It seemed like such a smart thing to do at the time. All three of us could get in at the same time, must be heaven sent. My oldest sister's friend told her about some place in Hollywood or thereabouts where we could be hair models, get our hair cut for free. Didn't have to ask us twice. The thought of going to "Lee's," the lady my mom had been going to for years, and lets just say gave one fine mens cut on young ladies. She gave my mom's 'do some giant bounce in the front. Her husband Ken used to snarl around when we walked in the door. Had himself one mighty hog parked out yonder. They had three boys that always looked like they were ready to start fires and do weird things to neighbors.
Working with curly hair is an art. Of course when it is wet your hair is straight. When that sucker starts drying, whoa- and if someone does not catch on how to cut that thing, double whoa for your mane. Well, this was some kind of fancy schmancy salon, we were in good hands.
So, back at this salon, it may have been something like Vidal Sasoon, we were going to look like movie stars, we couldn't wait to see. The oldest one goes first as the middle one and I sit and wait. A little time passes and she comes out. She is just standing there waiting to see what we thought of her new 'do. Middle one and I just stare and each other and don't say anything." Cute." As always in any other story I have told, my lip starts quivering and I feel a big laugh wanting to escape the premises. She looks at me like "don't even- I will kick your ass so hard." "No really, it's so cute." Now, nowhere has it dawned on me that I have to get my 'do done , by whoever did this "cute " job on her. It is in the shape of a bowl, with two sausage plopped on either side. She came in with shoulder length brown hair. It was now bleached some orange tinty looking yellow with so much hairspray veneered on it to prop the sausage curls for some spring. I can't contain myself. It is now my turn, and I am watching as my hair gets molded and sculpted into this flat plastered thing to my head. My hair is super wavy, and it is pushed into my skull in the most unattractive way, shorned closely with so much hairspray. I knew I was going to hear "cute" next. The middle one eventually comes out. I can't even type right now reliving this story. She has a very wild fro on her, but hairsprayed and partially straightened. I'm guessing someones arm got tired? The joy was in her expression. We all just stared at each other walking towards the door, all smiles when asked how we like our do's. "Oh yes, we like them very much, thank you". We were nothing if not polite. Lee's house was suddenly starting to looking very appealing. We got out into the parking lot, into the light of day.... and really got a gander.
At first we were so horrified, but then after calming down- we started laughing so hard we could not control ourselves. Good times :)
Friday, February 14, 2014
Easy Rider
It didn't take much to get me, my purple magenta Schwinn stingray, to become one with the road. Throw in an incentive and it was a done deal, especially in fourth or fifth grade when cash was then introduced into the deal. My two older sisters usually always had some great idea for me, this time it was to pick up a purchase at Crowers, our local market. Of course even that would be a funky name....
Crower's, say it ten times fast. I didn't really care about the cash, my goal when I was done with my "job", swinging by Tastee freeze straight across from Crower's, picking up a double double dipped cone dipped in chocolate. Pros like me didn't need to sit a spell and wile the day away at Tastee Freeze, no I knew how to ride like the wind, hands tossed in the air, while eating my Tastee treat, until I didn't on those occasions, but that is another story.
Salivating at the thought of my sugary treat, I knew I had to do my deed, I knew this could be somewhat challenging. I hemmed and hawed as I got to the magazine section, rifling through the Archie comics, looked pretty funny that Archie. Oh yeah, back to the mission, and I wanted what I wanted. I cooly turned my head to see what other magazine going wayfarers were in the aisle today.
Just my luck right in the section I had to pick up my sisters requested mag-some scruffy looking characters, must be bikers, real ruffians. (They probably looked like the Beach Boys with dark hair)
Inching closer into their section, they stared up at me, probably thinking did you lose your mommy? I had a mission, I wanted my ice cream, move over biker dudes. I clumsily grabbed a couple mags and up to the check out stand- I was off.
"Ok, an abba zabba, Easy Rider magazine, True Confessions." The check out clerk is just staring at this
chubby little fourth grader, with a sweet little grin- as I dig the change out of my pocket, turning beet red. I am sure she is thinking what the hell, probably want ing to laugh so hard. Out the door, across the parking lot my stingray and I burn rubber, pick up my double dipped chocolate cone. I was in heaven. Riding back home, I wondered what stories and pictures we all would read first?
Crower's, say it ten times fast. I didn't really care about the cash, my goal when I was done with my "job", swinging by Tastee freeze straight across from Crower's, picking up a double double dipped cone dipped in chocolate. Pros like me didn't need to sit a spell and wile the day away at Tastee Freeze, no I knew how to ride like the wind, hands tossed in the air, while eating my Tastee treat, until I didn't on those occasions, but that is another story.
Salivating at the thought of my sugary treat, I knew I had to do my deed, I knew this could be somewhat challenging. I hemmed and hawed as I got to the magazine section, rifling through the Archie comics, looked pretty funny that Archie. Oh yeah, back to the mission, and I wanted what I wanted. I cooly turned my head to see what other magazine going wayfarers were in the aisle today.
