The Curse of Great Beauty

I wrote this story in when I was 30. It's only semi-autobiographical. For instance, I definitely remember the guy walking around the grocery store with a chicken and his cane in the cart, but I don't remember ever gathering a crowd in the tomatoes aisle. I remember thinking at the time, "Wow if it gets this dark when I turn 30 I've got a long road ahead." Indeed.

I was also listening to lots of Clem Snide around that time.

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The Curse of Great Beauty

My beauty isn’t what it once was.

When I was younger, I would stop traffic. Men, and sometimes women, would stare at me as they drove by, sometimes remembering to wave, but other times just gaze, transfixed, under my spell.

When it first began happening, I didn’t know what to make of it. I had been an adorable baby, but sometime during my pre-pubescence, I had begun looking mousy and nondescript, as one might say. In high school, I had typical adolescent self-esteem problems, and didn’t notice my own blossoming.

When people began staring like that, I attributed it to possible fashion faux pas, always checking myself to see if I had toilet paper stuck to my shoe, or mismatched shoes, or a giant stain on my shirt front.

I gradually came to realize that there was nothing wrong with me. The realization was exhilarating. I came to look forward to tossing my hair on a breezy day, and could feel the eyes catching the sun as it shone of my shiny tresses. I would dress up to go the grocery, knowing that I could stand in the aisle deciding which type of canned tomatoes to purchase and by the time I left, several people would have stopped to mull over the same decision, casting sideways glances at me while there.

I marveled at the freedom this sort of admiration brought. I never had to remember anyone’s birthday. I never had to worry about an admirer’s faithfulness. I never had to worry that a loved one would see an ugly side of me and turn away in disgust. It was fantastic. This is all I need out of life, I thought, smiling and winking as I passed a group of young men standing on the corner, their female friends scowling subtly, so as not to betray their jealousy.

I never felt lonely.

Then, at some point, I noticed the number of admirers began to dwindle. Just as I was realizing my power, and strength, and beauty—just as I realized I should not take any of it for granted—I realized that I was no longer the center of that attention. I compensated, wearing more revealing shirts at first, then darker eye make-up, then making more eye contact.

One day, as I was getting ready, I had what recovering addicts call a “moment of clarity.” I saw myself. I looked at my face, halfway through the disguising process, and felt like Baby Jane. I looked at my outfit and felt like Jezebel. I thought of all the young women I was competing with and realized that I no longer had what they had—the thing that made them all so gorgeous and had once graced my countenance—peace. Joy in living the moment. Happiness to share in the beauty of the whole world. Just enough self-doubt to be delighted in the affirmation of a beauty just discovered.

All of that was gone now, and no amount of make-up or garish clothing could reproduce it. I had never been so lonely in my life.

I put down my make-up, and took off my disguise. I went to the store and stood in the canned tomatoes aisle, trying to decide between seasoned and unseasoned, organic and conventional, diced and chopped, and while I did, people came through, picking up their cans and moving on. I smiled to myself. I am the invisible woman, I thought. I went to the produce section. People passed me with their carts, pushing their babies, or talking with their partners, or on their phones, hardly noticing I was there. I decided on fresh organic grape tomatoes, smiling again to myself as I imagined the pop of sweetness in my mouth, feeling in my memory the freshly turned dirt of my grandfather’s farm as I squished it between my toes.

I realized—not too late, as these realizations are never too late, but always just on time—that I had been blind all along to my true beauty.

I’m not as beautiful as I once was, but I finally have access to the beauty that really matters. The beauty of my heart, the beauty of my memory, the beauty of my love, the beauty of my family, the beauty of my spirit, the beauty of my soul. And I can finally see that beauty in others.

Now, beauty stops me in my tracks, and I realize that it is everywhere. There is the beauty of a little girl chasing a dog in the front yard, laughing hysterically as the dog plays and loves the only way he knows. I know they are both living life to the fullest. There is the beauty of an elderly man, pushing a shopping cart through the grocery holding nothing but a whole cooked chicken and his cane. I know I can never know the strength and pain he has endured, and only hope that I have the grace and resolve to make it as far. There is the beauty of a middle-aged couple walking through the bookstore together, holding hands, and the beauty of a man picking out a movie at the video store, alone like me.

Of course, there is always the beauty of a young woman walking with her hair blowing in the wind, as well, although it is tinged with sadness for me, and a hope that she will realize sooner than I did where beauty really resides.

