Growing Friends

The sunlight is fading as we are left straying, slowly, one by one.
And I start complying because there's no more denying, the end of summer has come.
We'll speak of each other, like long forgotten lovers, people we used to know -
remembering "when" and remembering again, the time before the snow. We'll laugh as we say, "Remember the day..." as if it were not so far past,
wishing it was next year, to see our friends dear - oh summer, why can't you last?
"Outside the snow is falling and friends are calling" isn't that the way it goes?
But inside my heart, where it's broken apart, the green grass of summer still grows.

A.R.M.
08/02/01

Crossroads

There is a fountain in the courtyard. I sit by it and listen to its intermittent babbling. One moment trickling calm, the next, urgent and spurting. I ponder how tonight's class fits into the bigger picture of my future. A fitting analogy, given this is an art class. Is it wrong to take the road most traveled on, I think to myself as the fountain gurgles wildly. The nagging feeling that class will start soon pulls me from my plans for the future. The water slowly ebbs and I pack my things.

"Pizza, pizza"

Obsession.

The song by Animotion, not the perfume by Calvin Klein, although they both came out in the first half of the 80s.

“Obsession” was on heavy rotation on the jukebox when my friends and I spent weekend nights at Round Table Pizza on the corner of Glenoaks and Alameda.  It’s another kind of pizza place now, the faux coats of armor no longer gracing the front doors.  I haven’t set foot in there since the 80s so I’m not terribly sad about it.  Should I be?

We didn’t go there to eat, though we must’ve consumed copious amounts of pizza and soda in our day; we went there to hang out.  To play “Obsession” on the jukebox and stare at the cute guys that worked there.  Charles.  One of them was named Charles.  I don’t remember what he looked like other than having dark hair.  Did he go to one of the local high schools?  Did he have a car?  A motorcycle.  I think he had a motorcycle.  I don’t really remember much about Charles except that he had dark hair and my best friend had a crush on him.  So we’d park ourselves at a table and giggle over him while plugging quarters into the jukebox.

Did we ever talk to Charles?  Did my best friend ever ask him out?  I don’t remember because Charles wasn’t why we went to Round Table, he was just eye candy.  We went because that’s what we did in junior high.  We hung out at Round Table Pizza.  That was our place.

I got into an altercation with one of my best friends there once.  I have no idea what we argued about (boys?) but I remember she kicked my bike and I boldly proclaimed to her that if anything was wrong with it, “I’ll sue you!”  That was probably the first inkling that law would be my chosen field later in life.

My other best friend used to spike her drinks under the tables.  She had a mini alcohol bottle and would refill it from the wet bar at my Dad’s house.  Some parents had wet bars that were kept behind lock and key, broken into on occasion like a bad after school special.  Not at my Dad’s house.  Nope, at Dad’s house the alcohol bottles were sitting in plain sight on the counter.  My friend would top off her mini bottle whenever necessary and then she’d spike her soda under the table when we went for pizza.  I say “under the table” because my Dad was sitting right across from us.  Either he never noticed or he didn’t care.  I’m not sure which is better.

But the night to top all nights in Round Table history was the night of the “wives.”  I think the four regulars were there that night: me, Fleur, Sheri, and Cindy.  We were hanging out, playing “Obsession” on the jukebox more than anybody ever should and being obnoxious teenagers.  Teenagers will never admit to being obnoxious until much later in life, at which point they will look back with a smile and confess, “We were totally obnoxious.”  Maybe we were talking too loud, giggling too much over Charles, or had played “Obession” one… too... many... times.  I’m not sure, but whatever it was we were doing caught the attention of two couples at a nearby table.  They wouldn’t stop staring at us so we glared back, because that’s what teenagers do.  Perhaps they were setting their heat-seeking death stares upon us, trying to silently will us to shut up with their laser eyes.  Or maybe they were musing amongst themselves fondly about how silly and obnoxious they were at that age.  Or maybe they were just pervs.  We decided, in our infinite wisdom as 8^th and 9^th graders, that it was the latter: the couples were staring at us because they were dirty little pervs, ogling junior high girls.