Just my luck right in the section I had to pick up my sisters requested mag-some scruffy looking characters, must be bikers, real ruffians. (They probably looked like the Beach Boys with dark hair)
Inching closer into their section, they stared up at me, probably thinking did you lose your mommy? I had a mission, I wanted my ice cream, move over biker dudes. I clumsily grabbed a couple mags and up to the check out stand- I was off.
"Ok, an abba zabba, Easy Rider magazine, True Confessions." The check out clerk is just staring at this
chubby little fourth grader, with a sweet little grin- as I dig the change out of my pocket, turning beet red. I am sure she is thinking what the hell, probably want ing to laugh so hard. Out the door, across the parking lot my stingray and I burn rubber, pick up my double dipped chocolate cone. I was in heaven. Riding back home, I wondered what stories and pictures we all would read first?
Thursday, February 13, 2014
Who I Want To Be
I was just thinking how we all play different roles in life, with different people,
perhaps some of us more than others. As we grow, get to know who we are, become comfortable in our own skin, peel away enough to get to the core of our foundation. I have worn many costumes in my life, I always assumed this was the norm. I now understand it was necessary for me, until it wasn't.
When a great deal of damage occurs in a persons life, so many different forms of protection take over.
Coming in the form of positive and negative, sometimes simultaneous for me. Probably my saving grace, but pulling me in two different directions constantly. My sixteenth year of life was my most profound, by far. I moved out of my home- the most dramatic. My childhood ended. On one hand, a Nun in a baby blue pinto and I hung out quite often which I really dug, it made so much sense to me. She was around 24 or 25 and exposed me to so many things- opened my eyes. Social Service, Inner City in LA- on the other hand we would drop by her families home in Encino, which would then blow me away. Her mother seemed very cool, distant . My Nun friend would lose her sparkle when she walked into her mothers kitchen. Quite the opposite of my mother, her mother never forgave her for becoming a Sister of Social Service. My mother never forgave my brother for not becoming a Priest.
I loved hanging in her room at the Nunnery, sorry we didn't do any funky stuff. Had a little vino, she smoked incessantly and she cussed like a sailor which made me laugh. You know, behind closed doors even Nuns let their hair down.
Then there was my neighbor who lived across the street, the local drug store. I just wasn't into it.
I remember going over my friends house to spend the night, ( her parents went to bed at seven thirty) and she would become girls gone wild. There used to be a phone hot line you could scream your number into in the mid 70's. We would scream her number and wait. The crazy thing, her parents would let her go out with boys in 9th grade, but would trip out if we hung out at Thrifty's too long. Her mom worked at The Rectory, was super religious, and thought this gal pal was an angel. The same gal that would whip out, I think it was window pane? like it was nothing. I was so afraid of that stuff, any drug- I knew I would be the one who would never come back from tripping. I was already a trip, trust me, I had so many stories being written in my head.
That was the theme of some of my gal pals, the costumes they wore. Some mighty fine halos-- wish I would have learned that trick, but as in previous stories, I was into my own thing-" The thirty year old divorcee look" at fourteen, as my sister called it. I didn't understand the subtleties of "acting" as my gal pals did with their parents. On the other hand I didn't need to overall, I could sneak out with relative ease. There was a Watchtower light cranked on with their every move. My two closest gal pals at the time couldn't have been further from each other in personality. One was in love with Priests and loved to go to Mass two, three times on Sunday, the other one detested her,asked me why I hung out with such a loser. Then I met Bear, from Winchell's and another Crew I forgot about. This Crew all had divorced parents my- favorite kind. The only problem was with one of the girls. Her mom was hardcore AA at the time, my friend was so in your face about everything, completely controlling. There were four of us in that crew and all we did was talk about our weight, that was a laugh a minute. The controlling one always told us if we only put our minds to it.... blah blah blah. At this point in my life I was no longer overweight, yet every time she was around I would want to eat, go figure.
Enter another strange thing I just remembered- Explores Club. If I were a parent I would freak if this were my child. Explorers Club, a group for outdoors or something. Cool, I don't care sign me up. Four dudes ran this and most of the girls in it were teen angels.
One of my Crew who of course I nicknamed- "Kitty" became girlfriend to one of the leaders ( honestly his name was "Kit") probably ten years older than her. No problem, cool- seemed normal. I think she moved to Ventura that summer with him. What was up with our parents? The world for me that had taken over that year- Bear World and Cops. It all started with me going up to Winchell's to get a Donut one chilly fall night. Bear and I start talking, didn't know each other really- and she introduces me to these two Cops.These two were unrelenting, today they would be in Prison for Life with the key thrown away, their prey- thirteen to sixteen year old girls, too many too count.That is the first time I have ever said that. I still don't have enough of the reaction I should. My friend who went through the same experience- not so lucky. We are no longer friends, and that hurts my soul more than I can say. Her life, I am sure rocks to her. But being married to a man who says if she ever left him, he would burn her and the kids in it- that was years ago. Many other charming things, I am just sad damage will keep you there. When Authority Figures take away something from you in your youth, Priests, Police, Parent,there is a dulling that takes place. To come back to who you are, get back into balance, take away the sarcasm, edge, hurt,defenses, proving, wanting to strike back at people who remind you of so and so.