Charity Crabtree

Sunday, 24 February 2008

20 before 40 (study/quiz 2)

This list is originally from Relevant. I wasn't going to include the blurbs they posted but on second thought they seem relevant. LOL I'M SO CLEVER MUST BE COZ I'M ALMOST 40

1. Read the Entire Bible Cover-to-Cover

"Reading the Bible from front to back may sound like a daunting task, but with read the Bible in year resources like the YouVersion app, it’s a manageable goal. Even though you may have already read most of scripture throughout the course of your life, reading it as a linear narrative, one book at a time, gives you a new perspective on the story of the Gospel."

No way in hell. LOL.

2. See Your Favorite Band Live at Least Once

"One day, you’ll want to tell your kids, friends or family about that time you drove all night to see U2 play a stadium in Chicago, found tickets to a sold-out Sufjan Stevens show at a small venue in your hometown or saw Sigur Ros under the stars at an amphitheater. Concert tickets can be expensive, but it's worth it to see a great band live."

The only band I wish I could see that I haven't yet (except for the Dead who are no longer touring RIP Jerry) is Calexico. So I could do that. Although I feel like maybe I already have too many stories about seeing my favorite bands live and nobody really wants to hear any more of them anyway.

Oh by the way did I tell you how I've seen Sufjan Stevens three times and once in a club so small I was like 10 feet away from him and he just had a poster and a guitar and he was so amazing that I fell in love with him and when I left it was like we broke up? 

Oh or the time I saw Ani Difranco in a tiny club on Valentine's Day and she passed out the Valentine's Day streusel her partner sent her in the mail?

Or how when I saw Neko Case and she sang a cover of a Magnetic Fields song I literally wanted to die I was so happy?

Should I tell you more stories? 

Also I don't have kids so thanks for also rubbing that in.

3. Run a Marathon (or Some Kind of Endurance Race)

"No matter what your current fitness level is, there are lots of options for you to take part in an endurance race. Whether it’s a 5K, Tough Mudder or a full-length marathon, choose a distance you’ll actually have to train for a few months to complete. Part of the joy of the accomplishment is looking back at all of the hard work you put in."

DO YOU KNOW ME AT ALL QUIZ

4. Watch Every Film on the AFI Top 100

"Back in 1998, the American Film Institute polled 1,500 leaders in the film community and asked them to help assemble the top 100 American movies ever made. The list (which was updated in 2007) contains some movies that you’ve probably already seen (like Rocky, Forest Gump, Star Wars and Jaws) but its the deeper cuts (like Rear Window, Stagecoach, Duck Soupand All Quiet on the Western Front) showcasing the evolution of filmmaking and American pop culture, that make the task of watching each film such a rich experience."

This has been a dream of mine but I'm not sure I'll be able to see all of them. I will post a follow-up discussing the feasibility of such a mini-adventure.

Also, REAR WINDOW IS NOT A DEEP CUT WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU ANYWAY

5. Pick a Country and Go Visit

"Before you turn 40, pick at least one country that you’ve always wanted to visit, and make it happen. Create a plan to save a little money and store up some vacation time to go to the one place you’ve always wanted to see." 

I want to go to Fiji but the problem is that I don't so much have a job right now so taking a whirlwind trip across the world and staying in a little hut over the water may be slightly out of our price range right now. But thanks for the bizarrely general and price-insensitive suggestion quiz.

Just kidding. No sour grapes here. In fact, why don't I just buy Fiji? How much could it cost, anyway? 10 million jillion dollars? It's way out in the middle of nowhere, right? I'm sure I'll get enough money before I turn 40. It's all about making it happen in the end. I'm envisioning success and 1 million billion dollars in my pocket. Let's make a deal, Fiji. [eye roll]

6. Speak a Second Language

"If you are picking a country to go visit, why not try to also learn the language spoken there?"

Obvs.

7. Write Letters to the Five People Who Have Most Impacted Your Life

"Don’t make the mistake of not telling the important people in your life how much they’ve impacted you. Even if the letters are short, sometime before you turn 40, think of the five people who have helped shape you as an adult, and let them know what they’ve meant to you."

This is pretty good but since I have four parents and one spouse and five siblings how would I choose? This is dumb. I'm unhappy.

8. Watch Every Season of a Few Great TV Shows

"We are living in a golden age of television, in which critically acclaimed shows are the new Great American Novels. Pick out a few of the shows that will be remembered for making serialized TV important again, and watch them in their entirety. Marathon through a series like Arrested Development, The Walking Dead, The Wire or Breaking Bad, and see how the medium of television was reinvented in your generation."

