The Guy at the Museum

After my roommate graduated college I went on a road trip with her to celebrate her graduation. Her name was Celesta. We went up and down the CA coastline  and I have many many stories from that trip but here is one I remembered a few days ago. My grandfather was recently moved to an assisted living care facility and my aunt asked me to put some photos together or my family to send to him. I stumbled across this one of him, my grandmother, my roommate and myself standing on the balcony of the MOMA. The incident came rushing back to my mind. (As an aside I totally remembr that wrap skirt from Limited...I loved it so much!!)

On the road trip we stopped and spent a day or two with my grandparents in San Fransisco. One of the days we went to the MOMA (where we took the photo). As we were leaving the Museum we stopped to get a treat in the cafe. It was very crowded and after we had gotten our food there were no open tables. A kind gentleman who was by himself at a large table asked if we would like to join him, as he was working and didn't need th e extra seats. We thanked him kindly and sat to chat and eat.

Sidebar: In college I went through a brief phase of calling everything "gay," good things, bad things, everything. I don't need a lecture on how wrong it was, I am quite clear on that.

Return to the cafe. I have no idea what we were talking about but in th middle of my conversation with my family I called something "gay." As soon as the words came out if my mouth I thought I was going to die. I knew I had blown it. My family was mortified and just stared at me. The kind gentleman who gave us a place to sit quietly packed up his things from the table and left. I felt about as big as a bug. I wasn't trying to be offensive. But clearly I wasn't trying to be sensitive either. I was in my own world where I didn't pay attention to what I said because it was all about me.

I had gay friends. I don't know why or where I picked up the phrase used in that way. I can tell you though, I never used it that way again. The quickest way to kick a bad habit is to do it in front of someone and watch them be hurt by it. This man didn't lash out at me, didn't call me a bigot, didn't throw his coffee on me. He stood up and silently expressed he wasn't going to take it.

I wish I could go back and apologize. I was seventeen. I was stupid. I was embarassed. I was sorry. Am sorry.

So thank you, man in the MOMA coffee shop, for teaching me the power of words and the power of silence.

That Guy on the Train

I graduated high school a year early. I had the credits, so why not. I enjoyed high school, but I didn't thrive in the environment I was living in. I moved across the country to live with my dad and stepmom and go to commnity college until I figured out a plan. To get across the country I wanted to travel by train so my mom bought me a ticket and off I went.

My "boyfriend" at the time of graduation moved to Chicago, so I planned a stop there for a couple of days to hang out with him and his mom. (What a mess, and an entirely different story.)

The ride from VA to IL was long enough that when I got my seat I knew I had to settle in and make nice with the man sitting next to me. Looking back, I was such a fool, but nonetheless...

When I went to introduce myself I made up a fake name and an entire back story about who I was, where I was going, and why I was going there. I crafted an amazing story, I flirted, I lied threw my teeth. My sixteen year old self may have graduated high school, but clearly was not ready to jump into the world.

The elaborate lie lasted hours, the entire trip in fact. It was exhausting! It was fun at first, but then it became tiresome, keeping up with my story. I didn't cave, but I wanted to just confess everything. I was too embaraassed so I kept on.

It was the first time I was truly on my own and my story was mine alone to tell. No one was there to fact check, to verify my story, and deny my falsehoods. It was fun. Then it wasn't. I learned that even when no one is watching, the allure of Escape is just that, a lure. I also learned that what I had suspected to be true, was indeed true: If desired, I could lie quite effectively.

So thanks, Man on the Train, for teaching me two lessons. One lesson was the first in series of moments that really set me on a path to change my life from the way I had been living, to the way I wanted to be living and one that reminded me of the person I didn't want to become.the photo is of me and my friends right before I left town. Yikes, floral explosion! I blame 1993. And that hat? Although not sure which is worse, my hat or the choker? Aye!

My First Crush

Who knows how I got this picture, but alas, note me in the poofy dress/hair and Paul on the far right seated.

