the way the treatment kills your dignity and hopefully the shit that is killing you along with every other fucking living thing in your body.. Lest not forget the way it robs you of your precious hair.
It had to take his hair... What? Was it too beautiful for this world?? The universe was jealous that his hair was thick and luscious and beautiful.. it had to take it little by little.. Falling all over his pillow and onto the floor. How dare they let it touch the floor! Imbeciles. They couldn't take it all, though.. nope... he died with more hair on his head than many a living man is sporting now.... so fuck off, chemotherapy.
And the promises... of how this will work and how this will help. Lies.. I know they don't want you to lose hope, but do not tell a dying man he is not dying. Let him decide how he wants to leave this earth and what he wants to say on his way out. Don't make him think he is crazy for asking the question. Be a man, doctor, look him in they eye and tell him that YES he is dying.. And YES that is why his family is around him, and YES the priest has been called, and YES she is flying in from California, and YES I fucked up when I urged you to try this treatment and I'm sorry, I tried.
You can't get a straight answer in a hospital... not to your face. They tell you one thing and discuss the truth around the coffee pot.
So I am pissed.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Thursday, July 26, 2007
too much time on my hands...
Today is the first day I am actually in clothes that can be worn out of doors. I feel normal.... as normal as I can feel at the moment, which means I am closer to the usual crazy you are somewhat familiar with. You know, life is so hectic, I long for leisurely days on the couch with my beloved laptop, free to do all that I do, and here I am, and....
The problem with these long hours on the couch is that my mind goes to all those place it really needn't go. I am trying to stay busy and distracted. I hate watching tv it stresses me out so much. I have been watching movies. Poor Mr. Elle. I gobble them up, then its back to blockbuster for another batch. I am waiting for the new Harry Potter. Yes, I know I am the last person on this planet at this point to read it. It was poor planning on my part. I should have had it waiting for me when I woke from surgery.
I can finally touch myself. No... not that way, but I ran my hands over the new skin that is my abdomen and over the stitches holding me together. I am numb here and there, so overall, the sensations are bizarre. The first time I saw myself I almost fainted. Truly. I am a bit squeamish, and I looked a bit scary.
But now I'm okay.
The problem with these long hours on the couch is that my mind goes to all those place it really needn't go. I am trying to stay busy and distracted. I hate watching tv it stresses me out so much. I have been watching movies. Poor Mr. Elle. I gobble them up, then its back to blockbuster for another batch. I am waiting for the new Harry Potter. Yes, I know I am the last person on this planet at this point to read it. It was poor planning on my part. I should have had it waiting for me when I woke from surgery.
I can finally touch myself. No... not that way, but I ran my hands over the new skin that is my abdomen and over the stitches holding me together. I am numb here and there, so overall, the sensations are bizarre. The first time I saw myself I almost fainted. Truly. I am a bit squeamish, and I looked a bit scary.
But now I'm okay.
Tuesday, July 24, 2007
still on the couch...yep.... right here....
I'm bit sore today... ouch....
and bored... sorry....
and bored... sorry....
| Your Linguistic Profile: |
 45% General American English 40% Yankee 10% Dixie 0% Midwestern 0% Upper Midwestern |
| You Are 60% Psychic |
 You are pretty psychic. While you aren't Miss Cleo, you've got a little ESP going on. And although you're sometimes off on your predictions... You're more often right than wrong So go with your instincts - you know more than you think |
| You are Milk Chocolate |
 A total dreamer, you spend most of your time with your head in the clouds. You often think of the future, and you are always working toward your ideal life. Also nostalgic, you rarely forget a meaningful moment... even those from long ago. |
| Your Personality Profile |
 You are dependable, popular, and observant. Deep and thoughtful, you are prone to moodiness. In fact, your emotions tend to influence everything you do. You are unique, creative, and expressive. You don't mind waving your freak flag every once and a while. And lucky for you, most people find your weird ways charming! |
Monday, July 23, 2007
a pound of flesh...
Well actually about 7. That is what the surgeon took from my middle... 7 pounds of skin... ew...
I got to see the new bod today. Maybe if I can not be so squeamish about the stitches, I'll take a picture for you.... maybe not... The doctor said I'm way ahead schedule and removed two of the drains. It hasn't even been a week yet! The remaining two drains will come out next week. Yea!
