This Christmas day has been wonderful. Everything was beautiful, the gifts were great, the food was tasty, and the day was relaxing. I have no complaints. Why then am I going crazy with restlessness just after midnight, December 26th?
I want to get in my car for a night drive, but first I need to know what’s compelling me. Obviously, I seem to need to talk to someone, but unfortunately, everyone is asleep. My blog is awake, however.
My latest revelation came when emailing an old friend—perhaps; this is kind of about Melanie. I don’t even know. How weird is that? Death makes no sense. When my uncle died, I was just in shock and felt like something very valuable had been wasted. My gran died and I just thought of all the memories and realized how much I would miss her presence in my life. But, with Mel, I’m all over the place. I go from confident and content to lonely and climbing the walls. One minute, I’m amazed at my own resilience and the next, I feel like I’ll never put the pieces back together. I realize that loosing Melanie isn’t the worst thing that could ever happen, as heartless as that sounds. It just seems like I don’t know how to deal with this particular loss.
If you’re sick of reading about this, just imagine how sick I am of thinking about it all the time! What good does it do? I wish I knew that she could see me. Maybe then, I wouldn’t feel so alone without her.
Monday, December 25, 2006
Monday, December 18, 2006
A Warm and Fuzzy Christmas Post
Almost nine months ago this coming Christmas Day, I was in a Hospital operating room, giving birth to my first born son. No stable, no manger, no virgin birth—just a normal human boy being delivered by a very ordinary mother.
Last Christmas, I was in a large Christmas program at our church. I was also 6 months pregnant with a boy. As we got ready for one evening’s performance, a woman asked me if I felt the significance of carrying my first born son at Christmastime. I hadn’t thought about it beyond the fact that my oversized angel costume could incite younger show goers to ask their parents some rather unchristmaslike questions that evening.
Eventually, we got to the segment of the program where Joseph and Mary are trying to get a room at the inn. I was one of twenty or so people on stage also pretending to need a room. Someone improvised the line, “but she’s having a baby!” and the Christmas timing suddenly hit me. I began thinking about Mary, heavy with a full-term baby, being forced to travel on the back of an animal and resorting to giving birth among animals in a building that was tantamount to a carport. As an expectant mother, I was moved to tears as I imagined the fears she must have had and the doubts about whether God was going to provide for them. I gave birth in a sterile hospital room. I had the assistance of a highly trained and experienced medical professional who had treated me since day one. Nurses stood by with oxygen, suction tubes, heaters, blankets and dozens of other things. Mary had to trust God to provide all of that. You might think it would be easier for her since, after all, an angel had come to her about this and told her of God’s plan in her life, but if I had been Mary, I would have seriously begun to doubt God around the time I packed my bags for Bethlehem.
It’s strange to imagine that my son had a more glamorous entrance into this world than the very Son of God. It wasn’t just modern technology that made it possible; there were cleaner and more honorable ways to give birth even then. Mary wasn’t given that luxury. Did God just want His Son to come in the most undesirable, uncomfortable way possible so no one could use that word, “privilege?”
I went to Israel a long time ago and we visited the place where Jesus is said to have been born. If you’ve ever seen it on a television program, you know how enshrined it is. It is gilded, marbled and smells strongly of incense. There is very little left of the humble stable it used to be. A large gold star marks the spot where Jesus was born. I have no idea how anyone could possibly have that much information from a supposedly obscure birth, but they claim to know that that piece of earth is It.
I’m convinced that it isn’t the actual location that matters, but the event itself. When Jesus was born, unlike any other birth to take place on Earth, there became a reason to hope. Our redemption was at hand and this great cosmic battle against the predator death was nearly won. That’s why we celebrate. Everything else is secondary to the fact that on that night, whenever it was, hope came to Earth.
More than just poetic, fantastic words; the hope that was born that first Christmas has lead to victory and victory to grace. That may seem far removed from daily life, but if you’ve ever seen a life redeemed by God’s grace alone, you would celebrate this Christmas with as much zeal as any of those who witnessed Christ’s birth.
Perhaps I’m a little gung-ho about God’s grace these days. I see it in everything from the timing of my son’s birth, to how it saved my sister from an eternity without hope. This is going to be an unusual Christmas for those reasons as well. Merry Christmas to all my friends and family—I love you all.
Last Christmas, I was in a large Christmas program at our church. I was also 6 months pregnant with a boy. As we got ready for one evening’s performance, a woman asked me if I felt the significance of carrying my first born son at Christmastime. I hadn’t thought about it beyond the fact that my oversized angel costume could incite younger show goers to ask their parents some rather unchristmaslike questions that evening.
Eventually, we got to the segment of the program where Joseph and Mary are trying to get a room at the inn. I was one of twenty or so people on stage also pretending to need a room. Someone improvised the line, “but she’s having a baby!” and the Christmas timing suddenly hit me. I began thinking about Mary, heavy with a full-term baby, being forced to travel on the back of an animal and resorting to giving birth among animals in a building that was tantamount to a carport. As an expectant mother, I was moved to tears as I imagined the fears she must have had and the doubts about whether God was going to provide for them. I gave birth in a sterile hospital room. I had the assistance of a highly trained and experienced medical professional who had treated me since day one. Nurses stood by with oxygen, suction tubes, heaters, blankets and dozens of other things. Mary had to trust God to provide all of that. You might think it would be easier for her since, after all, an angel had come to her about this and told her of God’s plan in her life, but if I had been Mary, I would have seriously begun to doubt God around the time I packed my bags for Bethlehem.
It’s strange to imagine that my son had a more glamorous entrance into this world than the very Son of God. It wasn’t just modern technology that made it possible; there were cleaner and more honorable ways to give birth even then. Mary wasn’t given that luxury. Did God just want His Son to come in the most undesirable, uncomfortable way possible so no one could use that word, “privilege?”
I went to Israel a long time ago and we visited the place where Jesus is said to have been born. If you’ve ever seen it on a television program, you know how enshrined it is. It is gilded, marbled and smells strongly of incense. There is very little left of the humble stable it used to be. A large gold star marks the spot where Jesus was born. I have no idea how anyone could possibly have that much information from a supposedly obscure birth, but they claim to know that that piece of earth is It.
I’m convinced that it isn’t the actual location that matters, but the event itself. When Jesus was born, unlike any other birth to take place on Earth, there became a reason to hope. Our redemption was at hand and this great cosmic battle against the predator death was nearly won. That’s why we celebrate. Everything else is secondary to the fact that on that night, whenever it was, hope came to Earth.
More than just poetic, fantastic words; the hope that was born that first Christmas has lead to victory and victory to grace. That may seem far removed from daily life, but if you’ve ever seen a life redeemed by God’s grace alone, you would celebrate this Christmas with as much zeal as any of those who witnessed Christ’s birth.
Perhaps I’m a little gung-ho about God’s grace these days. I see it in everything from the timing of my son’s birth, to how it saved my sister from an eternity without hope. This is going to be an unusual Christmas for those reasons as well. Merry Christmas to all my friends and family—I love you all.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
New Forms and Ghosts
I never did believe in ghosts, but what is a dream of someone you can never see again? Isn’t that like a ghost?
Melanie haunts me when I sleep and I look forward to seeing her there. Right after she died, I had disturbing dreams about her flesh and bones—the decay that naturally comes, but in one dream that all changed. In that dream, she was on an operating table and from her tissue; she was being regenerated one step at a time. It was gruesome, but got progressively lovelier as death began to work in reverse. First, the tissue grew and was little more than a mound of red muscle and white sinew. Then the muscle pulsed with blood and took shape as bones formed within the mass. Next an inhumane gray skin began to cover the tissue and soon looked like a human form without distinction. From that point, she grew definition around her joints and her beautiful brown hair began to grow. Her face surfaced out of the shapeless void and even a healthy pink color replaced the pale grey. When the process was complete, she was even lovelier than she was in life—freckled, bright eyed and humming with life.
Now my dreams simply star her as a major player. She is sometimes my companion—experiencing what I do, talking or sharing with me. We laugh at our mom, cried over a dead sister and she even held my son.
I feel like I’m going crazy when I wake up in the mornings, but I enjoy our surreal moments together.
Melanie haunts me when I sleep and I look forward to seeing her there. Right after she died, I had disturbing dreams about her flesh and bones—the decay that naturally comes, but in one dream that all changed. In that dream, she was on an operating table and from her tissue; she was being regenerated one step at a time. It was gruesome, but got progressively lovelier as death began to work in reverse. First, the tissue grew and was little more than a mound of red muscle and white sinew. Then the muscle pulsed with blood and took shape as bones formed within the mass. Next an inhumane gray skin began to cover the tissue and soon looked like a human form without distinction. From that point, she grew definition around her joints and her beautiful brown hair began to grow. Her face surfaced out of the shapeless void and even a healthy pink color replaced the pale grey. When the process was complete, she was even lovelier than she was in life—freckled, bright eyed and humming with life.
Now my dreams simply star her as a major player. She is sometimes my companion—experiencing what I do, talking or sharing with me. We laugh at our mom, cried over a dead sister and she even held my son.
I feel like I’m going crazy when I wake up in the mornings, but I enjoy our surreal moments together.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Naomi Through The Looking-Glass
I have a wild imagination. For as long as I can remember I’ve played this game with myself where I imagine that I am being followed by two government-like agents dressed in simple dark suits. I’ve never known why they are following me exactly, but they are always just a few steps behind me and are never quite able to catch up to me. Every time I make a footprint in the snow or dirt, I leave them one tempting clue as to my current location. Their full-time job is to search me out for reasons I’ve never allowed myself to discover. All I know is that I have always imagined that perhaps their need to find me isn’t totally evil… perhaps I’m the last living person in an ancient royal family and I’m needed to bring peace and order back to my native country. Maybe, I’m the missing link in a fascinating and complex crime! Or maybe, my great great great great great great grandfather was a tomb raider and left me a cavern-full of gold Aztec coins, ancient royal jewelry and the Holy Grail itself!
Like I said, I have always had a wild imagination. At some point I outgrew that particular fantasy even though I do revisit it from time to time just for fun, but there is another ongoing imagining I’ve never been able to fully release.
When I was in seventh grade, I went to a private school and became a cheerleader for the first time. Every August the school had an orientation night before classes began and the cheerleaders were to come in uniform and perform. Before we went into the gym, most of the other cheerleaders and I were in the bathroom teasing our hair or whatever it is cheerleaders do. For some stupid reason, a few of us were doing jumps in the bathroom to warm-up. I was stupid too, and did a few jumps before attempting an “around-the-world,” which is something like a two touch, but your roll your hips out to reach your feet. As I came down from the jump, I lost my footing on the uneven tile floor and fell hard on my butt and hit the back of my head on the ground. I actually saw stars. I never understood what that meant before, but trust me; you actually see sparkling lights before your eyes when you hit your head that hard. I still think it knocked me out for a few seconds because when I looked up, all the girls were around me—a few looked concerned and the rest were laughing. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I’m only confessing this to illustrate the background to my most persistent fantastic belief. That night, it occurred to me to wonder if perhaps I still wasn’t conscious. Maybe I was still flat on my back on that bathroom floor, out cold and simply dreaming every moment that followed.
It has been almost fifteen years since that night and every once and a while I still allow myself to imagine that I’m laying on that floor and all the events of my life, of the world, have been nothing more than the dream of a silly young girl. If I ever wake up, I would be thirteen again and have the millions of inventions, stories and events stored in my head that I could share with the world. Everything that happened and everything I learned since that night would be new to that alternative world. I would either be committed or lauded as some kind of sudden genius!
I would start my own band and we’d be known for performing songs like, “Like A Rolling Stone,” “Where the Streets Have No Name,” and “Ring of Fire.” I wouldn’t pair up with a physicist and we wouldn’t create the atomic bomb. I would know the outcome to all kinds of sporting events and would win millions by betting on them (plot stolen from a certain movie sequel starring Michael J. Fox). I could have imagined the vulnerability of buildings like the Word Trade Center and been able to warn people of an attack by plane. I would write the Harry Potter books and dictate all fashion trends. That’s all if that timeline differed from this one. If they were the same—well, I’d be the greatest psychic in the history of mankind!