Since it is Valentine's Day, I thought I would write about my first real crush. Not much to say. I went to visit my dad in CA and Paul was my age. Our parents were friends, we went to church together, and his family had a pool. For a 12-year old crush, need there be more? Plus, it was a safe crush because he lived across the country and our time "together" limited.

Sporting my best Gunne Sax, how could he resist? I came home that summer, ready for L.O.V.E. I found it in my boyfriend of two weeks, Hayden, who is the first boy I kissed. At a Halloween party in our basement. No basement parties for you boys, sorry!

Thanks Paul, for starting a long string of passing crushes and one week romances.

Move Over John Denver

Growing up I always wanted to learn how to play the guitar, but it never happened. When I went to college there were guitar classes that I could use towards my humanities requirements at BYU, so I decided to go for it! Of course, I didn't own a guitar. Enter the scene, Roger.

The night Roger let us play MAC counter with him.

Long hair, charming glasses, often in plaid button ups, Roger. I met Roger through Scott and he was so great.  We had such a fun times together and for awhile I had a little crush on him, but since he ended up falling for my roommate, I moved on.

Roger was someone who would sneak into my room while I was at work and leave me a six pack of TAB (yep.) and a gallon of my favorite Peter Pan peanut butter and chocolate fudge ice cream. He worked on the set of "Touched by an Angel" (which we always called "Touched by a Teacher"...but for the life of me I can't remember the joke to accompany the nickname), which I thought was so cool.

I was going to buy a cheap-o guitar bu Roger convinced me to spend more money and get a good one. Since i had no idea what hat meant, he helped me. He drove me to SLC one day and we went guitar shopping with the money I had saved working at the jewelry store.

The roommate he eventually dated

He copied tons of music for me, but most cherished were the John Denver songs. It was one of the main reasons i wanted to learn how to play. (It seemed much more exotic before i knew his entire collection of songs comprised about 5 chords). He helped me in my efforts to play and I I actually didn't totally suck at one point.

Thank. You roger for helping me stop talking and actually do something.

Thanks too, because this was all during our house obsession with the Carnie Wilson show. My mad skilz enabled me to compose a song about the Carnie Wilson show, which was so catchy I can remember the tune and one of the lines to this day. 

"...now you're takin' me to the Carnie Wilson show.
You're ruinin' my life in front of 10 million people."

My roommate and I serenading some meaningless boys-those girls were brave!

Me and the neck of the guitar

Notice the sticker on the front of the guitar. I was waiting to peel it off until the exact right moment. Then some doof just came over one night and pulled it off like a band-aid without my permission. I still have resentment about that moment.

 We were clearly some focused college students.

Gambling and Hot Dog Burritos

As I was making lunch today, I laughed at this crazy little dish I make on occasion. I realized I learned this particular recipe from someone random, and since it is random in and of itself, it's the perfect post. Who else makes these? It's just the thing I want to jot down. I am not a huge fan of processed foods, but let's be clear, I don't totally avoid them either. I mean it is hard to beat American cheese when making a grilled cheese. But I did decide a few years ago to stop buying hotdogs as a staple for use as a "back up" menu item. I don't always have them around like I have in the past, so when my mom brought a package over and I saw them in the fridge today, I knew it would be the perfect quick, filler lunch. Recipe: The Hot Dog Burrito.

1 hot dog, sliced lengthwise

1 half slice American cheese

1 tortilla

 Viola!

Thanks for proving my point Gray, reaching for it mid-photo

Where, pray tell, did I get this family favorite? Here comes the story...
My parents divorced when I was 8 and my dad remarried when I was around 10 (I think). My dad and stepmom lived in Vista, CA and her parents lived close by in Oceanside. When we would go spend the summers with them, my sister and I would spent an occasional afternoon with my stepmother's parents house. While there we learned how to play all different kinds of poker, how to gamble (with pennies and popcorn), and how to make the hot dog burrito. It was a staple at their house. I am not sure if it was what they kept on hand as "children food" or if it made the rounds in their regular menu planning, but either way, we ate it often.

Thanks Thorpes, for teaching me how to make a meal in a pinch--a "meal" my children love way more than the food I make that takes all  day. My kids are even more grateful than I am for this one.