It looks amazing... I say "it" because it just doesn't feel like me yet... I am also still quite numb, so It really doesn't feel like me. But it is... that flat tummy is on my body... Oh, and my butt.. woohoo... looking hot!!!!
Isn't science grand?
I got to see the new bod today. Maybe if I can not be so squeamish about the stitches, I'll take a picture for you.... maybe not... The doctor said I'm way ahead schedule and removed two of the drains. It hasn't even been a week yet! The remaining two drains will come out next week. Yea!
It looks amazing... I say "it" because it just doesn't feel like me yet... I am also still quite numb, so It really doesn't feel like me. But it is... that flat tummy is on my body... Oh, and my butt.. woohoo... looking hot!!!!
Isn't science grand?
Sunday, July 22, 2007
it's not nice to make a girl with a busted gut
bust a gut....
~~~~~~~
A new sign in the Bank Lobby reads:
"Please note that this Bank is installing new Drive-through ATM machines
enabling customers to withdraw cash without leaving their vehicles.
Customers using this new facility are requested to use the procedures
outlined below when accessing their accounts.
After months of careful research, MALE & FEMALE Procedures have been
developed. Please follow the Appropriate steps for your gender."
MALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to the cash machine.
2. Put down your car window.
3. Insert card into machine and enter PIN.
4. Enter amount of cash required and withdraw.
5. Retrieve card, cash and receipt.
6. Put window up.
7. Drive off.
FEMALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to cash machine.
2. Reverse and back up the required amount to align car window with the
machine.
3. Set parking brake, put the window down.
4. Find handbag, remove all contents on to passenger seat to locate card.
5. Tell person on your mobile phone you will call them back and hang up.
6. Attempt to insert card into machine.
7. Open car door to allow easier access to machine due to its excessive
distance from the car.
8. Insert card.
9. Re-insert card the right way.
10. Dig through handbag to find diary with your PIN written on the inside
back page.
11. Enter PIN.
12. Press cancel and re-enter correct PIN.
13. Enter amount of cash required.
14. Check makeup in rear view mirror .
15. Retrieve cash and receipt.
16. Empty handbag again to locate wallet and
place cash inside.
17. Write debit amount in check register and place receipt in back of
chequebook.
18. Re-check makeup.
19. Drive forward 2 feet.
20. Reverse back to cash machine.!
21. Retrieve card.
22. Re-empty hand bag, locate card holder, and place car back in slot provided!
23. Give dirty look to irate male driver waiting behind you.
24. Restart stalled engine and pull off.
25. Redial person on your mobile phone.
26. Drive for 2 to 3 miles.
27. Release Parking Brake.
heh heh...ouch ouch...heh heh
~~~~~~~
A new sign in the Bank Lobby reads:
"Please note that this Bank is installing new Drive-through ATM machines
enabling customers to withdraw cash without leaving their vehicles.
Customers using this new facility are requested to use the procedures
outlined below when accessing their accounts.
After months of careful research, MALE & FEMALE Procedures have been
developed. Please follow the Appropriate steps for your gender."
MALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to the cash machine.
2. Put down your car window.
3. Insert card into machine and enter PIN.
4. Enter amount of cash required and withdraw.
5. Retrieve card, cash and receipt.
6. Put window up.
7. Drive off.
FEMALE PROCEDURE:
1. Drive up to cash machine.
2. Reverse and back up the required amount to align car window with the
machine.
3. Set parking brake, put the window down.
4. Find handbag, remove all contents on to passenger seat to locate card.
5. Tell person on your mobile phone you will call them back and hang up.
6. Attempt to insert card into machine.
7. Open car door to allow easier access to machine due to its excessive
distance from the car.
8. Insert card.
9. Re-insert card the right way.
10. Dig through handbag to find diary with your PIN written on the inside
back page.
11. Enter PIN.
12. Press cancel and re-enter correct PIN.
13. Enter amount of cash required.
14. Check makeup in rear view mirror .
15. Retrieve cash and receipt.
16. Empty handbag again to locate wallet and
place cash inside.
17. Write debit amount in check register and place receipt in back of
chequebook.
