Tag: memories (Page 3 of 3)

the best night(s)

December 6, 2009 / jeanne / 0 Comments

before we get started, a confession: i signed up for gwen bell’s blog challenge for two specific, well-thought-out (maybe fairly well-thought-out is more like it), self-serving reasons:
1. i want and i need to associate with good writers, seriously good writers. writers who will keep me sharp and keep me trying.
2. i don’t know if it’s fear of commitment or what, but i have trouble selecting favorites in my life. oh, i’m reflective enough all right, but in a general, broad-stroke sort of way.

that said, today’s assignment goes like this: December 5 Night out. Did you have a night out with friends or a loved one that rocked your world? Who was there? What was the highlight of the night? and my response goes like this:

best pre-2009 nights that come to mind include the night when, as an undergraduate student, i felt absolutely, undeniably, uncontrollably in love with my life. and the night he scooped me up – broken knee and all – and whisked me away minutes after we said “i will. oh, yes, yes, yes, you know i will.” how could i ever forget the night my daughter was born, and i slept through the night on my stomach for the first time in 12 years or the night 14 months later when my son was born and spent his first night sleeping quietly right beside me as i finished his christmas stocking?

then, after enough consideration to disrupt sleep and cause headaches, i’ve decided that the best 2009 nights include (in no particular order):
the night we supped with our n.c. friends – people we know only by sight – and their longtime friends whom we’d never seen at all. now eating with the people who live next door can be tricky. real tricky. and expensive if things go badly and you wind up having to sell your house or something. anyway, the first potential land mine is the fact that i’m a picky eater of the first order. it’s nothing my mother did or didn’t do, it’s just the way it is and i am. and what if we have multiple forks and i select the wrong one? what if we stay too long? leave too early? what if there’s something i can (read: will) eat, and it sticks to my teeth . . . and what if it’s an APPETIZER? what if i say the wrong thing? what if andy says the wrong thing and i can’t cover?

you get the picture.

at the appointed time, we head out and walk down to their house. it’s a nice night (and, honestly, we forget all about the fact that we’ll be walking uphill on the way home). what unfolded after we crossed their threshold is a night that, well, i’m writing about it here, so you know it was a good night. the food was DELICIOUS – i even asked for a recipe. there was only one spoon, one knife, and one fork at each place. the conversation flowed freely and easily – even when the other two couples talked about things shared, we didn’t feel left out for a single minute.

as we ate and talked and laughed – oh my goodness how we did laugh – the music played, and to my great delight, we would, after the hosts set the example, get up and dance right smack dab in the middle of the meal. this wasn’t dancing after dinner, this was dancing during dinner – and nobody had to ask to be excused. a good song would come on, and somebody would be up dancing before you could say “turn it up.”

another night worth remembering is a recent meal at the house of other friends. again, the food was delicious, the conversation never stalled, and cutlery was blessedly kept to one of each. at one point in the meal, the four of us were watching a football game on television; reading selections from a book by carlos castaneda, and discussing pre-columbian textiles as modern art – all at the same time.

the other 2009 night that comes to mind is this past thanksgiving night when i was settled in with the husband, my two chiclets, my mother, and an assortment of cats and dogs. tummies were full, dishes were clean and stored, and as we sat talking about this ‘n that while looking at the spectacular, can’t-take-your-eyes-off-of-it waterfall, it started snowing. we turned off all the lights inside, turned on all (read: both) the outside lights, and sat mesmerized with the beauty and quietness of it all.

. . . you know for a picky eater who hates cooking, it’s interesting that each one of my favorite nights involves a meal, isn’t it? well, i suppose there’s nourishment then there’s nourishment.

#best09

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restaurant

December 2, 2009 / jeanne / 8 Comments

he was stuck in the medical pinball machine, bouncing from one doctor to another. the weekly appointments became social outings, my mother inviting a friend or two to join us for the ride to the doctor’s office then lunch on the way home.

on this particular day, i chose a pizza restaurant they’d never been to before. mother, her friend miss eleanor, daddy – they were all excited at the prospect, but when we pulled into the parking lot, daddy changed his mind and grouchily voiced his reluctance. he just wanted to go home, he declared. “well, mother and miss eleanor are hungry,” i told him. “they had a light breakfast in anticipation, so we’re going to stop.”

