Dusty Noodles

attic

 

 

Have you ever thought about what the inside of your brain looks like? I’m not talking about a Halloween project that involves cold noodles or cauliflower; I’m talking more about the visual manifestation your mind takes on when you visit it.

Some people say their minds are like a file cabinet with drawers filled with memories and imagination. My daughter talks about her mind like an office full of cubicles; walls around all the little things she doesn’t want to remember. I can understand that.

When I think about what my mind looks like, it is more of a cluttered attic with shadowy corners and dusty piles of boxes and crates. There is a lot in there, but I can’t really see it all from the rickety ladder I stand on in the small wooden flap of a doorway when I enter. It is really too much to deal with at times so I tend to keep that door shut and ‘just keep swimming.’

The other day when I was scrapbooking for my mother, I went all the way into the attic of my mind and opened a box. It was way back in the back, covered with old doilies and nameless books from my youth. What I found in that box was very surprising and has stayed with me over the last two weeks.

For as long as I can remember, I have regarded my childhood as a time I did not want to remember. I was not abused or neglected or hurt, I just remembered myself as a dorky kid that basically embarrassed me. I was better now. I had grown up and turned into a completely different person. That is what I told myself.

As I was scrapbooking, I came across several pictures of myself as a baby and young child. One picture in particular just stuck out to me with such power I cannot seem to shake the image. In the picture, I am smiling with a full, innocent, blissful smile reserved only for those that are too young for stress or worry. In that picture, I see a young girl that has no worries, only a love of life and feeling of safety and being loved. I see a girl I do not know, yet takes up a huge part of my heart.

It is a very strange thing to be introduced to yourself. I have wondered at different times in my life if I would want to be my friend if I met myself. Kind of a weird thing to think, but it has crossed my mind for whatever reason.

As I look at this picture, as I do quite frequently now, I have a great longing to know that little girl. I want, with an ache deep down in my heart, to hear her thoughts and dreams and just be with her for a while. I want to remember who I was back then. Why was I so happy in that picture? When did I become this different person and why?

I think about Harry Potter and the mirror he finds at Hogwarts. He sits and stares into the mirror, longing for what he sees there. How strange is it that I sit and stare at a picture of who I used to be and long to be there again? Am I the only one that misses the innocence and beauty of youth?

Maybe that little girl is still inside me somewhere, trying to get out. Maybe she is in that cluttered attic watching my life as it gets more and more complicated and distant from the girl I once was. Is she proud of who I have become? Or does she slink farther and farther back behind the stacks of boxes, trying to block me out as much as I have managed to block her out?

I know I can never go back. I can never be that girl again, but maybe I can let her out a bit. Maybe I can let her share her wonder of life and unbiased trust and love for others. Maybe, just maybe I can gain a bit of her youth to dilute the hardness age has pushed upon me. It’s hard to share my life, even with myself, but I can try…. cause I said so.

 

Photo credit: http://www.johnderbyshire.com/FamilyHistoryJD/attic.jpg

musical meatballs

I was in the third grade when I got my very first, brand new, by request, album. Yes, I am from back in the day when music came on big shiney black vinyl disks called ‘records’ or ‘albums.’ My first two albums were ABBA’s self named album and the AirSupply album with that popular ballad…something about arms or love or something. Napoleon Dynamite did a sign language version of it in the movie. Fun fact: I also did a sign language skit to that same song when I was in Junior High. That movie really does speak for the dork in all of us, doesn’t it? Genius.

I played my albums over and over til they were scratched and skippy (not peanut butter…) and I knew every word. The cool thing about records was that you could pick up the needle and move it to the song you wanted. You didn’t have to wait for it to come on. Now, we just tell our phone to play us a song and it happens. Very hands off…..I miss some things about the good old days….

I’ve become very addicted to iTunes and the instant gratification of hearing a song, loving it, wanting, buying it, and having it at my fingertips  all within minutes. Its a beautiful thing. Now that I have Shazam on my phone, it is even easier! My kids and I like to play the ‘guess who this band is’ game when we are in the car. I am determined to make them 80′s music authorities. They have gotten pretty good….as long as it is Sting, U2, or the Police. Lucky for them….those are very commonly right guesses. I did throw them for a big time loop the other day with Duran Duran. The sad thing was, it also threw my sister for a loop. She is only 7 years younger than me, but she was definitely exposed to all my favorite music while we shared a room as youngsters. There is really no excuse for not knowing that band. It was ‘the band’ for a while. Perhaps the Beatles of the 80′s? (lol nobody shoot me for that one…)

It is a bit surprising (not) how much 80′s music is on the radio these days. I guess it is a bit like when 50′s music was on in the 80′s. It annoys my kids that I can sing along to almost any song on the radio. What can I say? It’s my unprofitable talent.

