There are two things about my memory: (1) It is primarily visual, and (2) it goes waaaayyyyyy back. I may have mentioned this before, but I can remember potty training. Not the whole ordeal of it of course, but I have scenes in my head that I can play back to myself, twenty some years later. I can remember the pattern of the wallpaper in my living room while sitting on the little training potty. The next part of the story is a little bit TMI, so I leave that part of the story in my head.
But the point was that I can access these little movie clips of my life at will. There is no clumsy remote or broken DVD player to worry about. I simply have to think of a period in my life and scenes line up in my own private theater for my viewing pleasure. Not that all of them are happy, feel-good films, or witty comedies. Some are very clearly in the drama category, and some are occasionally suspense or even horror.
Luckily, the horror genre of my memory does not offer a wide selection. I would like to keep it that way. However, some of the titles that do haunt me are:
Pet Bunny Gets Terminal Botflies
Priest Describes Horrible Things He Did to KITTENS When He Was a Boy to Fifth Grade Religion Class
ET Surely Lives in My Basement OMG I Have to Run Up the Stairs SO FAST or He Will GRAB MY ANKLES.
I also have my share of cooking show/Food network style flicks:
Boiling Water in Pyrex Dish: The Rise, the Fall, the Aftermath
Apple Pie Fail: A call for help.
Learning to Die with Dignity: Memoirs from the Jeanine Cake from Taste of Heaven
I could make lists of titles for days and days. But right now I want to mention some of the most vivid clips that are stuck in my mind. What is strange to me is that although some of these scenes correlate with very important moments in my life, some aren’t necessarily huge turning points. I just see them very clearly is all.
Again, I could go on forever. Lets start at the beginning:
I was bundled up for cold weather. I look down at the boards of the jungle gym at the playground behind our house in Virginia. My dad is going to catch me at the bottom of the slide, but first I have to get there without falling through the cracks in the jungle gym platform. They seemed so wide to me.
I am wearing Oshkosh forest-green corduroy overalls. I am feeling really proud of myself because I am totally able to dress myself with the easy closures on these bad boys. Until disaster strikes and one of the suspender thingys falls in the toilet as I am trying to manage everything by myself. I am sad that I have to ask for help. Crying ensues.
My baby brother has tiny hands that squeeze when I place my index finger in them. The only thing I love holding this much is the sateen corner of my blanket. I am wearing pink fuzzy footed pjs.
Grandpa is napping. We pretend he is a cat. We are baby birds that Grandma “hatches.” We curl up in a little ball by her side, and then emerge from blue afgan eggs. We peep around the living room looking for worms, trying to avoid waking the sleeping “cat.”
Zoobilee Zoo is awesome. And Grandma has made saltine crackers with lemon icing. I live next door, but assume both houses are mine.
It is my first day of ballet class in Michigan. I have my new leotard on and the place smells like a musty warehouse. I like it. My friend, Rachel, introduces me to my best friend, Alicia. It was the first time we met, and I thought she was so pretty. Her hair was kind of messy compared to all the other girls in class. We become friends forever.
It is the first day of high school. I know zero people. I am sitting in the auditorium near the back, wearing a fake fur skirt, combat boots, purple tights, black tank top, ball-chain necklaces, and purple hair. There may have also been some eye makeup. A boy with purple spiky hair and black leather pants approaches me after the orientation. We become friends forever.
I am sitting with my boyfriend on the roof of his garage in Arizona. We are watching the sun rise over the purple mountains that are on fire. A yellow tree full of blossoms is hanging over us. I realize with incredible clarity that I am in love, and there is no going back. My stomach flips. I don’t tell him just then.
Driving home from my Grandma’s funeral, my friend calls me to tell me that her Grandma had also died that week. I remember passing a lot of semis on a straight highway in northern Indiana. She told me that before grandma passed, her grandpa held her hand and told her that “She had done well.” I want to bawl my eyes out, but don’t want to hit the semis so I contain myself for the most part. Two days later, I finish reading Time Traveller’s Wife and cry longer and harder than I have in a long time.
Justin and I are waiting on the train platform in the morning. It is cold and windy, so I smash-up next to him to avoid the wind. I am warm and he calls me a penguin.
Porpus– The first step is admitting you have a PROBLEM.
So, I have been posting a lot of cat pictures lately. Is it because there is nothing else in my life that is making me happy? No, not at all. It’s just that they are cute and it is all the cuteness I have to offer at this point. You see, I have been bombarded for two months straight with photo uploads such as this:
I could post nearly a hundred photos pulled from Facebook featuring pumpkins and kiddo theme, but getting the publishing rights from all those mommies would take me a year. (Thanks to Shanea and Katie for these two.)
What the heck, right? What are these kiddos trying to do to me? I have to squeeeeeeze something really hard when I see a little one in a pumpkin patch. Justin’s arm is practically bruised by early November. I’m sorry, but the cuteness makes me want to explode. (By the way, I have a debilitating weakness for all things cute, and I dare you to send me a cute link from the internet that I haven’t already seen.)