We hovered at our table, whispering amongst ourselves as to which course of action was best.  Do we confront them?  Ignore them?  Decisions, decisions.  We finally came up with a brilliant plan – how could it not be brilliant, coming from the minds of a bunch of thirteen and fourteen year olds?  We waited until they left and followed them out onto the sidewalk.  There they were, up ahead of us, walking toward the parking lot.  Hands on hips, full of bravado, we hollered at them, our high pitched voices cutting through the night air.

“Why were you staring at us?  What’s the matter, aren’t your wives good enough for you?!”

Whenever I hear “Obsession” I am a teenager again, standing on a sidewalk outside of Round Table Pizza, yelling at imaginary perverts.

Because that’s what we did.  It was our place.

"The Real Slim Shady"

Hate me for it
Berate me for it
Say you ain’t gonna date me for it
But I said what I said
All the thoughts in my head
Telling you it’s time to go
Because you treat her like a queen
But treat me like I’m your ho
Well I don’t play like that
It ain’t gonna stay like that
Watch my feet as they hit the ground
I ain’t staying around
This romantic ghost town
I’m peeved
I’m irked
My broken heart is hurt
But I’ll lick my wounds somewhere else
Swallow my pride and protect myself
Because what you got to offer
Ain’t nothing but dreams
And the fantasy is starting to come apart at the seams
So stiffen your back and say it’s all fine
Act like I ain’t all that and you ain’t got the time
For a dumbass bitch like me
But you’ll see
When she tosses your ass out,
I ain’t got the time for you either, see?

A.R.M.
05/02/08

"Baby, Baby"

Another secret from PostSecret today.

I have a couple problems with this postcard.  First off, I've never been a fan of fake pregnancies or tricking a man into being with you because you got pregnant.

And secondly, this fake pregnancy/fake abortion is a slap in the face to women everywhere who found themsleves holding a positive test in their hands after squatting over the toilet to pee on a stick.  Forget that you tricked this man into thinking you were facing this life altering decision - you faked what real women everywhere have gone through time after time.  Some women read their postive test and shed tears of joy. While other women held their tests and cried for the decisions they would now have to face.

Abortion. Adoption. Keeping a baby.

You faked it. You pretended that you agonized over this decision and spent sleepless nights, trying to do the "right" thing for yourself and the child you were carrying. Perhaps you are still pretending - maybe you and the man 800 miles away talk about how difficult it was for you to make this decision; how you hated yourself for the decision you made even though you thought it was the "right" one.  Your family went to the fake clinic with you to surround you with love in your time of need.  You cried so hard from the fake pain that the nurse held your hand and tried to distract you by telling you how pretty your eyes were and you told her they were colored contacts. You had fake cramps that were a hundred times worse than any cramps you ever had from your period.  And you faked it when you told him you ate Hershey Kisses, BBQ chips and Root Beer for almost a week as you lay on the couch, recovering.  Perhaps you fake it sometimes and wonder aloud to him if it were a boy or a girl.  Maybe you pretend to wonder what your life - and your baby's - would be like had you made a different decision.  And maybe you are still pretending and keeping this "secret" from everyone else because you are ashamed what they will think of you; what they will say about you; how they will condemn you for it. When a new doctors asks you how many times you've been pregnant and how many children you've given birth to, do you tell him your "secret" too? Of course not.

You faked it. In the end, you get off easy because you never actually went through any of this.  And in all the time since, have you ever had this secret burning a hole in your heart but you were afraid to tell anyone else because you feared they would shun you? Did this secret make you wonder if you would get into Heaven because of it?

No, because you faked it.  Some of us actually were pregnant and forced to make a decision between abortion, adoption, and keeping an actual baby. And some of us worry we will go to Hell for our decisions.

But you? You faked it.

"Secret Lovers"

This was one of the secrets today on the PostSecret site and if I could tell the sender something it would be this:

That married man didn't turn you into anything. Nobody can make you do anything, become someone, or feel something you do not feel.  Anything you ever did or said or felt, no matter how it related to him, was all your own doing. Did he tempt you? Did he present you with the opportunity? Did he influence you?  Perhaps.

But in the end, it was always your choice to follow this man, to engage in a relationship with this man. It was never anyone else, it was always you.

And I mean no disrespect when I say this. But I'm tired of people thinking they have no responsiblity over their own actions, even when it comes to matters of the heart.

