The Love Actually Mishap

Christmas has been a little different at our house since my mother moved to Colorado a few years ago.  Our special little five-some has had to change slightly to accommodate our brash, narcissistic, slightly crazy, octogenarian party girl. We still manage to celebrate with our sweet traditions, we just have to make room for Mommie Dearest in some of those now.

Having my mother around on Christmas isn't that big of a deal anymore. It took some getting used to but we've learned to just go with it. She likes to make everything about herself but we've managed to navigate around that pretty well. We listen to her stories of flirting with elderly boys and charming people into buying her booze with mild amusement. She's perpetually sixteen and stories highlighting the paradox of her actual age and her perceived age are entertaining. The first few times. But after a while her conversational loops get a little tedious and by the tenth or twelfth time she's telling the same story I notice my children's eyes glazing over or anxiously darting to locate an exit.

I watched it all unfold on Christmas Day, just a few weeks ago. Grandma's repeated topics were getting a bit stale so Steve asked if she'd like to watch a Christmas movie. Although I was fairly firm in my convictions that TV should not be a babysitter when my children were young, I admit I have no qualms at all about using TV as a babysitter for my mother.  Steve checked the channels and saw that Love Actually was playing. Having watched the movie a few years ago he thought it would be a good way to keep Mommie Dearest occupied. A cute Christmas movie about love. What better way to stifle my mother's constant chatter? It was a good idea in theory, only Steve had forgotten a few key elements to the plot line.

I went upstairs, probably to escape my mother, but after she'd been watching the movie for a while she started to holler, "Susan!"  "Susanne!" I couldn't imagine what she needed but I assumed it was a refill on her glass of wine so I didn't rush. Steve, who can only be described as a saint for the way he treats my mother, ran to find out the source of her excitement.

It was sex.

Steve had forgotten Love Actually includes a story about two 'body doubles' who simulate sex during the filming of a movie and casually chat about life while doing so. My mother hadn't been able to follow the numerous loosely woven story lines of Love Actually and didn't understand what was happening. All she saw was two people she thought were engaging in sex and started calling for me. Whether she wanted me to come and watch with her, change the channel, or grab a pen and paper so she could take notes was unclear.

In all honesty, without the context, the scene could be considered a little graphic.  Well, even with context the scene is a little graphic so I understand Mommie Dearest's excitement. She said she was alarmed because she thought she was watching 'a porno,' but I'm not convinced.

Because that's all she talked about for the rest of the day. Over and over and over she exclaimed, "THEY WERE SCREWING!"

I was in the kitchen cooking dinner and she came shuffling in to announce, "I was watching a movie and THEY WERE SCREWING!"

We were enjoying a lovely Christmas dinner and then right in the middle of it, "THEY WERE SCREWING!"

Having dessert. "THEY WERE SCREWING!"

Driving her back to her retirement home, "THEY WERE SCREWING!"

Sometimes just out of the blue, "THEY WERE SCREWING!"

No delicate euphemisms or cute code words for my mother. Every time she exclaimed about it I tried to refocus the conversation. She'd have none of it. She insisted that we all hear the story. Over and over and over. "THEY WERE SCREWING!"

I'm going to go out on a limb here and guess that not all that many families spent the holidays with an 86-year old wild child who witnessed a momentary on-screen fake sex act depicting a momentary on-screen fake sex act and spent the rest of the day not only fixated on it but regularly blurting out the details. It's just a hunch.

So yeah, Christmas has been a little different since my mother moved to Colorado a few years ago. 

Just a little.

Pearls and Tennis Shoes

I've spent an inordinate amount of time looking at this photograph trying to figure out the story behind it. With very little information I've attempted to piece details together, but no matter how hard I try, I simply can't figure out what was happening when this shot was taken.

What I do know is these are my ancestors; the progenitors of my children, my siblings, and me. The colorful, crusty, unrefined gene pool from which we are descended. Coming from a line of sedate, well-mannered, socially acceptable types would have been boring. But we don't have to worry because there wasn't a sedate, well-mannered, socially acceptable soul among them.

These are our people.

The one on the left is my grandmother, Beatrice. The two in the middle were her younger twin brothers, Bert and Boyd. The little one, on the right, wistfully looking into the distance was their older sister, Nellie.