I became what they wanted me to be. Many things don't faze me that should, yet simple things can still break my heart.
I know my strength, it is my vulnerability. My freedom comes in writing- it makes me stronger every day. My secrets kept me locked up in a prison that was never mine. I hold the key to my freedom. Telling the truth, not pretending. I have nothing to be ashamed of or fear. I have lived my fear and horror. I am living life now, how I want to be.
perhaps some of us more than others. As we grow, get to know who we are, become comfortable in our own skin, peel away enough to get to the core of our foundation. I have worn many costumes in my life, I always assumed this was the norm. I now understand it was necessary for me, until it wasn't.
When a great deal of damage occurs in a persons life, so many different forms of protection take over.
Coming in the form of positive and negative, sometimes simultaneous for me. Probably my saving grace, but pulling me in two different directions constantly. My sixteenth year of life was my most profound, by far. I moved out of my home- the most dramatic. My childhood ended. On one hand, a Nun in a baby blue pinto and I hung out quite often which I really dug, it made so much sense to me. She was around 24 or 25 and exposed me to so many things- opened my eyes. Social Service, Inner City in LA- on the other hand we would drop by her families home in Encino, which would then blow me away. Her mother seemed very cool, distant . My Nun friend would lose her sparkle when she walked into her mothers kitchen. Quite the opposite of my mother, her mother never forgave her for becoming a Sister of Social Service. My mother never forgave my brother for not becoming a Priest.
I loved hanging in her room at the Nunnery, sorry we didn't do any funky stuff. Had a little vino, she smoked incessantly and she cussed like a sailor which made me laugh. You know, behind closed doors even Nuns let their hair down.
Then there was my neighbor who lived across the street, the local drug store. I just wasn't into it.
I remember going over my friends house to spend the night, ( her parents went to bed at seven thirty) and she would become girls gone wild. There used to be a phone hot line you could scream your number into in the mid 70's. We would scream her number and wait. The crazy thing, her parents would let her go out with boys in 9th grade, but would trip out if we hung out at Thrifty's too long. Her mom worked at The Rectory, was super religious, and thought this gal pal was an angel. The same gal that would whip out, I think it was window pane? like it was nothing. I was so afraid of that stuff, any drug- I knew I would be the one who would never come back from tripping. I was already a trip, trust me, I had so many stories being written in my head.
That was the theme of some of my gal pals, the costumes they wore. Some mighty fine halos-- wish I would have learned that trick, but as in previous stories, I was into my own thing-" The thirty year old divorcee look" at fourteen, as my sister called it. I didn't understand the subtleties of "acting" as my gal pals did with their parents. On the other hand I didn't need to overall, I could sneak out with relative ease. There was a Watchtower light cranked on with their every move. My two closest gal pals at the time couldn't have been further from each other in personality. One was in love with Priests and loved to go to Mass two, three times on Sunday, the other one detested her,asked me why I hung out with such a loser. Then I met Bear, from Winchell's and another Crew I forgot about. This Crew all had divorced parents my- favorite kind. The only problem was with one of the girls. Her mom was hardcore AA at the time, my friend was so in your face about everything, completely controlling. There were four of us in that crew and all we did was talk about our weight, that was a laugh a minute. The controlling one always told us if we only put our minds to it.... blah blah blah. At this point in my life I was no longer overweight, yet every time she was around I would want to eat, go figure.
Enter another strange thing I just remembered- Explores Club. If I were a parent I would freak if this were my child. Explorers Club, a group for outdoors or something. Cool, I don't care sign me up. Four dudes ran this and most of the girls in it were teen angels.
One of my Crew who of course I nicknamed- "Kitty" became girlfriend to one of the leaders ( honestly his name was "Kit") probably ten years older than her. No problem, cool- seemed normal. I think she moved to Ventura that summer with him. What was up with our parents? The world for me that had taken over that year- Bear World and Cops. It all started with me going up to Winchell's to get a Donut one chilly fall night. Bear and I start talking, didn't know each other really- and she introduces me to these two Cops.These two were unrelenting, today they would be in Prison for Life with the key thrown away, their prey- thirteen to sixteen year old girls, too many too count.That is the first time I have ever said that. I still don't have enough of the reaction I should. My friend who went through the same experience- not so lucky. We are no longer friends, and that hurts my soul more than I can say. Her life, I am sure rocks to her. But being married to a man who says if she ever left him, he would burn her and the kids in it- that was years ago. Many other charming things, I am just sad damage will keep you there. When Authority Figures take away something from you in your youth, Priests, Police, Parent,there is a dulling that takes place. To come back to who you are, get back into balance, take away the sarcasm, edge, hurt,defenses, proving, wanting to strike back at people who remind you of so and so.
I became what they wanted me to be. Many things don't faze me that should, yet simple things can still break my heart.