You know the phrase, “if only I knew then, what I know now.” Perhaps I don’t just imagine alternate realities—maybe I need to make them plausible too. I’m simply Alice staring through a looking glass; except this rabbit hole leads me to the here and now instead of a Wonderland.
Like I said, I have always had a wild imagination. At some point I outgrew that particular fantasy even though I do revisit it from time to time just for fun, but there is another ongoing imagining I’ve never been able to fully release.
When I was in seventh grade, I went to a private school and became a cheerleader for the first time. Every August the school had an orientation night before classes began and the cheerleaders were to come in uniform and perform. Before we went into the gym, most of the other cheerleaders and I were in the bathroom teasing our hair or whatever it is cheerleaders do. For some stupid reason, a few of us were doing jumps in the bathroom to warm-up. I was stupid too, and did a few jumps before attempting an “around-the-world,” which is something like a two touch, but your roll your hips out to reach your feet. As I came down from the jump, I lost my footing on the uneven tile floor and fell hard on my butt and hit the back of my head on the ground. I actually saw stars. I never understood what that meant before, but trust me; you actually see sparkling lights before your eyes when you hit your head that hard. I still think it knocked me out for a few seconds because when I looked up, all the girls were around me—a few looked concerned and the rest were laughing. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I’m only confessing this to illustrate the background to my most persistent fantastic belief. That night, it occurred to me to wonder if perhaps I still wasn’t conscious. Maybe I was still flat on my back on that bathroom floor, out cold and simply dreaming every moment that followed.
It has been almost fifteen years since that night and every once and a while I still allow myself to imagine that I’m laying on that floor and all the events of my life, of the world, have been nothing more than the dream of a silly young girl. If I ever wake up, I would be thirteen again and have the millions of inventions, stories and events stored in my head that I could share with the world. Everything that happened and everything I learned since that night would be new to that alternative world. I would either be committed or lauded as some kind of sudden genius!
I would start my own band and we’d be known for performing songs like, “Like A Rolling Stone,” “Where the Streets Have No Name,” and “Ring of Fire.” I wouldn’t pair up with a physicist and we wouldn’t create the atomic bomb. I would know the outcome to all kinds of sporting events and would win millions by betting on them (plot stolen from a certain movie sequel starring Michael J. Fox). I could have imagined the vulnerability of buildings like the Word Trade Center and been able to warn people of an attack by plane. I would write the Harry Potter books and dictate all fashion trends. That’s all if that timeline differed from this one. If they were the same—well, I’d be the greatest psychic in the history of mankind!
You know the phrase, “if only I knew then, what I know now.” Perhaps I don’t just imagine alternate realities—maybe I need to make them plausible too. I’m simply Alice staring through a looking glass; except this rabbit hole leads me to the here and now instead of a Wonderland.
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Me too, me too!
My Heritage
My Celebrity Look-alikes
Scarlett Johansson 74%
JoJo 61%
Heather Locklear 59%
Reese Witherspoon 57%
Rachel Bilson 57%
Dannii Minogue 57%
Jamie Lynn Spears 56%
Britney Spears 56%
My Celebrity Look-alikes
Scarlett Johansson 74%
JoJo 61%
Heather Locklear 59%
Reese Witherspoon 57%
Rachel Bilson 57%
Dannii Minogue 57%
Jamie Lynn Spears 56%
Britney Spears 56%
I took down the actual image of this because it was messing up the whole page.
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
What To Do With a Day
Someone somewhere had a brilliant thought--Mother’s Day Out. Love it. For a few months of motherhood, I thought I didn’t need this luxury, but I’m here to tell you, it’s awesome! For just a few hours, two days a week, I’m able to indulge in my thoughts, get a manicure, play a video game uninterrupted or even catch a movie! It’s shockingly easy to lose yourself in motherhood—to find yourself in paraphrased pajamas day after day, to forget how to apply mascara and learn your hair is in dire need of a trimming and worst of all, to forget you have independent thoughts outside your role as a parent. I’m relieved to discover that I don’t actually find Jager’s transition from stage 1 carrots to stage 2 carrots as exciting as previously assumed. I’m still me, just generally dirtier.
Currently, I’m sitting in the corner of a coffee shop with Wifi drinking a coffee and shivering with the speed of my thoughts and the fact that I’m sitting next to a huge window and it’s cold outside. I’m happy right now.
Later I’ll pick up my orange headed son and we’ll goof around until we have to be somewhere tonight. I’ll be happy then too.
Currently, I’m sitting in the corner of a coffee shop with Wifi drinking a coffee and shivering with the speed of my thoughts and the fact that I’m sitting next to a huge window and it’s cold outside. I’m happy right now.
Later I’ll pick up my orange headed son and we’ll goof around until we have to be somewhere tonight. I’ll be happy then too.
Eulogy For a Sister
I've debated whether or not I wanted to post this for a few weeks, but I want to get it off my hard drive and put it out there again. I need to do that so I can start writing/thinking about something else.
This was the eulogy I wrote for my sister and the song that inspired me to write it.
------------------------
Rain
by Patty Griffin
It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart
Beating close to mine
Pounding up against the stone and steel
Walls that I won't climb
Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
You think that you're gonna drown
Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep
With all this rain falling down
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
Its hard to know when to give up the fight
The things you want that will never be right
Its never rained like it has to night before
Now I don't wanna beg you baby
For something maybe you could never give
I'm not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
(Thank you Jay for recommending the song)
------------------------------------------------------------
I have tried to write so many things for and about my sister in the last week. My hands have barely stopped scribbling; typing or gesturing since the moment the nurse told me that my sister’s heart had finally stopped beating.
I will never be able to listen to a piano in quite the same way. Her soft hands lightly pressed those notes like no one I can recall. Her voice ringing over that sound is forever etched in my mind. The sweetness of my sister is something I cling to and will hold dear until the day I die.
It’s so easy for me to slip into deep grief about my sister’s circumstances—circumstances she chose for herself. Even now, I would give everything I own just to lie next her in that hospital bed, just to sing California Dreamin’ to her one last time. But as the song says, “It’s hard know when to give up the fight, the things you want will just never be right. It’s never rained like it has tonight, before.” The years of seemingly unanswered prayer, sadness, loss, grief, anger, frustration and bitterness came to a sudden climax and in an instant she was gone from our lives. To be honest, I am broken hearted and joyful at the same time.
I’ve been thinking about art lately. My mom pointed out that the scenery one views near the shoreline is what most people would find as an ideal subject for an artist’s efforts. It’s calm, symmetrical, without description and simply overwhelming. Having just returned from the mountains, she told me of the huge art community there and that she noted how many artists had found their muse in the rugged, multicolored terrain of those mountains and foothills. They saw the beauty of all that asymmetrical chaos. I’m sure her metaphor isn’t lost on any of you. Melanie wasn’t like me, she wasn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. She was meant for another life—her life could never be that shoreline, she reflected the mountains instead. God adored the glory of that chaos and always sought her beauty like a jealous lover.
I keep thinking about how many times in my life I’ve questioned the existence of Heaven and hell—about the existence of an involved and benevolent God. During painful times I have wished I could simply abandon this persistent belief and just react without regard, but God has spoken to me over and over again. The cynic in me is silenced by the voice of God. Melanie experienced that same annoying persistence in her tumultuous relationship with her savior-to-be. Her innate defiance put her at odds with the ultimate authority and she challenged God as perhaps Job challenged God. Many times she pushed Him, but He was unmoved. She cursed Him, and He spoke words of love. She raged against Him, and He listened to every word.
Melanie’s struggle with addiction was no secret, or at least, it shouldn’t have been. From the age of 12, this war waged within her—an epic battle between substance and love. In the end of her life, LOVE won out. God never left her side, he never stopped wooing her and he proved a jealous and faithful lover. I know that God didn’t let her slip into eternity until he had her safely in his arms and today I say with no small amount of joy that she has been delivered by the fire directly into his loving arms. Without her flesh, her faith has been perfected.
They say the artist never finishes his work, but simply abandons it. Thankfully God is a creator and not an artist. His work is finish-able and He is faithful to complete it. We prayed for my sister’s salvation from her demons, from addiction—we prayed for total and complete rescue from the torture she had made her life. In the most gallant gesture, her Creator has completed His masterpiece and she now plays her beautiful, otherworldly music for Him.
This was the eulogy I wrote for my sister and the song that inspired me to write it.
------------------------
Rain
by Patty Griffin
It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart
Beating close to mine
Pounding up against the stone and steel
Walls that I won't climb
Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
You think that you're gonna drown
Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep
With all this rain falling down
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
Its hard to know when to give up the fight
The things you want that will never be right
Its never rained like it has to night before
Now I don't wanna beg you baby
For something maybe you could never give
I'm not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live
Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
But I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain
(Thank you Jay for recommending the song)
------------------------------------------------------------
I have tried to write so many things for and about my sister in the last week. My hands have barely stopped scribbling; typing or gesturing since the moment the nurse told me that my sister’s heart had finally stopped beating.
I will never be able to listen to a piano in quite the same way. Her soft hands lightly pressed those notes like no one I can recall. Her voice ringing over that sound is forever etched in my mind. The sweetness of my sister is something I cling to and will hold dear until the day I die.
It’s so easy for me to slip into deep grief about my sister’s circumstances—circumstances she chose for herself. Even now, I would give everything I own just to lie next her in that hospital bed, just to sing California Dreamin’ to her one last time. But as the song says, “It’s hard know when to give up the fight, the things you want will just never be right. It’s never rained like it has tonight, before.” The years of seemingly unanswered prayer, sadness, loss, grief, anger, frustration and bitterness came to a sudden climax and in an instant she was gone from our lives. To be honest, I am broken hearted and joyful at the same time.
I’ve been thinking about art lately. My mom pointed out that the scenery one views near the shoreline is what most people would find as an ideal subject for an artist’s efforts. It’s calm, symmetrical, without description and simply overwhelming. Having just returned from the mountains, she told me of the huge art community there and that she noted how many artists had found their muse in the rugged, multicolored terrain of those mountains and foothills. They saw the beauty of all that asymmetrical chaos. I’m sure her metaphor isn’t lost on any of you. Melanie wasn’t like me, she wasn’t like anyone I’ve ever known. She was meant for another life—her life could never be that shoreline, she reflected the mountains instead. God adored the glory of that chaos and always sought her beauty like a jealous lover.
I keep thinking about how many times in my life I’ve questioned the existence of Heaven and hell—about the existence of an involved and benevolent God. During painful times I have wished I could simply abandon this persistent belief and just react without regard, but God has spoken to me over and over again. The cynic in me is silenced by the voice of God. Melanie experienced that same annoying persistence in her tumultuous relationship with her savior-to-be. Her innate defiance put her at odds with the ultimate authority and she challenged God as perhaps Job challenged God. Many times she pushed Him, but He was unmoved. She cursed Him, and He spoke words of love. She raged against Him, and He listened to every word.
Melanie’s struggle with addiction was no secret, or at least, it shouldn’t have been. From the age of 12, this war waged within her—an epic battle between substance and love. In the end of her life, LOVE won out. God never left her side, he never stopped wooing her and he proved a jealous and faithful lover. I know that God didn’t let her slip into eternity until he had her safely in his arms and today I say with no small amount of joy that she has been delivered by the fire directly into his loving arms. Without her flesh, her faith has been perfected.
They say the artist never finishes his work, but simply abandons it. Thankfully God is a creator and not an artist. His work is finish-able and He is faithful to complete it. We prayed for my sister’s salvation from her demons, from addiction—we prayed for total and complete rescue from the torture she had made her life. In the most gallant gesture, her Creator has completed His masterpiece and she now plays her beautiful, otherworldly music for Him.