There are so many unanswered questions about this photograph. Why is my grandmother wearing a white dress, pearls, and blue tennis shoes? Why are the others dressed casually but she's dressed up? Why do they all look sad? Or worried? Or discouraged? What is Nellie thinking as she gazes somewhere else, not paying attention to the photographer? Where are they? What is the occasion?

I'll never know. Nobody who knew anything about this picture is still alive. All of these siblings have gone on to the other side and while I have no idea what the afterlife looks like, I'm pretty sure if it is calm and serene and gentle, these four aren't there. If it involves smoking and drinking, swearing and gambling, befriending outlaws, and telling bawdy jokes, however, I've no doubt they are happily settled in.

When I was a little girl a lot of things scared me. My grandmother among them. As I grew into adulthood, though, I learned that she was funny and lively and genuine. She spent her final years playing bingo, going to dances, and riding a bus to Las Vegas several times a year. I don't think she ever saw a show in Las Vegas, for her it was all about playing the slot machines. She never fit into the 'grandmother' mold.  Thankfully. She never really fit into any mold. I liked her style. Be who you are and ignore what others think.

My memories of Bert and Boyd are dimmed by a haze of cigarette smoke. Most of my recollections of them are around a poker table. I grew up hearing the stories of their friendship with the notorious outlaw Pretty Boy Floyd. As a little girl my mother was with them when they hid Pretty Boy under a pile of laundry so the police wouldn't find him. On the surface that may seem undesirable but to them their friend wasn't a 'bad guy.' He was a 'good guy' who was helping the poor. I liked their style. Live by your convictions even if others don't agree.

Nellie was tiny but strong. She was divorced when it wasn't a socially acceptable thing to do and she never remarried. In an era when few women wore pants instead of dresses, Nellie bucked convention and dressed in slacks. She lived in the city, had a career, and went against the grain of social expectations for her time. Nellie told me bawdy jokes and laughed heartily. She died in Las Vegas with her sister, gambling to the very end.  I liked her style. Shun oppressive convention and walk through life with confidence.

I'm never going to know the real story behind this photograph. It is too late. But I do have memories of the way these four people lived their colorful, meaningful lives. Maybe I'll use what I know of them to piece together a fictional story to go along with the picture. A story to guide my children, my siblings, and me in how to live fully and courageously. A story to remind us.

These are our people.

Tradition

Some families maintain traditions steeped in historical, religious, or ethnic meaning. In our family, traditions usually come about as a result of having done something fun and the desire to repeat it again and again. Of course each time we repeat our traditions they take on a slightly different flavor but we savor them nonetheless.

Such is the case with our Easter tradition.

Several years ago we decided to spend Easter weekend at a small, semi-rustic cabin in the mountains. Our kids were getting older and increasingly busy with jobs, friends, and various activities. Family time became scarce, so we opted for a weekend devoted to just being together, bonding, and having fun. That year we enjoyed the time so much it kicked off a tradition of going to the mountains every Good Friday and staying through Easter weekend. With the five of us crammed into a tiny two-bedroom cabin there is plenty of opportunity for laughter, deep conversation, game playing, and soul restoration.

There's also time for our annual headgear photo. This is the first one. It is also my favorite because it captures a sponteneous moment when Steve said something that made us all laugh just as the camera shutter clicked.

Easter 2007

 

One hallway in our house is now lined with framed images from each of our subsequent holiday weekends. They make me happy every time I look at them.

 

This year our weekend had an extra little twist that added to our bank of memories.

 

Anna took the train home from college on Friday morning and after picking her up, packing, and loading the car, we set out on our journey. We didn't time our departure very well and ended up in the stop-and-go traffic of people headed to a Rockies baseball game. When we finally made it to Boulder we decided to make a quick biology stop. After a few minutes we were ready to make the last trek to the cabin but our Jeep had other ideas. It wasn't going anywhere. Steve checked everything he could think of under the hood but eventually announced that the vehicle needed to be towed to the nearby repair shop.

 

This was not part of the original plan.

 

Getting to the mountains without a car was going to be tricky.  Fortunately Parker lives in Boulder and has a Jeep of his own. Unfortunately he was working in Denver. We unloaded our belongings onto the curb.