Maybe you are one of those people who thinks babies and pumpkins are NOT adorable? Well, although I don’t understand you, I respect your strangeness. And I am here to provide you will all the non-baby-pumpkin photos you can handle. I’ve got cats. Cat bellies and cat mouths. Coming right up:
Not into cats either? Well, I’ve got nothing for you.
P.S. I really am grateful for my two healthy felines. Two friends are going through some hard cat times, and it makes me want to spoon by little (big) kitties just that much more.
P.P.S. Word count for “CUTE” or “CUTENESS” in this post is 2739.
I know I have already shown you a picture of this wall, but I REALLY like it. So deal with it.
When taking night photography, it is best to have a tripod. Well, I am not commuting with one of those things. Taking the camera everywhere is heavy lifting enough. A prime example of why it is best to have a tripod is picture #6. Blurry city. I kept it anyway because it looks like an impressionist painting, and I love how the lights look on the water.
I may have poo-pooed the impending nighttime commute a couple weeks ago, before the time change, but it does hold some charms. The city at night gets to pick and choose its focal points. Certain places are lit that you would normally not focus on during the day. And without the busy backdrop of sunny surroundings, our view is more selectively focussed and the points of interest are amplified. I especially love how Lasalle St looks like Gotham; the arrogant Chicago Board of Trade building bookends the financial district at the street’s end.
When I arrive in my neighborhood, the trees that are still clinging to a few yellow leaves look like they are on fire in the street lamps. Everything is quiet, even by 6 pm. The only sound comes from me purposely walking on the edge of the sidewalk through the crunchiest leaves I can find. People are busy in their homes, catching up on eating and sleeping. Fattening up for the long winter. It’s an annual pastime of this great city.
My boss had to unexpectedly fly to Switzerland today, so guess who got her two reserved spots in “Totally Hands On: La Cucina Italiana” cooking class at the Chopping Block?! That’s right, I am the lucky winner.
I invited Amber to come along because she looks cute in an apron and has a solid appreciation for good cheese. She also makes me look tall.
We had a small class in a large, well equipped classroom. If it wasn’t a danger to my loins, I would have stuffed a chef’s knife in my pants and headed home with a fine new piece of cutlery. Alas, I have morals and need my loins, so I return home sans world’s greatest knife. I am adding it to my Christmas list right now. (Mom, check the google doc.)
So we made heirloom tomato caprese salad, a frito misto of calamari and scallops, homemade linguine with eggplant, peppers cherry tomatoes and fresh basil pesto, and last but not least, poached pears with marscarpone cheese and pistachios.
The most fun thing to make was the pasta. The most valuable thing learned was some fancy knife skills. The most delicious thing to eat was the caprese salad. And the best part of all was that you don’t have to clean up a thing.
Since I didn’t want to drop or mess up the nice camera, I used the iPhone for a lot of these shots and videos.
I thought this was going to be our classroom, but it ended up being for a chicken class.
Knife skills!
Pesto ingredients
Basil goodness
Poached Pears
Amber mixing it up
done
done
Brought out the nice camera for the final spread
The class was lots of fun, and the opposite of intimidating. The instructor and her assistant were welcoming and helpful. And although we opted not to, you can bring a bottle of wine or have some beers during the class if you choose, or even purchase a glass or wine while you are dining on your self-prepared meal. And like I said, you don’t have to clean up a thing.
As I am walking back from my cooking class at the Chopping Block (more later; lots of fun), I stumble upon the ASNA Howl-o-ween parade. It is a parade for dogs. In costume. I had seen the banner up for a couple weeks, but had no idea the crowd that it would draw.
done
done
done
I don’t know why the first video is upside down.
The crowd was huge!
This little banana was my favorite. Cats would never stand for this kind of thing. They wouldn't stoop so low.
This is the runner-up in my book. Yes, on second thought, felines likely PLANNED this event, just to see the canines in this weakened state. Paraded around in cute humiliation.
Scariest.
This one has retained the most dignity. He refused to let the hat effect his noble stance.
Witchiest.
I can HEAR Schween and Porp laughing in the other room. Felines-1, Canines-0.
Things that have been recently cleaned out and organized:
desk
purse
ridiculous jewelry pile
These three situations were their own private disaster. My work area just looks clean because I shove everything into a drawer at night. The bathroom appears clean until you open the cabinet. Then you are confronted with a massive and tangled wad of jewelry, rogue hair ties, and general rubbish. The purse holds an impressive amount of crap, so it isn’t really a surprise that mine looks more like a garbage bag inside.
Luckily, an intense wave of freaky organizational inspiration came over me last week, similar to the feeling I got about my spice cabinet. I just couldn’t live another day with these hidden sins.
Behold my newly organized jewelry–NOT waded into a ball!
Accessorizing no longer requires frustrating untangling. And the whole project cost me nothing. Amazing.
Although he successfully managed thousands of grassroots groups for the presidential campaign via the internet, he is honestly a grandpa in terms of knowing “what’s happening” online. He is totally unaware of anything viral unless I send it to him, and under no circumstances has he ever stumbled upon anything on his own. If he is sending me a link, it is an article from the Times that he read via iPhone on the train. But in the last 24 hours, something nutty has happened. He took a break from the textbooks for once and has visited and read most of the following sites:
This is all very new to him and he is enjoying himself immensely. Welcome to the entertaining world of the interwebs, sir.