I know my strength, it is my vulnerability. My freedom comes in writing- it makes me stronger every day. My secrets kept me locked up in a prison that was never mine. I hold the key to my freedom. Telling the truth, not pretending. I have nothing to be ashamed of or fear. I have lived my fear and horror. I am living life now, how I want to be.
Hal
Sometimes you just have to let the inspiration take you where it does. Hal was mine yesterday, he cracked open a part of writing in me that had a "No access sign," lagging since Mrs Thompson's English class in 10th grade. It all started as a joke. This week will go down for me as one of the longest, life changing times in my life. It has been Mr Toads Wild Ride, I've just had to hold on and be willing. The holding on part was easier than the latter. My friend from high school days and I were texting yesterday, while I was writing. He was going into a lunch meeting, and I was teasing him on how boring that would be. Since he is the top dog and very focused, I knew he had to pay attention, so of course I wanted to mess with him a little bit. I knew he kept looking at his texts, so I would say ridiculous over the top things, starting with "Hal," one of the gents I made up in the meeting. ( I had no idea who was in the meeting, or how many people) I just went off on it, the story of young Hal, his Grand Mammy, Gentleman Jim, and suddenly two hours later, still pounding the keys feverishly, completely lost in what was happening. Hal is now in the confessional because of his love for Peggy Lennon, from the Lennon Sisters. The taunting I started with my friend in the meeting, (what I have been known to do Ray in meetings on an occasion or two) I try to think of the most ridiculous- telling him Hal is thinking about Gentleman Jim, who on occasion helped Grand Mammy move furniture int he middle of the night. Oh no, wait- his mind wandered, that was just a memory, Oh- he is back in the meeting again. Then he tells my friend he thinks about how nice he'd look in a Safari Suit in the meeting.
I won't make this a long story- It's just that something broke free, the whole time we didn't speak, I just saw that he kept receiving my messages. I laughed so hard writing this crazy stuff, I would talk to myself, answer myself,and keep on writing. Somehow this pushed me- to keep writing, dig deeper- write on the spot fiction, ridiculous fiction. In the end the boy goes to confession, because of his obsession over Peggy Lennon of The Lennon Sisters. The priest becomes fascinated about this, asks questions in details that Hal can't possibly understand. Hal just wants to hear what he needs to do to be forgiven, the Priest wants more details. How would he know what she was wearing other than her dress? Hal starts getting uncomfortable, wants to be back on the couch watching Larry Welk with Poppo, eating peanut butter and bologna sandwiches. Then it dawns on him, Efrem Zimbalist Jr would have known what to do in, and he wished The FBI was on. New stories are unfolding. Thanks friend from high school days :)
I won't make this a long story- It's just that something broke free, the whole time we didn't speak, I just saw that he kept receiving my messages. I laughed so hard writing this crazy stuff, I would talk to myself, answer myself,and keep on writing. Somehow this pushed me- to keep writing, dig deeper- write on the spot fiction, ridiculous fiction. In the end the boy goes to confession, because of his obsession over Peggy Lennon of The Lennon Sisters. The priest becomes fascinated about this, asks questions in details that Hal can't possibly understand. Hal just wants to hear what he needs to do to be forgiven, the Priest wants more details. How would he know what she was wearing other than her dress? Hal starts getting uncomfortable, wants to be back on the couch watching Larry Welk with Poppo, eating peanut butter and bologna sandwiches. Then it dawns on him, Efrem Zimbalist Jr would have known what to do in, and he wished The FBI was on. New stories are unfolding. Thanks friend from high school days :)
Tuesday, February 11, 2014
My Life
It happens in a moment, you take it or you don't. If I over think it, anxiety will build and I can't move forward. My car knows where to lead, as it always has. The music plays, as I watch the leaves in the trees all around me, like a symphony. I know it is time. The movie of life begins for me..... Everything slows down, even and especially when it is the last thing I want. I have always been one with my car. Music and my car have been my safe place. Since I bought my first ride at sixteen, my trusty steed, the blue pinto. I would take endless drives and turn on a cassette, heaven on earth. I still take my drives, it is who I am. I trust my car to guide me where I need to be. Sunday would be no exception as it steered me towards my destination, I just wasn't so willing to listen at first.
My resistance, willingness, are you sure? The intuition in my soul was saying, it is time.