“well, i’m staying in the car,” he huffed.

“fine,” i said as i wheeled into the sunniest parking space and rolled the windows down about half way.

“how many?” the hostess asked as we entered the restaurant.

“three now,” i said, “but there’ll be a fourth one in a wheelchair joining us in about 15 minutes.” mother and miss eleanor, now onto my plan, chuckled nervously.

we sat down, ordered our drinks, and perused the menu. they were amused but cautious, too, not knowing how daddy would respond to not getting his way. he was, after all, The Sick One, and even the driver takes second seat to The Sick One. sick one wants to listen to a particular radio station, driver must relinquish control of the dial. the sick one is too cold, the thermostat is adjusted to accommodate, even if the driver gets warm and drowsy. the sick one doesn’t want to stop for lunch, well, usually, the driver would go straight home.

about 15 minutes later, i removed a chair from the table to make room, excused myself, and went out to check. as i rounded the corner, he opened his door as though he thought i’d never come back for him, and we all ate pizza at a restaurant that still reigns as one of the family favorites.

my daddy died 9 years ago today, and i miss him more this year than ever before. 2 nights ago i sat watching my favorite television show, the closer. (southern gal rides into l.a., assumes a management-level position, sweetly and silently endures the ridicule, then goes right on to confidently solve the case in slightly less than 40 minutes every single week. i mean, really, what’s not to love?) anyway, monday night’s rerun was the christmas show, and when brenda lee’s daddy went into the bedroom to console her about something – when he sat there on the bed beside her and talked to her as her daddy – well, i’m not too proud to tell you that i was green-eyed, flat-out jealous of a television character.

daddy fell the day after thanksgiving that year, and ever the patient advocate, i stayed with him at the hospital day and night. as doctors talked of releasing him for in-house rehabilitation by mid-week, i followed my intuition and called the woman – my little elf – who was creating leather bound copies of the book i’d secretly written about daddy. “hello, karen, this is jeanne, and, well, i know you probably haven’t even had time to open my box yet and i know the books aren’t due back till 12/22ish, and i know this might be an outrageous request, but, well, see here’s the thing: i hear voices and they are telling me that i have to get those books back pronto.”

this remarkable woman who will always be high on my list of sheroes didn’t whine or complain or even exhale loudly. she simply said, “i can have one book to you by this-coming saturday and the rest to you on the following monday.”

he only spoke twice that week: once to tell me he was ready for this to be over, and once to tell me how his brother gene (who was killed at age 18) was wrestling with him and wouldn’t “let him in”. with his eyes closed, daddy described everything and everybody he was seeing, and when finally he came to some kind of agreement with uncle gene, a palpable peace filled the room. as daddy rested quietly for the first time in days, and as i sat soaking it all in, staff members (even the ones who had been so darn grouchy less than an hour before) gravitated to the room and talked softly, telling me about themselves and their woes. the room was a magnet for those in angst.

when daddy’s bells and whistles went off around 8:30 that saturday morning, i called the family. as we gathered around daddy’s bed, my husband and son arrived with the fed ex box. i unwrapped the package, bid everybody an early merry christmas (promising them their very own copy on monday), and began to read.

we started reading daddy’s book around 1:15 that afternoon, taking turns reading, laughing, crying, remembering. there were stories he’d told me, letters i’d solicited from friends and former employees – some he hadn’t heard from in decades – and stories and character sketches others told me about my daddy when i interviewed them. we read and we read and we read, closing the cover on daddy’s book around 10 minutes till 5; closing the cover on daddy’s life 5 minutes later.

the ancient rabbis ask “who is rich” then answer their own question by saying “whoever delights in their portion.” i had my daddy for a scant 72 years, but oh, how i do delight in my portion. rest in peace, daddy. rest in peace.

