Old Memories, New Meaning

Old Memories, New Meaning

Before I begin the post today I’ll post some thumbnails of some pictures that I added to my gallery tonight after a long walk and talk with my dear Robin on the way home tonight. It’ll all make sense by the end:

Speaking of weirdness, I rememberd quite a few “weird things” I did as a child that felt quite good when I did them and felt even better remembering them. I’m going to chronicle them here once and for all:

• After Church on sundays, i would take a stack of the bulletins from the back of the church (you know the ones that have all the local ads and the lessons about today’s sermon — that they never actually read?) and I would bring them home with me lay them out in 4 rows of 5 on my floor. Each bulletin represented one of the students in my class. I had a black address book (the old ones with the tabbed yellow dividers) that had 5 1/2 x 8 inch loosleaf inside and I made sure that almost every page had one name on it. A unique name. Last name first, first name last so it was in alpha order. This was my class room. I was Miss Cantave and I was the teacher and I had a new lesson for my class every sunday. This game kept me quite busy – what with grading papers and keeping up with the kids’ well being.
• We have (still) a large round wall mirror, looks like its’ from the 70′s. Has a White plastic frame around it and is about a yard in diameter. It hangs by a nail on the wall. When I was bored (usually at night) I would take it off the wall and hold it perpendicular to me, so that the mirror part was facing up at the ceiling… so when I would look down into the mirror… I’d see the ceiling. I would use the image in the mirror as if it was my floor. So if there was a fixture on the ceiling, I would step around it (like a lamp or a fan or a door frame or a molding). I would just go back and forth from the living room to the bedroom (mine or my moms) and it would entertain me plenty to have walked on the ceiling at night.
• My favorite character when I was a little girl was Barbie (I didn’t have any black ones — I had one called Golden Dream Barbie and I used to pretend to be here, but there was no way I was sprouting shoulder length (or longer) blonde hair any minute, so I’d go into the laundry pantry and get a clean yellow or pink towel and drape it on my head. I would stand in the full length mirror and conduct the Barbie talk show. I was your host, Barbie, and I’d have a set of very compelling guests on the show who’s main concern was to tell me how long and flowing my hair was.
• During the Spidey and Friends show, my brother and I would lay belly flat on the solid wood floor and pretend it was a wall, and we’d climb (slide across the floor) — probably infuriating my mom and grandma but giving our imaginations a wildly good time for all of 5 minutes while commercials were on.
• I used to have a 13 Inch TV that had a glass pane on the front of it (which was detachable for cleaning. (I guess it was an artsy thing). One show I loved more than anything as a young girl was Robotech. I loved the story. I loved the characters. I wished I could have the singing voice and admiration and fame of Minmei and the warrior prowess and adorable giggle of Dana Sterling. I used to watch the shows on VCR over and over and over and over. One day I tried tracing on the glass pane a freeze frame of my favorite characters. I would then take the pane off, take the basic line drawing, sketch it on to onion paper and then color it in accordingly and label every character and hang it on my wall. This too kept me quiet for hours and provided me nothing but joy at my wall of ficticious teen idols.
• I’m sure it was a nervous reaction but when my mom would leave for her night job (she worked from 6:00 AM – 2:30 PM, would come home and sleep for about 2 hours get up and get ready to go work from 6:00 PM – 12 Midnight), it used to make me terribly sad, so I would hide under the table in the dinette. There were a few panes of cardboard fashioned into the bottom of the table and I would take great fascination and pleasure into taking a pen and poking holes in it. Guess it gave me something else to think about. One day I was down there and my grandmother didn’t notice and had some company over and they all sat at the dinette table. She made a dessert dish called beignets which i LOVED because she made them with bananas and they tasted soooo good! So they were all sitting there eating their beignets and coffee and I was fiending, but I couldn’t let them know that I had been down there all that time and not moved or said a word. I sat there with my head in my hands when my grandmother reached down and handed me one in a napkin. *sigh* It was the best beignet I’d ever tasted.
• Dominic had an overactive imagination too, and we didn’t have an exorbitent amt of money. We were painfully aware of how hard mom worked and that we didn’t need to nor should we squander her money. So we made do with what we had. My brother would take paper bags from the many shoppings and fashion robot suits for us with little helmets and guns and such so that we could walk around space patrol around the house. A pair of scissors and a little tape went a long way (see picture above)