As I drove the familiar road gripping tightly on the steering wheel, without thinking I dialed my sisters
number. Why was I doing this? No answer. Then my brothers, again no answer. Ok, not meant to be, keep driving. Closer to my destination, I see a car parked in the driveway seeming vaguely familiar, keep driving. I roll into my old grade school down the street and dial her phone number. "Hi mom, how's it going?" "Clare- is that you?" Casual nothing conversation goes on until I 'fess up I am nearby. Would she like some company? I roll into a nearby 7-11, for a much needed cup o' joe. I have not seen her since last July. I ring the door bell- when do I ever ring the door bell? How formal I have become. I go to the back, into the sliding door in family room. Trying to act very casual, be natural Clare. All is well, I repeat in my head. Handing her a muffin, while tightly gripping my coffee, I breathe as the Olympics blare in the background.Pleasantries exchanged from mother to daughter, really? As I write this, as far as I have gotten into this- what do I want to say? Part 2 That blares in my head, acceptance of what is. Finally getting it.... deep sorrow for what is. I walked away Sunday so fully intact as ME, yet seeing the shell of a person, my mother as I write this- it is difficult to put into words.She had been the most terrifying person in my world for so long. What kept me stuck, the personality I kept repeating- Frances, my mother. Punishing..... negating, belittling, constantly having me prove why indeed I had the right to breathe on this Earth. Sunday it ended. I knew it- I stood in my own power, yet as I write this, it never feels as what you think it would. You wait a lifetime for this transformation, but all I want to do is cry now. I am so proud of me for standing up to her.... this very rough woman, but my opponent, an 85 year old woman. That is where the grief comes. Why? The true sadness is where the acceptance comes. What I agreed to accept, our pact. That she is shallow ( all her words) and chooses not to love, it is too much work. I weep as her daughter as I write these words, because my whole life is based on love, getting to truth, peeling away, being your best. As I sat Sunday and listened, really listened to my mother, saying" How she is just too lazy," as she gazed at the Olympics, moment to moment.
In that moment something changed in me. I recognized, I finally realized.... this is not about me. All those years of begging, pleading for this woman's love. Being told how she prayed for us all because we were going to burn in hell. Enough, I had enough of the burning in hell. The shift changed when I let it lift from me and finally say this was her damage, I didn't do anything wrong. All the years she let me believe I was wrong, bad, different. All the other siblings seeing me from her eyes, her rage, how she saw me. Less. All her disappointment into me, I was the worse pregnancy she ever had, spilling boiling hot water on her stomach when pregnant with me, dad didn't talk to her for three months, he dropped me like a hot potato, hurry up and get married before I get pregnant, the teachers think I am not very smart, I hope Ray doesn't leave em. Billy's the writer, not me. The best part- she didn't remember one thing she said. Sunday was the first time in my life- I ever heard my mother call me "Lovely". She said, "You look lovely." I typically have no expression when complimented, par for the course.These are the ghosts we carry with us- when rarely hearing a positive from a parent- the only positive I heard as an adult was about my service so - I became service oriented. I served the world, I served her. I volunteered everywhere and served her. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. My mother was a hoarder. I cleaned her room, her closet, her home endlessly, time and time again, to be commented on, as she sat and judged how I did it. How red my face would get while cleaning. Ray could no longer bear watching me in the past year. He would say she would get sheer joy watching me run around. Nothing satisfied her- I ran faster. If you think that isn't shameful and demeaning, my hidden life..... but it was what it was, I wanted her love, she knew it. I simply don't care anymore- freedom is what I want. Not repeating these patterns, and hopefully having others see patterns they have been trapped in. It was painful. Freedom, awareness comes when it comes. Damage is damage. I am free- I feel it. I feel the transfer of power. How we ended the conversation, I agreed not to talk about hugging, love, etc. and she would not talk about burning in hell.I think God has a very good sense of humor. I am the daughter of a woman who doesn't believe in love, intimacy, hugging, kindness-- it's about the rules, and regulations- that's your ticket to heaven.
This is my story- the story of me really coming into MY life.
My resistance, willingness, are you sure? The intuition in my soul was saying, it is time.
As I drove the familiar road gripping tightly on the steering wheel, without thinking I dialed my sisters
number. Why was I doing this? No answer. Then my brothers, again no answer. Ok, not meant to be, keep driving. Closer to my destination, I see a car parked in the driveway seeming vaguely familiar, keep driving. I roll into my old grade school down the street and dial her phone number. "Hi mom, how's it going?" "Clare- is that you?" Casual nothing conversation goes on until I 'fess up I am nearby. Would she like some company? I roll into a nearby 7-11, for a much needed cup o' joe. I have not seen her since last July. I ring the door bell- when do I ever ring the door bell? How formal I have become. I go to the back, into the sliding door in family room. Trying to act very casual, be natural Clare. All is well, I repeat in my head. Handing her a muffin, while tightly gripping my coffee, I breathe as the Olympics blare in the background.Pleasantries exchanged from mother to daughter, really? As I write this, as far as I have gotten into this- what do I want to say? Part 2 That blares in my head, acceptance of what is. Finally getting it.... deep sorrow for what is. I walked away Sunday so fully intact as ME, yet seeing the shell of a person, my mother as I write this- it is difficult to put into words.She had been the most terrifying person in my world for so long. What kept me stuck, the personality I kept repeating- Frances, my mother. Punishing..... negating, belittling, constantly having me prove why indeed I had the right to breathe on this Earth. Sunday it ended. I knew it- I stood in my own power, yet as I write this, it never feels as what you think it would. You wait a lifetime for this transformation, but all I want to do is cry now. I am so proud of me for standing up to her.... this very rough woman, but my opponent, an 85 year old woman. That is where the grief comes. Why? The true sadness is where the acceptance comes. What I agreed to accept, our pact. That she is shallow ( all her words) and chooses not to love, it is too much work. I weep as her daughter as I write these words, because my whole life is based on love, getting to truth, peeling away, being your best. As I sat Sunday and listened, really listened to my mother, saying" How she is just too lazy," as she gazed at the Olympics, moment to moment.