18. Re-check makeup.
19. Drive forward 2 feet.
20. Reverse back to cash machine.!
21. Retrieve card.
22. Re-empty hand bag, locate card holder, and place car back in slot provided!
23. Give dirty look to irate male driver waiting behind you.
24. Restart stalled engine and pull off.
25. Redial person on your mobile phone.
26. Drive for 2 to 3 miles.
27. Release Parking Brake.
heh heh...ouch ouch...heh heh
Saturday, July 21, 2007
i looked forward to the time on the couch...
I had so much going on in my life, that I thought... I'll finally rest and write after the surgery... and I'm lucky. I'm not in pain much at all so I can. There is a little bit of an itch setting in, but everything is quite manageable. I have been taking the codeine... but between you and me.. it is strictly for recreational purposes and to cope with the boys orbiting around me. They are being really quite good, it's just when the bickering starts...UGH!!!! Where are mommy's happy pills? So after all is said and done, I will need a stint in rehab, but I will be slimmer and sexier... so what the hell.
I'm just going a little batty. I sent the boys to blockbuster to get some movies to keep me busy. I also ordered the latest Harry Potter. Why I hadn't done that already, I will never know. Poor planning I suppose. I hate waiting for time to pass, but that is what I am doing. That is what one does when healing.
I didn't write about this surgery, because quite honestly I tried not to think about it too much. I just wanted it done and perseverating on it would just increase my anxiety and doubt. I have much guilt about the cost and the vanity of doing such a thing, but I just needed to do this. I have had such a screwy body image my whole life that I just wanted that chapter closed. I have lost all the weight that I had gained from childbearing and depression, I have worked out consistently for over a year, and this is the final step. Correcting the damage done. Fixing the scars.
I am quite excited to see what I look like, because I haven't been able to. I will post pics. I didn't take before photos, so you will have to use you imaginations. Plastic surgery isn't for everyone and it is something that needs to be thoroughly researched and planned. Then completely forgotten about until you are convalescing on your couch bored out of your mind.
Have any interesting new sites for me to explore? Porn welcome....;)
I'm just going a little batty. I sent the boys to blockbuster to get some movies to keep me busy. I also ordered the latest Harry Potter. Why I hadn't done that already, I will never know. Poor planning I suppose. I hate waiting for time to pass, but that is what I am doing. That is what one does when healing.
I didn't write about this surgery, because quite honestly I tried not to think about it too much. I just wanted it done and perseverating on it would just increase my anxiety and doubt. I have much guilt about the cost and the vanity of doing such a thing, but I just needed to do this. I have had such a screwy body image my whole life that I just wanted that chapter closed. I have lost all the weight that I had gained from childbearing and depression, I have worked out consistently for over a year, and this is the final step. Correcting the damage done. Fixing the scars.
I am quite excited to see what I look like, because I haven't been able to. I will post pics. I didn't take before photos, so you will have to use you imaginations. Plastic surgery isn't for everyone and it is something that needs to be thoroughly researched and planned. Then completely forgotten about until you are convalescing on your couch bored out of your mind.
Have any interesting new sites for me to explore? Porn welcome....;)
Friday, July 20, 2007
hello...i'm here....somewhere..
Hello.. I write to you sitting on my couch waiting for the codeine to kick in. I just drained the four drains coming out of my pubic region.....ew..... I did it... I had a full body lift this past Wednesday. I am sutured all around my middle which is concave and very tight. They lifted everything... oh my... So far the worst of it are these drains.... ew....
My dad is out of the ICU... which is great news. I was apprehensive about going through with this operation because of him, but everyone insisted...so I did it. I'm still a bit out of it... It is only Friday... so this is going to be a short post...
I miss you all.......
My dad is out of the ICU... which is great news. I was apprehensive about going through with this operation because of him, but everyone insisted...so I did it. I'm still a bit out of it... It is only Friday... so this is going to be a short post...
I miss you all.......
Saturday, January 22, 2005
Snowbound
It’s snowing. We are supposed to get about 2 feet. It’s really piling up out there. My son left his little scooter in the backyard, and every so often I look and I see less and less of it. It’s like a measuring stick placed there just for that purpose. I was thinking about what I should write, and it hit me (like a snowball). Snow. I have so many fun memories of playing in the snow.
