December 2005 Archives
Not much going on here except working when I wasn't supposed to have to and nearly starving from a post-holiday refined-carb detox. I'm jonesing for Pecan Tempties and Wheat Thins with my mom's cheeseball. The first few days are the hardest. The first few days are the hardest. The first few days are the hardest.
Holiday photos soon!
Sorry no posts this week. Just haven't been in the mood. Maybe I'll write more after the first of the year.
One thing, though: A quick happy birthday note to one Mr. Frazzini!
Our friend Matt walked into the Indian Diner to see Harry and me pantomiming something like this:
J: Yes, I think it's him
H: But are you sure?
J: Not absolutely, but I think so
Then, later:
[A man's voice from the booth behind ours]
H and J [in unison]: Yes, that's him
After I put him off several times with a stern, "I'll tell you when we leave," Matt handed me a napkin and demanded that I write it down. The following is our scrawled conversation:
Jen:
Matt:
For those who don't know Matt, he is not a homophobe but a perfectly respectable Clinton-era post-PC individual who -- sadly -- isn't above using divisive incendiary terms to get a laugh.
And for those of you who don't know MC Paul Barman (probably 99.3% of you), read here. I'm not ashamed to say I used to be a biiiiig fan (like getting pulled up on stage big fan). Hey, I went to a liberal arts college; what do you expect? But what have you done for me lately, Paul Nathaniel?
But who are you, person from Johnson & Higgins who reads this site? I don't know anyone who works there, and I'm used to knowing everyone who comes to Teapot. Weird.
On a MUCH less serious note, this woman's scarves are the coolest! I like the buttered toast one (scroll down) the best for concept, but green salad (scroll down again) the best for color.
Memory is a capricious thing. We often regret the things we don't remember, wish we didn't remember the things we do.
My memories of my grandmother are, like most memories, mostly random snapshots and impressions that don't really add up to a person. Many of them revolve around breakfast, as my grandmother and grandfather were both notiorious early risers (much to my consternation when I was 12). I remember the smell of oranges, which they ate every morning, and the smell and sound of frying sausage in the kitchen.
I remember how she laughed -- loudly and often, like most everyone in our family. Her wit was sharp and quick and wouldn't let much slip past. She had about her an obvious sadness, too, from a dificult life that most of us couldn't even imagine. Her mother died when she was very young, from an "accident" when her alcoholic father was "cleaning his gun." Her first husband, a gentle man whom she apparently adored, died of a heart attack when my mom was only six or seven. Her second husband -- the grandfather I knew -- was an evangelical minister who ruled over his wife, his four children, and her two with an iron fist. He was a complex and often hypocritical person who certainly can't have been easy to live with.
I remember Grandma once telling me, "You have a lovely back" when I was trying on a dress for the high school senior formal. I was embarrassed; it seemed like such an intimate and old-fashioned thing to say to a teenager, but I was secretly pleased. I still think of it sometimes if I glance over my shoulder in the mirror at my rather ordinary thirty-something back.
Although my grandmother and I weren't close as I got older -- her religion and the loss of mine divided us more than I would have liked -- the memories I have of her are scattered but fond. She was a warm, vibrant woman who should have had an easier, better life even before Alzheimer's took her memory from her. I wish her funeral could have reflected more of her life and the person she was, and I wish I'd said something that day.
... why I seem just a little nutty, think about this.
Ohio *and* Roanoke
"What you base your happiness around? Material women & large paper. That means you inferior, not major."
And more pics. We look happy in the pics (nobody takes pictures of crying relatives), but the trip was actually for my grandmother's funeral. Kim and I drank margaritas. We also were pallbearers.
More soon.