In that moment something changed in me. I recognized, I finally realized.... this is not about me. All those years of begging, pleading for this woman's love. Being told how she prayed for us all because we were going to burn in hell. Enough, I had enough of the burning in hell. The shift changed when I let it lift from me and finally say this was her damage, I didn't do anything wrong. All the years she let me believe I was wrong, bad, different. All the other siblings seeing me from her eyes, her rage, how she saw me. Less. All her disappointment into me, I was the worse pregnancy she ever had, spilling boiling hot water on her stomach when pregnant with me, dad didn't talk to her for three months, he dropped me like a hot potato, hurry up and get married before I get pregnant, the teachers think I am not very smart, I hope Ray doesn't leave em. Billy's the writer, not me. The best part- she didn't remember one thing she said. Sunday was the first time in my life- I ever heard my mother call me "Lovely". She said, "You look lovely." I typically have no expression when complimented, par for the course.These are the ghosts we carry with us- when rarely hearing a positive from a parent- the only positive I heard as an adult was about my service so - I became service oriented. I served the world, I served her. I volunteered everywhere and served her. I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. My mother was a hoarder. I cleaned her room, her closet, her home endlessly, time and time again, to be commented on, as she sat and judged how I did it. How red my face would get while cleaning. Ray could no longer bear watching me in the past year. He would say she would get sheer joy watching me run around. Nothing satisfied her- I ran faster. If you think that isn't shameful and demeaning, my hidden life..... but it was what it was, I wanted her love, she knew it. I simply don't care anymore- freedom is what I want. Not repeating these patterns, and hopefully having others see patterns they have been trapped in. It was painful. Freedom, awareness comes when it comes. Damage is damage. I am free- I feel it. I feel the transfer of power. How we ended the conversation, I agreed not to talk about hugging, love, etc. and she would not talk about burning in hell.I think God has a very good sense of humor. I am the daughter of a woman who doesn't believe in love, intimacy, hugging, kindness-- it's about the rules, and regulations- that's your ticket to heaven.
This is my story- the story of me really coming into MY life.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Rootbeer cans
We just knew the category we were in, the moment both their eyes blazed into ours.
It was the yuck one. Yep, in all my 6th grade wisdom I had seen it many a time.These goddesses weren't having it with us, but they had no choice on this forsaken weekend. I am sure the only remedy was to eat another candy bar and toss the wrapper recklessly in the back of Paul's El Camino for me, to cut the glare.
What else was a little gal supposed to do? These two chickitas were in my sisters class, and they sure weren't having any of it with her. Gina and Pam. Gina was very petite with dark silky hair. Pam was tall, blonde, gorgeous surfer girl. Then there were the two of us.
We had gone along on a weekend excursion with my oldest sister and her best friend,
to Laguna. I didn't even know where Pasadena was, ( ten minutes outside of Temple City) so Laguna was a lifetime a way.... and boy was I ready to go. I loved Paul, my sister's best friends boyfriend. That's a mouth full. He was always so sweet, and funny.
I am not sure why the middle sister and I tagged along on many a trip, but we were so happy to be included. Pam and Gina on the other hand clearly were not feeling the joy. My middle sister and I had one thing in common. We liked to joke, and tag- this time we knew we were it.
She would have to be the most sarcastic person I ever met, she is pretty funny.
There were six of us children in the family, so we entertained ourselves however, whenever. Some of us were more dramatic than others. Now I have completely lost interest in this story and am thinking about walking home from the movie theatre one Saturday night with her. I was probably eleven or twelve, she was three years older. We were just strolling down Las Tunas about ten in the evening,when someone decides to throw a can of root beer in her hair. As if she knew the culprit personally, never seeing them, she tells me it was because we are both homely. I am laughing now so hard thinking about us walking home, having an in depth discussion about the true nature of the root beer throwing because we are both so homely. The way she would state things as though it were a fact. Any thing that happened was because we were fat or homely. Okay, let's go get some donuts. Case closed. I don't know why now that is so funny to me, but she said it in such a way that it was just the truth. Oh, they looked at us that way because..... oh, okay. Must be the fat or homely deal. When I was in 9th grade, I used to bleach my hair platinum blonde. We would walk to Thrifty's to buy the bleach, and she would just state in the middle of the store, "You look like a thirty year old divorcee." Ok, I don't know what a thirty year old divorcee looks like, I just turned fourteen, but that was who I was from then on.
Ok, I veered for a moment from the story going down memory lane. I am now just flooded with funny thoughts. Back to Laguna- so we finally get to the beach house and it is time to actually go down to the beach. I look over and Pam and Gina walk out of the house in tiny bikinis with tiny bodies to match. My sister and I give each other the familiar uh oh, what now? Everyone is headed down to the beach, while we both have as many clothes on as humanly possible. We are so tripped beyond imagination about exposing our bodies, and now in front of the Princesses.
