We are in full-throttle moving mode, with tons of boxes and piles of papers and bags of peanuts lying around like we just don't care. So in the last two days, I've been trying to come to terms with my pack-ratedness. I get it honestly. When my sister and I cleaned out my parents' house a few years ago, we filled a dumpster full of junk my parents had squirreled away -- jars and jars of canned tomatoes and peaches that had turned the color of dirt, napkins from parties they threw back in the 60s, clothes full of holes, but saved just in case every store on the face of the planet closed and we had to revert to our pioneer genes to make it through the long, cold winters in Davie County.
But, by the looks of our basement, I didn't get rid of enough. What I couldn't throw away, I inherited, including partial packages of tissue paper and random drapery hooks. But in this packing process, I'm bound and determined to make my "change is good" mantra mean something. I mean, how much are you really changing when you have a broken plate from your first apartment wrapped and stored like it was your first Oscar?
So far, Pat's found a folder of train stubs and receipts from his trip to Japan in 1994. Among other things, I've found my fourth grade yearbook, a 1968 Winston-Salem Journal clipping about Max Woosley, the wife of Oscar "Pop" Woosley who ran the Children's Home in Winston-Salem and was the only father my dad ever knew, and a box full of stuff from my camping trip across the country when I was 16/17.
In that box was a journal from my trip with Teens Camping Tour of the West, which pretty much killed my idea that I've changed much in the last 20 years. Then: shy, confused, excited, and scared shitless by boys. Today: shy, confused, excited, and scared shitless by boys.
July 6, 1989:
We got up today (actually yesterday) from sleeping underneath the stars and heading on out to Colorado and the great Rockies. Today was an awesome (there's that word again!) day! After we traveled for a while, we went into the van and there was a blanket across the front seat so that we couldn't see out the windows. Then we all had to put our pillows over the windows so we couldn't see out. We had to listen to a John Denver tape about "being human." (I fell asleep.) Then we finally got there and we had to close our eyes and get out of the van and stand in a semi-circle. Finally, after listening to another John Denver song about the Rocky Mountains (big hint, huh?) we opened our eyes. It was astoundingly beautiful, that's the only was to explain it. ... After that we practiced "kissing a cadet" for the Air Force Base. All the girls kissed Steve and Peter, and the guys kissed Beth and Nikki. How embarrassing! It was even worse at the Academy. Peter said we wouldn't be able to get back onto the van unless we kissed a cadet. So we did it. It wasn't that thrilling, but I guess it was OK. We had to chase them all down. I bet they went back to their dorms and said to each other, "Did you see those girls from North Carolina?" At least it would be a topic of conversation.
Because conversation is what every Air Force Academy cadet wants with a group of underage teenage girls.
Showing posts with label roaming and roving. Show all posts
Showing posts with label roaming and roving. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Saturday, August 4, 2007
Where medicine and blogging meet
You know when you have those moments/weeks/months where a sudden sneeze wakes you out of a daze and you realize you're still in your pajamas at 5 p.m. or that you left a pot boiling on the stove two hours ago or that, magically, it's a whole different month and you haven't updated your blog?
That's what it's been like for me lately. A whirlwind. That New Start thing wasn't kidding (though lots of things are still around that I wish would just disappear or fix themselves or find some peace, but, still...). There have been a ton of new things going on: job interviews, road trips spanning seven states, selling of the house, planning move to new house, story assignments, shopping for a new suit. These things on top of regularly scheduled activities -- fun things like brushing my teeth and nearly passing out at the gym because I forgot to eat lunch.
But one particularly interesting development is the fact that my lovely acupuncturist has me taking this god-awful Chinese herb formula that's supposed to boost my "open, free spirit" (do I have one of those? Did I leave it at the dentist's office?). It's called -- if I'm remembering this correctly -- Roaming Powder. Get it? Huh? Get it? It's also been called Free and Easy Wanderer's Powder. And I'm so in love with the name, that I don't even mind that people who need it are like this:
I love that my prescription from her is to take this powder and lots of bubble baths and, essentially, to roam and rove.
