Theme Week 13...Vignettes

Theme Week 13..Vignettes
All sisters have some sort of special relationship, good or bad. My sister and I are no different. The bad was mostly before I was 12 years old. That was before she moved out and got married. She was 7 years old when I was born. She was a princess, like many 7 year old, only children, and she didn’t like me much when I came kicking and screaming into her world. “Whaddya mean..be quiet the baby’s sleeping…this is my kingdom.” It must have been very hard to share what had been her glory for 7 years. Of course I only know this part because she told me, when we were both much older, and able to handle that truth. I do remember being a royal little pain in the ass who must have caused her no end of headaches when she was a teenager, with teenage friends, and teenage secrets. I remember sitting in the living room, under the piano (one of my favorite spots so the gypsy lady in the painting couldn’t see me) and tattling whenever Di and her boyfriend got too close on the couch, or turned out the lights to “watch tv.” More than once I heard, "Mama, can't you make her stop talking?"
As an adult with children and grandchildren, she probably wouldn’t condone corporal punishment now, but at that time it didn’t bother her much to whack me when she thought I needed it…which seemed often to me. I was sure she was just being mean when she made me spit out the gum (right in front of my friends) that I’d taken from her dresser. (That was o.k. My friends each shared a piece of their already been chewed gum with me) Or when she put the dishes back into the dish water saying they were still dirty, when in truth, they were probably still dirty.
On the flip side, I became her trained mascot who could jitterbug with the best of them…very handy to have a dance partner who was little enough to toss over your back or slide under your legs. It was cute to have a little sister dress up in a cheering uniform (pint sized) and go out on the basketball court. I was pretty useful as a go between with authority too. Lots of “go ask Mama if we can…” conversations. When she got a convertible,(57 Chevy Bel Aire...the only Chevy I ever loved)it was quite a thrill to be invited to go for a ride. When she got a diamond, she woke me up to show me first. By the time she was 19 and moving out, I figured she had grown up enough so we could finally be friends. It was many years later that it occurred to me that maybe I was the one who had grown up a little. It was very cool to go stay with her and her husband down near the coast. Later when I had a niece, then a nephew, it was my favorite place to go. My brother-in-law was the perfect big brother to me…wonderful to my sister, kind and caring with his small children, and just enough of a tease to always make me laugh. That all changed with a middle of the night phone call to tell us he had been killed in a car accident. As a typical 16 year old drama queen, I was pretty sure it was the end of my life too. I soon realized that my pain was trivial compared to my sister’s. She was now a 24 year old widow with two toddlers. Many years later, she summed it up when she told another young mother that when people tell you that time will heal the wound; you want to tell them to go to Hell, even knowing that they are right. We did all move on from that time.
When I got married, I moved in with Di and her children, while my husband was finishing basic training and tech school in the Army. At the end of the month, just before the allotment checks came, we’d clean out the pocketbooks for a supper out at The Chuck Wagon. We had a great laugh when Di introduced me to the waitress after I’d just ordered a beer, and the waitress asked which one of us was older. Filet mignon couldn’t taste any better now then those hamburgers did back then. We also had a great sense of teamwork. She worked and I babysat. On the weekends, we’d start cleaning at opposite ends of the trailer, and meet in the middle. During that winter, she began a new relationship, and when I moved out in June with a new baby, she remarried.
We’ve remained close, asking and giving advice freely over the years. Whenever there’s been a family crisis, we’ve talked to decide how and how much to tell Mom and Dad. That’s something that has continued with Dad now that Mom is gone. We’ve had a running joke about the Christmas newsletters from the absolutely bloomin’ perfect relatives with their exceptionally brilliant children, a la Lake Wobegon. Even though we’re both busy with our families, work, and school, and don’t get together as often as we’d like, because of the distance, we’re still best friends. We may have gotten off to a rocky start, but I think we’ve worked it out pretty well.

Theme Wk 12 "..where they ain't..."

“They” are a couple who “enjoys ill health.” No one has ever had an ailment that “They” haven’t already had…worse, longer, a more serious case. If you meet “Them” on the street, you’ll soon learn not to ever say, “How are you?”
That simple, courteous, rhetorical question will always be met with an organ recital “well my knees…having a replacement…horrible stomach aches from… headaches….Dr. thinks…probably a rare type of …..deficiency…”

Unfortunately, they aren’t usually kind and thoughtful enough to keep their bad attitudes between themselves. They’ve shared them with their children as well…”Are you feeling ok?....you look pale…let me feel your forehead…are you sure you aren’t…..blah blah blah…They drive away friends. They alienate colleagues to the point of people ducking around corners when they see either of the pair approaching. They are angry at the world. What makes people dwell so on their own problems...real or imagined…that they forget all the basic lessons they’ve learned (and taught) in Sunday School? So sad. It must be an exhausting way to live.

Week 12 theme..Hit 'em where they ain't..