Ok, well since I've seen all of the seasons of all of the shows you've listed I'm counting this one as done. Also, since you didn't mention Battlestar Galactica or Firefly (IN ONE SHORT SEASON THAT SHOW WAS BETTER THAN ALL THE REST OF TV COMBINED), you're dead to me.

Oh, but there is one season of Bob's Burgers I haven't seen yet. And since Fox is a jerk who pulled it off Netflix I'm going to have to buy it on iTunes I guess unless I just don't add this to my list I mean it's good but it's the principle of the thing, you know, and no before you ask I'm not subscribing to hulu just to get one season of Bob's Burgers PLEASE.

9. Give Away Something Really Expensive

"Before you turn 40, you should know the feeling of giving something away that costs a lot of money. Maybe you pool money with a couple of friends to buy a car for a single mom in need. Maybe it’s plane tickets for friend to go on a mission trip. Maybe it’s a bunch of really nice Christmas presents for kids who wouldn’t get any otherwise. At some point in your twenties or thirties, make it your personal goal to save enough money to give someone else something amazing."

You know we ended up giving our landlord in San Francisco almost $100K over the course of 2.5 years so I'm counting that. Also, we lived in San Francisco 5 years and if you notice, that was just the amount we gave to ONE of them. If you don't like it, eat a dick. I'm getting annoyed with this quiz.

10. Make Amends With Any 'Enemies'

"Once you hit your late twenties, you are officially too old to still harbor bitterness toward anyone else. Before you hit 40, make an effort to make amends with anyone in your life that you have any ill feeling toward. As Christians, there’s no excuse to carry unforgiveness—especially through adulthood."

Oh, ok. I see now. This is a Christian List. Technically I'm Christian but I'm starting to think this quiz does not accurately reflect my faith. 

Also, what's this about late twenties? I'm 39, assshit.

Maybe I need to make peace with the author of this quiz because he's definitely my new "enemy."

11. Apply for Your Dream Job

"Don’t look back later in life with regret, wondering what could have been. Even if you don’t think you’re qualified for the job you’ve always dreamed of, at some point in your twenties or thirties, apply for the job you've always wanted. It may not lead to any dramatic career choice, but unless you give it a shot, you will never know."

Done. I didn't get it. Next. 

12. Take the Stage. Alone

"Preach a sermon. Try stand-up comedy. Deliver a TED-like lecture. Find an opportunity to be alone on a stage in front of a crowd with nothing to move them but a microphone and your own thoughts. Public speaking can be terrifying—but it can also be exhilarating ."

I have wanted to take stand-up comedy classes but I settled on improv, which I did for 2.5 years. IS THAT NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU, QUIZ?!?!? Besides, I've given tons of presentations and taught 8 college classes on my own WHEN WILL YOUR DEMANDS ON MY SOUL END

13. Go on a Road Trip of at Least a Thousand Miles

"There’s something philosophical that happens when you’re on the road for more than 15 hours, exploring America through highways and interstates. Just consult the work of Jack Kerouac and you’ll see that the journey isn’t about the destination—it’s about the road trip."

I just drove across the country with my mom when we moved from SF to NC. Thank you for your insight into what happens when I'm on the road for more than 15 hours. Who is this Jack Kerouac. He must be one of the deeper cuts of the beat generation.

Trying. So. Hard. To. Remain. Calm.

Although that reminds me of Carlos Castaneda. Maybe I should add eating peyote to this list. 

Actually, I should probably have eaten peyote before reading this list.

14. Write a Short Story

"Everyone has a good story in them. Take the time to craft at least one good short story at some point in your twenties or thirties. You don’t ever have to publish it or even share it with anyone else, but it’s an exercise of self-analysis that everyone should go through at least once."

I have written lots of short stories but most of them got lost when my motherboard became an hero. Thanks for the mammories. Although maybe I should write another one. It can be about this fucking quiz and how it made me go all the way to San Francisco to cannonball off the Golden Gate Bridge. 

15. Go On a Mission/Humanitarian Aid Trip

"Sure, sometimes “short-term mission trips” have been criticized for offering short-term solutions to long-term needs, but if you find the right destination and the right cause, it can be a life-changing experience. But remember, the point of a trip isn’t to teach others about what you know—it’s also about allowing them to teach you from what they have been through."

I'll bet I could learn a lot from the Others who live in Fiji. And also, I get it with the scare-quotes around short-term mission trip. I'll plan on staying at least a year and a half. Is that not-short-term enough?