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I have been craving oatmeal cream pies for days. Last night I decided to give in. Justin went to the store on a mission for them, but couldn’t find them anywhere. Being a wise husband, he brought home the closest thing he could think of to satisfy the craving. Oatmeal raisin cookies and a can of whipped cream. Brilliant.
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Last year I hosted my first Thanksgiving and made my first turkey. Word got out and this year it is happening again at our apartment with about 15 people. Should be fun/interesting!
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I may have an internet addiction. I recently talked to one of my creative directors at work who is thinking of starting a blog and was looking for my opinion. One of his projects might be about giving up PS3 for 30 days and then writing each day instead. I wondered what I might do with myself if I got off the internet when I wasn’t sitting at my desk at work. I should really try this and see where it goes. Have you ever thought about cutting down on your online hours?
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Speaking of doing something with myself, I am asked by an increasing amount of people if I want to be a photographer. They ask if I will pursue it as a career. My answer is always no, because I just do it for fun and if I get paid, I am afraid it will be “work”. I have a variety of other excuses about needing more equipment and not really being formally trained beyond a few b/w film classes in high school and college. But just last week, after one of these conversations, I started to think about what might happen if I did take my own art a little more seriously. What would happen if I put some major heart into it? I am kind of curious now.
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Although they were far from glamorous, I kind of miss the photo shoots that I used to be part of at my old job.
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Candy corn is gross. And yet, I still eat it whenever I am offered it. Do not want.
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Have I mentioned my internet addiction? I am subscribed to over 80 websites and blogs through google reader. If I don’t read them for ONE DAY, then there will be hundreds of updates sitting there. I also read mom blogs. I am not a mom. What the hell?
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I am about to eat ANOTHER oatmeal raisin cookie with whipped cream.
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I used to be a dancer. I took ballet for about 11 years, but quite right after my first solo when I turned 18 and went to college. I miss it VERY MUCH, and can get a little teary eyed if I talk about it. Just last week, during a party at work, I was sipping a scotch on the rocks when the topic of ballet came up and I nearly lost it in front of my coworkers. I am getting a little misty typing this. Maybe I should sign up for adult classes at some point. Although the crying woman eating oatmeal cream pies in the corner of the classroom will not be pretty.
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Back in April, I posted this. I am happy to report that good things have indeed grown from that pile of garbage. People have safely landed in better spots than they started at.
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Thanks for randomly hanging out at Megagood. Feel free to leave a random fact below in the comments section.
Pick a word, any word. This plate was in the bathroom of Foursided. Bathroom reading for the ADD customer?
A walk in Winnemac Park with Justin. We took our fake dog for a walk and fit right in.
Fall was awesome this weekend. The only thing that could have made it better would have been an apple pie and a trip to a pumpkin farm/cider mill.
However, I ate too much brunch at M. Henry with Randy and Andrea yesterday to be interested in baking a pie like I had planned. And as far as the field trip to the pumpkin farm/cider mill goes, I am car-less.
It is one of the only times of the year that I loooonnnng for a vehicle. A GIRL NEEDS HER PUMPKINS. The farms in the burbs of Chicago are ridiculously extravagant; petting zoos and pig races, corn mazes and apple orchards, fresh cider and hot donuts. FRESH CIDER AND HOT DONUTS. Want! My friends from high school, Bill and Lindsay, were just engaged this weekend at one of these cider mills in a very cute way. See, cider=love.
You see, I have these childhood memories of the Apple Barn Festival in rural central Illinois (anyone ever heard of Danvers? no, no you haven’t), and I won’t be completely satisfied with the fall season until I can return to this magical place or a place like it. (Add Hayrides, caramel apples, and music to the mandatory list). My heart aches whenever a new Facebook album is posted featuring a pumpkin patch trip, or a goat eating a funnel cake.
And since everyone I know has been uploading adorable pictures of their babies in pumpkin patches, here is mine.
nom nom the pumpkin
Chinese lanterns now greet me at the door. Really really like.
<3
Leaves creating shadow patterns on the wall.
Fall twinkle lights are up around the doorway to the dining room. I really love the extra glow. I need all the light I can get.
Not a real apple pie, but it smells that way.
Have you met Marjorie and Lloyd yet?
They are my only Halloween decorations.
Don’t be scared.
Marjorie is not as wretched as she looks. When I found her a few years ago at World Market, I just had to have her. While laughing maniacally, I stood in line with her under squeezed tightly under my arm. I tried to contain the snickering, but it was like I had the church giggles. They simply could not be supressed. The cashier expertly avoided eye contact with the crazy lady petting the ugly kitty, and soon I was the proud owner of a disgusting piece of styrofoam that was covered in something that can loosely be described as “fur.” A year later, little Lloyd was spotted and purchased to keep her company. Justin hated Marj at first, but has eventually come to accept her as an unavoidable presence that visits us during this time of year. She is the unwanted stepchild of our holiday decor.
