Utah Savage advises me to write, write, write and to begin with early memories. As soon as I read her advice, I came upon a memory that had been carefully tucked away, waiting for this moment. My first assult offense. No deadly weapon.
I must have been about six or seven. There was a family that lived up on the corner, The Jones....no shit. They had five kids and Dad was an FBI agent. He seemed a very normal dad to me, but I knew he was secretly Elliot Ness. Our Moms were very good pals and so we kids often played together on some swing set or another.
And so, one day I was playing with the daughter, a few years younger than me. She was up high on the ladder leading to the slide in one of those frilly dresses we all had to wear, and was insulting my mother because she was so fat. "Na na na, your mom is fat". Mom was pregnant at the time (thus explaining "fat") and I felt this protective anger arise in me as I never had before. I asked this little shit to stop insulting my mother as she was with child, but apparently she had no idea what that meant and kept up her bullshit.
As my anger rose, I climbed a few steps up the ladder and punched her squarely in the face. WOW! I had never punched anyone before and it felt so good! She fell of the ladder and ran home, squeaking all the way. I was toast. Her Dad was an FBI dude after all. I was sure it was the slammer for me and went home to hide in my room, the closet to be specific.
Alas, my memory comes to a screeching full stop with the closet and I dont recall ever being punished. Perhaps because it was my first offense, I was let off with a warning. Or perhaps as in the movie, "A Christmas Story", my mom covered for me and my pop never found out. It is interesting to note that I still feel anger at this little girl whose name escapes me at the moment and I thank Utah Savage for bringing this memory back to me. I wonder, Utah Savage, is this a cause for more therapy???
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Monday, December 1, 2008
Widows
It's been exaclty twenty years since I moved into this house. Three kids, twelve dogs, and all our stuff just a day before Thanksgiving 1988. I remember the make-up of the neighborhood then. Most of the houses were inhabited by mormon widows, their husbands gone off to the Celestial Kingdom ahead of them.
I used to see them sitting on their porches of going off in small groups to church or shop. I felt sorry for them, wondering how they spent their lonely days, and always made a point of stopping to chat.
The neighborhood has changed with young families, children, and I seem to be filling the role those old widows filled. The lonley old lady, living alone. Its interesting to compare myself to them. I dont feel lonely much and wonder if maybe they didnt either. Maybe they were glad to have raised their families and seen them off to their own lives, and maybe they were very glad to be rid of their husbands. I wonder if they spent as much time as I do trying to decide what to do next, how to fill the rest of their lives.
I feel in a way, discarded, a mother who has fulfilled her purpose, a woman whose partner doesnt need her anymore........well, hes dead so how could he? To have had a purpose, several actually, for so many years without having to think for a second what that purpose might be was nice. It became an unconscious habit. And now, with my youngest just moved out, I'm feeling a bit lost, no one to cook for or get off to school, no one to dress up for, no one to listen to.
Parts of this new lost are great. I dont mean to sound all sad, searching for someone to feel sorry for me. Its just that I look forward to the next twenty years and wonder what I am supposed to do with them that will give me that lost sense of purpose again. I have too many choices. Am I supposed to get selfish and just do whatever I want with my time? Many would say, "You've earned it".
I remember Dad playing in his garden and pouring over his stamp collection, reading and watching TV. He seemed satisfied. I remember Mom who seemed totally lost, filling her days with shopping and travel, piling up stuff in her house until there were only small trails from doors to beds. Sad. My two role models for retirement.
There is something in me that doesnt seem satisfied with either model. I still want to save the world or do something of note that will impact lives. I still want to get someone off to school. And yet I dont do any of those or have the motivation to begin a new way. I think this is probably because the last ten years were so dramatic/traumatic that my body and mind want to rest, want to isolate and be quiet. And so, I will let that happen for awhile, being one of those widows that sits on her porch and waits for some young mother to come by and chat.
I used to see them sitting on their porches of going off in small groups to church or shop. I felt sorry for them, wondering how they spent their lonely days, and always made a point of stopping to chat.
The neighborhood has changed with young families, children, and I seem to be filling the role those old widows filled. The lonley old lady, living alone. Its interesting to compare myself to them. I dont feel lonely much and wonder if maybe they didnt either. Maybe they were glad to have raised their families and seen them off to their own lives, and maybe they were very glad to be rid of their husbands. I wonder if they spent as much time as I do trying to decide what to do next, how to fill the rest of their lives.
I feel in a way, discarded, a mother who has fulfilled her purpose, a woman whose partner doesnt need her anymore........well, hes dead so how could he? To have had a purpose, several actually, for so many years without having to think for a second what that purpose might be was nice. It became an unconscious habit. And now, with my youngest just moved out, I'm feeling a bit lost, no one to cook for or get off to school, no one to dress up for, no one to listen to.
Parts of this new lost are great. I dont mean to sound all sad, searching for someone to feel sorry for me. Its just that I look forward to the next twenty years and wonder what I am supposed to do with them that will give me that lost sense of purpose again. I have too many choices. Am I supposed to get selfish and just do whatever I want with my time? Many would say, "You've earned it".
I remember Dad playing in his garden and pouring over his stamp collection, reading and watching TV. He seemed satisfied. I remember Mom who seemed totally lost, filling her days with shopping and travel, piling up stuff in her house until there were only small trails from doors to beds. Sad. My two role models for retirement.
There is something in me that doesnt seem satisfied with either model. I still want to save the world or do something of note that will impact lives. I still want to get someone off to school. And yet I dont do any of those or have the motivation to begin a new way. I think this is probably because the last ten years were so dramatic/traumatic that my body and mind want to rest, want to isolate and be quiet. And so, I will let that happen for awhile, being one of those widows that sits on her porch and waits for some young mother to come by and chat.
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