We may not always have control over the things that happen to us, but we control how we react to them. We choose how we will handle the unforseen circumstances, the tragic events, the aching hearts. We choose.

This man did not turn you into anything. You did that to yourself.  And you have the power to undo it, as well. You have the power to be someone that is not waiting for a married man to leave his wife.

Choose to do that. Choose to be in control of your life.

"We Are Family"

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in

my heart)i am never without it(anywhere

i go you go,my dear;and whatever is done

by only me is your doing,my darling)

                                                      i fear

no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want

no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)

and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant

and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows

(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud

and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows

higher than soul can hope or mind can hide)

and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

~ e.e. cummings

I'm ashamed to admit that until just a few minutes ago, I thought e.e. cummings was a woman. My father and sister both majored in English, and my sister is now an English professor, and yet somehow it escaped my attention that e.e. cummings was in fact a man.  Perhaps I had him confused with another poet, one of the female persuasion? Clearly we never studied cummings in any of my high school or college Lit classes. (Another thing I didn't know, he's from Cambridge, Mass. My Dad was from Winchester, which isn't far from Cambridge. New England represent!)

All that aside, I love this poem. It came to my attention when my sister (the aforementioned English professor) suggested I read In Her Shoes by Jennifer Weiner.  In this book, Maggie read cummings' poem at Rose's wedding. And while cummings may have written this poem about a lover, my sister and I view it as a familial bond. That no matter how far apart we are, no matter how long it's been since our last heart to heart conversation, we always carry each other in our hearts.

In fact, prior to ever reading this poem, we developed a saying between us: "Half a heart."  Many years ago, while I was still in my late teens, we came up with that saying. I was living in Virginia at the time, she was here in California. And we'd sign our letters, "Half a heart away" which turned into simply "Half a heart." So when I read this poem, it hit home.  Carrying her heart within my heart... sharing a heart... half of that heart is with her.

In Her Shoes (the movie) was on the other night (starring Cameron Diaz as "Maggie" and Toni Colette as "Rose") and when Maggie read the poem at Rose's wedding, I cried. Now, I cry during a lot of movies (most recently during Home Alone 2 and even during last night's Criminal Minds), but this was different. This was a connection. This was my heart saying, "Yes, cummings got it right."

Even if he was a man.

"Dress You Up in My Love"

When my Grandmother passed away in August 2004, some of the family members wrote down memories for the Reverend to read during the memorial service. This was mine...
 
When I was a young girl, my Grandmother made me the most beautiful coat, or rather, the most beautiful, formal cape. It wasn’t a denim coat to be worn casually or a fleece lined jacket for winter, oh no, this was an elegant creation, made only for the fanciest of nights out. But despite it’s fascinating appeal, and the care in which it was made, I’ve never worn the cape, not even once. Because it was for my Barbie.
 
Made for a doll of only 11 ½ inches high, the cape was made of cream-colored mohair and lined in the softest satin, designed to fall to Barbie’s ankles. At the neck, a gold cord tied the cape around Barbie’s shoulders, and the hood was trimmed in mink. Real mink. Imagine that, I was in dungarees while my Barbie draped herself in mink. The cape was the most elegant piece of clothing my Barbie ever owned – beautifully designed and expertly crafted by my Grandmother’s loving hands. How I wished I’d had one in my own size!
 
I adore that cape so much – both for its beauty and the love that was put into making it - that long after I grew out of Barbies, I’ve kept that cape among my most cherished treasures. To this day I still take it out every now and then to admire its craftsmanship and style. But it means more to me today than it did the first time I laid eyes on it, and I’ll tell you why.
 
When I was in my late twenties, my Grandparents came to Virginia for a visit and one night during their stay, our family engaged in a traditional game of Hat Scrabble. Hat Scrabble, if you’ve never played, is when the family all gathers around for a Scrabble tournament and all participating parties must wear a hat -–the more outrageous or unique, the better. Having anticipated a Hat Scrabble tournament, my Grandmother had packed a hat for just that occasion. It was a vintage hat, trimmed in mink, and right in the front there was a strip of fabric missing its mink trim. I innocently asked my Grandmother what had happened to the mink and she smiled knowingly back at me and replied, “I used it to make Barbie clothes.” [After the Reverend read that line an audible, collective gasp could be heard in the church.] I was speechless as the realization hit me. The evening cape I had so long cherished was made not only with my Grandmother’s love and skill, but with her very own mink, taken right off of one of her hats. I can’t tell you how honored I was that she had made such a sacrifice just to give her Granddaughter’s Barbie an elegant evening cape.
 