And thanks for teaching me poker. Truthfully, it has been of great use at parties and social events and not something anyone on my side of the family could/would have taught me!

Dianne-Jianne

 When we were in college dating, Jack was a man-ny for a woman named Diane and her three sons. We also had a close friend (who was totally crazy) named Diane who lived in a mansion with a sauna, drove her 4x4 up on sidewalks, and talk about car-dongs a lot.

Jianne

To differentiate, we called our crazy friend Jianne. Again, I have no idea where she is now, but I am sure she is the life of the party, wherever she calls home.

We had some great adventures together!

We were at "the mansion" (we affectionately called it) one Sunday and trying to scramble together a Sunday dinner of sorts. We were all college students so in spite of it being a mansion, the cupboards were usually bare (with the exception of Mexican hot chocolate, it was her thing-insert interrobang). We managed to scrap most of a meal together to begin cooking and then Jianne announced we should have scalloped potatoes with dinner. I went to the cupboard and no shock, this was not there:

I told her we would have to think of something else because we did not have a box. She said, "I have potatoes so we could make them from scratch." Then comes the line I will never live down when I replied, "But we don't have the cheese packet. How will we make it without the packet?" Of course, in unison everyone replied, " With REAL cheese!"

Look! I even found a pic of her 4x4!

 That was that day I decided to learn how to cook. How to really cook. It took lots of trial and error (someday ask Jack about the split pea soup). Love her, but my mom doesn't love to cook. Doesn't even really like to cook. Plus, she worked full-time, and I am sure we complained whenever she did bother to cook something. We grew up on cereal, processed foods, and good old fashioned plain steak and potatoes. I had become a vegetarian (another story) so I lived on lots of cereal and boxed mixes. Cooking wasn't in my skill set.

Now I think I do pretty well. I don't keep truffle oil in my pantry and still use pans from college. I still use a cake mix when I need a quick batch of cookies and do not mind spaghetti sauce from a jar. But, as they say, "I've come a long way, baby!"

Thanks, Jianne for teaching me how to make scalloped potatoes.

What Didn't I Learn at the Oak Lane House?

I am insomniac. I also sleep with an incredibly loud snorer. As i tossed and turned last night, I kept thinking about people and places and moments I hadn't thought about in years. I was so excited to get a chance to write another story today. My problem became which to chose. I decided that since I wrote about someone from college yesterday I would write about someone from childhood today.

When I was young, no older than 7 or 8, I had an experience that made me realize how strong I could be. My grandparents had a pool and since my mom worked during the day, Brittany and I stayed at my grandparents a lot. Being there meant we were in the pool a lot. We were all good swimmers. Add to that the laissez faire parenting attitude of most of the adults I grew up with, and you get "the story." One afternoon my younger cousin (no more than 2 or 3) and I were left out at the pool alone while the adults went in to fix us lunch. My cousin Ryan fell into the pool in the deep end and found out he could not swim. I was already in a tube and swiftly paddled over to him, reached in with my legs to pull him up and held on to him yelling for help.

To get to the pool you had to go out the back door, across the yard, up the stairs, across the tennis courts and in the pool gate. I don't remember how long it took for someone to get there, but to my 8 year old self, it felt like an eternity. Eventually someone came, Ryan was fine, and we all spent the rest of the day in the pool.

Clearly I am not 7 or 8 here, but it is me at Gma & Gpa's pool

I remember only bits and pieces of that experience but I distinctly remember feeling so proud afterwards. The good kind of pride, "And not like the kind in the bible that turns you bad." I remember feeling important. I remember feeling like I had done something for someone else that was monumental. It seemed amazing to be the only one who could help, and actually summing the strength to do it. It was a lesson in self-esteem, I think, although that phrase doesn't seem exactly right. Maybe more like self-confidence. Either way, it was a great day at the pool (and the reason I am a mix of being totally obsessive at the pool one minute qnd totally aloof the next).

Thanks Ryan for helping me have such a great defining moment as a young girl.