If I stay awake long enough...

...I get into the old photos.



This is one of my favorite pictures of me and my mother. I know I've posted it before. But I forget about it and then I find it again. It's just... so... how it used to be. We were on our own paths, but walking together. And I still feel like we're walking together. So it makes me happy to see that photograph.


And this one too:




These days, I have moments like this. But I'm not sad, and I don't cry. I just sit, a bit puzzled-- bewildered by my reality. And it's okay.

Oil Spoils

So, Wednesday afternoon-- since I'm on vacation-- I was free and decided to go with Donnie and Elease to protest America's dependence on oil and to protest Oil companies contributing money to congress. We stood at a Sherman Oaks gas station at the corner of Van Nuys and Ventura.

A small but determined bunch (it was 100 degrees out):




D & E & Signs:




The police did show up. But they just told us not to block the sidewalk.




Shadows of Activism:




Nobody actually oinked. But we did get a few middle fingers.





The saddest part was when we were walking back to the car, we were still carrying our signs and some chick in a VW bug pulled up, rolled down her window, flicked us off and shouted "fuck you! Get a fucking job, hippies!"

Let's ignore the fact that there seems to be a trend of people shouting at me from their cars and accusing me of being a hippie. Let's also put aside for the moment the fact that we all have jobs. Why couldn't this bitch see that were demonstrating to support an idea that nobody can really argue: America is dependent on oil. Our government chooses not to provide the masses with alternative automotive technology or fuel sources. This is due in no small part to all the money it gets from the oil companies to insure that we all keep pumping that shit into our cars.

Anyways... that lady had some serious displaced agression and misguided anger.

But all in all, it was a good afternoon and peaceful protest.

What does Thursday hold? I'll wake up in a few hours and find out.

Vacation Wednesday

What is fun is taking time off and not processing grief.
What is fun is eating watermelon for lunch.
What is fun is itunes shuffling through songs I forgot I had.
What is fun is getting to write like this from my own computer in my own apartment.

I'll be dagnabbed sonofbitch it's gonna be a good July. I am absolutely insisting on it.

I kiss you!

- Monkey

I'm on vacation

I'm on vacation and nothing bad had to happen for me to take time off, which is good 'cause I only have one parent left. (Dad: if that cold doesn't get better, go to the doctor OK???)

I'm on vacation and I set up internet all by myself today! So now I can sit here and listen to music and post pictures from my recent adventures.



Deflation of an aerobed in Mexico:





Phil's Karaoke Birthday: I would like to say that the funky exposure is my artistic way of illustrating how drunk everyone was. But really, my camera's shutter is just lame and slow.





San Diego. Yes that's a cigar. Yes I smoked it. But only 'cause it was chocolate flavored...





And finally, a photo of a slide projected on my dad's kitchen wall. My mother 28 years ago pregnant w/ me (obviously this is why she is smiling):

Meanwhile, somewhere in Southern California...

Me: Yeah, a bunch of people in my apt. complex have wifi but they all require passwords.
You: You must live around a bunch of assholes.
Me: Yeah.
You: I just steal mine from the abortion clinic next door. They have unprotected internet.
Me: The abortion clinic has unprotected internet???


There are certain people I can always count on to get me to crack a smile-- even when I'm blue as the deep sea.

Have a wonderful weekend. And if you happen to be going to Belize, have a safe trip!

anniversary

I was just reminded that today would have been my parents' 32nd wedding anniversary.

It's such a damn shame about life sometimes.

So this post really goes out to my dad for keepin' on keepin' on.

Love,

Melinda

(pictured above, me on my way into a tree pose on a Mexican beach last Sunday. I have my mother to thank for putting me in children's yoga and creative movement classes when I was little.)

crossing boarders

Weekend First list:

First Trip to Mexico - (check!)
First head-under-water for-real swimming in the Pacific Ocean - (check!)
First two-night/two-day-long beach party with constant bass beat background - (check!)
First 3.5 hour wait in Tijuana to enter the United States - (check!)