#best09

~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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magic

December 1, 2009 / jeanne / 7 Comments

i am a planner of the first order, a list maker extraordinaire. some call me bossy, others call me a control freak, but none call me unprepared.

two weeks ago, we met my husband’s brother and his wife in the atlanta airport and the four of us trekked down to orlando where we picked up my 50-year old developmentally delayed sister-in-law nancy, and took her to visit the mouse. we don’t see this brother/wife duo more than once or twice a year, and given that traveling together has wrecked more than one friendship, and since we’re so different (both as individuals and as couples), and because nancy is more than a little on the high maintenance side of things, i think you’ll understand why i was the teensiest bit concerned about how this adventure might go down in the family history book.

talk about your unintended consequences . . . i was out of town the three weeks immediately preceding this little adventure, which meant i headed to orlando completely unfettered. no need for a packing list, i just took whatever clothes happened to be clean. no need to list things we might possibly need for nancy, we’d just take the rental car out and fetch anything we lacked. as for the list of conversation kindling, well shoot, i completely forgot about making that.

thursday found us at the magic kingdom where there were no crowds – i’m not kidding – which meant no lines. no crowds + no lists = no stressing over how to fit everything in. that night when nancy became ill, her two brothers were able to help her right into the ladies restroom, empty because even the teensiest bladders will magically wait patiently during magnificent fireworks displays. and when i decided we needed a wheelchair to get nancy back to the hotel, like magic, the first aid station happened to be right next door to the ladies restroom we inhabited.

friday found us at epcot where we strolled leisurely about, happening upon the italian players just as they needed someone who looked just like my husband to play romeo in their version of romeo and, well, edna; walking into japan just as the drummers flamboyantly waved their drumsticks in the air; arriving at our table in the moroccan restaurant just as the belly dancer took the floor. though we were not shopping as we made our way through the norway gift shop after exiting the viking boats, i spotted copies of my favorite 4th grade book called snow treasure. and when i approached the register with a heart racing with the happiness at being reunited with a long-lost friend, i was the only customer and thus able to pay and get outside before donn and carole even knew we were no longer right behind them. and as if all that isn’t enough, we happened upon mexico just in time to watch the sun set over the water as we sipped our margaritas – the spell broken only when nancy surprised us all by uncharacteristically saying “nothing wrong with me.”

despite the lack of planning of what to talk about, the only lull in conversation was when we slept, and even though i had no packing list to go by, i wore clean underwear every. single. day.

it was a magical five days, yes it was. not overly tiring, no cross words were uttered, and we didn’t leave a single thing in the room when we checked out.

now some might say it’s the camel who spat on me not once but several times who’s responsible for the magic. others might credit the mouse and his creator. had she been there, my mother-in-law would say i was holding my nose just right. but really, i’m thinking that the magic we enjoyed on this five-day adventure has to do more with me letting go.

quoting liz emmett mattox, patti digh writes “those who look and expect to see magic will find it everywhere.” with my nose not constantly hovering over various lists, i spied magic all around me. with hands not responsible for marking things off, i preserved magical memories that i’m finding far more satisfying than any list ever made.

#best09

~~~
the story is mine, but credit for the kindling goes to gwen bell and her best of 2009 blog challenge.
~~~

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the key to thanksgiving 2009

November 26, 2009 / jeanne / 0 Comments

chapter 1:
we leave late . . . which puts us driving on the mountainous roads of western nc through the dense, opaque clouds. 2 cats fight the entire time (loudly and physically) while 1 cat practices his carsickness in my lap. and on my arms. and, when all other appendates seem to be covered, on my chest.

chapter 2:
we arrive at the house only to find ourselves locked out. my key that always lives in the car console is m.i.a., and the fella’ doing work on the outside of the house has apparently taken the (singular, as in the only) spare key home with him. or something.

chapter 3:
the garage door opens, thanks to the cooperation of that programmable thingie in my car, so we shepherd dog and cats into the garage and position a big box in front of the cat door because, at the risk of sounding inhospitable, i’m thinking i don’t want the cats to be inside without canine or human supervision. (surely you’ve heard what the cats will do when the mice are away.)