My favorite toys besides my imagination and my brother were :
My Viewmaster where I would spend hours and hours watching Dumbo and Winnie the Pooh
Our Show’N'Tell that would read us Macbeth, Romeo and Juliet and The Gingerbread man

I am heartily sorry that Nixmary Brown and Lisa Steinberg and the countless others that I don’t know the names of – didn’t have a chance to look back from older age and reminisce about the simpler days… And I’m sorry for the jackasses that should be neutered before they even THINK of giving life. It takes so little have a great childhood and it really lasts forever. My prayers for all their souls.

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She’s Strange

She’s Strange

Okay… so Max tagged me. And here I go with the top five weird (read: I’d NEVER been tellin’ yall if Max didn’t tag me) things about me.

• I gnaw my thumbs into oblivion when I’m ennerved. Happens alot. Used to happen more as a kid. Couldn’t imagine being a teacher watching me eat my thumbs (basically) till they bled. And… none of them pulled me aside or questioned me. No wonder kids are rollin up in school with bruises and no one cares. Word to the teachers out there reading this: if you have a child in your class who is eating away at a part of herself – TALK TO HER. There are issues.
• I used to eat my own boogers. This lasted well into my early adolesence… and looking back on it.. I wonder if it was because I was strange, or because I was just hungry. Funny… that used to be my BIGGEST secret ever. Now I’m like… so what if folks know. Not like I garnish my pesto with it now.
• I have a set of behavior that I MUST do before I go to sleep. It’s really OCDish. Most of the behavior involves tiring myself out enough to fall asleep *wink*. Ever since I discovered that glorious exercise… it’s part of an almost nightly routine. I find that I can’t sleep WITHOUT doing it most times.
• I stare at the walls and floors of everywhere I enter (except work) usually looking for bugs of some kind. This weirdness is rooted in my fear of insects. But it’s really freakish. It has, although, alerted me to a lot of beautiful architecture… (New Yorkers – look up at the main Post office… it’s a treat) (no, I wasn’t looking for roaches there.)
• I have a nervous laugh at funerals or bad events. I feel the smirk coming on and for fear of seeming like a sociopath, I excuse myself behind fake coughs and hacks. It’s purely nervous though. My first reaction is to laugh. Because I don’t know what else I CAN do besides cry — which is pointless sometimes.

Okay… I’m officially weird.

WildKat66, BabyGirl, ShynStar, Clinky (err… no one tagged u?), and NewDay75

Alright girls… get to it. You are TAGG’ED!

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Comfort of My Man

Comfort of My Man

I tell these stories primarily because I can’t believe that they’re happening to me. It’s like a scene out of a mushy love story and … when have I had THAT? (well… before my Earl?)

Last night I did it again. I made myself crazy with work. I planned to stay late into the reaches of the night because I have enough work for… i dunno… a whole department? Anyway… at some point during the night it dawns on me that leaving late now puts me in the same position I was the other day when homeboy decided he wanted to follow me into my building. I mean… the chances of that happening again may be slim but who knows? Some folks are just unscrupulous. Anyway… the idea of having to combat that again on my own made me sad — but I had already sent my brother home and my baby had itenerary of things to do. I was going to have to suck it up and deal. My baby called me around 7 to let me know that he was getting out of the gym and “how late are you staying there?” I sighed and said, as long as it takes. Quickly changing the subject, I asked him if he was heading home now. He said yes. For a quick second I had a pang like… okay… so everyone is home safe. That’s nice. Some extra feelings from the other night carried over where I felt like, maybe I’m the only one that was really concerned. And maybe that statements all wrong. I think I just felt like my baby… of all people… my protector… my knight in shining armor… was a little less concerned than I would like for him to be. Oh well… no matter. Suck it up, I said to myself… So I hastened off the phone with him to get back to my work.