My weekend was full of fantastic things including fun friends, tacos, lots of bottled water, no showering, fire dancers, electronica/techno, sun, sand everywhere, my new swimming suit, a few games of pool, sunscreen, sarongs, dancing, dancing, photographs, costumed people, a free breakfast burrito at 6:45 AM on Saturday, sand-dollars, Advil cold/sinus multisymptom, vitamin C, cough drops, kleenex, flip flops, my little blue camping tent, straw cowboy hat, sunglasses, tiny lanterns from the $1 section at Target, many layers of clothing at nightime, big Pacific ocean waves, sand sculptures, napping in a portable hammock, tiki torches, a never ending game of Uno, good vibes.

I'm back and I survived and I'm not scared of Mexico anymore.

: )

Another irrational fear has been squashed.

Have a nice day.

Decade Look-back

Pictured is the movie theater I worked at when I was 18.

It was my first job with a real paycheck (read: first real taxable income). It was also my first job "in the movies".

Recently, I went home to find that "Over The Hedge" was playing there. I had a fun moment of thinking about how on that very day my name was scrolling up in the end credits of a movie playing on a screen in a theater from whose floor I swept up popcorn exactly ten years ago.

I do not miss the neon-colored plastic aprons and bowties...

March 12th, 2006

Sunday is the one year anniversary of the death of my mother-- who died far too young (age 61) and most unfairly at the hands of colon cancer that crept silently into her liver and killed her.

There are often times when I think about life and death and how many times it claims such fantastically wonderful people. And the only conclusion that makes any sense is that it is a secret blessing. "Time off for good behavior", I call it.

But that's about as philosophical as I can get tonight. I'm toasting her with a little shiraz (2001) and a couple of dark chocolate Bahlsen Afrika cookies (one of her favorite kinds).

I still miss her-- and not any more or any less than I did one year ago immediately after she exhaled her very last breath and we couldn't find a pulse and it was all over and I couldn't imagine how I was possibly expected to live the rest of my own life afterward.

It's been one hell of a 12 months.
And guess what?
I found an apartment to live in when my housesitting gig is over at the end of March.
I signed the lease today and I can move in on the 15th. I think I will take advantage of the overlapping time and move in slowly and find the right furniture and settle in right.

It is a cute little studio. Very small, but I feel good about it. And I want to shout out like a kid on the monkey bars, "hey, Mom! Look! Look what I did all by myself!" I think she would like the place. It's nice, new and clean. And it's in a hilly area with cute houses and you can take lovely walks.

And I shall dedicate my walks to her.

She was one of my all time favoritest people in the whole universe.
She was the only person I always felt completely comfortable around. I think that that's probably because for a period of about 9 months back in the late 70's, we hung out in the same place: her body.

It's weird to think her body only exists now in the form of handfulls of ashes distributed to various family members and scattered amongst various geographical locations.

My handful resides in a small but lovely wooden box that will be the center of a small alter I will make in my new apartment.

This place came along at the very time I desperately needed something to look forward to. I'd like to believe I didn't find it completely on my own. It may have been luck, or it may have been her spirit silently moving me in the right direction.

Either way...

I'm a little more hopeful than I was 7 days ago. And that's something.

Thanks for stopping by.



Below: 2 years ago.

A Birthday Post

This is a post is about the man who is my father.





It was right around this time 62 years ago that he popped out of the womb ready to greet the world and see what was going on.

He practiced the violin, had a pet raccoon, went to college, managed to avoid the Viet Nam draft, met my mom, got married, and had ME and my sister.

I know I'm leaving out a lot of specifics, but I'm waiting for him to write his memoirs and then I will do a documentary about it. I wouldn't want to spoil all that by listing it all here now.






My father wore-- and still wears many hats. He is many different things to different people.

In lieu of a bad rhyming poem, I am writing a boring old list.

This list is a list of what my father is to me: (in no particular order of importance)

Violinist
Artist
Teacher
Father
Provider
Pencil Magician
Musician (I've never seen him pick up an instrument he couldn't figure out how to play)
Junk Hauler
Prop Master
Bargain Finder
Editor
Proofreader of School Assignments
Breather of Helium and maker of funny voices.
Freberg quoter
Eater of Oatmeal
Chauffeur
Payer of College Tuition
Swimmer
Associate Concertmaster
Concertmaster
Composer
Transcriber
Doer of his own taxes
Lawn Mower
Sail Boater
Moped-er
Vegetable Juicer
Pic Line Flusher
Foot rubber
Arm tickler
Santa Clause
Drawer of Paganini Charicatures
Costume Designer
Wolfman Mask Wearer
Sculpter
Photographer
Videographer
Scrabble Player
Trivial Persuit Master
Partaker of a buffet
Coffee Drinker
Traveler
Comedian
Punster
Writer
Cook
Baker of Violin Cakes
Birthday Song Harmonizer
Builder of Snow Forts
Mystery Gift Wrangler
Collector of old produce
Apple Pie Maker
Stir Fryer
Beard grower
Etc.
And so and so and so and so...