 

Watched as our vehicle got towed away.

 



 

And looking a bit like refugees from the city, awaited Parker's arrival.  It was well after dark when we finally made it to the cabin but eventually we all arrived safely and ready to immerse ourselves in the joy and relaxation we've come to expect.

 

On Sunday it was time to take our annual Easter Family Photo. We had recently been having a conversation about eventual changes to the photo. Our children are now all young adults and we anticipate the day will come when 'add on' family members may be joining our little fivesome. Steve and I have discussed at what point these fictitious but anticipated, someday, additional family members will be invited to join the photo...and our expectation that they won't fuss about having to wear something on their heads.

 

Sadie was our additional family member guinea pig. Okay, she is actually a dog, but anyway, she was our first addition. I'd like to say she didn't fuss about having to wear something on her head but I'd be lying. She fussed. A lot. Should human additional family members cause that much commotion about it they will probably be thrown out of the family, but we cut Sadie some slack and she eventually complied.

 

Happily.

Easter 2014



As it does every year, Monday arrived much too soon and we were forced to leave our little mountain Utopia and return to real life. As we headed into Denver we got a call about our Jeep. It seems some little, but important, thingy had broken and the only way to fix it is to rebuild the engine.

 

Turns out the weekend ended up being a lot more expensive than we had anticipated but that didn't stop us from having fun, taking our annual headgear photo, and trying out the new family member requirements.

 

I'd like to go on record, however, by stating that as much as I love our traditions, if I get to choose, I think I'll take fussing new family members in bunny ears over engine repairs.

 

Some things just don't need to become traditions.

 

 

 







Just Call Me Kip

Sometimes I hear people of my generation express their concern that technology is contributing to the demise of relationships by removing face-to-face contact. I disagree. In some ways technology has enhanced my relationships. I have no desire to return to the 'good old days' before the advent of cell phones and the Internet. In fact, I'm sort of the opposite.

I love technology.

(Source: Google Images)

 

Just call me Kip*.

 

This is not to suggest that I'm particularly savvy about the tech world. I'm not. But technology does afford me the opportunity to have a very short commute across the hall to my home office where I teach and connect with students almost entirely online. And through the magic of Facebook and Twitter I'm able to keep up with people I might otherwise lose contact with. Not to mention those people who just make me laugh on a regular basis. Some days Skype lets me see my sweet girl's face even though she's 400 miles away.

 

But what I love the most is the way silly group text messages keep my little family connected.

 

We've always been a pretty close family.When the kids were growing up we spent a lot of time together. And now some of our most favorite occasions are those when we are all together having deep conversation or laughing until our stomachs hurt. Sometimes both at the same time. Until recently, everyone lived at home, but lately they all decided to grow up and leave. This makes regular interaction a lot more challenging.

 

Our children are, of course, the generation who grew up with technology. They are able to keep up with rapid advances just fine. Steve and I grew up in a time when people thought the move from rotary dial phones to push buttons was a pretty big deal. We're a little slower to catch on. But we manage to hang in there.

 

After her recent fall break Anna and a friend drove back to college. By sending a group text to the rest of the family she was able to keep the other four of us informed on her whereabouts and the number of cows she could see. I'm not sure how, exactly, but somehow those updates sparked a lighthearted texting competition about who was 'Mom's favorite.' Criteria included who could make me laugh the most and who could make me cry the most.

 

For the record, there was no clear winner.

 

And another day Anna sent us a photo of some food from the college dining hall with a 'guess what this is,' prompt. Nobody got the right answer but the conversation that resulted from the question was pretty funny. Steve can be counted on to spell things incorrectly, insert non sequiturs, and throw in an obscene comment or two so the conversation never gets boring. We couldn't figure out what the food was. 

 

The guesses included broccoli and apple pie but it turns out the photo was of refried beans.