Friday, October 06, 2006
That's When I Miss You
The official grieving events are now over. Today, we held my sister's official funeral/memorial. The first service was in Florida where she passed away and were held the day we saw her. I still can't believe I went into that room. I saw her lying there and walked to her slowly. Normally, I'm terrified of bodies at funerals etc, but I couldn't keep my hands off her. I played with her hair, traced the line of her nose, fluttered her eyelashes, touched an old scar on her right hand, touched her feet and put something into her hands. After a while, I even asked to be alone with her. There I was, in a room alone with the body of a deceased person... not just any person either, my sister. I think that's the best chat we've ever had. :)
I wrote her eulogy on a whim one morning, but couldn't find it in my heart to recall every memory I had of her. Instead, I wrote something very uncharacteristic for me. But now that the funeral is over, I keep thinking about the good memories. What a crock! We didn't even have that many great memories and those are the only ones my crazy mind is choosing to recall?! With that said, I keep remembering the songs we would sing together, the silly moments that turned into outrageously hilarious moments, her sitting on me until I would go get her a glass of water, her daring me to do things that would most certainly get me killed, our clandestine stroll along a beach of the Mediterranean Sea in Tel Aviv when we were 8 and 11 at 2am! She was nuts and I was gullible. She took me to get my first tattoo and lied to the guy for me about my age (I was 17) and even held my hand. We had the same tattoo in two different colors. My only defense as a small child was something I called "baby bites." Basically, I would just whole-handedly grab entire fistfuls of skin and fats and pinch lightly. She would laugh hysterically and eventually run away from me. I was small, but crafty.
Inevitably, I end up remembering the bad times too, but with much less zeal than I would have two weeks ago. It's like her sins against me are forgotten and all I want now is to have that one person back with whom I shared a childhood. I'm not lonely, but something about me feels abandoned and alone in the world. She was paired with me and we were meant to share something in this life with one another. Perhaps, we have. I just wanted so much more.
The memorial was beautiful and I'm so relieved that it went well and is now over. Jason and I planned the whole thing and I just wanted it to be a big deal for her. She always did love a fuss over her.
If you don't know me very well, you may have begun to notice that I tend to linger on subjects for long periods of time. Apparently, I heal by writing. That's one thing I've learned. Just rest assured that I will most likely find something else to write about in time. Until then, if you have the patience to keep reading, you'll learn more about this girl called Melanie and her silly sister than you might have wanted to.
I wrote her eulogy on a whim one morning, but couldn't find it in my heart to recall every memory I had of her. Instead, I wrote something very uncharacteristic for me. But now that the funeral is over, I keep thinking about the good memories. What a crock! We didn't even have that many great memories and those are the only ones my crazy mind is choosing to recall?! With that said, I keep remembering the songs we would sing together, the silly moments that turned into outrageously hilarious moments, her sitting on me until I would go get her a glass of water, her daring me to do things that would most certainly get me killed, our clandestine stroll along a beach of the Mediterranean Sea in Tel Aviv when we were 8 and 11 at 2am! She was nuts and I was gullible. She took me to get my first tattoo and lied to the guy for me about my age (I was 17) and even held my hand. We had the same tattoo in two different colors. My only defense as a small child was something I called "baby bites." Basically, I would just whole-handedly grab entire fistfuls of skin and fats and pinch lightly. She would laugh hysterically and eventually run away from me. I was small, but crafty.
Inevitably, I end up remembering the bad times too, but with much less zeal than I would have two weeks ago. It's like her sins against me are forgotten and all I want now is to have that one person back with whom I shared a childhood. I'm not lonely, but something about me feels abandoned and alone in the world. She was paired with me and we were meant to share something in this life with one another. Perhaps, we have. I just wanted so much more.
The memorial was beautiful and I'm so relieved that it went well and is now over. Jason and I planned the whole thing and I just wanted it to be a big deal for her. She always did love a fuss over her.
If you don't know me very well, you may have begun to notice that I tend to linger on subjects for long periods of time. Apparently, I heal by writing. That's one thing I've learned. Just rest assured that I will most likely find something else to write about in time. Until then, if you have the patience to keep reading, you'll learn more about this girl called Melanie and her silly sister than you might have wanted to.
Thursday, October 05, 2006
I'm So Sad
I keep thinking I'm going to look up from burying my head and see my sister standing next to me. It's creepy and comforting at the same time. This sucks. She missed so much of my life, but I can't help but feel like a huge piece of me has died and will never return. All my hopes for a "Bennett sisters" relationship with her are dashed and I'm grieving as much for those lost hopes as I am for her. What's wierd is that I'm not even crying that much. Well, except for right now. I'm sure in 15 minutes I'll get a glass of water and watch a Tivo(ed) episode of Futurama and forget about this wet nonsense, but right now it just hurts... so badly.
Tuesday, October 03, 2006
You, Who Were My Home
It's funny how often you write about the same thing but in different ways.
8/29/06
Such a long road we’ve been walking on
And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I’m so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
My mind is too strong to carry on
When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this...
In your love, my salvation lies
8/14/06
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Three days ago, on the phone with my sister.
12/14/05
So many things are still unresolved: my sister’s fate still seems so uncertain and her insistence to pretend like her life could suddenly become normal never ceases to amaze and annoy me. If I’ve learned anything in from the death of three people I adored in the last two years, I’ve learned that there is something beautiful about finally facing the harsh reality you’ve been dealt. My hope for her in the coming year is that she can bravely stare down her demons… and overcome them. Maybe then, her life can become normal in the way hers has the nature to be.
10/19/05
To add to our drama, my sister, the one who has recently been spending lots of time with “Kiki from the penitentiary” is set for release in about a week. My mom is driving there to “claim” her and take her to her next destination—a non-mandatory thing that I don’t fully understand.
10/11/05
She has been in and out of jail for about three years. She was released on a probationary status a little over a year ago and sent to a half-way house. Shortly after that, our grandmother died and I assume she hit bottom (again). She disappeared on a Thursday and we filed a missing persons report within two weeks. My mother had to negatively identify two bodies over the phone before my sister finally resurfaced (alive) three months later. At one point, we believed she was dead. This disappearing act was in direct violation of her parole so while she contacted us, she continued to hide from her fate. After several months in relative hiding, she was turned in and is now serving the rest of her parole time in a prison outside this state. She will be released later this month.As long as I can remember, my sister has had issues that I didn’t understand. I won’t go into the details because they are her’s to share, but suffice it to say that I have always hoped for the best and been forced to face (close to) the worst. In fact, it’s quite remarkable how your definition of “the worst” can change. :) As long as she breaths, their will be hope in my heart for my sister.
5/06/05
During these past two years, fate has had it’s ironic payback—I lost my uncle and mentor in 2003, my grandmother in 2004, my sister in 2004 (in a different sort of way) and a twin pregnancy at 11 weeks. Something about loss and sadness permanently changes you.
--------------------------
On Wednesday, September 27th, 2006, my beloved but tortured sister was taken to Heaven. She was only thirty years old. Hers was an epic battle between substance and Love. While substance played a part in claiming her body, Love won the war that always waged in her soul.
She was the living personification of Snow White. Her eyes were big and blue, her skin pale and soft, and her hair was long and dark. She was enormously gifted in music and words and wrote hundreds of love songs to her Savior-to-be. I believe she knew how her suffering had to end and she was just ready to go Home. Her music was strange and lovely, like it belonged in another world. Like her music, she belonged there too.
I’ll never fully understand her struggles, desire or demons, but I will always cling to the lessons she has taught me about life, persistence, expression and the Love of God. Her legacy will live forever in my heart, because I will never allow that light to fade.
I know where she is now and she is more beautiful than she could have ever hoped to be. She is forever young. She is innocent once again. But most importantly, she is finally Free!
We loved you all your life. We will miss you all of ours. Kisses.
8/29/06
Such a long road we’ve been walking on
And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I’m so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
My mind is too strong to carry on
When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this...
In your love, my salvation lies
8/14/06
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Three days ago, on the phone with my sister.
12/14/05
So many things are still unresolved: my sister’s fate still seems so uncertain and her insistence to pretend like her life could suddenly become normal never ceases to amaze and annoy me. If I’ve learned anything in from the death of three people I adored in the last two years, I’ve learned that there is something beautiful about finally facing the harsh reality you’ve been dealt. My hope for her in the coming year is that she can bravely stare down her demons… and overcome them. Maybe then, her life can become normal in the way hers has the nature to be.
10/19/05
To add to our drama, my sister, the one who has recently been spending lots of time with “Kiki from the penitentiary” is set for release in about a week. My mom is driving there to “claim” her and take her to her next destination—a non-mandatory thing that I don’t fully understand.
10/11/05
She has been in and out of jail for about three years. She was released on a probationary status a little over a year ago and sent to a half-way house. Shortly after that, our grandmother died and I assume she hit bottom (again). She disappeared on a Thursday and we filed a missing persons report within two weeks. My mother had to negatively identify two bodies over the phone before my sister finally resurfaced (alive) three months later. At one point, we believed she was dead. This disappearing act was in direct violation of her parole so while she contacted us, she continued to hide from her fate. After several months in relative hiding, she was turned in and is now serving the rest of her parole time in a prison outside this state. She will be released later this month.As long as I can remember, my sister has had issues that I didn’t understand. I won’t go into the details because they are her’s to share, but suffice it to say that I have always hoped for the best and been forced to face (close to) the worst. In fact, it’s quite remarkable how your definition of “the worst” can change. :) As long as she breaths, their will be hope in my heart for my sister.
5/06/05
During these past two years, fate has had it’s ironic payback—I lost my uncle and mentor in 2003, my grandmother in 2004, my sister in 2004 (in a different sort of way) and a twin pregnancy at 11 weeks. Something about loss and sadness permanently changes you.
--------------------------
On Wednesday, September 27th, 2006, my beloved but tortured sister was taken to Heaven. She was only thirty years old. Hers was an epic battle between substance and Love. While substance played a part in claiming her body, Love won the war that always waged in her soul.
She was the living personification of Snow White. Her eyes were big and blue, her skin pale and soft, and her hair was long and dark. She was enormously gifted in music and words and wrote hundreds of love songs to her Savior-to-be. I believe she knew how her suffering had to end and she was just ready to go Home. Her music was strange and lovely, like it belonged in another world. Like her music, she belonged there too.
I’ll never fully understand her struggles, desire or demons, but I will always cling to the lessons she has taught me about life, persistence, expression and the Love of God. Her legacy will live forever in my heart, because I will never allow that light to fade.
I know where she is now and she is more beautiful than she could have ever hoped to be. She is forever young. She is innocent once again. But most importantly, she is finally Free!
We loved you all your life. We will miss you all of ours. Kisses.
Thursday, September 14, 2006
At 2:35 am…
You really mellow out. You create playlists for entire years of your life (post to come later). You start writing 4 different things at one time. Everything gets supernaturally quiet and you can think long luxurious, indulgently contemplative thoughts. No one interrupts you. There’s not much on T.V. You carefully dissect the difference between insomnia and just not sleeping. It’s fun to watch people sleeping. Eating cereal tastes better. Song lyrics become especially poignant. It’s lonely. You have amazing ideas! It’s easier to write. Mess doesn’t bother you. Your bare feet get cold faster. The muscles in your legs begin to ache. Everything seems like a good idea (like this post). Perhaps you just care less. Grammar is more of a hindrance. It is the perfect time to remember something in detail. It is not a good time to make resolutions. You find yourself tucking people in. Your dog looks at you like you’re keeping her up. You worry that not sleeping now will cause problems tomorrow, which only makes avoiding sleep that much more inevitable. You check on your children. Noises like, turning on a lamp or the ticking of a clock are a lot louder. You remember every dawn you’ve ever seen. Sleep becomes an object of lust and like lust, it only gets more seductive with each moment you deny yourself.
Goodnight.
Goodnight.