My dad was the subject of one of the very earliest dreams I ever remember having. I was four years old and my dad was still in Miami finishing up his job at the university. We had already moved back to Lexington. And one night I had a dream that we were in the front yard in Florida and we were looking a different little piles of grass clippings on these different bookshelves in the middle of the yard. Then I heard a helicopter. Then there were machine guns shooting at us from the helicoptor. We scattered and ran around trying to get away, but then my dad got shot and died and never came back from Miami. I woke up in tears. And I couldn't wait for him to come home.

Pretty wild that I still remember that 24 years later don't you think?

Anyway, he DID return from Florida and I was very relieved to have my daddy back.

My father is starting his 63rd year (having just completed his 62nd. See how that works?) with yet another title added to the list. "Widower".

My pride of him only grows greater.

I owe a huge percentage of the success of my 28 years of life to him. And I am who I am because he is who he is. And I mean that all in a good way!

One thing I miss this year: Getting the phone calls from my mother that start with her laughing and saying "you'll never guess what your father just did!" or saying "I just had to call you and tell you what your father just hauled home on the back of the truck!"

Hats off to you, Pops!
I have unfortunately inherited a bit of your tardiness, and I'll be mailing you your birthday card ON your birthday. So you might get it a little late. But the present from Me and Carrie should have already gotten there...

I love you, Daddy!!!

Happy Birthday!!!

From your firstborn (who will always pluck the E-string as an accent in "Go Tell Aunt Rhody" as a tribute to our first musical inside joke),

Melinda

my own personal new year's day

My Halloween Costume

On Saturday night, I attended a fantastic costume birthday party.




Everyone was dressed up and we were taking lots of crazy pictures.





I dress up as Autumnal Splendor every Halloween, but this year there was a "dress as a movie character" theme. So I went as The Shrubbery from Monty Python and The Holy Grail.

Mmmmmmmemphistopheles...

Greetings Monkeys! Tonight, a special guest: My cousin Wes!!!
[enthusiastic cheer!]

TRANSCRIPT OF CONVERSATION IN HOTEL ROOM OUTSIDE MEMPHIS FOLLOWS:

Mel: hi wes.
Wes: ha ha ha ha hah!
Mel: Why are you laughing?
Wes: I'm nervous.
Mel: Don't worry. It's just like we're talking regular except were
Wes: APOSTROPHE 're.
Mel: Thanks. Except WE'RE riding the supercharged wave of FREE hi-speed internet access at the QUALITY Inn. FYI folks: The Q does NOT stand for "Quick ascent". NO ELEVATOR.
Wes: But there's room for pool.
Mel: Vas pool?
Wes: It's like snooker.
Mel: That's a little inside family joke. Only the alcoholics understand what I just said. Sorry folks, that's ANOTHER inside family joke.
Wes: When are you too drunk to post to your weblog?
Mel: When you don't bring an ethernet cable with you to Arkansas.
Wes: My mom is totally going to think we've been doing kegstands. OH NO! You can't TYPE THAT!!! YOU CANNOT! Noo! Gimmge that compute jskja
MdaklOH! Geimmma
Mowhg! LEGGO!
Mel: THAT'S FUNNY! Let me keep it in. And go sit over there AWAY from my computer if you're going to be aggressive about it. Besides. She KNOWS we don't to kegstands. We are responsible adults on a whirlwind cousinly adventure across this great nation of ours. So what do you think so far, Wes? So far so good, eh?
Wes: Ah, I was going to say something about the "two cents plain"...
Mel: Dear Dad and Joy, I hope you are finding this HILARIOUS.

[polite chuckles]

[building to riotous laughter]

[ENTHUSIASTIC CHEER!]