December 2005

Dear Friends and Family,
Season’s Greetings! We just can’t believe another year has passed…and what a busy year we’ve had!
Bailey will be back to school in only one more week. He was able to reduce his suspension by 15 days with daily counseling sessions. We are so proud of his initiative! The doctor says that with proper therapy, his word retrieval should return to almost normal.
Bif Jr. served the last week end of his sentence over Thanksgiving. As soon as his hand heals, he should be able to go back to college. Since he no longer has a driver’s license, he’s looking forward to getting lots of healthy exercise walking back and forth from the dorm to his classes. The Police have worked very hard with the college to clean up the crack house on the corner, so he should have a wonderful chance to see the area and get to know his neighbors.
Little Becki is enjoying the antics of her twins, as do we! Billy is so athletic! He is able to jump from the kitchen counter to the dog’s back without ever missing! It’s so sweet! He and Bobby make quite the little team. They work together to reach the top of the refrigerator just like little mountain climbers. Just the other day a woman in the grocery store compared them to the twins on “Desperate Housewives.” Isn’t that precious? Imagine! Celebrities!
Bif and I have decided to follow our life long dreams of travel. We’ve both quit our jobs and put the house on the market. As soon as he clears up the misunderstanding of the misappropriation of funds at the office, we’re off to parts unknown! (He just told me to pack a bathing suit!) Rest assured, we will keep in touch with each and every one of you.
Have a joyful holiday, and a blessed New Year!

Much love to all,

Bif and Bobbi

Week 11 theme/Distance, frame, alienation

Everything I’ve tried to write so far, I have quickly abandoned. I keep re-reading the examples and starting over…. I can’t seem to bring myself to write about the downside, the problems, or the heartaches. Is it because of my New England upbringing? “You don’t air your dirty laundry in public.” “Everyone has troubles…you don’t need to broadcast your own…just deal with it and move on.” Is it because the writing, the letting it air in public, might hurt someone, in my mind, ..Even though those same “someones” will probably never read it? Is it a feeling of not supporting someone close to you? Of refusing to let go of the past? Perhaps there is guilt over my own shortcomings, my own transgressions that I don’t want to face. Guilt for having a relatively carefree childhood? I grew up, living in one home, with the same two parents and one sister. When I was hungry, there was always food. When I was cold, I turned up the thermostat. My needs were met. Enough of my wants were met to strike a balance. While I didn’t ever feel a sense of being denied, ( other than wanting my own horse, and a swimming pool…and I was able to ride my Godmother’s horses, and swim in the river), I wasn’t given everything I wanted, either. I had rules to follow, and even though I didn’t feel like they were very fair at the time, in retrospect, they were not unreasonable. I had my own dog, and my own cat. I knew that my parents loved me, and when my sister wasn’t being a big sister bully, she did too. That may be why I have no great desire for “things” now. I live comfortably, but certainly not lavishly. I don’t mind if someone has the latest greatest “whatch ma callit”. I can be happy for them without coveting that which is theirs.
My mother told me once that when she lost a pet as a child, her mother told her not to cry. She said, “The most you could do if I died is cry.” The loss of a pet shouldn’t be equal to the loss of a mother. That seemed rather heartless to me at the time. Maybe it helps explain why I always cried over the misfortunes of other people… the cousin who asked as we picked him up in the middle of the night, “Aunt Laura, why doesn’t anybody want me?” ( I was around 8 at the time. He was 10) My neighborhood friends who lost their mom to lung cancer, then suffered more pain when their dad’s new mail order bride blew into town and turned out to be the wicked stepmother. I sat in a circus as a 9 year old, and cried because as I saw it, the children didn’t have a real house to call home.
I still can’t write about the low spots. I will continue to cry over the children in The Bridge to Teribithia , and for the boy in Stone Fox . ( there’s just something about him carrying his dead dog over the finish line that does me in every time) Maybe someday I can distance myself enough to write my own creative non fiction. Until then, I’ll continue to skirt around the edges. This may even help to explain the Blogger name, since it bears no resemblance to my real name.

Theme .Week 10. Irony

Theme Week 10 . Irony. When things simply don’t mean what they seem to mean.

“ When you don’t know what to write about, the best way to start is to just begin writing…about anything.” I tell my 3rd graders this all the time. Make a story web. Outline your ideas. Use a blank piece of paper and just brainstorm as fast as you can. Write any ideas that come into your head.
“Johnny, if you want to write, you can’t do it wandering around the room. You can’t get it finished if you don’t start it. You’ve got your paper and pencil. Now get to it. You don’t want to have to miss recess time. “
It is now Sunday..week 11 has started. I’ve done my environmental science paper this week. Who knew waste water treatment could be so fascinating? Those “daphnia” are really something. Met Sis and Dad at the OTB yesterday. Finally sat down at the computer this morning. Had to make a pot of tea. Might as well throw some brownies in the oven. The kids are coming up today. Back to the computer. Whoops…email coming in. Better check it. It might be important. Check the March Madness pool. See where Adam is in the standings. Maybe just play one game on POGO. Or two. I’ll just rework the wording on those business cards. Maybe the font needs to be bigger. That should do it. Hmmm. Week 10. Irony.
OK.. The sun is shining. Recess is coming. Get to it.