Boring Answers to Questions
I totally stole these from Jay’s blog. I’m bored, what can I say? Don’t you just love these and what they say about how self-obsessed we are? With that said… :)
1. FIRST NAME? Naomi
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? I was supposed to be named Julia, but my dad had a emotional moment in the book of Ruth after I was born, now I’m named after an old lady from the Old Testament.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Three days ago, on the phone with my sister.
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Depends on the pen… mostly, yes.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? salami, but I never eat it.
6. KIDS? Seeing as how I currently smell like a mix of stale milk and baby lotion… yes and I love every minute of it too.
7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Probably not.
8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Not right now.
9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? I laughed out loud at Jay’s response to this question. As for me, yes, or at least I used to. Someone else tell me.
10. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. That’s a weird question.
11. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUNGEE JUMP? In theory, yes, but I have this fear that my knee will dislocate when the cord catches me.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Cookie crisp, but I hardly ever eat that anymore either.
13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? I don’t usually wear shoes with laces.
14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Lower body… yes. Upper body is getting stronger all the time now.
15. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Cherry Vanilla.
16. SHOE SIZE? 6.5 17. RED OR PINK? um… red I guess.
18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I overanalyze and turn into a hermit.
19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Gabriel
20. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? I’m not sending it to anyone.
21. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? bright blue and none.
22. LAST THING YOU ATE? popcorn
23. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Trespassers William, Lie In the Sound. What a great mental image. I’m not listening to anything, I’m lying in the sound.
24. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Aquamarine and sometimes Jungle Green.
25. FAVORITE SMELL? Sunblock, rain, old books and baby’s neck.
26. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? my mom
27. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Smile
29. FAVORITE DRINK? Diet Dr. Pepper
30. FAVORITE SPORT? Poker
31. EYE COLOR? Hazel Green
32. HAT SIZE??? I have no idea.
33. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Yes
34. FAVORITE FOOD? Sushi, cheese, olives, tomatoes and any kind of fish
35. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? not scary movies, but all kind of endings work for me… depends on the story.
36. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED (IN A THEATER)? An Imax movie about Greece
37. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? I’m wearing two. One gray, one white.
38. SUMMER OR WINTER? Autumn
39. HUGS OR KISSES? kisses
40. FAVORITE DESSERT? Anything with strawberries in it.
41. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I’m not sending, remember?
42. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND??? I’m getting tired of answering this type of question.
43. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham. Studying? Beth Moore’s Study on the book of Daniel.
44. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Don’t have one.
45. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST Night? Project Runway
46. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Led Zeppelin
47. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Where I am right now.
48. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I can grow human beings in my belly.
49. WHERE AND WHEN WERE YOU BORN? Republic of South Africa, ‘79
50. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? No one. I pilfered it from Jay’s blog.
---------------------------
1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:15 with the baby
2. Diamonds or pearls? I own both, but I love sapphires the best
3. What is your favorite TV show? The Cosby Show, Project Runway, Futurama, Star Trek: TNG, The Office, Freaks and Geeks and the Wonder Years. Notice how few of those are actually still on TV?
4. What did you have for breakfast? Nothing
5. What is your middle name? Anne
6. What food do you dislike? Potatoes, carrots, celery.
7. Your favorite Potato chip? I don’t like potatoes in any form
8. What is your favorite CD at the moment? I’ve been listening to Helen Steller a lot lately.
9. What kind of car do you drive? Toyota Camry, but I don’t feel properly illuminated by the kind of car I drive… actually that would be really sad if that summed me up.
10. What characteristics do you despise? Just plain old ignorance and superiority
11. Favorite item of clothing? A pair prepregnancy jeans, I just got back into.
12. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? This is impossible to answer because I’m always fantasizing about other places… it’s my curse in life. Okay… Japan, Italy, New Mexico, Costa Rica, South Africa, somewhere where it rains a lot, Switzerland, New Zealand…
13. What color is your bathroom? Light green and the other is purple
14. Favorite brand of clothing? Anne Taylor and J. Crew
15. Where would you retire? Someplace near the ocean16. Favorite time(s) of day? Dawn and twilight
17. What laundry detergent do you use? Lately, Dreft, a baby detergent that’s dye and fragrance free. It’s nice… I smell like a baby all the time.
18. Are you a morning person or night owl? Total night owl even with a little baby. It’s an illness.
19. Do you have pets? One poodle with A.D.D.
20. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share with your friends? Most definitely, none. I’m okay with that.
21. What (who) did you want to be when you were little? Everything from a brain surgeon to a nun. But, the only thing I’ve always wanted to be is a mom so even with the glaring lack of professional success to my name… I guess I’m still doing okay.
22. Favorite Candy Bar? Hershey bar23. What is your best childhood memory? Only a few… My mom picking me and Christina up from school on a snow day. She rented the cartoon version of the Lion Witch and the Wardrobe (a childhood favorite) and we sat on the floor and ate chili and drank coke from a glass bottle. I still have a thing about glass bottles. Another is when I used to pretend that I had fits in my sleep to make my cousins laugh. Riding on the back of my dad’s motorcycle, making entire living room sized tents, playing puppies, playing with my cousins “boy” toys whenever we visited. So many… childhood was the best.
24. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Yuck. Um, waitress, spokes model (no laughing), secretary, administrative peeon, substitute teacher, writing tutor (if you can believe it).
25. What color underwear are you wearing? Pink
26. Nicknames? Nomi, Nomsie, Sugarlump (that one was from my Gran),
27. Piercing? A few, only the traditional earlobe ones were a good idea.
28. Eye color: hazel green
29. Ever been to Africa? Yes
30. Ever been toilet papering? Sadly, yes31. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes, and at first sight too.32. Been in a car accident? Several
33. Croutons or bacon bits? Neither
34. Favorite day of the week? Well, mostly Saturdays, but I like most for different reasons.
35. Favorite restaurant? Tokyo, Ironwood Grill, Tim’s in Bethany for Dr. Peppers or old roadside places… love that.
36. Favorite flower? White Calla Lilies37. Favorite ice cream? Cherry Vanilla
38. Disney or Warner Brothers? Matt Groening
39. Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Cabana, Chik fil A or anyplace with great burgers… mostly local stuff though like Bunnies.
40. What color is your bedroom carpet? Beige-ish
41. How many times did you fail your driver’s test? None
42. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail? Blockbuster. Hoot is on the way.
43. Which store would you choose to max out your Credit Card? Any home store, Best Buy, The Mac Store, Christian Louboutain, a Volvo dealership. :)
44. What do you do most often when you are reading? read… am I missing something?
45. Bedtime? Don’t have one. I love the feeling of exhaustion when the world is asleep.
46. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire? Not sending it to anyone, just stealing an easy blog post idea from someone else.
47. Ford or Chevy? Yikes, neither.
49. What is your favorite color? White
50. Lake, Ocean or River? All. I’m obsessed with water, but ocean comes to mind first though.
51. How many tattoos do you have? 2
52. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Chicken, duh.
53. Red or White? BLUE! What kind of question is this?
54. Where would you go for a guys/girls weekend get-a-way? A very secluded spa in Arizona maybe.
55. What would you do if you had to select another career? Seeing as how I don’t really have much of a career, all options are mine. In an ideal world, I would be a music writer.
56. Republican or Democrat? Democrat, but I’m open minded.
57. Favorite Family Vacation? Someplace with water. When I was 10 we drove to California with my cousins and aunt and uncle. We hit Amarillo, Albuquerque, Vegas, Flagstaff and everything in between. That was awesome.
58. Favorite Movie? Oh, there are so many… Amelie, Life As a House, Whalerider, Monty Python and the Meaning of Life and I have to agree with Jay here and say most Cameron Crowe movies.
59. All Time Favorite Concert? So far… Steve Miller Band when Big Bad Voodoo Daddy opened for them in Dallas. My dream concert though (and it’s just never worked out yet) is sitting on the lawn in the twilight while enjoying an aural orgasm courtesy of James Taylor.
1. FIRST NAME? Naomi
2. WERE YOU NAMED AFTER ANYONE? I was supposed to be named Julia, but my dad had a emotional moment in the book of Ruth after I was born, now I’m named after an old lady from the Old Testament.
3. WHEN DID YOU LAST CRY? Three days ago, on the phone with my sister.
4. DO YOU LIKE YOUR HANDWRITING? Depends on the pen… mostly, yes.
5. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE LUNCH MEAT? salami, but I never eat it.
6. KIDS? Seeing as how I currently smell like a mix of stale milk and baby lotion… yes and I love every minute of it too.
7. IF YOU WERE ANOTHER PERSON WOULD YOU BE FRIENDS WITH YOU? Probably not.
8. DO YOU HAVE A JOURNAL? Not right now.
9. DO YOU USE SARCASM A LOT? I laughed out loud at Jay’s response to this question. As for me, yes, or at least I used to. Someone else tell me.
10. DO YOU STILL HAVE YOUR TONSILS? Yes. That’s a weird question.
11. WOULD YOU LIKE TO BUNGEE JUMP? In theory, yes, but I have this fear that my knee will dislocate when the cord catches me.
12. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE CEREAL? Cookie crisp, but I hardly ever eat that anymore either.
13. DO YOU UNTIE YOUR SHOES WHEN YOU TAKE THEM OFF? I don’t usually wear shoes with laces.
14. DO YOU THINK YOU ARE STRONG? Lower body… yes. Upper body is getting stronger all the time now.
15. WHAT IS YOUR FAVORITE ICE CREAM FLAVOR? Cherry Vanilla.
16. SHOE SIZE? 6.5 17. RED OR PINK? um… red I guess.
18. WHAT IS THE LEAST FAVORITE THING ABOUT YOURSELF? I overanalyze and turn into a hermit.
19. WHO DO YOU MISS THE MOST? Gabriel
20. DO YOU WANT EVERYONE TO SEND THIS BACK TO YOU? I’m not sending it to anyone.
21. WHAT COLOR PANTS AND SHOES ARE YOU WEARING? bright blue and none.
22. LAST THING YOU ATE? popcorn
23. WHAT ARE YOU LISTENING TO RIGHT NOW? Trespassers William, Lie In the Sound. What a great mental image. I’m not listening to anything, I’m lying in the sound.
24. IF YOU WERE A CRAYON, WHAT COLOR WOULD YOU BE? Aquamarine and sometimes Jungle Green.
25. FAVORITE SMELL? Sunblock, rain, old books and baby’s neck.
26. WHO WAS THE LAST PERSON YOU TALKED TO ON THE PHONE? my mom
27. THE FIRST THING YOU NOTICE ABOUT PEOPLE YOU ARE ATTRACTED TO? Smile
29. FAVORITE DRINK? Diet Dr. Pepper
30. FAVORITE SPORT? Poker
31. EYE COLOR? Hazel Green
32. HAT SIZE??? I have no idea.
33. DO YOU WEAR CONTACTS? Yes
34. FAVORITE FOOD? Sushi, cheese, olives, tomatoes and any kind of fish
35. SCARY MOVIES OR HAPPY ENDINGS? not scary movies, but all kind of endings work for me… depends on the story.
36. LAST MOVIE YOU WATCHED (IN A THEATER)? An Imax movie about Greece
37. WHAT COLOR SHIRT ARE YOU WEARING? I’m wearing two. One gray, one white.
38. SUMMER OR WINTER? Autumn
39. HUGS OR KISSES? kisses
40. FAVORITE DESSERT? Anything with strawberries in it.
41. WHO IS MOST LIKELY TO RESPOND? I’m not sending, remember?
42. LEAST LIKELY TO RESPOND??? I’m getting tired of answering this type of question.
43. WHAT BOOKS ARE YOU READING? The Moon and Sixpence by W. Somerset Maugham. Studying? Beth Moore’s Study on the book of Daniel.