Like when I was 15 years old, and would play football in the snow with my boyfriend, and his friends, and their girlfriends at this guy Kevin’s house. We would play until we were completely frozen and soaking wet. Then we would have to borrow cloths from Kevin while his mother dried ours. There was something kinda sexy about wearing a boy's cloths. I guess the boys thought so too, because after Kevin’s mother would make us hot chocolate, we would make out like crazy when she finally left us alone to watch television.
Or that time I was a freshman in college, and I lived off campus. A friend (who was my roommate the remainder of school) was at my place studying. We didn’t realize it was snowing until we decided to walk back to the dorm. We were pleasantly surprised! It was sooo beautiful. The street lights made the snow look magical and we ran up and down sliding in it like we had never seen anything like it before. When we got to campus, everyone we knew was playing outside building snowmen, and having snowball fights. We played all night long.
As you get older, and more responsible, snow seems to lose its magic . It’s not so much fun managing the stuff. Pity. Remember the Blizzard of 96? The town I worked in declared a State of Emergency, but we still had to go to work. It was the most harrowing experience driving to work that day, but I did it. Then when I finally got there, they sent everyone home! They just wanted to make us come in. Nice. Adding insult to injury was the fact that if you lived in the town, you didn’t have to go to work, because of State of Emergency. The day I handed in my resignation (shortly afterwards, but not because of this) they were handing out written reprimands to those who were late that day! I mean the storm had its own news graphic and title! Doesn’t that count for something?
It’s nice when neighbors help each other dig out. In our old neighborhood, one guy bought a snow blower and he would clear the whole sidewalk for us. My husband would always clean off his stairs and walkway to reciprocate. Then all the guys would shovel for the elderly neighbors.
The kids bring back the joy of snow, although I am more of a supporting player now, making sure mittens and hats are dry, everyone is zipped up, and the hot chocolate has plenty of marshmallows. I love when they finally come inside and their cheeks are bright red and hot and cold at the same time. I can’t keep my lips off of them!
This snow storm? Boys and dad are playing together. Mom is reading and writing. Every once in a while we get a crazy burst of energy and run around together, but for the most part, we are all just watching it pile up.
How about you?
Like when I was 15 years old, and would play football in the snow with my boyfriend, and his friends, and their girlfriends at this guy Kevin’s house. We would play until we were completely frozen and soaking wet. Then we would have to borrow cloths from Kevin while his mother dried ours. There was something kinda sexy about wearing a boy's cloths. I guess the boys thought so too, because after Kevin’s mother would make us hot chocolate, we would make out like crazy when she finally left us alone to watch television.
Or that time I was a freshman in college, and I lived off campus. A friend (who was my roommate the remainder of school) was at my place studying. We didn’t realize it was snowing until we decided to walk back to the dorm. We were pleasantly surprised! It was sooo beautiful. The street lights made the snow look magical and we ran up and down sliding in it like we had never seen anything like it before. When we got to campus, everyone we knew was playing outside building snowmen, and having snowball fights. We played all night long.
As you get older, and more responsible, snow seems to lose its magic . It’s not so much fun managing the stuff. Pity. Remember the Blizzard of 96? The town I worked in declared a State of Emergency, but we still had to go to work. It was the most harrowing experience driving to work that day, but I did it. Then when I finally got there, they sent everyone home! They just wanted to make us come in. Nice. Adding insult to injury was the fact that if you lived in the town, you didn’t have to go to work, because of State of Emergency. The day I handed in my resignation (shortly afterwards, but not because of this) they were handing out written reprimands to those who were late that day! I mean the storm had its own news graphic and title! Doesn’t that count for something?
It’s nice when neighbors help each other dig out. In our old neighborhood, one guy bought a snow blower and he would clear the whole sidewalk for us. My husband would always clean off his stairs and walkway to reciprocate. Then all the guys would shovel for the elderly neighbors.
The kids bring back the joy of snow, although I am more of a supporting player now, making sure mittens and hats are dry, everyone is zipped up, and the hot chocolate has plenty of marshmallows. I love when they finally come inside and their cheeks are bright red and hot and cold at the same time. I can’t keep my lips off of them!
