Every Halloween, I think about this woman I never knew. I've linked to the piece she wrote on seeing her third-grade daughter off on Halloween night, the last Halloween of this mother's life.
I bought this book for my then eight-year old daughter so that, if anything happened to me, she would know. Marjorie Williams would tell her how being a mom feels.
The Woman at the Washington Zoo ... - Google Books
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Smoke 'Em If You Got 'Em
I always keep a pack of matches in my jacket pocket. Nothing else is permitted - no ponytail holders, no Kleenex, nothing that is used for the care and feeding of someone else. I haven't smoked for years and have no desire to do so now. The matches just remind me of me, when I didn't have to take care of anyone else* and I could smoke because I was never going to die.
*Standard disclaimer: Of course taking care of my children is the most wonderful thing in the world to me, blah blah blah.
*Standard disclaimer: Of course taking care of my children is the most wonderful thing in the world to me, blah blah blah.
Tuesday, October 12, 2010
Tales of a Smarty Pants
I found an old journal of mine, one of many that have the first twelve pages filled followed by a hundred that are empty. One of the few entries was from five years ago, and the memory made me laugh. Also, I'm too lazy to think up anything new, so here it is:
I saw my eight-year old self at the playground last night. As Belinda and Bill threw and swung at T-Ball practice, Julia and I hit the playground equipment. There, I saw the kid I'd have been if I were a boy. Just the tiniest bit chubby and with the short, puffy hair I know so well, he was playing Frisbee keepaway with three other boys (and I could tell they were only playing with him because it was his Frisbee). He (who could have been me) fell and said, "I think I hurt my cranium." One of the normal boys asked, "What's that?" My silent answer was, "Head." He (who could have been me) answered, "It's a part of the skull. You know....cranium, maxilla, mandible..." Later, sitting next to the normal boy on the playground mountain, he (who could have been me) asked, "Did you hurt your phalange?" The other boy looked disgusted and said, "Why do you say that? It sounds dumb." It took me thirty years to learn that people don't particularly like it when you have all the answers.
I saw my eight-year old self at the playground last night. As Belinda and Bill threw and swung at T-Ball practice, Julia and I hit the playground equipment. There, I saw the kid I'd have been if I were a boy. Just the tiniest bit chubby and with the short, puffy hair I know so well, he was playing Frisbee keepaway with three other boys (and I could tell they were only playing with him because it was his Frisbee). He (who could have been me) fell and said, "I think I hurt my cranium." One of the normal boys asked, "What's that?" My silent answer was, "Head." He (who could have been me) answered, "It's a part of the skull. You know....cranium, maxilla, mandible..." Later, sitting next to the normal boy on the playground mountain, he (who could have been me) asked, "Did you hurt your phalange?" The other boy looked disgusted and said, "Why do you say that? It sounds dumb." It took me thirty years to learn that people don't particularly like it when you have all the answers.
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