44. WHAT'S ON YOUR MOUSE PAD? Don’t have one.
45. WHAT DID YOU WATCH ON TV LAST Night? Project Runway
46. ROLLING STONES OR BEATLES? Led Zeppelin
47. THE FURTHEST YOU'VE BEEN FROM HOME? Where I am right now.
48. WHAT'S YOUR SPECIAL TALENT? I can grow human beings in my belly.
49. WHERE AND WHEN WERE YOU BORN? Republic of South Africa, ‘79
50. WHO SENT THIS TO YOU? No one. I pilfered it from Jay’s blog.
---------------------------
1. What time did you get up this morning? 7:15 with the baby
2. Diamonds or pearls? I own both, but I love sapphires the best
3. What is your favorite TV show? The Cosby Show, Project Runway, Futurama, Star Trek: TNG, The Office, Freaks and Geeks and the Wonder Years. Notice how few of those are actually still on TV?
4. What did you have for breakfast? Nothing
5. What is your middle name? Anne
6. What food do you dislike? Potatoes, carrots, celery.
7. Your favorite Potato chip? I don’t like potatoes in any form
8. What is your favorite CD at the moment? I’ve been listening to Helen Steller a lot lately.
9. What kind of car do you drive? Toyota Camry, but I don’t feel properly illuminated by the kind of car I drive… actually that would be really sad if that summed me up.
10. What characteristics do you despise? Just plain old ignorance and superiority
11. Favorite item of clothing? A pair prepregnancy jeans, I just got back into.
12. If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation, where would you go? This is impossible to answer because I’m always fantasizing about other places… it’s my curse in life. Okay… Japan, Italy, New Mexico, Costa Rica, South Africa, somewhere where it rains a lot, Switzerland, New Zealand…
13. What color is your bathroom? Light green and the other is purple
14. Favorite brand of clothing? Anne Taylor and J. Crew
15. Where would you retire? Someplace near the ocean16. Favorite time(s) of day? Dawn and twilight
17. What laundry detergent do you use? Lately, Dreft, a baby detergent that’s dye and fragrance free. It’s nice… I smell like a baby all the time.
18. Are you a morning person or night owl? Total night owl even with a little baby. It’s an illness.
19. Do you have pets? One poodle with A.D.D.
20. Any new and exciting news you’d like to share with your friends? Most definitely, none. I’m okay with that.
21. What (who) did you want to be when you were little? Everything from a brain surgeon to a nun. But, the only thing I’ve always wanted to be is a mom so even with the glaring lack of professional success to my name… I guess I’m still doing okay.
22. Favorite Candy Bar? Hershey bar23. What is your best childhood memory? Only a few… My mom picking me and Christina up from school on a snow day. She rented the cartoon version of the Lion Witch and the Wardrobe (a childhood favorite) and we sat on the floor and ate chili and drank coke from a glass bottle. I still have a thing about glass bottles. Another is when I used to pretend that I had fits in my sleep to make my cousins laugh. Riding on the back of my dad’s motorcycle, making entire living room sized tents, playing puppies, playing with my cousins “boy” toys whenever we visited. So many… childhood was the best.
24. What are the different jobs you have had in your life? Yuck. Um, waitress, spokes model (no laughing), secretary, administrative peeon, substitute teacher, writing tutor (if you can believe it).
25. What color underwear are you wearing? Pink
26. Nicknames? Nomi, Nomsie, Sugarlump (that one was from my Gran),
27. Piercing? A few, only the traditional earlobe ones were a good idea.
28. Eye color: hazel green
29. Ever been to Africa? Yes
30. Ever been toilet papering? Sadly, yes31. Love someone so much it made you cry? Yes, and at first sight too.32. Been in a car accident? Several
33. Croutons or bacon bits? Neither
34. Favorite day of the week? Well, mostly Saturdays, but I like most for different reasons.
35. Favorite restaurant? Tokyo, Ironwood Grill, Tim’s in Bethany for Dr. Peppers or old roadside places… love that.
36. Favorite flower? White Calla Lilies37. Favorite ice cream? Cherry Vanilla
38. Disney or Warner Brothers? Matt Groening
39. Favorite fast food restaurant? Taco Cabana, Chik fil A or anyplace with great burgers… mostly local stuff though like Bunnies.
40. What color is your bedroom carpet? Beige-ish
41. How many times did you fail your driver’s test? None
42. Before this one, from whom did you get your last e-mail? Blockbuster. Hoot is on the way.
43. Which store would you choose to max out your Credit Card? Any home store, Best Buy, The Mac Store, Christian Louboutain, a Volvo dealership. :)
44. What do you do most often when you are reading? read… am I missing something?
45. Bedtime? Don’t have one. I love the feeling of exhaustion when the world is asleep.
46. Who are you most curious about their responses to this questionnaire? Not sending it to anyone, just stealing an easy blog post idea from someone else.
47. Ford or Chevy? Yikes, neither.
49. What is your favorite color? White
50. Lake, Ocean or River? All. I’m obsessed with water, but ocean comes to mind first though.
51. How many tattoos do you have? 2
52. Which came first, the chicken or the egg? Chicken, duh.
53. Red or White? BLUE! What kind of question is this?
54. Where would you go for a guys/girls weekend get-a-way? A very secluded spa in Arizona maybe.
55. What would you do if you had to select another career? Seeing as how I don’t really have much of a career, all options are mine. In an ideal world, I would be a music writer.
56. Republican or Democrat? Democrat, but I’m open minded.
57. Favorite Family Vacation? Someplace with water. When I was 10 we drove to California with my cousins and aunt and uncle. We hit Amarillo, Albuquerque, Vegas, Flagstaff and everything in between. That was awesome.
58. Favorite Movie? Oh, there are so many… Amelie, Life As a House, Whalerider, Monty Python and the Meaning of Life and I have to agree with Jay here and say most Cameron Crowe movies.
59. All Time Favorite Concert? So far… Steve Miller Band when Big Bad Voodoo Daddy opened for them in Dallas. My dream concert though (and it’s just never worked out yet) is sitting on the lawn in the twilight while enjoying an aural orgasm courtesy of James Taylor.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
How It All Began: Christina
Every kid looks forward to their first day of real school (first grade) with a mixture of excitement and anxiety. On a warm August day in 1984, a day perfect for riding bikes or jumping on the trampoline, I began my academic journey at Western Oaks Elementary. My teacher, Mrs. McIntire, was the violently encouraging type who, had she taught ten years later, would have been fired and lost her license because of her convulsive approach to teaching phonics.
I had one real friend going into that first day, her name was Rose Winkler. I honestly can’t remember why I already knew her. In fact, all I remember about her was that she was very smart, Catholic, she had a mean sister and she was a great Barbie playmate. I was elated that we had been placed in the same class and couldn’t wait to sit right next her all day for a whole school year! My mom took me to school early that first day and I took a seat at the front of the class, secretly reserving the seat to my left for Rose. Fortunately, Rose was late that day and a platinum haired lady wearing tight Guess jeans, led her prissy looking daughter, with a mile of light brown hair, right to Rose’s seat! I was immediately obligated to dislike the princess to my left and her annoyingly adorable navy and white sailor dress. Her name was as sickeningly pretty as she was… Christina.
Honestly, it might have hours, days or even weeks before I got over that princess’s audacity but at some point, I clearly did. The turning point came at Kennard’s (a long since closed grocery store in Bethany). I was there with my Mom and Gran. While they took eight years to shop, I was doing what any kid would do when faced with long, empty narrow aisles—I was running like Flojo, up and down over and over again. Suddenly, I came face to face with an older woman and my arch nemesis, Christina. I assume I was over the desk stealing incident because we immediately began flying up and down those narrow aisles together. I remember thinking, “I’m like reeeeeeeeeeeeaallllllllllly fast!” It’s possible I even told Christina that. We had such a great time and weren’t even close to expelling all our youthful energy, so Christina asked if I could go home with her. I went. I don’t remember much about what we did that afternoon except that I met a very large brown Chow whose name I can’t recall.
Seeing as how we already sat next to each other and were both in Reading Group B (B, meaning, “Bad readers”), it didn’t take long for us to become best friends. We lost our front teeth together, we played house in the intertwined tree roots of the playground, I teased her about her budding romances with the various first grade hotties, and we had a billion sleep-overs and went trick or treating on Halloween. We made pretend radio show tapes on my Dad’s karaoke machine (she still has a passion for radio) we crank called boys, we went on Church youth trips together and always got in trouble. One time we traded places so we could both go on a choir trip, an act that even got us suspended together. Christina and I grew up together and because of those laughs and all the others that came later, she became closer than a sister to me.
Fast forward eighteen years or so, Christina drove all the way from Austin in one night, to be a bridesmaid at my wedding. I remember the day I told her I wanted her to be my bridesmaid… we were about six and about to slide down the swirl slide. On my wedding day, her bizarre sense of humor drove away my anxiety as it always has and watching her rock that wedding march was a highlight in our friendship. Twenty-something years after wanting to smack her for the first (but not the last) time, she is married too and is still my best friend as well as a never boring Godmother to my son.
--------------------------------------------
Ah Christina, maybe now… you’ll pick up your damned phone once in while!!
I had one real friend going into that first day, her name was Rose Winkler. I honestly can’t remember why I already knew her. In fact, all I remember about her was that she was very smart, Catholic, she had a mean sister and she was a great Barbie playmate. I was elated that we had been placed in the same class and couldn’t wait to sit right next her all day for a whole school year! My mom took me to school early that first day and I took a seat at the front of the class, secretly reserving the seat to my left for Rose. Fortunately, Rose was late that day and a platinum haired lady wearing tight Guess jeans, led her prissy looking daughter, with a mile of light brown hair, right to Rose’s seat! I was immediately obligated to dislike the princess to my left and her annoyingly adorable navy and white sailor dress. Her name was as sickeningly pretty as she was… Christina.
Honestly, it might have hours, days or even weeks before I got over that princess’s audacity but at some point, I clearly did. The turning point came at Kennard’s (a long since closed grocery store in Bethany). I was there with my Mom and Gran. While they took eight years to shop, I was doing what any kid would do when faced with long, empty narrow aisles—I was running like Flojo, up and down over and over again. Suddenly, I came face to face with an older woman and my arch nemesis, Christina. I assume I was over the desk stealing incident because we immediately began flying up and down those narrow aisles together. I remember thinking, “I’m like reeeeeeeeeeeeaallllllllllly fast!” It’s possible I even told Christina that. We had such a great time and weren’t even close to expelling all our youthful energy, so Christina asked if I could go home with her. I went. I don’t remember much about what we did that afternoon except that I met a very large brown Chow whose name I can’t recall.
Seeing as how we already sat next to each other and were both in Reading Group B (B, meaning, “Bad readers”), it didn’t take long for us to become best friends. We lost our front teeth together, we played house in the intertwined tree roots of the playground, I teased her about her budding romances with the various first grade hotties, and we had a billion sleep-overs and went trick or treating on Halloween. We made pretend radio show tapes on my Dad’s karaoke machine (she still has a passion for radio) we crank called boys, we went on Church youth trips together and always got in trouble. One time we traded places so we could both go on a choir trip, an act that even got us suspended together. Christina and I grew up together and because of those laughs and all the others that came later, she became closer than a sister to me.
Fast forward eighteen years or so, Christina drove all the way from Austin in one night, to be a bridesmaid at my wedding. I remember the day I told her I wanted her to be my bridesmaid… we were about six and about to slide down the swirl slide. On my wedding day, her bizarre sense of humor drove away my anxiety as it always has and watching her rock that wedding march was a highlight in our friendship. Twenty-something years after wanting to smack her for the first (but not the last) time, she is married too and is still my best friend as well as a never boring Godmother to my son.
--------------------------------------------
Ah Christina, maybe now… you’ll pick up your damned phone once in while!!
How It All Began: A Series
Not that anyone reads this blog, but I thought I'd introduce a series of entries I've been wanting to do since I wrote Jager's birth story. These entries will generally detail how some of my relationships with friends, family and others began. I love details, so I will relate more than you'll probably want to read. For example: you can't just tell me that "he looked at you," you have to tell me exactly how he looked at you. Details, see?