This snow storm? Boys and dad are playing together. Mom is reading and writing. Every once in a while we get a crazy burst of energy and run around together, but for the most part, we are all just watching it pile up.
How about you?
Tuesday, January 11, 2005
Consumed with thoughts of an old friend today.
Rick was a guy I knew in college. He was a wealthy Bahamian kid raised in the boarding schools of London. His proper British accent always seemed to add a dash of seriousness to any humorous situation, which of course made the situation all the funnier. When I first saw him, I thought him aloof even stuck-up, but when I moved in closer, I found he would warm my heart with his genuine spirit. Oh, and his laugh! Infectious, still ringing in my ears after all these years. He was studying accounting, which he hated, as his parents wished, although he was a very talented artist. His mother ran the big resort hotels and casinos on one of the islands in the Bahamas and his father and step mother lived...?.I really don’t remember, and he really never talked about them. In fact Rick rarely mentioned family, except to vent about his latest horrendous phone call with his mother. It must have been hard for him not to have family around, especially when most of our school went home for the weekends, come to think of it.
Anyway, we all lived on the same floor a few doors apart, and they were always open. Rick would come in, while I was sleeping and stare at me until Iwoke up. Not in a creepy, stalking way, but in a courteous "I’m waiting......" English way. Then when I would wake up, startled, he would kindly ask to borrow my walkman, as if the element of surprise was a normal part of such an interaction. I used to tell him, "Dude, just take it! You don’t have to scare me like that!" But he wouldn’t. Taking things without explicit permission wasn’t his style, at least not from friends. He would do this late at night or early in the morning (if you're being technical) as well. He would stare at me while I slept, and when I somehow sensed someone was in the room and woke up, he would most properly ask if I wanted to join him at the diner. I got used to it. I think he just hated being alone, and didn’t like to be around his roommate. I’d like to think he felt safe with me. So I’d get up, dressed, and off to the diner for eggs and usually very profound conversation.
At one point, a friend of mine, Jaye, got an apartment off campus. It was fun to drink somewhere else for a change. I remember when she first moved in we sat on the floor, because she didn’t have any furniture, and drank some cheap wine to "Christen" the place. Rick popped over to see the digs, and well, left three days later. We just sat there and talked and drank and at one point during the mini-vacation, Rick and I went grocery shopping and bought every fattening food we could find. We laughed and talked a lot. Rick eventually went home, and I went back to my dorm room.
The next day, Rick called. He told me that he had just quit school. He was somewhere off campus, and said he told his mother he was going to follow his dream of being an artist, and he signed out of school. She was furious and cut him off financially, and he said he never felt better. He faced his worst fear, and felt empowered. He wanted to tell me first, since it was our conversations that convinced him to do it. Gulp. What the hell did I say? I thought. I tried to backtrack. "You know Rick, I don’t know if I meant do it now", I was panicking. He assured me that it was the right thing to do and the right time to do it and he thanked me profusely and said we’d talk later.
Rick moved off campus (since he quit school) and ironically, he found someone who was also in the process of following their dream who gave him a place to live. Tim, another friend of mine. It is also ironic because I knew them in completely separate ways, and hung out with them at different times. In fact, they thought it was funny that they both happen to know me, yet never met each other. Tim was a musician and I used to go to see his band. So Rick lived with Tim and his mom and enrolled in Art school. He was never happier. This was also a very pivotal experience for me. For the first time in my life I realized that maybe I could actually help people some day.
My last memory of Rick is when he came up to my dorm and insisted I go out with him. I was studying, and said, 'no maybe some other time', but he insisted, and pushed me out the door. It was one of the best nights of my life. We went to club and laughed like crazy. Tim was playing with his band and at one point Rick and I were up on stage singing backup and playing instruments. I don't remember seeing Rick much after that. He was pursuing his dream. Hurray.
About a year after college, Jaye and I were talking about how much we missed Rick, so we decided to call him. I contacted a mutual friend who know him to find out if he was still living with Tim and if he had the number. This friend told me that Rick was "missing". At first I thought he meant, off on his own, perhaps banging around Manhattan or London, but he explained that Rick was really a "missing person." I didn’t take it too seriously. Rick was spontaneous, so maybe he didn’t tell everyone where he was going. I called Tim anyway. Nope, really missing. He moved out and was living in the city. One day he was there, the next gone. No clue to where he could be. I was worried.