Mel: Okay! So really we just want everyone to know we are alive and well and found our way to Beale Street and played pool (like Snooker) in a big fancy empty bar and walked around and I got some blisters on my feet and we had icecream with minimal topping (even after we asked for a generous second scoopful to make up for the pitiful first scoopful.)
Wes: And if you think I got a speeding ticket today, you are crazy. Because I didn't. I so didn't.
Mel: ha ha! Wesley, you are top notch. I am thrilled to be here with you in this wonderfully airconditioned hotel room. But I'm a bit thirsty. I'm going to get a drink of water. How 'bout you share any final thoughts with the nice readers while I'm chugging my SmartWater?

Wes: If you wake up behind the wheel of a moving car, that means you were asleep while you were driving. Pretty sure some sense of alarm is in order there. Seek to make it so. Also, even surer than monkeys wearing fezzes, is Walgreens carrying Scrabble games. (It was the first place we stopped -- I just had a feeling.) Coming soon: photographs of seven-letter lexical carnage coming almost live from the Colorado Sand Dunes... that is, should my "Obscure Locales in which Melinda and Wes Have Played Scrabble" montage idea comes to fruition. Chances of realizing said vision: strong to very strong. Hope abides.

Mel: For it is Scrabble they have, and peace they like. Thank you, dear cousin. This was fun.

Wes: Is Conan on? [turns on TV]

Mel: Hey that's right! We have free cable. Daily Show is on. Enough of this royal hispeed internet jazz. Say goodnight, Wes.

Wes: Cheers.

Mel: Indeed!

Wes: hey maybe we could go back and clean up some of the grammatical errors before we post--

Mel: No way man, this is LIVE weblogging baby. AS IS.

Wes: Word.

Mel: Word.

"Dad...dad. Daddio?"

The intonation in his voice when he's addressing kitchen appliances.
His formidable Scrabble skills.
His ability to love me unconditionally even AFTER I am the most insensitive, hot-headed, ungrateful daughter on the planet.
His thought to call me up and let me know the cheapest place in town to get gas that he saw as he was headed out of town to a workshop.
The way he's not afraid to experience emotion and share with us how much he misses his wife/our mother.
His willingness to dance at wedding receptions.
The joy he gets from spontaneously performing bluegrass music with a live band.
His sincere generosity.
His tremendous sense of humor (which to my benefit, and occasionally to my detriment, I have acquired a close variation of).

All those bits above are just the tip of the iceberg of reasons why, in all my 27 years, my father is greatest man I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. As I may have mentioned before, I am fiercely proud of him and love him lots.
I just thought I'd run that up the flagpole...

And NOW...

Some funny things that are funny if you know my father:

"Well there's some corn there. And of course Goose feathers..."

- Dad, answering my question of "what on earth is all that on the front porch?"

---

"Hey, don't go in THERE!"

- Dad, chastising the top plastic piece of the juicer that flew off and fell into the sink during a recent orange-juicing process.

---

Dad: "Hey, Melinda. I'm going to eat this banana. Want some?"
Me: "No thanks. You can have it."
Dad: "I just did halve it. See?" [holds up the banana now cut into to pieces]
Me: "But I said you could have it. You didn't have to halve it."

- a morning breakfast conversation.

---

"Is 'ladeeda' a word?"

- Dad, during a midnight Scrabble game.

"No."

- Me, not allowing that particular use of all seven letters.

---

"Hey, don't let me forget to take this helmet off before I get in the car and drive to Ohio."

- Dad, after finding a useful temporary place to store his bike helmet (whilst putting his bike on the car rack) and then forgetting he was wearing it for the next 20 minutes.

Memorable Quotes from Today

"I can think of nothing more disgusting than a computer generated animated cartoon blob of mucous on TV while I'm eating dinner." - Dad (at dinner time)

"I think Congress should act without Delay" - Dad (punning around during the Nightly News)

"Yeah. That's a little rude." - Sprint PCS salesman at Lexington Sprint Store remarking on the fact that Sprint charged my dead mother a 150 dollar account cancellation fee.

"That's not just a LITTLE rude..." - Me replying to the Sprint PCS salesman.

Also - HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO AUNTIE JOY! The official birthday songs have been sung.

And now... I begin preliminary packing activities.

The common thread of forgetting to remember

Today I was in the kitchen and I saw out of the corner of my eye our neighbor's car pulling into their driveway. And for a splitsecond moment my mind said "oh, mom's hom--" the thought was never completely carried out as I remembered that my mother is dead and therefor not very likely to be pulling into our driveway ever again.

