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.
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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.

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?

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.

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?