Then I got the call. They found him in the river, dead. I was devastated. The thought that he died alone and scared was deeply upsetting. I mean it’s one thing to lose your friend, people drift in and out of your life all the time, but the thought that he was really gone was devastating. I cried for days. Jaye and I went to the funeral. So many people were there. So many different people. Rick appealed to everyone, and we all loved him. I remember paying my respects to his family, and feeling terrified his mother would know I was the one who talked him out of college. But she didn’t. The casket was closed. You know it’s funny, I have always thought open caskets are appalling, but I wanted to see him. I still didn’t believe it. Somewhere in the back of my mind I though he would walk in and say, "So now you care! HA!" and laugh his laugh. For years afterwards I though I would see him in crowd, or on a train, or on tv. Maybe that’s why we need to see the body in the casket, to make it real.
After the service, a few of us that knew each other went to lunch. We were an interesting mix of people who Rick knew at different times in his life. It was nice to piece his legacy together. There was still a lot of mystery surrounding his death, and we all tried to figure it out. I found out that the police speculated it was a suicide. I felt a whole new sense of devastation. One of the guys at the table said that Rick was losing use of his arm, and couldn’t paint anymore. He had broken it playing cricket in England when he was young, and it wasn’t set properly causing bone fragments to disable it somehow. I thought, 'Rick was finally living his dream. He was in the city, painting, going to art school, and all of a sudden he loses the use of his arm? Could he possibly have been so desperate he would have taken his life? I mean I remember when we were in school together and how depressed he would get about his circumstances then. If he could talk to me about it then, why didn’t he feel our friendship would withstand the time that had passed and reach out to me now?' I felt I had failed him. Didn't he know I would have been there for him, that I loved him, that I would have listened? It was all too much to handle, and the fact was the truth was not known, and may never be. The other theory was that he got into a scuffle with some guys after clubbing. Who knows?
I miss Rick. Not that we would even be in contact today as I am sure our paths were going into separate directions, but somehow the world is a little less special without him. I’d like to know he was alive somewhere having a fabulous time, and maybe wondering how my life turned out. I just want that moment of hmm... I wonder what Rick is doing.....? I want to know that maybe someday our paths would cross again, and now they never will. I think of him when I struggle to find my "art." He would like the fact that I am try to be more than what is expected. He is my muse in that sense. Somewhere in the distance, I see him grinning his grin and laughing his laugh, saying "go for it!"
I will, my beloved friend.
Anyway, we all lived on the same floor a few doors apart, and they were always open. Rick would come in, while I was sleeping and stare at me until Iwoke up. Not in a creepy, stalking way, but in a courteous "I’m waiting......" English way. Then when I would wake up, startled, he would kindly ask to borrow my walkman, as if the element of surprise was a normal part of such an interaction. I used to tell him, "Dude, just take it! You don’t have to scare me like that!" But he wouldn’t. Taking things without explicit permission wasn’t his style, at least not from friends. He would do this late at night or early in the morning (if you're being technical) as well. He would stare at me while I slept, and when I somehow sensed someone was in the room and woke up, he would most properly ask if I wanted to join him at the diner. I got used to it. I think he just hated being alone, and didn’t like to be around his roommate. I’d like to think he felt safe with me. So I’d get up, dressed, and off to the diner for eggs and usually very profound conversation.
At one point, a friend of mine, Jaye, got an apartment off campus. It was fun to drink somewhere else for a change. I remember when she first moved in we sat on the floor, because she didn’t have any furniture, and drank some cheap wine to "Christen" the place. Rick popped over to see the digs, and well, left three days later. We just sat there and talked and drank and at one point during the mini-vacation, Rick and I went grocery shopping and bought every fattening food we could find. We laughed and talked a lot. Rick eventually went home, and I went back to my dorm room.