We carefully, while laying down remove our cut off cords trying not to breath, as not to let the belly
make any sudden movements, growing any larger than need be. We get through this painstaking process while drinking our "Tabs." I am sure there was a large bag of potato chips and cookies to wash down that diet drink. Suddenly everyone thinks it is such a fun idea to all go in the water.Were they high? I wasn't getting up without something covering my gut. Especially around those two chicks who were watching us as if we were their entertainment. Of course my sister told me she could see them snickering. Hell no, I wasn't getting up. This time I knew she wasn't just being herself, like at the movie theatre with the root beer incident. They didn't like our kind- we weren't cool.
I didn't happen to mention the fact that this was around 1974, and blowdryers were not as popular yet .
Well, we had some interesting hair between the two of us. Anyone who has wavy or curly hair will understand where I am coming from. Humidity, beach weather, your hair turns into a major fro.
My hair is wavy, but my sisters can get down right crazy. I would tell her that her hair was bigger than doors she tried to get into. She had herself quite a fro. Well, the salt water starting misting our hair like crazy, and believe me, we didn't start out like any babes from the get go. Gina and Pam's mouths were agape as they watched the transformation. Especially my poor sisters 'do. What comes with that is
just pure shame. My sister always, and still does have a tougher hide. She would never let anyone get the best of her. Being second to youngest out of six, I wear my emotions on my sleeve a lot more. What you see is what you get most of the time. Especially being youngest sister. I remember these girls as if it were yesterday. I think the reason I am even writing this story, I was thinking about Costa Mesa, where was Costa Mesa? Oh that's where Paul lived. He died a few years later in a car accident. He was such a sweetheart. Here's to you Paul.
I am not sure why the middle sister and I tagged along on many a trip, but we were so happy to be included. Pam and Gina on the other hand clearly were not feeling the joy. My middle sister and I had one thing in common. We liked to joke, and tag- this time we knew we were it.
She would have to be the most sarcastic person I ever met, she is pretty funny.
There were six of us children in the family, so we entertained ourselves however, whenever. Some of us were more dramatic than others. Now I have completely lost interest in this story and am thinking about walking home from the movie theatre one Saturday night with her. I was probably eleven or twelve, she was three years older. We were just strolling down Las Tunas about ten in the evening,when someone decides to throw a can of root beer in her hair. As if she knew the culprit personally, never seeing them, she tells me it was because we are both homely. I am laughing now so hard thinking about us walking home, having an in depth discussion about the true nature of the root beer throwing because we are both so homely. The way she would state things as though it were a fact. Any thing that happened was because we were fat or homely. Okay, let's go get some donuts. Case closed. I don't know why now that is so funny to me, but she said it in such a way that it was just the truth. Oh, they looked at us that way because..... oh, okay. Must be the fat or homely deal. When I was in 9th grade, I used to bleach my hair platinum blonde. We would walk to Thrifty's to buy the bleach, and she would just state in the middle of the store, "You look like a thirty year old divorcee." Ok, I don't know what a thirty year old divorcee looks like, I just turned fourteen, but that was who I was from then on.
Ok, I veered for a moment from the story going down memory lane. I am now just flooded with funny thoughts. Back to Laguna- so we finally get to the beach house and it is time to actually go down to the beach. I look over and Pam and Gina walk out of the house in tiny bikinis with tiny bodies to match. My sister and I give each other the familiar uh oh, what now? Everyone is headed down to the beach, while we both have as many clothes on as humanly possible. We are so tripped beyond imagination about exposing our bodies, and now in front of the Princesses.
We carefully, while laying down remove our cut off cords trying not to breath, as not to let the belly
make any sudden movements, growing any larger than need be. We get through this painstaking process while drinking our "Tabs." I am sure there was a large bag of potato chips and cookies to wash down that diet drink. Suddenly everyone thinks it is such a fun idea to all go in the water.Were they high? I wasn't getting up without something covering my gut. Especially around those two chicks who were watching us as if we were their entertainment. Of course my sister told me she could see them snickering. Hell no, I wasn't getting up. This time I knew she wasn't just being herself, like at the movie theatre with the root beer incident. They didn't like our kind- we weren't cool.
I didn't happen to mention the fact that this was around 1974, and blowdryers were not as popular yet .
Well, we had some interesting hair between the two of us. Anyone who has wavy or curly hair will understand where I am coming from. Humidity, beach weather, your hair turns into a major fro.
My hair is wavy, but my sisters can get down right crazy. I would tell her that her hair was bigger than doors she tried to get into. She had herself quite a fro. Well, the salt water starting misting our hair like crazy, and believe me, we didn't start out like any babes from the get go. Gina and Pam's mouths were agape as they watched the transformation. Especially my poor sisters 'do. What comes with that is
just pure shame. My sister always, and still does have a tougher hide. She would never let anyone get the best of her. Being second to youngest out of six, I wear my emotions on my sleeve a lot more. What you see is what you get most of the time. Especially being youngest sister. I remember these girls as if it were yesterday. I think the reason I am even writing this story, I was thinking about Costa Mesa, where was Costa Mesa? Oh that's where Paul lived. He died a few years later in a car accident. He was such a sweetheart. Here's to you Paul.