To this day, the most wonderful cape I’ve ever owned is one that I will never be able to wear, but will keep with me for a lifetime. And I have my Grandmother to thank for it.

"Momma I'm Coming Home"

How To Annoy Your Mom   Tell her she ruined your life by making you move from California to Virginia after you graduated high school. Even though after six months you were old enough to move out on your own and could have moved back if you so chose.
 
Live at home.
 
Borrow money from her to buy your first car.
 
Stay up late some nights, talking to your friend on the phone. At midnight decide the two of you want to go to 7-11 for ice cream. When your Mom asks where you're going tell her. Then when she tells you not to, explain with sass that you're 18 and it's your car so you're going. Come home at 2:30.
 
Every time you date a cute boy, tell her he's "the one."
 
Borrow money from her for college.
 
Go into her closet every now and then and point at things you like. Say, "You don't wear this anymore, do you?" When she tells you you can't have it, point at something else and ask, "What about this?"
 
Forget to send in your application for insurance in January and don't remember until February. Then, a month before your insurance kicks in, need major surgery immediately that needs to be paid for out-of-pocket.
 
Borrow the money from your Mom.
 
When the carburetor goes out on your car, have your Mom follow you to the carburetor specialist…twenty miles away. They will have your car for two weeks and do nothing to it. Then ask your Mom to take you and your car to another shop where they have your car for another week and actually fix it. Borrow money from you Mom to pay for it.
 
(BONUS ANNOYANCE: Ask your sister if you can borrow her car while yours is in the shop since she commutes to work with your Mom anyway. Use it the entire three weeks your car is in the shop.)
 
While still owing your Mom money, buy a second car. A British one. One that needs to be restored. Keep it parked in front of her house. When your first car breaks down and you have it towed away, borrow money from her to get your second car running.
 
Move out of her house, finally. Then move back in after 6 months. Then move out in another month. Then come back in another 6 months...with a cat. Then stay for three more years.
 
(BONUS ANNOYANCE: Ask your siblings to help you move each time.)
 
When you're living out of state, take your car into the muffler shop to have them inspect a rattle that's been annoying you. The mechanic will tell you he fixed it cheap but while he was working on your car he noticed that one of your tires is almost worn through clean to the thread and that you should have it changed immediately to prevent a blowout. Go to the tire shop. Have them give you a new tire and align your car, the misalignment being what caused the problem. Call your Mom at work in another state and borrow the money to pay for it.
 
When you're living at home again, borrow money from your Mom again, when your car breaks down again. Ask her if she can drive you to the British car specialist…15 miles away. And if she could take you to work and pick you up each day until your car is ready.
 
After you've moved out ("for the last time" she says), call her at work with random questions that you could wait to call her with that evening after dinner. Ask her things like, "How do you make meatloaf?" or "What are you doing?" When she tells you she's working, sigh impatiently and tell her, "You're no fun."
 
Whenever you go to her house to visit, point at things you like such as a small marble-top table or an antique lamp and say, "You don't want that anymore, do you?" When she says you can't have it, point at something else and ask, "What about that?"
 
(BONUS ANNOYANCE: When your Mom tells you you can't have one of the two marble-top tables because they're promised to your sister, you can annoy your sister by asking her for one of the tables. When your sister says that she didn't even know there were two but you can't have either, say, "See, you didn't even know there were two. I could've taken one and you wouldn't have even known!")
 
Call your Mom at work and ask her if she needs to get her hair cut that weekend. When she says no, insist that she needs to get it cut. When she again tell you that no, she doesn't need a haircut, ask her, "Are you sure?" When she finally asks you what your problem is, confess that you wanted her to go to the stylist that weekend so you could go with her and get your hair done, too. Her treat.
 
She'll be annoyed. Trust me, I speak from experience.

A.R.M.
03/28/02