The next day, Rick called. He told me that he had just quit school. He was somewhere off campus, and said he told his mother he was going to follow his dream of being an artist, and he signed out of school. She was furious and cut him off financially, and he said he never felt better. He faced his worst fear, and felt empowered. He wanted to tell me first, since it was our conversations that convinced him to do it. Gulp. What the hell did I say? I thought. I tried to backtrack. "You know Rick, I don’t know if I meant do it now", I was panicking. He assured me that it was the right thing to do and the right time to do it and he thanked me profusely and said we’d talk later.
Rick moved off campus (since he quit school) and ironically, he found someone who was also in the process of following their dream who gave him a place to live. Tim, another friend of mine. It is also ironic because I knew them in completely separate ways, and hung out with them at different times. In fact, they thought it was funny that they both happen to know me, yet never met each other. Tim was a musician and I used to go to see his band. So Rick lived with Tim and his mom and enrolled in Art school. He was never happier. This was also a very pivotal experience for me. For the first time in my life I realized that maybe I could actually help people some day.
My last memory of Rick is when he came up to my dorm and insisted I go out with him. I was studying, and said, 'no maybe some other time', but he insisted, and pushed me out the door. It was one of the best nights of my life. We went to club and laughed like crazy. Tim was playing with his band and at one point Rick and I were up on stage singing backup and playing instruments. I don't remember seeing Rick much after that. He was pursuing his dream. Hurray.
About a year after college, Jaye and I were talking about how much we missed Rick, so we decided to call him. I contacted a mutual friend who know him to find out if he was still living with Tim and if he had the number. This friend told me that Rick was "missing". At first I thought he meant, off on his own, perhaps banging around Manhattan or London, but he explained that Rick was really a "missing person." I didn’t take it too seriously. Rick was spontaneous, so maybe he didn’t tell everyone where he was going. I called Tim anyway. Nope, really missing. He moved out and was living in the city. One day he was there, the next gone. No clue to where he could be. I was worried.
Then I got the call. They found him in the river, dead. I was devastated. The thought that he died alone and scared was deeply upsetting. I mean it’s one thing to lose your friend, people drift in and out of your life all the time, but the thought that he was really gone was devastating. I cried for days. Jaye and I went to the funeral. So many people were there. So many different people. Rick appealed to everyone, and we all loved him. I remember paying my respects to his family, and feeling terrified his mother would know I was the one who talked him out of college. But she didn’t. The casket was closed. You know it’s funny, I have always thought open caskets are appalling, but I wanted to see him. I still didn’t believe it. Somewhere in the back of my mind I though he would walk in and say, "So now you care! HA!" and laugh his laugh. For years afterwards I though I would see him in crowd, or on a train, or on tv. Maybe that’s why we need to see the body in the casket, to make it real.
After the service, a few of us that knew each other went to lunch. We were an interesting mix of people who Rick knew at different times in his life. It was nice to piece his legacy together. There was still a lot of mystery surrounding his death, and we all tried to figure it out. I found out that the police speculated it was a suicide. I felt a whole new sense of devastation. One of the guys at the table said that Rick was losing use of his arm, and couldn’t paint anymore. He had broken it playing cricket in England when he was young, and it wasn’t set properly causing bone fragments to disable it somehow. I thought, 'Rick was finally living his dream. He was in the city, painting, going to art school, and all of a sudden he loses the use of his arm? Could he possibly have been so desperate he would have taken his life? I mean I remember when we were in school together and how depressed he would get about his circumstances then. If he could talk to me about it then, why didn’t he feel our friendship would withstand the time that had passed and reach out to me now?' I felt I had failed him. Didn't he know I would have been there for him, that I loved him, that I would have listened? It was all too much to handle, and the fact was the truth was not known, and may never be. The other theory was that he got into a scuffle with some guys after clubbing. Who knows?
I miss Rick. Not that we would even be in contact today as I am sure our paths were going into separate directions, but somehow the world is a little less special without him. I’d like to know he was alive somewhere having a fabulous time, and maybe wondering how my life turned out. I just want that moment of hmm... I wonder what Rick is doing.....? I want to know that maybe someday our paths would cross again, and now they never will. I think of him when I struggle to find my "art." He would like the fact that I am try to be more than what is expected. He is my muse in that sense. Somewhere in the distance, I see him grinning his grin and laughing his laugh, saying "go for it!"
I will, my beloved friend.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