chapter 4:
we head into town where we are delighted to find the dollar store open and a rack of clothes for sale on the sidewalk. alison and mother have their clothes, but i have nothing save the ones that now smell of eau de cat vomit. i pick up clothes, deodorant, and a toothbrush . . . plus a couple of christmas trees for the front door, 31 reindeer ears, a few presents, holiday greeting cards, dog food, a gallon of water (since the water is turned off at the house), a blanket large enough for all the cats and then some, a bed for the dog, and some dog food (already have cat food). just the essentials, you know.

chapter 5:
we walk to the restaurant and inhale food while they mop the floor under our feed, refill condiments and wish we would eat faster.

chapter 6:
back to the dollar store where i purchase some black thermal pants and a mini-dress to wear over them as pajamas since both mother and alison draw the line at me sleeping naked.

chapter 7:
back to the house to feed the animals and tuck them into bed. as alison and i unload the car, mother slips behind the wheel, prepared to honk and flash (the lights) should cats even look like they’re thinking of running out of the garage. they don’t – just the sound of the door is enough to send them into cabinets, thank goodness. we put out the food and water, spread out the blanks, fluff up the dog’s bed, and leave.

chapter 8:
when mother exits the car at the front door to the hotel that we hope has one more empty room, out falls the fork that she “lost” at the waffle house where we stopped for a bite on the way to n.c. eons ago. don’t ask.

chapter 9:
we turn on television in time to see donnie osmond announced the winner of dancing with the stars then showers and smirnoffs all around (with me in pole position) followed by soft snoring and sweet dreams.

chapter 10:
after the free breakfast, we load the car and head back to the house. seeing the neighbor’s car, we stop and i ask if he knows the whereabouts of his friend who did some work on our house. turns out it’s a case of EX-friends due to the unfortunate fact that workerbee stopped paying rent to neighbor (a.k.a. landlord) which led to the eviction of workerbee. so, no, neighbor doesn’t know whereabouts of workerbee but grabs his tools and vows that he won’t leave till we’re inside our house.

chapter 11:
neighbor can’t find a spare key in keybox open either. doors all locked. windows all locked. he’s checking the last door when i notice that workerbee left a trapdoor open that leads to under the house (i immediately picture me trying to wake a family of bears and ask them to pretty please find another place to hibernate) and i hatch a hail-mary idea: “what if we can get inside by going under the house?” i explain that there are 2 closetesque doors in j’underneath (my n.c. studio) that open to – surprise – the big rock on which our house sits. (it’s eerie and captivating all at once.) the way i figure it, he’s just got to take the hinge off the smaller trapdoor (the larger, open door is a deadend – i already know that), crawl in, and find his way over to one of the 2 surprise doors. it works, and before you know it, i’m standing inside asking how can i ever repay him for breaking and entering.

chapter 12:
the key is now permanently attached to my person, and 4 duplicates are on their way up with hubbie. the animals roam contentedly (if not always peaceably). groceries are put up. yesterday’s clothes are washed, and now – at 3:11 a.m. on thanksgiving day – i prop my eyelids open waiting for hubbie and son to arrive and make the dinner table complete. let the overeating begin . . .

trekking on down memory lane

August 16, 2009 / jeanne / 16 Comments

last night found me at hippiefest with hubbie, daughter, daughter’s friend, and a friend of my own from long ago. as we trekked down memory lane, remembering through familiar songs sung by men who sang them back in the day – the names and the tunes familiar if not the aged voices.

i remembered a girl who not only loved to stitch and sew, embellish plain closet doors with collages of photos of things that captured her attention, repaint furniture to suit . . . i remembered a girl who loved to wear pretty clothes (and on whom clothes looked pretty)

(sorry for fuzzy picture – i’m auditioning new cameras, and this one is obviously not The One.)

i remembered a girl who read everything she could get her hands on, a girl who collected words and copied sentences she liked and wrote stories.