My daughters and I were in a nail salon the other day get pedicures when a real blast from the past came on the radio. ABBA is not a common band to hear on the radio. I thought it was kind of cool and hoped the radio station would name itself so I could find it on the car stereo. I waited for several songs, with no luck, til I realized that all the songs I had heard were from the same ABBA album. (I’m blaming the polish fumes for my stupidity) I took a look around the salon and…I had to laugh. The entire staff was made up of cute oriental men and women. Obviously, they had put on the ABBA album. (or cd now….) Usually, in a salon like that, they have on some oriental music or just zen sounding music(noise). I almost felt like I had stepped into an alternate universe…one where ABBA was an oriental sensation…well into the year 2012! I wonder what other wonders that universe would hold? Maybe Shaq was a ballet dancer….or Chuck Norris was known for his sensitive side. Who knows? I guess anything would be possible….cause I said so.

 

Source of photo unknown…I saved it to my computer a while ago before I started keeping track. so sorry….

 

mulberry street

 

I have always loved reading. As a child, my mother read to me until I could read to myself. Once I could read alone, I was off and running, or rather, reading. I feel like I have lived many more lives than just this one I am in, because of all the adventures and lives I have experienced through reading. I am always amazed when someone tells me they don’t read. What does that even mean? Does it mean they ‘can’t read’? Like, they are illiterate? Or does it mean they just don’t enjoy reading? I look around at the world and wonder how anyone even exists without the ability to read. Words are everywhere! My mom used to say, “Learn to read and you can rule the world” or something like that. Maybe it was more along the lines of…”Learn to read and you can learn to do anything…” Yeah, I think that was it. Meaning of course, if you can read,  you can read the instructions to do anything. Makes sense.

My kids are a mix of readers and non readers. My girls like to read a lot. Two of my boys are also big readers. The other two….they like pictures. I am really hoping they will get the bug and learn to love reading too, but we are who we are.

I used to read a lot. I used to read three to four books at a time. Lately, I have not read much at all. I have a stack of books to read but I just can’t seem to pick them up. I am busy with the writing part of my life. I have stories that are pushing and shoving and stepping on each others toes to get out of my head and…they won’t allow any other stories in. I pick up a book and the words just float before me in nonsense shapes. It is a bit disconcerting actually. I still go to the book store and look at all the books like a kid in a candy store. I love books. What I would really love right now would be to see my book on those shelves.

I don’t know if my book is going to be any good. I wonder if JK Rowling new her book was going to be iconic or if Stephanie Meyers knew her book would start a vampire revolution. I hope someone will read it and I hope that person says nice things about it…and even puts in up on their shelf in the “not junk” section. We tend to be our own worst critic so, I don’t really know at this point where I’m at. But I am working on it. Someday soon….maybe I’ll be announcing its completion.

Until then, I will spend my last few open eyed moments each day typing out words that may or may not be read by anyone other than those faithful few. Writing is my happy place. Thanks for joining me here…..cause I said so.

ninja sock

Legos arethe best toy every invented. I remember playing (building) with them when I was a kid, tween, and teenager. They were way cool back then. We had glow in the dark legos….and we made pyramids of all different sizes! Well, we thought it was cool back then. Now, I am amazed at the things my kids build with ‘legos’. These are not your mom’s legos kids….something happened to that toy. I think they got some of the “ooze” from the Ninja Turtle sewer on them. They morphed into something I am pretty sure they use to build the shuttle and space station.

Some things get better with age. Legos are one of them. Chocolate is not. I’m not just talking about that chocolate bar you wanted to hide from your kids so you stuck it up on the fridge and forgot about it ….only to find it had turned white and yucky by the time you found it six months later. No, I’m talking about the ‘new’ old candy bars we buy at the store. They just don’t taste the same. Reese cups used to be my all time favorite. Now, they just taste like chocolatey wax wiped with a bit of tasteless peanut product (no real peanuts were harmed in the making of this product). Its sad really, but the really really sad part is the fact that I still eat them now and them. All the while, lamenting their lack of flavor to my kids who will never know the real goodness of the orignial Reese cup. All the candy from my youth tastes icky. I’m sure it was a giant conspiracy movement….and definitely not the fact that I am older and have more mature tastes. No way.

One of my favorite memories from my childhood is one of me and my father making our own peanut butter cups. The ones at the store were just not big enough for us. We would use the tin pan from a pot pie (yes, washed) and layer chocolate and peanut butter several times to fill it up. It was hard to get it to set up…so we would freeze it of course. (my family froze everything….seriously)  I remember trying to chisel off pieces of our gigantic treat and thinking how awesome it was that we actually did it. It was a special thing me and my dad did. Just us.