That's what it's been like for me lately. A whirlwind. That New Start thing wasn't kidding (though lots of things are still around that I wish would just disappear or fix themselves or find some peace, but, still...). There have been a ton of new things going on: job interviews, road trips spanning seven states, selling of the house, planning move to new house, story assignments, shopping for a new suit. These things on top of regularly scheduled activities -- fun things like brushing my teeth and nearly passing out at the gym because I forgot to eat lunch.
But one particularly interesting development is the fact that my lovely acupuncturist has me taking this god-awful Chinese herb formula that's supposed to boost my "open, free spirit" (do I have one of those? Did I leave it at the dentist's office?). It's called -- if I'm remembering this correctly -- Roaming Powder. Get it? Huh? Get it? It's also been called Free and Easy Wanderer's Powder. And I'm so in love with the name, that I don't even mind that people who need it are like this:
"The mind that has not learned how to face problems effectively, that struggles, strives, and competes, will cause the body's qi to stagnate, which, over time, yields various symptoms and diseases."
I love that my prescription from her is to take this powder and lots of bubble baths and, essentially, to roam and rove.
Monday, July 2, 2007
Ten things a five-year-old girl will teach you
1: That I was never the kind of kid who, like her, sang myself to sleep with tender, sweet songs I made up while playing in my room with tiny dolls and a pet wind-up rat.
2: That that surfing Chicken Joe is hilarious! What did he say, again? What's up with the boom-chicka-boom?
3: That attention spans are over rated -- as are pizza and french fries, but definitely not Oreos or potty breaks which are just excuses to pump soap out of the soap dispenser and play in the sink.
4: That you get to Albuquerque by train or by a space ship that collects stars.
5: That most kids on the playgrounds have absolutely no manners and don't care if they push others kids to the ground and make them cry. Thanks, Mom! Thanks, Dad! But some kids really want to share and play and all it takes is one five-year-old to say, "Want to be friends?" for life-long friendships to form in the line for the slide.
6: That the mind starts out so curious about everything. Does the Earth spin? How fast? What happens when it stops? Does it ever stop? How long is 15 minutes? How long is 10 minutes? Is that a long time or a short time? Is today the same day or is it tomorrow?
7: That turtles are first really frightening at first but then become something to be taken care of. So throw some leaves and sawdust on their shells that they can take home to their turtle families because they are hungry and/or cold and could use some blackberries because it looks like it likes them. Dogs are friends immediately and must be petted and stroked and kissed even if they are nasty and covered in foul decaying matter. If you have a dog, you are immediately a friend of a five-year-old. Cats are so-so. If they do cool tricks, then maybe.
8: That girls like the color purple and pink and boys like brown and gray and that black is ugly. Get it straight. But then, don't forget that colors can change every day. Yesterday, I liked green. Today, I like orange.
9: That being at home is awesome, that we don't have to go anywhere but in the woods and pick tulip poplar leaves that become mermaid tails and gravel becomes golden rocks that allow you super powers like jumping really far and running really fast.
10: That people were nice when I had a little kid (with me). So instead of ignoring me and/or scowling, they talk, smile, ask questions about things and generally want to be friends. Who knew?
2: That that surfing Chicken Joe is hilarious! What did he say, again? What's up with the boom-chicka-boom?
3: That attention spans are over rated -- as are pizza and french fries, but definitely not Oreos or potty breaks which are just excuses to pump soap out of the soap dispenser and play in the sink.
4: That you get to Albuquerque by train or by a space ship that collects stars.
5: That most kids on the playgrounds have absolutely no manners and don't care if they push others kids to the ground and make them cry. Thanks, Mom! Thanks, Dad! But some kids really want to share and play and all it takes is one five-year-old to say, "Want to be friends?" for life-long friendships to form in the line for the slide.