 

One of the more entertaining conversations came from a photo Parker sent of a sign that said, "Life is about using the whole box of crayons." At an earlier point when we had all actually, physically, been in the same place, Steve shared this quote with the family. He was being all deep and meaningful but Parker misunderstood and thought he said, "Life is about using the whole box of condoms." That alone was pretty funny. But then Parker saw the sign with the quote one day and sent a photo of it to the rest of the family and somehow things shifted to a revised version of the quote saying, "Life is about using the whole box of colored condoms." This created an immediate flurry of text messages to one another offering very colorful names for colored condoms.

 

Nothing like naming a condom 'Orgasmic Orange,' to keep a family connected.

 

Laughter is good for the soul.  And when our family connects, there is always a lot of laughter. Our children are, in the words of Kip, "like a flock of doves," scattering away from home a bit. But I feel blessed to live in a time when we can stay connected despite distance.

 

Charles turns 25 on Sunday. We can't all be in the same room to sing our traditional off-key "Happy Birthday" song. But, through the magic of cell phones we will still all be together.

 

I love technology.

 

Always and forever.

 

*In case you need a refresher on Kip's Wedding song:

 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ERCzN91JicA





How I Ruined My Sister's Life

I've been writing about cake a lot lately.  I've also gained five pounds recently. But, I'm sure there is no correlation between the two. 

Last autumn my siblings and I looked at some old family slides we had found stashed away and forgotten in our mother's Michigan basement. I mention the Michigan part because I'm pretty sure keeping slides in a damp, musty, underground room isn't considered ideal and both age and environment were conspiring to destroy the precious photos that document the history of our fragile and fractured family.

Along with the box of slides, we found an antiquated slide projector that pretty much consisted of a metal box, a small light bulb, and a fan. My brother took the rescued slides and projector home and eventually located an outrageously expensive little light bulb on Amazon.com that would fit the rickety old projector. It is amazing and wonderful that you can find almost anything you want on the Internet if you are tenacious.

Anyway, when we all got together in the West Virginia mountains last fall we arranged furniture to accommodate viewing the photos on a blank wall, settled in with popcorn, and prepared to see what stories were contained in the disintegrating film. We found some photos that made us laugh, some that gave us pause when we considered that everyone in the photo (a mere generation ahead of ours) had died, some that contained mysterious stories, and some that wordlessly captured the mood and emotion of a moment.

This is my sister, Karen, on her fourth birthday.

Clearly she is delighted to be announcing she made it to this big day. She's surrounded by friends at a party solely devoted to celebrating her, and our mother had obviously made quite an effort to decorate a fancy birthday cake. In all, she seems a very happy four year old.

This is my sister, Karen, on her fifth birthday.

No friends. No special party. The cake is prettier (a clear sign our mother had nothing to do with making it), but she obviously had no intention of sharing it. With anyone. This is not a happy five-year old. She may have made it to this momentous day but nothing in her expression says she's celebrating it.

What happened in the span of a year to cause such a change in demeanour?

Me.

The story of my arrival and my sister's response is one of the better known and laughed about stories in our family.  Karen, our brother, Darrell, and I all have December birthdays. Which makes us wonder what was going on with our parents in March. But then we try not to over think that part of the story. Regardless, when my sister turned four she was happily the darling youngest child in the family. Mommie Dearest had her ideal 1950s family; an adorable boy and girl. Life was good. Or at least it could be made to look like it was.

And then came March.

I was born five days before my sister turned five. Her gift that year was an adorable bundle brought home from the hospital on her very birthday. 

She was not amused.

In fact, nobody besides my brother seems very happy about the blessed event.

Damn March.

Karen says she remembers the day quite vividly and the photos tell the truth. She was miserable. She didn't particularly want a baby sister and she wasn't in the least bit interested in sharing the affection of our brother who had always been her buddy and protector. In photo after photo after photo, prior to my arrival, they can be seen together, giggling. In every shot, Darrell has his arm lovingly draped around her. No doubt Mommie Dearest staged this but his genuine affection for her is obvious. But now, she wasn't his only sister.

Today my siblings and I share a sweet bond. Having survived a childhood our mother wanted others to think looked like Leave it to Beaver but actually resembled something more along the lines of Loony Tunes, we share the same funny stories, sad revelations, and bittersweet memories.

My arrival may have rocked the boat and ruined my sister's fifth birthday. She might not have had my brother all to herself anymore. But it turned out okay.

After all, he had two arms.