Not all these entries will be very long as some relationships are newer than others or I just have less to say about them at this point. You may wonder why I wrote some of them, but try to remember that it's nothing personal, and doesn't mean anything other than what I will very clearly say it means. I prefer to keep my relationships as obvious as possible, so don't look for double meanings.
Okay, with that said, I'm in the mood to reminisce.
Not all these entries will be very long as some relationships are newer than others or I just have less to say about them at this point. You may wonder why I wrote some of them, but try to remember that it's nothing personal, and doesn't mean anything other than what I will very clearly say it means. I prefer to keep my relationships as obvious as possible, so don't look for double meanings.
Okay, with that said, I'm in the mood to reminisce.
Orange Sky
Orange Sky
by Alexi Murdoch
Well I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother standing by
With my brother standing by
I said Brother, you know you know It’s a long road we’ve been walking on
Brother you know it is you know it is
Such a long road we’ve been walking on
And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
With my sister standing by I said
Sister, here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this.. In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I’m so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
Sometimes, sometimes
My mind is too strong to carry on
Too strong to carry on
When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this..
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
Well I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by
---------------------------------------------------
I never said this was brilliant song writing, but when it's right, it's just right. You know?
by Alexi Murdoch
Well I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother standing by
With my brother standing by
I said Brother, you know you know It’s a long road we’ve been walking on
Brother you know it is you know it is
Such a long road we’ve been walking on
And I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my sister standing by
With my sister standing by I said
Sister, here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this.. In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
But sister you know I’m so weary
And you know sister
My hearts been broken
Sometimes, sometimes
My mind is too strong to carry on
Too strong to carry on
When I am alone
When I’ve thrown off the weight of this crazy stone
When I've lost all care for the things I own
That's when I miss you, that's when I miss you, that's when I miss you
You who are my home
You who are my home
And here is what I know now
Here is what I know now
Goes like this..
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, my salvation lies
In your love, in your love, in your love
Well I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
Yes I had a dream I stood beneath an orange sky
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by
With my brother and my sister standing by
---------------------------------------------------
I never said this was brilliant song writing, but when it's right, it's just right. You know?
Sunday, August 20, 2006
The Great American Road Trip
Miles of corn stalks, rusty self-service gas stations, an ice cold coke in a glass bottle, the sound of wind at 70 miles per hour, the feeling of hot air as your hand cuts through the night sky, the resolution to try new things and embrace the solitude. The Great American Road Trip is a uniquely American right of passage for many of us. This wanderlust forces us into wide open spaces and asks us to let go of the comfortable and reach instead, for the unfamiliar just for the sake of the journey.Christina asked me recently if I thought the road trip was a uniquely American experience. I’ve had past road trips on the mind lately while a few of my friends were setting out on their own. One could travel from anywhere to anywhere, but when I imagine this road trip it’s usually on old Route 66. Traveling west for the purpose of experiencing the journey is, in my opinion, a right of passage for any American. In that sense, yes, I think the road trip is a uniquely American experience.
How many books, movies and songs chronicle this journey or another one like it? There is the obvious, Jack Kerouac’s, On the Road--a rambling story without plot that revels in the American Road trip experience. Even the Food Network is embracing the road trip with a new show called “Feasting On Asphalt.” In fact, I think the kind of Americana that can only be experienced on a road trip of our highways and byways is experiencing a resurgence. These cultural reminders make me crave the open road in an almost inappropriate way.
What is it about wide open spaces that draws us? The sun that burns every day, now warms as we sail above the asphalt and the stars that go ignored every night, force us the dream of all the other unexplored areas in the universe. “What else is out there,” you ask yourself as you drive stoically down a deserted highway in the dark, or through a whispering ghost town in the middle of the desert. Out here, it’s easy to realize that the whole process is nothing short of mobile meditation. Can we remake ourselves on the road?
Why is it cheap motels with buzzing neon signs appeal to us when we’re on the road, but not in the city? Why do we guzzle burgers in our daily lives, but savor them in their white paper wrappers when they’re purchased from a tiny roadside diner? I think we are revealed to ourselves in our errand-free loneliness. The road trip is an almost intimidating symbol of freedom because, when all you have is a map, a full tank of gas and few great CDs, it seems anything is possible and you can be anyone you wish to be.
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Standing In the Open
It’s late. I’m awake. I feel like I’m always awake. Today marked the end of a very long trip to the in-laws. I’ve been on the road for days and not in a good way. The baby probably needs to eat, but I don’t know if I should wake him up.
The problem is, I can’t get some things out of my head. Does that ever happen to anyone else? I can’t stop imagining a golden field at around twilight. Something like Alexi Murdoch’s, Orange Sky sets the tone, but I’m aware of nothing but the smell of dry grass and the breeze blowing my hair. I’m captivated by an imaginary place… an imaginary moment. There’s something wrong with me.
Life is good, but I’m pulled so strongly to solitude and escape. I often wonder if it’s okay to just disappear for a week or two alone so I can breath and live someone else’s life, just for the experience of it. The problem is that I am rooted and happy. Ah shucks for me, huh? I wish I could put my index fingers together, like this show about a half alien girl I saw once, and just stop time for a while. Then I could disappear to my field and never miss a beat in real life.
Why can’t I just have simple thoughts?
The problem is, I can’t get some things out of my head. Does that ever happen to anyone else? I can’t stop imagining a golden field at around twilight. Something like Alexi Murdoch’s, Orange Sky sets the tone, but I’m aware of nothing but the smell of dry grass and the breeze blowing my hair. I’m captivated by an imaginary place… an imaginary moment. There’s something wrong with me.
Life is good, but I’m pulled so strongly to solitude and escape. I often wonder if it’s okay to just disappear for a week or two alone so I can breath and live someone else’s life, just for the experience of it. The problem is that I am rooted and happy. Ah shucks for me, huh? I wish I could put my index fingers together, like this show about a half alien girl I saw once, and just stop time for a while. Then I could disappear to my field and never miss a beat in real life.
Why can’t I just have simple thoughts?
Thursday, June 29, 2006
My New Favorite Thing to Do
Having a newborn means you have to be very scheduled. They eat about every three hours so you have to plan your day around those times. For example, do you know what you’ll be doing at 3:00 in the afternoon this Saturday? Well, I do—I’ll be sticking a bottle in my baby’s mouth.
One could find that kind of monotony boring, but I’ve found a way around that. See, just before boy eats at 11pm, we get into bed and watch Family Guy together. If that’s not on, we just watch whatever is on… the other night it was Fast Times and Ridgemont High. Just after his 9am feeding, we usually go to the gym and walk a few miles. Well, I walk a few miles and he either gets pushed in a stroller or bounces along while strapped to my chest (an extra tough workout for me, let me tell you).
You still have to be able to be flexible though. If I can do something else, I’m all for it, but baby still gets hungry when he gets hungry. I’ve just learned to get over it and feed him wherever I have to—like he cares.
Having a baby his age is partly like having an accessory that needs lots of attention and partly like having a buddy around all the time. He laughs at my jokes, he sleeps when I’m sleepy (we’re lucky on that one), and he wins over all my friends. Nice.
One could find that kind of monotony boring, but I’ve found a way around that. See, just before boy eats at 11pm, we get into bed and watch Family Guy together. If that’s not on, we just watch whatever is on… the other night it was Fast Times and Ridgemont High. Just after his 9am feeding, we usually go to the gym and walk a few miles. Well, I walk a few miles and he either gets pushed in a stroller or bounces along while strapped to my chest (an extra tough workout for me, let me tell you).
You still have to be able to be flexible though. If I can do something else, I’m all for it, but baby still gets hungry when he gets hungry. I’ve just learned to get over it and feed him wherever I have to—like he cares.Having a baby his age is partly like having an accessory that needs lots of attention and partly like having a buddy around all the time. He laughs at my jokes, he sleeps when I’m sleepy (we’re lucky on that one), and he wins over all my friends. Nice.
Saturday, June 24, 2006
Irritated and Still Myself: Another Stupid Introspective
Lately, I’ve become more and more aware of things that irritate me. Everyone from the selfish woman who accidentally whacks me with her huge purse to the damn cop, who gave me a ticket for doing what everyone else does all the time, is getting up my nose in a major way. I honestly feel like I could breakdown at some point just because… oh I don’t know… someone at Wal-Mart bumps my ass with their cart… again.
Okay, in fairness, I am not in a good mood right now. This has been coming on all night partly because I’ve been spending the entire evening hoping I’d have something to do this Saturday night. Well, it’s 10pm and I’m typing this tirade, so you do the math. That and I got another damn ticket tonight!
Seriously, when did we all become so self-involved? Why do we assume things about each other without even asking? Why do we try so hard to fit into an idea of what we think we should be instead of just feeling the way we really feel?
As anyone who knows me is aware, I just become a mom. I’m thrilled and feel totally blessed. Let me just say that just because I’m a new mom doesn’t mean I don’t have anything else to talk about, or that I don’t have a need to have friends. Oddly enough, I’m so lonely right now, it’s ridiculous. For example: I’m a very unassuming person, to a fault even. I never want to intrude, be a third wheel, overstay my welcome etc… but lately, I’ve been totally willing to bypass my own preferences on this issue because I’m desperate for a laugh with some friends! I’ve been lucky enough to meet some other chicks with kids lately who have generously invited me to spend time with them. I love them for that, but I must say, sometimes I just want to goof around and see a movie, grab some dinner or even read trashy magazines on the floor with a good friend.
I’m not a shy person normally but lately when I’m around anyone other than the four people I’m still comfortable around, I say the stupidest things! I put my big foot in my mouth, stumble over my words or simply get my facts wrong. It’s like being freaking thirteen years old and at a new school all over again! I’m so afraid of boring people with mommy talk, yet at the same time; I’m also dying to talk about something else myself. It’s like I have to get through the mommy stuff first. Who knows?
Don’t misunderstand me, my son and I have lots of fun… genuinely. I’ve found out that a few of my sillier voices make him laugh a lot. He smiles at me in a way that lets me know that the time spent crossing my eyes, and doing fake French accents while talking about poop is time well spent. I just miss my normal moments too and I don’t really have to feel that way.
I’ve learned that most people freak out on the subject of children. Don’t think you do? Well, I am here to tell you that yes, yes you probably do in your own way. It must be this misconception that one gives up all their leisure time or identity when becoming a parent. Maybe some people are willing to give that up, or perhaps people are just afraid of loving anyone else that much. If anything, fear the latter. I have not lost sight of who I am nor have I neglected to find time to enjoy myself. I still watch movies, play video games, listen to music, shop, write (not that anyone would want to read my latest), talk to friends, learn and of course, find new things to bitch about.
I suppose if I have to sum up, I’d have to ask… is it possible that we can lose sight of who we are because others have?
Okay, in fairness, I am not in a good mood right now. This has been coming on all night partly because I’ve been spending the entire evening hoping I’d have something to do this Saturday night. Well, it’s 10pm and I’m typing this tirade, so you do the math. That and I got another damn ticket tonight!
Seriously, when did we all become so self-involved? Why do we assume things about each other without even asking? Why do we try so hard to fit into an idea of what we think we should be instead of just feeling the way we really feel?
As anyone who knows me is aware, I just become a mom. I’m thrilled and feel totally blessed. Let me just say that just because I’m a new mom doesn’t mean I don’t have anything else to talk about, or that I don’t have a need to have friends. Oddly enough, I’m so lonely right now, it’s ridiculous. For example: I’m a very unassuming person, to a fault even. I never want to intrude, be a third wheel, overstay my welcome etc… but lately, I’ve been totally willing to bypass my own preferences on this issue because I’m desperate for a laugh with some friends! I’ve been lucky enough to meet some other chicks with kids lately who have generously invited me to spend time with them. I love them for that, but I must say, sometimes I just want to goof around and see a movie, grab some dinner or even read trashy magazines on the floor with a good friend.