I’m workin away listening to the sounds of one of the jocks voices that absolutely hate. But this is my charge – to prepare his show for streaming on line. And I’d been lacksidasical for a minute with it. So it was time to play catchup. I looked up from my keyboard about 9:30 and sighed. I contemplated sleeping there. Because… a) I’d get all the way caught up and b) I was really afraid to go home alone. As I was coming to the realization that I’d have to stay there, I get a phone call — it’s my baby’s number. Probably calling to tell me he’s home safe. That’s good.

Me: Hey baby.
Him: I just wanted to let you know that whenever you’re finished with your work, I’m waiting for you downstairs in the car.
Me: (mouth agape)
Him: Babe?
Me: (mouth agape)
Him: Sweetie? Are you there?
Me: *stuttering* You’re downstairs from here?
Him: Yes baby. I’m in front of your work building. So take your time and I’ll be here waiting.
Me: (mouth agape)

Here he came to save the day!!!! I offered him to come upstairs and sit with me instead of sitting in the car (I’d go stir crazy). He said it was probably fine. He’d listen to the game on the radio and read his newspaper. I thanked him profusely and hung up to finish up my work. I didn’t want to leave him waiting too long. About 20 minutes later I got another phone call, “I’m in your hallway.” I ran (literally) to fetch him from the hall. And there he was, standing with a a small bag from the deli. “I thought you might be hungry.”

*sigh* I won’t even bother to tell the rest in detail. Know that for the rest of the night his name was Superman. My hero who stood 10 feet tall who swept in and saved me from thinking he cared less than I thought he should.

I must have done something right… Thank you God.

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Not the Day, nor the Hour.

Not the Day, nor the Hour
I got a phone call a few minutes ago that one of my chapter sorors passed away. Not just any chapter soror. The one who came and took me under her wing and made me feel welcome in that chapter. She was an older soror and always preached good health and good ways to me. She warned me about my family and their sickness and told me that there was a way for me to avoid all of that now if I take heed and follow the correct path now. She always called to check on me and always made sure that I had what I needed and asked about my parents often. She would invite me over for tea and cookies and we’d sit and just talk. She was a sweet, southern woman and her southern ways invited me and at the same time repelled me — because she would want to call and talk during the work day. And southerners sure can chat. But it would be in the middle of the work day and I need my ears to listen to clips I’m editing or have to be in meeting after meeting. And she was retired, and had plenty of time. I always felt bad cutting our conversations short, but I’d try to let her know that I was there and I loved her, even if we didn’t talk.

Then she was diagnosed with cancer. Cancer. This everpresent entity in my life. That seems to strike everyone in my family and for whatever reason, we all deal with it like it’s an annoying cold or the flu or something. And then we’re over it. I guess I just assumed it was the same for everyone. She’d still come to chapter meeting. Albeit meek. Then one day, she passed her duties on to another Soror in the chapter and stopped coming. She called me at one point when she was strong enough to ask me to have a few hats made for her “like the one I made before.” Little crocheted hats that would hold her head warm during the wintertime, now that she lost her hair. I had a pink and green one made for her on GP when she was healthy. So I called the other soror I had make those hats for me and commissoned 4 more. A Black one, a peach one, a dark green one and a brown one. And every day… every opportunity that would come up — I’d remind myself that I needed to bring them to her.

Every day for a year.

But I procrastinated. Thinking she’d be there. Even seeing with my own two eyes at the retreat that she was awefully frail. That wasn’t enough to hasten me. Other things took precedence. Work. My Family. My friends. Sittin around and doing nothing. And now she’s gone. And I have the hats to remind me of my lack of care. Another name to erase from my address book. From my wedding invitee list. Eventually, from my thoughts.