Today my dad sat on the front porch and had a brief thought of that he should call her, but then he remembered what I remembered.

My aunt still waits to get phone calls from her and then she remembers.

My sister flew back to Tahoe and today of course my mother would have called to check in on her and make sure she got there okay.

I went to Fashion Shop and think my mother would have approved of my 6 dollar quilted coat-- she thought it was cute back when it was 26 dollars. I'm a bit dubious of the charcoal color, but it was the only size "small".

Today was so warm. I wore flip flops. And my mom's just not around anymore. And sometimes I forget to remember. And that's different than denial. And the therapist says that's normal.

And there's this strange twingy twisty pain right below my right ear lobe and above my jaw bone. It's like if I ate something really sour, but it happens when I'm not eating.

And I think I've covered everything for today. DIS-missed!

eastereve

"hey! What are you doing? You got a Tetris and now you're winning."

"Dad, that's the point of this game."

"No it isn't. The point is to be nice to your father!"

-------

Happy Easter from all of us to all of you.

quote

Here is a quote by "source unknown" that is taped to the kitchen cabinet door above where I'm sitting. I don't know who put it there, but I shall end with it.

"Did we not know we were to die, we would be children; by knowing it, we are given our opportunity to mature in spirit. Life is only the father of wisdom; death is the mother."

only in the wee hours

I always think more at night.

An old classmate of mine from 16-ish years ago, wrote on my mother's legacy.com memorial guestbook that she had wished her mom hadn't been my mom's assistant so she could have had my mom as her teacher. I also wished I could have been in my mom's class back in my 4th, 5th, 6th grade years.

Isn't it funny that back then I longed for my mom to be "my teacher" while she was in fact that very thing-- every minute of every hour of every day of every week of every month of every year of my life since the moment I was born.

I think I've taken a certain degree of education for granted most of my life. I had a mother could enthusiastically dissect frogs, help me with my book reports, and explain square roots to me at a moment's notice; and I had a dad who could show me how to practice every piece of high school orchestra music I ever brought home.

My mother is the reason I look back fondly on my academic experiences and creative endeavors. My father is the reason I can't ever remember a time in my life where I didn't know how to play the violin (and the reason I can quote Stan Freberg albums almost verbatim).

My parents are such strong, positive, immense, PRESENT figures in my life. And that is probably why it feels like my mom will be back next week from wherever she's gone. And that is probably why I refuse to process completely that what is in a tiny wooden box on my bedroom shelf surrounded by family photos is in fact a few tablespoons of all that remains of her tangible physical presence on this earth.

The following exchange between me and my mother, which happened sometime during the latter half of my college career, brilliantly sums up our relationship.

Me: "Oh mom, you're like my Zen master."

Mom: "Oh grasshopper..."

Today has been the third day of the rest of my life.

A special thank you goes out to Mr. Wright who last night endured a 45 minute drive; suffered through a dinner of sake-induced ramblings about the death of my mother; survived a fall into the Gap; and emerged triumphant from Busters after beating me soundly at some bad (but clean!) pool. And to his credit, it's not just anyone who will hug you after you have been hugged by someone else who stinks so badly that their sweaty-man-scent remains on your shirt as an oderific reminder of sincere condolences.

My favorite sound bite of the evening:

me: "if we go to the mall, we have to run into the Gap"
him: "if we go the gap, I have to have a cigarette on the way over"

---------------

Today's house rules for getting through Wednesday, March 16, 2005.


Sleep in.
Sip tea.
Walk around the house making bold statements about your pajamas becoming permanent attire.
Watch at least 6 episodes of Sex And The City (season 4)
Sign for flower deliveries.
Eat salads.
Wait for your mom to come into the kitchen and fuss about all the fruit sitting on the counter.
Remember she's not going to come.
Cry a little.
Eat some grapes.
Contemplate taking a shower.
Pep yourself up to drive out to the hotel to play with pre-teen cousins who are visiting because you must remember that you are a grown-up person with responsibilities and they are just kids who have lost a very nice aunt.

The best thing about today: when people ask how you are and you reply by saying "I've decided to answer the door all day in my pajamas!" and they respond with "good for you!" and they sound like they mean it.