I’m not a shy person normally but lately when I’m around anyone other than the four people I’m still comfortable around, I say the stupidest things! I put my big foot in my mouth, stumble over my words or simply get my facts wrong. It’s like being freaking thirteen years old and at a new school all over again! I’m so afraid of boring people with mommy talk, yet at the same time; I’m also dying to talk about something else myself. It’s like I have to get through the mommy stuff first. Who knows?
Don’t misunderstand me, my son and I have lots of fun… genuinely. I’ve found out that a few of my sillier voices make him laugh a lot. He smiles at me in a way that lets me know that the time spent crossing my eyes, and doing fake French accents while talking about poop is time well spent. I just miss my normal moments too and I don’t really have to feel that way.
I’ve learned that most people freak out on the subject of children. Don’t think you do? Well, I am here to tell you that yes, yes you probably do in your own way. It must be this misconception that one gives up all their leisure time or identity when becoming a parent. Maybe some people are willing to give that up, or perhaps people are just afraid of loving anyone else that much. If anything, fear the latter. I have not lost sight of who I am nor have I neglected to find time to enjoy myself. I still watch movies, play video games, listen to music, shop, write (not that anyone would want to read my latest), talk to friends, learn and of course, find new things to bitch about.
I suppose if I have to sum up, I’d have to ask… is it possible that we can lose sight of who we are because others have?
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
White Noise: Jager's Birth Story
William “Jager” Lipscomb was born on March 25th, 2006 at 8:11am. After discovering that he was fully breech, we scheduled a Cesarean section for the following Saturday. Yes, they do C-sections on a Saturday. The evening leading up to that procedure was the most nerve wrecking of my entire life. I was nauseous just thinking about it. The prospect of a spinal block, being cut open while conscious, having things taken out of me and replaced and of course the fear that something could go wrong was enough to make me wish I could take two Xanax and go to bed. Of course, being preggers, I had to tough out the fear, drug free. Instead, I took a one hour shower and blew out my hair with the precision of a largely pregnant woman with O.C.D. After all, one must always look good for your OB. J Little did I realize at the time that that would be about the last time I could be so indulgent with the time spent maintaining my personal appearance.
We were at the hospital when it was still dark out—I hate that. We checked in late, as usual. The drive to the hospital was surreal to say the least, everything looked normal on the turnpike… normal people going about normal business early in the morning. But for us, we knew in just a few short hours nothing would ever be the same again.
After miles of paperwork and three painful attempts at inserting an I.V., I was finally ready. My mom and dad came in to my room one last time to wish me luck. The nurses came and wheeled me into the operating room. I was freezing and shaking like a leaf. My doctor still hadn’t arrived so I had to wait with the catheter of the spinal block hanging out of my spinal cord. I couldn’t move in case it shifted and damaged my spinal chord causing… oh I don’t know... PERMANENT PARALYSIS! I had to stay hunched over on the operating table (with a huge belly, by the way) for about twenty minutes. Finally the doctor arrived and they began extremely quickly.
Jason came in just as they began and sat next to my head. We had made an arrangement that he would talk to me about basketball since March Madness was going on. I just wanted to hear about anything other than what was happening. Being conscious for your surgery is bizarre enough, and it’s best to escape the horrors going on beyond the curtain if possible. My doctor was only too happy to engage in this basketball discussion and he, Jason and two nurses began chatting happily about Duke’s chances a national championship! It was to this subject, young Jager, that you came into this world.
“Okay, are you ready? Here he is,” the doctor said. Suddenly everything went quiet in my head.
-There was my son.-
There was buzzing in my ears. Now separate from me, his pink body moved through the room without me. I cried like I’ve never cried in my life—the most intense mixture of tears and hysterical laughter I’ve ever heard. I don’t remember anyone else at that moment except that I told Jason to leave me and go with the baby, which he did. Finally, I regained thought and asked what color his hair was. The doctor studied him, and finally laughed when he said, “I think it’s red!” That was it. That was the moment, the greatest moment of my life. I could have died right there with happiness. I don’t think it’s ever fully possible to describe the overwhelming joy, fear and shock of that moment. It’s better than Christmas, it’s better than anything.
After weighing (7 lbs, 12 oz), and measuring (19 ¾ inches) and a number of other things, Jason finally brought him to me. I touched my son for the first time by kissing him on his lips. I was shaking and unsteady, but his tiny lips were warm and wet.
For those who aren’t parents yet and wonder why people you know and even like suddenly turn into love struck puppy dogs when they have kids, I’ll tell you. You find that you can and do love with the intensity of two years of longing and 9 months of waiting in one blinding instant. You finally understand what it means to love someone else enough to beg to die in their place. It’s overwhelming and suddenly very real. His smile makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It’s like looking at every good thing about yourself and the person you love and realizing that you’re responsible for this little piece of perfection in front of you. The pride is so overwhelming it chokes you. Yes, there are negatives to being a parent, but something about this new person makes you want to be someone you never knew you could be. You’d do anything for him and anything seems possible.
You would assume that the most powerful moments are intensely emotional, but I have found that they can be hilarious and filled with laughter too. The first time Jager smiled at me on purpose, was that kind of moment. I was popping in and out of my closet holding up a different shirt every time and asking him what he thought. He was staring at me and by the third shirt he had a huge grin on his face. I instantly started laughing hysterically at our mutual amusement and kissed him all over his face and neck. My stomach actually flipped when I saw him smiling! It was the same nervous excitement you feel when someone you like holds your hand for the first time.
Sometimes we just find ourselves holding him and staring at him. How did we create something perfect?! There are my eyes, and your dad’s lips, your uncle’s widow’s peak, and your grandpa’s ears. We are so unbelievably blessed, and we never doubt it for a moment.
We were at the hospital when it was still dark out—I hate that. We checked in late, as usual. The drive to the hospital was surreal to say the least, everything looked normal on the turnpike… normal people going about normal business early in the morning. But for us, we knew in just a few short hours nothing would ever be the same again.
After miles of paperwork and three painful attempts at inserting an I.V., I was finally ready. My mom and dad came in to my room one last time to wish me luck. The nurses came and wheeled me into the operating room. I was freezing and shaking like a leaf. My doctor still hadn’t arrived so I had to wait with the catheter of the spinal block hanging out of my spinal cord. I couldn’t move in case it shifted and damaged my spinal chord causing… oh I don’t know... PERMANENT PARALYSIS! I had to stay hunched over on the operating table (with a huge belly, by the way) for about twenty minutes. Finally the doctor arrived and they began extremely quickly.
Jason came in just as they began and sat next to my head. We had made an arrangement that he would talk to me about basketball since March Madness was going on. I just wanted to hear about anything other than what was happening. Being conscious for your surgery is bizarre enough, and it’s best to escape the horrors going on beyond the curtain if possible. My doctor was only too happy to engage in this basketball discussion and he, Jason and two nurses began chatting happily about Duke’s chances a national championship! It was to this subject, young Jager, that you came into this world.
“Okay, are you ready? Here he is,” the doctor said. Suddenly everything went quiet in my head.
-There was my son.-
There was buzzing in my ears. Now separate from me, his pink body moved through the room without me. I cried like I’ve never cried in my life—the most intense mixture of tears and hysterical laughter I’ve ever heard. I don’t remember anyone else at that moment except that I told Jason to leave me and go with the baby, which he did. Finally, I regained thought and asked what color his hair was. The doctor studied him, and finally laughed when he said, “I think it’s red!” That was it. That was the moment, the greatest moment of my life. I could have died right there with happiness. I don’t think it’s ever fully possible to describe the overwhelming joy, fear and shock of that moment. It’s better than Christmas, it’s better than anything.
After weighing (7 lbs, 12 oz), and measuring (19 ¾ inches) and a number of other things, Jason finally brought him to me. I touched my son for the first time by kissing him on his lips. I was shaking and unsteady, but his tiny lips were warm and wet.
For those who aren’t parents yet and wonder why people you know and even like suddenly turn into love struck puppy dogs when they have kids, I’ll tell you. You find that you can and do love with the intensity of two years of longing and 9 months of waiting in one blinding instant. You finally understand what it means to love someone else enough to beg to die in their place. It’s overwhelming and suddenly very real. His smile makes you want to laugh and cry at the same time. It’s like looking at every good thing about yourself and the person you love and realizing that you’re responsible for this little piece of perfection in front of you. The pride is so overwhelming it chokes you. Yes, there are negatives to being a parent, but something about this new person makes you want to be someone you never knew you could be. You’d do anything for him and anything seems possible.
You would assume that the most powerful moments are intensely emotional, but I have found that they can be hilarious and filled with laughter too. The first time Jager smiled at me on purpose, was that kind of moment. I was popping in and out of my closet holding up a different shirt every time and asking him what he thought. He was staring at me and by the third shirt he had a huge grin on his face. I instantly started laughing hysterically at our mutual amusement and kissed him all over his face and neck. My stomach actually flipped when I saw him smiling! It was the same nervous excitement you feel when someone you like holds your hand for the first time.
Sometimes we just find ourselves holding him and staring at him. How did we create something perfect?! There are my eyes, and your dad’s lips, your uncle’s widow’s peak, and your grandpa’s ears. We are so unbelievably blessed, and we never doubt it for a moment.
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
Today Is…
Today, I might very well find out the date my son will be born. It’s not exactly the romantic vision of labor pains leading to a visit to the hospital and my husband freaking out that I had envisioned this whole pregnancy. I must be reasonable though. It is 2006 and doctors knowing what they know; know that I might have to be “encouraged” to have this baby. I’m thoroughly motivated to get him here, he on the other hand seems quite content to hiccup 14 times a day, dig his heels into my ribs, and shove his entire personage into my lungs when I sit down. Ah, parenthood.
For the past two months, I’ve made an unwilling habit of getting up 2 to 6 times a night to deal with various pregnancy related, sleep interrupting concerns. Lately, whenever I roll my largeness out of bed, I stop and look inside the awaiting bassinet beside our bed and realize that soon I’ll have to take care of someone before attempting sleep again. Last night, I realized in terror that he might not always go right back to sleep the way I do (or try to do). I could feed him but he may want to play… at 3a.m.! I’ve always considered myself a night owl, but once I fell asleep that was it. I love to sleep and baby, I sure hope you do too.
For the past two months, I’ve made an unwilling habit of getting up 2 to 6 times a night to deal with various pregnancy related, sleep interrupting concerns. Lately, whenever I roll my largeness out of bed, I stop and look inside the awaiting bassinet beside our bed and realize that soon I’ll have to take care of someone before attempting sleep again. Last night, I realized in terror that he might not always go right back to sleep the way I do (or try to do). I could feed him but he may want to play… at 3a.m.! I’ve always considered myself a night owl, but once I fell asleep that was it. I love to sleep and baby, I sure hope you do too.
“So, what do you do?”
I hate that question.
I aim to disappoint. My life is relatively uninteresting. I say this with a “I realize this fact about myself and accept it for the time being” kind of tone. See, I’m not what you’d call a big “go-getter.” I will get all ambitious when it suits me, but that generally only applies to my personal life, not my professional one. In short, my career is fairly nonexistent and I have only myself and my stupid need to make money to blame. When a decent paying job is offered to me, I take it without much regard for the impact said job will have on my career. As a result, I have been a highly paid administrative nobody since graduating from college. And no, you don’t really have to go to college to become an administrative nobody.
Unfortunately, the biggest problem with being an administrative nobody is that, in the end, you are terribly unimportant and easy to replace. That being said, when I became pregnant, my boss told me that I was terribly unimportant and now easy to replace… in so many words. Actually his exact words were, “this baby is really inconvenient for us. Toddles.”