i remembered a girl for whom music was a jet plane, taking her wherever she needed . . . or wanted . . . to go in a mere measure or two, music that also provided an escape hatch, allowing her to vacate moods and memories that she wanted to leave. a girl who played colorful tunes on the piano like her grandmother before her.

i remembered falling in deep, instantaneous love with a man who has never once asked me to be more than who i am, accepting (if not understanding) that who i am is subject to frequent change, even while who i really am remains the same.

and then somewhere in the night, i found myself looking forward, thinking and wondering about the future, knowing i did not have to/would not leave the future up to chance. that’s when i decided to do what so many others have done before me: make a list of things i still want to do. so today i got out pen and paper and started My The List.

i was on fire – jotting things like this was my only chance, and in the end, i came up with a list of 3 things.

count them: 3.

oh, i actually came up with many, many more – it’s just that i got all hung up on what’s a real desire worthy of going on My The List and what’s merely a to do and what’s something i feel like i ought to put on My The List because it seems like it’s something i ought to to want to do.

maybe it’s the brownies from last night.

kinnected: day one

August 10, 2009 / jeanne / 8 Comments

(i’ll explain the pose tomorrow.) (or the next day.)

laughter. that’s the language we spoke today. not just those silly giggles, but good old-fashioned bely laughs. the infectious kind of laughs to which no one is immune.

it’s been a day filled with moments i wish i could just freeze and capture – put in a jar somehow so i could pull them out on the days when i need a good laugh, a good memory. (maybe there’s an iphone app for that?)

there are 3 generations here, the idea is for my mother to enjoy a week with her 3 grandchildren with me along as . . . for . . . well, i’m just here. we’re one day into the plan, and so far, so good.

on the day spent with my cousin last week, it was memories of grandmother that segued from one topic to another. our favorite shared memory is how grandmother leapt out of her reserved demeanor every new year’s day. she’s sit in that god-awful piece of furniture under the telephone (i swear, it looked like some cheap souvenir one of the kids picked up for her at a roadside stuckey’s and brought home to prove to her they were, too, thinking about her while on vacation), going down the list of children and grandchildren:

she dialed.
ring-ring. ring-ring.
“hello?” answered the callee on the other end.
“is this 1-9-8-2? (or whatever the year was)” she’d ask, barely able to squelch her laughter before committing the unpardonable sin of hanging up without even saying bye.

it’s become one of our favorite shared annual rituals now, my cousin and i racing to see who can call the other one first thing on new year’s day, wishing we could be like her in more ways than this.

a friend once revealed that she wanted to adopt her granddaughter, and even though she didn’t ask my opinion or even my thoughts on the matter, i put on my best maxine-self and blurted ahead anyway about what a dang fool thing that would be, depriving that adorable child of an invaluable resource: her grandmother.

grandmothers play such an important role in a grandchild’s life. grandmothers don’t need glasses to see the best in each grandchild. grandmothers don’t need letters after their names to teach their grandchildren the most important things in life.

it was my paternal great-grandmother who taught me to like potatoes and cornbread. mimi lived in the cutest, most adorable house-for-one built especially for her by my daddy and his brother, gene. mimi took in sewing to create grocery and pin money. one of my most treasured possessions is the doll dress she made for one of my babies, all of it stitched by hand.

my maternal grandmother made quilts – one for each child and grandchild. these were everyday quilts – we used them for picnicking on the beach, for protecting precious cargo during moves, and mostly for comforting us when sick. several years ago, i held a family reunion and asked that everybody bring their quilts made by grandmother. my backyard was filled with boisterous relatives, and when the first quilt was taken to the edge of the woods and held up by its owners, a hushed awe filled the air. “she really was an artist,” someone said as we all took in the quilts – one by one – from afar.

distance is important to perspective – there’s no doubt about that. this week we’ve reduced the geographical distance, coming together to laugh the days away. we’ll spend the week creating memories that will grow soft around the edges with time, while comforting and warming us for a long, long time. it’s what i call a dream vacation.

(especially if we all come out of it alive.) (i’m just sayin’ . . .)