Its funny the things we remember. I have lots of disjointed memories from my youth. Most of the things I remember are not traumatic or eventful…they are just days that seem to stick out for some reason. I remember flying ants and standing in the corner. I remember my awesome doll that could actually have it’s hair fixed…Cathy Quick Curl? I remember my mom and her friend sitting under a blanket to watch tv because they were cold…eating ice cream. I remember stuff, but it’s like I am remembering a movie I watched long ago. I am disconnected from the person in the stories. Its not me, but I know her better than anyone. Sometimes I miss that dorky kid with the oh so small problems.  Life moves fast and throws a lot of curve balls at you. There are days I want to just sit out an inning or two and catch my breath. But then, I think about the memories I am still making, every day, and I realize I don’t want to miss a thing….cause I said so.

I have some fond memories from my childhood. There was a time when we lived in a small town, in a big house that used to be a duplex. It was cool because the upstairs and downstairs were the exact same format. That meant we had two kitchens. We made one of them into a huge laundry room. I had no idea how much I would miss that awesome room when I was all grown up in my own home. Houses just don’t have big laundry rooms. It was a luxury and I didn’t even know it.

I liked living in that house. It had lots of cool things about it. There were stairs going upstairs on the inside and outside of the house. We had really interesting carpet we called marshmallow because it was dark blue, chocolate, and white in color. (smores) There was an amazing climbing tree in the front yard, and a huge back yard. The yard was so big that we had a big shed, a duck ‘house’ with ducks and a wading pool, a swing set, and the biggest garden I’ve ever seen in a yard.

I remember that garden very well. We sifted dirt for days through a giant metal screen. We planted row after row of vegetables. We grew everything! Except jicama….cause it tastes like dirt. It was cool to watch our hard work literaly grow before our eyes and then to go out and ‘harvest’ food from our garden everyday. We used every bit of that garden. I remember a special dish my mother made for us called beet green pie. It was not a sweet pie like cherry or apple. It wasn’t even a tangy pie like strawberry or rhubarb. It was the kind of pie that made you feel like you really never wanted to eat anything called “pie” again in your lifetime. It was foul. It was beyond foul.

At the time, I didn’t know why we had the garden or even why we had that disgusting pie. When I was older, my parents recounted the story of the epic garden a bit differently than I remembered. I guess we were pretty strapped for cash and that garden was our food. Mom got creative and tried to use as much as we could from the garden, so we could eat. I think it’s great to be able to look back on a time that was most likely stressful for my parents and see an adventure instead of stress. I don’t know how I really felt at the time, but if it was bad in any way, time has erased it. I sure hope that is how it happens for my kids!

Today my little family planted our garden. We have done a bit in the past, but never anything as epic as the garden from my youth. We have mostly grown tomatoes in every state we’ve lived in, but this time we are doing a bit more. Ethan had to finish his gardening merit badge today so, it put a fire under us to do it now.  We made a lot of progress in spite of the errands, school, major wind, and the cold front that came in. I’m hoping we actually yield a harvest or two and that my kids find some joy in growing something they can eat. There is something magical to me about putting a seed or small plant in the ground and having it produce food. I just love it.

I come from a long line of gardeners. At least, I remember my mother’s father having a garden. He had garden beds around his back yard. I used to go out and steal cherry tomatoes from his bushes. He would get upset but, I think he secretly smiled . He was a funny guy. When he retired and moved from his small town to Mesa, he bought a house with a gravel yard in front and back. The theory was he would not have to do yard work. It wasn’t long before the backyard gravel was moved aside to make room for his huge garden right in the middle. I guess old habits die hard. He grew everything.

I don’t claim to have a green thumb, but I am trying. I did my research and checked out what grows when here in Arizona, so at least I am working with possibles. It is interesting to me that even things that are not supposed to grow well this time of year are on sale at the  hardware store. I guess they let us figure stuff out for ourselves.

Tomorrow I will continue to work on my garden. Lots more plants are sitting on the back porch patiently awaiting their new homes. I’m hoping no wild animals come to my yard tonight and eat them. I’m also hoping this amazing wind that is attempting to blow my house down will not damage all our hard work from today. Nothing takes the joy and fun out of gardening than having it all blown to Oz the night after you plant it. Cause I said so.

 

**a side note: years after the epic garden experience, after I have moved out, and right before I got married, I told my mother I thought I was mature enough to appreciate Beet Green Pie. She went to a lot of trouble and made it for me. I took one bite….and told her ,”Nope, it is still totally disgusting.” some things don’t get better with age….

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