What’s the lesson here? Oh, there are so many. 1. Never work for a man who is old enough to be your grandfather. You’ll be forced to work by his interpretation of a 1950s work ethic. 2. Never work for an office/company that employs less than 15 people (see the Civil Right Amendment poster in your break room at work). 3. Never sell your creative soul for a bigger pay check. Your muse will only torment you.
What are my plans for the future? Well darlings, I really don’t know. My personal life being what it is, I confess that I feel a tad overwhelmed and of course excited. The prospect of figuring out how to start over professionally doesn’t rank that highly at the moment. Ask me again in about three months, okay? All I do know at this point is that I’ll never be some secretary or administrative nobody again. I’m putting that out there into this great abysmal internet so the guardians of the WWW can hold me to that statement.
Wish me luck!
I aim to disappoint. My life is relatively uninteresting. I say this with a “I realize this fact about myself and accept it for the time being” kind of tone. See, I’m not what you’d call a big “go-getter.” I will get all ambitious when it suits me, but that generally only applies to my personal life, not my professional one. In short, my career is fairly nonexistent and I have only myself and my stupid need to make money to blame. When a decent paying job is offered to me, I take it without much regard for the impact said job will have on my career. As a result, I have been a highly paid administrative nobody since graduating from college. And no, you don’t really have to go to college to become an administrative nobody.
Unfortunately, the biggest problem with being an administrative nobody is that, in the end, you are terribly unimportant and easy to replace. That being said, when I became pregnant, my boss told me that I was terribly unimportant and now easy to replace… in so many words. Actually his exact words were, “this baby is really inconvenient for us. Toddles.”
What’s the lesson here? Oh, there are so many. 1. Never work for a man who is old enough to be your grandfather. You’ll be forced to work by his interpretation of a 1950s work ethic. 2. Never work for an office/company that employs less than 15 people (see the Civil Right Amendment poster in your break room at work). 3. Never sell your creative soul for a bigger pay check. Your muse will only torment you.What are my plans for the future? Well darlings, I really don’t know. My personal life being what it is, I confess that I feel a tad overwhelmed and of course excited. The prospect of figuring out how to start over professionally doesn’t rank that highly at the moment. Ask me again in about three months, okay? All I do know at this point is that I’ll never be some secretary or administrative nobody again. I’m putting that out there into this great abysmal internet so the guardians of the WWW can hold me to that statement.
Wish me luck!
Wednesday, March 08, 2006
What I'm Listening To Now
Have you ever noticed how your musical taste shifts, sometimes slightly, sometimes drastically with different periods of your life? Personally, I believe for a musical preference shift to be sincere and not coaxed by peers, it can be only a shifting indeed and not a total abandonment of previous tastes. For example, the one time I experienced a relentless hip hop preference it was admittedly due to boyfriend that I only had for two months. My taste for Ginuwine and Puff Daddy (as he was known back then), lasted roughly as long. While I still love R&B, rap has never genuinely entered the realm of my devout musical love.Music was my first real love. I mean it. Boys were put on the backburner longer than normal probably because I could indulge in a passionate relationship with a CD without much moral input from others. As a result of this, my boyfriends have always been musicians—I just realized this. It was an easy transition I suppose.
When I think about when it all began, I start to get the feeling that the first memory goes so far back as to be nearly primitive. My mom started it all, by playing folk guitar while pregnant with me and introducing me to Simon and Garfunkel and Joan Baez at an almost indecent age. My dad on the other hand, always sung country classics and jazz standards to me. I knew all the words to Mona Lisa and You Are My Sunshine before I knew how to ride a bike. Those roots have eerily stuck with me. I am convinced that those influences exclusively inform my obsession with James Taylor and lyrically driven music regardless of instrumental execution.
In High School, I fell for U2, Chris Isaak, Sheryl Crow, Sixpence, Nat King Cole, Blues Traveler, Martin Page, Mazzy Star, Collective Soul, Enya, Jars of Clay, Tori Amos and lots of Jazz. Hip Hop and rap became really big back then so I liked a few songs, but my tape player rarely housed that genre. I would buy a single of some hip hop song and quickly realized that when my girlfriends were in the car, out came Tori and in went Blackstreet. I got over it fast. Looking back at what moved me so intensely then, I realize that I am still that same girl, just evolved.
In college I began being heavily influenced by a wider group of more open minded and well-traveled friends. My tastes became even worldlier, and I ventured deeper into the genres of existing preferences. Everybody experiments in college, I just spent my time fiddling with music and finding new ways to express the impressions it left on me. I wrote a lot back then and I began to realize around this time how much music affects your writing and really all of your creativity. Had I chosen to write this blog entry while listening to one of my high school loves this would be even more nostalgic than I meant it to be. Instead I’m listening to one of my current obsessions, so hopefully this entry is true to this moment.
Right now, I’m listening to Imogene Heap, Delays, Ivy, Ryan Adams, Clem Snide, Rufus Wainwright, Broken Social Scene and far too many others to mention. The most obvious thing that’s changed lately is the fact that my taste has gotten mellower and I’m going for more lyrical, more introspective and even sweeter sounds than I ever have in the past. At this moment I’m softening, I suppose.
Thursday, February 16, 2006
So Now What?: Feminism Alive and Not So Well
As most anyone who knows me already knows, I was let go from my job when my employer found out I was pregnant. My job ended in late December, but I’m not due until March. It has now been almost two months since I’ve received any income. As you can imagine, losing that much of your income without the hope of being able to replace it is not just an adjustment, it’s downright scary. The reality is that employers don’t hire largely pregnant women. I’m out of hope for work until after I have the baby. Unfortunately that is the time all moms take time off work to be with their newborns, not necessarily before. I was given no choice in the matter so the income-less crunch has hit us hard and long before it should have.
Today, I’m scared. Like most people, we look at our finances and make decisions about expenses, but now that my unemployment money has run out (my former employer didn’t pay in, so there is no money for me to take out now), we are forced to face the harsh reality that we just don’t make enough. We just got a house, but other than that our expenses aren’t that much greater than they’ve been in the past. With the baby coming very soon, we are looking at increased expenses that simply cannot be cut. Do you have a knot in your stomach, yet? I sure do.
So the search has begun. Perhaps it should have begun a while ago, but now I can delay no longer—I must find work! Unlike every American mother I will not be “entitled” to maternity leave—that is essentially what my former employer was protecting himself from. Way to go you puritanical asshole! I can’t go to a job interview, I can’t find a normal job—who would have me like this? Hell, I wouldn’t even hire me. I have to think creatively. How can I make a certain amount of income every month without having to go to work? What can I do and how can I do it? Talk about overwhelming.
It’s amazing to me that in this day and age that issues like this are still plaguing young women. Gloria Steinem was right, we have made progress, yes, but women are still engaged in a battle for their rights. Things look better, but perhaps these female prejudices just come later; perhaps they are now restricted to mothers more than women in general. You’d be shocked how much regression takes place in the mouths of modern thinking people just because you’re having a baby.
The impulse to tell a woman what she should do is seemingly uncontrollable, and the unconscious change in feelings towards a woman who’s having a baby is perhaps imperceptible to everyone except the newly isolated mother-to-be. It sucks. You probably wouldn’t even flinch to know the amount of times people react to the employment injustice I’ve had to face with words like, “well, at least you can stay at home with the baby now.” Wow. To be honest, my boss said that as well. As if, they even knew our minds on the subject in the first place. We didn’t even know our minds on the subject yet—we never got the chance before someone else’s opinions were imposed upon us—before our autonomy was violated in this fashion.
Long story and ranting cut short… what am I going to do? I’m open to almost any option that doesn’t involve selling my body :) or baby, or settling for someone else’s stupidly backward and automatic answers.
Today, I’m scared. Like most people, we look at our finances and make decisions about expenses, but now that my unemployment money has run out (my former employer didn’t pay in, so there is no money for me to take out now), we are forced to face the harsh reality that we just don’t make enough. We just got a house, but other than that our expenses aren’t that much greater than they’ve been in the past. With the baby coming very soon, we are looking at increased expenses that simply cannot be cut. Do you have a knot in your stomach, yet? I sure do.
So the search has begun. Perhaps it should have begun a while ago, but now I can delay no longer—I must find work! Unlike every American mother I will not be “entitled” to maternity leave—that is essentially what my former employer was protecting himself from. Way to go you puritanical asshole! I can’t go to a job interview, I can’t find a normal job—who would have me like this? Hell, I wouldn’t even hire me. I have to think creatively. How can I make a certain amount of income every month without having to go to work? What can I do and how can I do it? Talk about overwhelming.
It’s amazing to me that in this day and age that issues like this are still plaguing young women. Gloria Steinem was right, we have made progress, yes, but women are still engaged in a battle for their rights. Things look better, but perhaps these female prejudices just come later; perhaps they are now restricted to mothers more than women in general. You’d be shocked how much regression takes place in the mouths of modern thinking people just because you’re having a baby.The impulse to tell a woman what she should do is seemingly uncontrollable, and the unconscious change in feelings towards a woman who’s having a baby is perhaps imperceptible to everyone except the newly isolated mother-to-be. It sucks. You probably wouldn’t even flinch to know the amount of times people react to the employment injustice I’ve had to face with words like, “well, at least you can stay at home with the baby now.” Wow. To be honest, my boss said that as well. As if, they even knew our minds on the subject in the first place. We didn’t even know our minds on the subject yet—we never got the chance before someone else’s opinions were imposed upon us—before our autonomy was violated in this fashion.
Long story and ranting cut short… what am I going to do? I’m open to almost any option that doesn’t involve selling my body :) or baby, or settling for someone else’s stupidly backward and automatic answers.
Friday, February 10, 2006
Do You Know What It Means?
Do you know what it means to miss New OrleansI miss it both night and day
I know that it's wrong... this feeling's gettin' stronger
The longer, I stay away
Miss them moss covered vines...the tall sugar pines
Where mockin' birds used to sing
And I'd like to see that lazy Mississippi...hurryin' into spring
The moonlight on the bayou.......a Creole tune.... that fills the airI dream... of Magnolias in bloom...and soon I'm wishin'that you were there
Do you know what it means to miss New Orleans
And that's where I left my heart
Do You Know What It Means to Miss New Orleans by Louis Armstrong
------------
Yes, Louis. I do know what it means.
Even the idea of the New Orleans inspires a profound sense of loss within me. New Orleans was the purveyor of so many special experiences for me—my first strawberry daiquiri, the first time my husband told me he loved me in the middle of Jackson Square, my first wedding crash, my first win at a gambling table, and a few other wonderfully seedy, but pleasant experiences I won’t go into here.
Every once in a while I feel the call of other places on my spirit. Often I feel the call of home—South Africa has a distinct and powerful pull over her children. And sometimes the need to see places I’ve never witnessed is so overwhelming that I can barely breathe—lately it’s been Germany, Italy and Switzerland. For the past month, however, the humid, spicy spirit of New Orleans has sung its sad song to me. Many times, I’ve caught myself daydreaming about searching for airfare quotes to the Big Easy (always my first step towards an imminent trip); only to realize that the city I’ve come to both fear and love is no more. All those once in a lifetime experiences can never really be relived.
When Louis Armstrong first sang that song, do you think he ever imagined a day when just missing New Orleans because he couldn’t get there just then would be a fond memory? Today, the lazy Mississippi he spoke of has seemingly changed directions, those Creole tunes are sadly silent, and those ancient Magnolia trees are broken and splintered.
When New Orleans is resurrected, and I’m sure it will be, will it simply be a modern concrete homage or a Disneyland version of the thick aired, fragrant New Orleans of days past? Will the beignets ever taste quite the same in a rebuilt Café Du Monde? Call me pessimistic, but somehow I don’t think anything will ever be quite the same. Maybe that’ll be a good thing, so for me, a sense of privilege now dwells with those memories. In my mind, New Orleans isn’t just a city that met destruction—the moonlight on the bayou, those Creole tunes, those crawfish etouffee and magnolia smells conjure actual moments for me. Moments I’ll never forget, in a city I’ll never forget.
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