Category Archives: Whatever

Growing up, In the new neighborhood, Whatever

Days at the beach

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The people along the sand
All turn and look one way.
They turn their back on the land.
They look at the sea all day.
–Robert Frost

I grew up with a mother that loved the beach… whole afternoons were spent baking under the summer sun, a cooler filled with sandwiches and ice-cold plums. Childhood photo albums are proof that many of our vacations centered around a visit to the shore, as if living within a couple minutes drive didn’t already offer us enough of the ocean’s delights.

My father is mostly absent from these memories… his fair and freckled skin kept him under the beach umbrella or back at home when he wasn’t rescuing me from the breaking waves or my brother’s torments. I don’t remember much beyond the shock of seeing him in shorts, his legs whiter than white, some goofy looking never-worn sneakers, his trademark black dress socks and the huge mole that grew near his left knee. He used to tease that the little fish liked to nibble on it…

😉

Someone, maybe him, or one of my big brothers used to let me ride on their shoulders in the water, out of reach of the sharks and jellyfish that I was so sure would devour me whole.

I spent a couple hours yesterday watching the same stories unfolding for any number of beachgoers… building sandcastles… bodysurfing… eating tuna sandwiches with a fine dusting of beach sand… the heady scent of Coppertone… all reminding me that this love affair with the sun and the water and the sand is in my blood, even though I burn just like my dad always did.

Any beachy memories to share from your own growing up?

Growing up, Remembering, Whatever

Letter to me

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Country music is a guilty pleasure I’ll admit to. The sappier the better.

Throw your rotten tomatoes at me now… get that out of the way, first.

OK… so.

I had this great creative writing teacher in the eighth grade and then again as a junior in high school. Mrs. Cella had us write daily journal entries which she would comment on once a week when she collected our journals for grading.

It occurs to me now that Mrs. Cella would’ve loved blogging and the interaction between writers and their audience.

Most often she wanted us to *free write* about whatever came to mind, in whatever format we chose. Those were painful, difficult entries for me to make, faced with a blank sheet of paper.

Kind of like blogging sometimes.

😉

In her comments in our journals she was a writing coach, but as is often the case when working with adolescents, it gave her the opportunity, I suspected at least, to get into our heads and act as social worker and therapist; an adult we could be honest with in a *safe* non-judgmental arena.

Every so often she’d give us an actual topic for our journal entries and usually I enjoyed those; enjoyed a guide with which to focus my thoughts.

I remember one of the topics she gave us was the opposite of Brad Paisley’s idea with this song of his; rather than writing as an adult to our 17 year-old selves, she had us write a letter to our grown-up selves.

I’d love to be able to put my hands on that old journal of mine. Buried in the closet in my childhood home, one of my brothers probably found it when we sold the place and is holding onto it to embarrass me with someday.

Anyway…

(Ramble, ramble.)

Mrs. Cella often criticized my rambling away from the point at hand.

I like the spirit of this song, for all its hokeyness and thought I’d have a go at a similar letter.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Dear Laura,

For Godsakes stop being so shy!

Stop thinking you’re too skinny!

Go with the curls; one day you’ll laugh that you ever wasted so much time trying to have hair like every other girl.

That guy: dump him. Quick! Don’t wait till just before the Senior Prom. That’ll feel sweet, of course, but…

The quarterback of the football team wants to ask you out… and a couple baseball players too, but instead you’re wasting your time with that jerk.


Those other quiet girls in your classes that you won’t give the time of day to even… take the time to make friends with them!  They’ll write the sweetest things about you in your yearbook and you’ll wonder how you never even noticed them.

Dad will not be heartbroken if you drop Calculus. Honest.

Speaking of Dad… give him a break. Enough of your moodiness. Enough of the silent loathing. You’ll regret it sooner than you expect to.

Mrs. Martin… tell her what a great teacher she is. Tell her even though you’re sure she must know. You’ll understand one day how nice those words sound coming from a student.

Smile in your graduation photo… you’ll be looking at that sad face years from now wondering why it looked like the whole darn world was on your shoulders.

Love,
Me

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

Add something, if you would, of what you’d include in a letter written now to your teenage-self. Maybe just that one big thing.

😉

I promise not to take points off for rambling, either.