6: That the mind starts out so curious about everything. Does the Earth spin? How fast? What happens when it stops? Does it ever stop? How long is 15 minutes? How long is 10 minutes? Is that a long time or a short time? Is today the same day or is it tomorrow?
7: That turtles are first really frightening at first but then become something to be taken care of. So throw some leaves and sawdust on their shells that they can take home to their turtle families because they are hungry and/or cold and could use some blackberries because it looks like it likes them. Dogs are friends immediately and must be petted and stroked and kissed even if they are nasty and covered in foul decaying matter. If you have a dog, you are immediately a friend of a five-year-old. Cats are so-so. If they do cool tricks, then maybe.
8: That girls like the color purple and pink and boys like brown and gray and that black is ugly. Get it straight. But then, don't forget that colors can change every day. Yesterday, I liked green. Today, I like orange.
9: That being at home is awesome, that we don't have to go anywhere but in the woods and pick tulip poplar leaves that become mermaid tails and gravel becomes golden rocks that allow you super powers like jumping really far and running really fast.
10: That people were nice when I had a little kid (with me). So instead of ignoring me and/or scowling, they talk, smile, ask questions about things and generally want to be friends. Who knew?
Sunday, June 17, 2007
My dad, the roamer
My dad used to like to tell this story about going to my grandparents' house in Mitchell County one time when he was younger and newly in love with my mother.
He was the original roamer in our family. He loved to be outside, working in the garden, running for miles and miles, riding the tractor on the farm. And when he visited my mom's house, he went for a walk in the mountains. There weren't a lot of people living around Tipton Hill then. There aren't many now. But people know when there was a new person around. And at 6-feet, 9-inches tall, my dad was hard to miss. So a few days later -- after my dad and mom left -- rumors started circulating around about this man people saw walking up and down the hills. "There's a hippy out there," people said. My grandparents eventually heard about this and, of course, said "Oh, that's just Eddie."
This is funny to me because I know hippies. I live in Asheville, after all, and my father -- who went through confused periods where he made us all watch Jimmy Swaggart crusades on TV and wouldn't let us listen to anything but gospel music -- was NOT a hippy. He was progressive in his own ways: he wore his hair a bit longer; he was remarkably anti-racist; and he was certainly an environmentalist.
Who would think that this man holding my sister is a hippy? And to the right, that's my rumor-squashing grandfather eating jelly beans with me on my grandparents' couch.
These are two of the last pictures I have of Dad, taken the day I graduated from grad school. He couldn't make it because he wasn't feeling well, but he had my sister take these Polaroids of him holding a "Good job, I (heart) U" postcard. That answers the age-old question of where I get my goofy sense of humor.
Happy father's day, Dad! I miss you!
He was the original roamer in our family. He loved to be outside, working in the garden, running for miles and miles, riding the tractor on the farm. And when he visited my mom's house, he went for a walk in the mountains. There weren't a lot of people living around Tipton Hill then. There aren't many now. But people know when there was a new person around. And at 6-feet, 9-inches tall, my dad was hard to miss. So a few days later -- after my dad and mom left -- rumors started circulating around about this man people saw walking up and down the hills. "There's a hippy out there," people said. My grandparents eventually heard about this and, of course, said "Oh, that's just Eddie."
This is funny to me because I know hippies. I live in Asheville, after all, and my father -- who went through confused periods where he made us all watch Jimmy Swaggart crusades on TV and wouldn't let us listen to anything but gospel music -- was NOT a hippy. He was progressive in his own ways: he wore his hair a bit longer; he was remarkably anti-racist; and he was certainly an environmentalist.
Who would think that this man holding my sister is a hippy? And to the right, that's my rumor-squashing grandfather eating jelly beans with me on my grandparents' couch.
These are two of the last pictures I have of Dad, taken the day I graduated from grad school. He couldn't make it because he wasn't feeling well, but he had my sister take these Polaroids of him holding a "Good job, I (heart) U" postcard. That answers the age-old question of where I get my goofy sense of humor.
Happy father's day, Dad! I miss you!
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