Reflections
There's only so much story I can write in my head until I finally get my lazy butt out of bed and get busy. Usually titles come to me first, but that will irritate me and then I will feel so boxed in. Then I will go through this whole process and tug of war with myself : Who made the rules of what I want to write about. Charles Bukowski keeps playing through my brain, making me laugh. I'd never heard of him, until my daughter got hooked in her high school years. We would read together like crazy,
hunger for more, immediately after we finished a page, chapter, book. The descriptions fill my brain, my soul, like no other as he spoke of himself, life, people in it. The rawness, truth as he saw it, no holding back, actually more times than not. But I think that is the beauty of it, he called it like he saw it with no apologies, his life did not allow for that.
It got me thinking about how many layers it takes to break through to get to the core. Then, just when you think what fabulous progress you have made- time to go back to the beginning again. That's how we learn and grow, stay fresh, humble. Doesn't mean we always dig the process and open the door politely for afternoon tea.
There is probably more Bukowski in me than I know, knocking at the door. Begging to be let out and tell it like it is.... just write. No apologies, explanations, fear of fallout. The thoughts that resides in my mind, as my hubby says could make many a truck driver blush. Stories whirling around in my head begging for expression, but the good catholic girl sitting in Sister Eileen's office for so many infractions holds back, waiting to be sent to the office again. All of those office visits made for some creative plotting, one being hoisting up the biggest pair of ladies underwear, bought from the dime store. We had never seen such big white bloomers in our life, that's what made this little adventure even funnier. Running them up the the school flag pole- just to watch Sister Eileen's expression. It wasn't that my friend and I were about being irreverent to our country. Just 7th graders wanting to watch Nuns come out of the convent and see those giant bloomers blowing ever so gently in the wind. Things that made us laugh. There were so many restrictions and rules and punishments for breathing, at an early age we just needed comic relief, and lots of it we would find. Some more inappropriate than others, again the tighter the restrictions placed on us- the neon "Girls Gone Wild" sign blinked on faster- and off we were into the wild street of Temple City. Anyone who knows Temple City is laughing- because it was and is anything but wild, and in the 70's was a very sleepy little hamlet. An occasional ninety year old on a three wheeling bicycle may have mowed you down back in the day. I do see where this story wants to meander down this early morn, the great divide which has been my life. I have always enjoyed many personalities in friendships, probably to suit all the sides of myself. Maybe that is just how we do it, we attract a little of everything in people, what we need, and vice versa. Sometimes the mirror reflecting back does not show the image we thought we "were", time for a new mirror, the windex must not be working. I think this is a good place to stop, reflections. :)
hunger for more, immediately after we finished a page, chapter, book. The descriptions fill my brain, my soul, like no other as he spoke of himself, life, people in it. The rawness, truth as he saw it, no holding back, actually more times than not. But I think that is the beauty of it, he called it like he saw it with no apologies, his life did not allow for that.
It got me thinking about how many layers it takes to break through to get to the core. Then, just when you think what fabulous progress you have made- time to go back to the beginning again. That's how we learn and grow, stay fresh, humble. Doesn't mean we always dig the process and open the door politely for afternoon tea.
There is probably more Bukowski in me than I know, knocking at the door. Begging to be let out and tell it like it is.... just write. No apologies, explanations, fear of fallout. The thoughts that resides in my mind, as my hubby says could make many a truck driver blush. Stories whirling around in my head begging for expression, but the good catholic girl sitting in Sister Eileen's office for so many infractions holds back, waiting to be sent to the office again. All of those office visits made for some creative plotting, one being hoisting up the biggest pair of ladies underwear, bought from the dime store. We had never seen such big white bloomers in our life, that's what made this little adventure even funnier. Running them up the the school flag pole- just to watch Sister Eileen's expression. It wasn't that my friend and I were about being irreverent to our country. Just 7th graders wanting to watch Nuns come out of the convent and see those giant bloomers blowing ever so gently in the wind. Things that made us laugh. There were so many restrictions and rules and punishments for breathing, at an early age we just needed comic relief, and lots of it we would find. Some more inappropriate than others, again the tighter the restrictions placed on us- the neon "Girls Gone Wild" sign blinked on faster- and off we were into the wild street of Temple City. Anyone who knows Temple City is laughing- because it was and is anything but wild, and in the 70's was a very sleepy little hamlet. An occasional ninety year old on a three wheeling bicycle may have mowed you down back in the day. I do see where this story wants to meander down this early morn, the great divide which has been my life. I have always enjoyed many personalities in friendships, probably to suit all the sides of myself. Maybe that is just how we do it, we attract a little of everything in people, what we need, and vice versa. Sometimes the mirror reflecting back does not show the image we thought we "were", time for a new mirror, the windex must not be working. I think this is a good place to stop, reflections. :)
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