It’s the same thing I did with Grandma. She lived a mere 7 blocks away from us for years. I MAYBE visited her every month… or two. I did speak to her every day. But… seeing her… EH… she’ll be there, I thought. Then she moved in next door to us. I remember thinking as we were moving her in… Now I can visit her every day on my way home from work. Just stop in and check in on her. She lived in the apartment for 36 hours after we moved her in… before they had to take her to the hospital where she lived out the last 5 months of her life. I went to the hospital every day… I guess I kept my promise, then. But … sure would have been nice to enjoy her when she was able to respond. But I took that for granted too.

I’m really beating myself up. I know they know I love them. But I sincerely could have done better. They thought more of me. I knew the dangers of joining a chapter full of older women. I’d come to love them… and then they’d pass on. And I’d have to remain to mourn them. And constantly ask my self… why we do any of this. What’s the purpose to love… just to lose.

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So So Deaf

So So Deaf

The weekend was pretty cool.

On Friday I got a call from Earl (knowing I was going to see him later on that night) asking me “What are you doing tomorrow?” I hesitated, because I thought he had missed our discussion about the plans for our weekend so I started to reiterate “I have chapter meeting, then a dinner meeting with a client then maybe hanging out with Ness and Lou and…” and he interrupted, “What about after?” More hesitation on my part. Because I wasn’t sure what he was getting at… “Nothing I guess,” I responded. “I would like to know if you’d spend the night with me?” He asked. I could hear his smile through the phone. And I was completely, and pleasantly taken aback as I said, “Well, of course!” He has been making a marked change based on our last few conversations. In the last 3 weeks, I’ve seen him about 3 times a week… spent the last 2 weekends with him and he goes out of his way to make sure that he’s around, or offers to spend time. I take him up on it every time and I’m really overwhelmed by excitement. He’s really trying, and I’m so appreciative. We spent the evening together watching boxing, eating shelled peanuts and making jokes. It bugs me out how much like all the men I knew growing up he is like. Between the obligatory newspaper read every day and watching sports incessantly and eating peanuts that you have to shell first… it’s really like being home for me. I know exactly who I need to be in those situations — myself. We turned in for the night and usually we just fall right asleep — or he falls asleep and I try to tire my mind enough to join him — but last night we stayed up for an hour just talking. Deep talk where we just came right out and said what was on our mind and he really astonishes me. As quiet as he is… he’s REALLY effin smart. And I don’t know if I’ll ever stop being impressed by that. We talked so long that we started to fall asleep between our sentences. But no sleep was had, before he was sure that I’d sleep all the way through the night. In the morning, we even showered together (which is a first in a long time). But I just felt mentally, physically and spiritually closer and more in tune with him. And our friendship is coming back which is something I’ve prayed for.

On my way into the city for my client meeting, I passed a group of young men on the train platform at 74th street. They were your typical urban youth — saggy pants, hats worn every which way, teeshirts that reached their knees, do rags with no waves to be kept, etc. But they were unusual to me. But I couldn’t place why. Till I observed them for a little while. I couldn’t hear them. That was what was out of place. I know my people. We’re loud as hell. We yell at each other when we’re within arms reach. But these boys were signing to each other. JUST as animated as they would have been with full vocals and yelling — but all in sign. And it got me to wondering. I thought we get the cues to live certain ways from reading things in the news… from observing things on TV — but this culture takes most of its cues from the music. But what if you can’t hear it? Somehow, the style of the youth has transcended sound. And then I wondered, what kind of conversation would they have amongst themsevles to relay what’s cool and what’s not? I mean, it’s not like they are mutants or aliens. But I don’t ever remember talking to my peers about fashion. I knew what songs were hot. I saw who was singing them on the music videos and I went out into the stores to see if I could find what they were wearing (within my price range and that looked good on ME). I dunno… it just challenged the way I thought we pass messages. But I’m resigned to thinking, it’s all the same.

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