Birds, Wanderings, Whatever

Bad bird photo of the week

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Can you hear the evil cackling from behind my computer screen?

😉

I imagine there’s enough here for guessing anyway.

As to hints, well… the pic was taken roadside, behind a restaurant featuring pasties.

And I did eventually learn the proper pronunciation of that delicacy, but not before embarrassing myself with the waitress.

Whatever

Clouds

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All afternoon, Sir,
your ambassadors have been turning
into lakes and rivers.
At first they were just clouds, like any other.
Then they swelled and swirled; then they hung very still;
then they broke open. This is, I suppose,
just one of the common miracles,
a transformation, not a vision,
not an answer, not a proof, but I put it
there, close against my heart, where the need is, and it serves

the purpose. I go on, soaked through, my hair
slicked back;
like corn, or wheat, shining and useful.

Clouds by Mary Oliver

I wonder if it’d been raining for a month straight when Mary Oliver wrote this poem.

😉

The sky cleared early this evening and the light was just gorgeous the way it lit up the tips of the oak leaves, the white of the kingbird’s tail feathers, the sand at the edge of the ocean.

I like to make lists, Whatever

ABC meme

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Stolen from Lynne on Facebook. Play along if you like!

A – Age: 39
B – Bed size: Queen
C – Chore you hate: Balancing the checkbook
D – Dog’s name: Luka (also rabbits named Boomer, Sunshine, Peeper, and Freckles)
E – Essential start your day item: Coffee.
F- Favorite color(s): Green
G – Gold or Silver: Platinum!
H – Height: 5’10”
I – Instruments you play(ed): Clarinet, Piano, Pennywhistle
J – Job title: Housing Coordinator/Social Worker Bilingual
K – Kitchen wish list: Lessons, maybe. 😉
L – Living arrangements: Close to the beach!
M – Mom’s name: Claire
N – Nicknames: BLT (coworkers), Lauralie (family), Legs (high school)
O – Overnight hospital stay: None
P – Pet Peeve(s): That fuzz under the bed (where does it come from?), bossy people, product packaging that’s impossible to remove
Q – Quote from a movie: I don’t do movies
R – Right or left handed: Depends on the task at hand
S – Siblings: Two (I’m the youngest and the only girl = spoiled)
T – Time you wake up: 6:30 ish
U – Underwear: Usually, yes. 😉
V – Vegetable you dislike: Cauliflower
W – Workout style: Weight training and yoga
X – X-rays you’ve had: Lots of my teeth
Y – Yesterday’s best moment: Finally getting iTunes to cooperate after 4+ hours of fighting with it!
Z – Zoo favorite(s): I’ve never been to a proper zoo

Whatever

Nice is just nice!

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Susan would say this type of thing happens to me cause I’m tall or cause I’m cute, but I’d rather like to think that sometimes, occasionally, once in a while, people are just nice.

Three teenage boys made my day today!

I’d had a photograph and this little Northern Pintail painting that I’d been carting around with me while I looked for suitable frames. Both were matted to odd sizes which would ordinarily require custom framing.

If you’ve ever paid for custom framing, you know that’s not anything to be undertaken lightly.

I’d gone to a couple arts-and-crafts type stores but couldn’t find any frames to fit, nor could I dream up a cheap solution. Tonight, almost desperate, I went to the custom framing desk at AC Moore and presented my problem and asked the young kid if he had any ideas for what I might do without spending a fortune.

His pimples and the smirk on his face as he approached left me pretty doubtful.

Before I knew what was happening, he’d amassed the rest of his team: Louis came along and began searching the aisles for the perfect color frame to complement my prints, Kevin joined us for the math and measurements to cut each mat down to fit standard-size frames, while Mike did the actual cutting and framing up.

Those boys spent better than an hour with me. All the while I kept saying, “This feels an awful lot like a custom frame job, boys!”

I’d started to worry that they’d misunderstood me. I’d started to worry what all this attention was going to cost me.

Turns out, frames are 40% off this week and my nearly *custom* framing was free, on these adorable boys who, apparently, needed something to do tonight, or needed practice, or just felt like being nice.

Imagine that.

The total cost for both was less than $25. I’m thrilled. I’m wondering at my good fortune. I’m wondering what one does to repay the kindness of strangers, especially considering the unlikely source of that kindness.