16. Learn to Play an Instrument

"Grab that old guitar sitting in the attic, pick up a harmonic or go ahead and purchase that drum set you’ve always wanted. Who knows? Maybe you even a have a hidden talent that’s just waiting to be discovered."

Great. Done. Although there are no old guitars sitting in our attic fwiw and also I'm pretty sure drum sets don't make great impulse buys. I'll be sure and ask my husband, after I "go ahead and purchase" one of course. I wouldn't want to miss out on discovering I have a hidden talent.

And WHAT THE FUCK IS A HARMONIC. Seriously. I'm losing it.

17. Find a Mentor and a Mentee

"You’re never too old to learn from someone older than you—and to teach someone younger."

One question: do cats count?

18. Memorize the Lord’s Prayer, the Apostle’s Creed, the Great Commission and the Beatitudes

"By memorizing these relatively short items, you’ll be able to recite four key principles of Christian faith—how to pray (the Lord’s Prayer), your calling (the Great Commission), the teachings of the Gospel (the Apostle’s Creed) and how to live (the Beatitudes)."

I need to meditate.

19. Face Your Fear

"Whether it’s public speaking, an aversion to water, the fear of rejection or a dislike of flying, you don’t have to totally conquer your fears in your twenties or thirties, but you should face them. Sign up for swimming lessons, go to Toast Masters or even seek counseling. Taking steps to control your fear as an adult will make sure it doesn’t have to control you."

[deeeeeeeeeeep breath] 

my fear... SIR... is that someone will expect me to have done all these gd things before i turn 40 in 105 days. 

20. Sponsor a Child

"There are a ton of organizations (World Vision, Compassion International, ChildFund International), that will let you sponsor a child in need for less than your cell phone bill. Sometime between before your 40th birthday, commit to a year—the letters you’ll receive alone make the whole experience worth it. "

Sometime between before my 40th birthday I will definitely consider this. 

Thank you for dramatically saving this one until the end. 

This list blows.

Happy Campers For Real Though

A Drive Across the United States

Question:

What if we are all reeally extras in a natural disaster movie?

No, seriously!

What if, tonight, while we sleep, a comet comes into view that the government has been trying to hide, in the desperate attempt, however misguided, to prevent chaos?

And what if, tomorrow, it's on all of the newsstands and televisions, and all of the internet home pages...

And what if we go into work, and everyone's walking around in a daze, like, "Seriously?" and then, around lunchtime, important or rich people fill the sky in helicopters, on their way to Siberia because it is supposed to be best off environmentally and will recover the quickest, because they have known for years enough to build a giant eco-dome where they alone will survive on the earth?

What if, around 4:30, people go outside in Washington DC and stand in the streets staring into the sky, because the comet has come into view directly over the White House, and network news stations all over the US are playing a loop of people standing around looking up at the sky...

And what if Obama, around dinnertime, gives a final motivational message from the Oval Office because he's too noble to go hide in the eco-dome with the Bushes..

And what if we are standing around in our living rooms drinking wine and kissing our babies, flipping between that and watching the comet approach the Statue of Liberty on the network news, because of course the comet is visible over both simultaneously, and then, all of a sudden, an attractive young woman in a suit comes in, and she gives Obama a piece of paper, and he smiles, and announces that the problem is solved, because 5 very brave astronauts just flew into space and set nuclear warheads off on the comet and unfortunately they are all dead, but look. Look! LOOK!

What if they then cut to a looped video of the comet blasting apart taken on someone's home camera because apparently they are saving it for posterity?

What would I change the day after that?

How would I want to spend my days?

How might I try to leave a better legacy? To be the one everyone looks back on with tears in their eyes?

Would anyone else care?

Would it issue in a new era of peace and acceptance?

And... why was that one guy videotaping it?

Update: Relaxation Weekend O' Ten, Number Two, Day Three, Part Two.

Sorry for the tardiness, but my internet connection isn't what it once was now that I've stopped paying for one. Last night I write a short (SHORT) story from my childhood, which made me feel really (REALLY) good. I won't post it here, though. If you'd like to read it, let me know and I'll send you a copy.

I am at work now. Plowing through the inevitable pile of blegh. I need to find a new job. This much is clear. One thing I keep being reminded of (situationally AND verbally) is that no one or thing can make me happy -- I have to make myself happy. Thus, I'm going to make an effort to do so.

Wish me luck! Goodbye Relaxation Weekend O' Ten Number Two, and HELLO MONDAY!

Charity :-)

ode to my father, who turns 58 on saturday

Last night I was really depressed. And yet, I had reason to celebrate. I needed a bottle of red wine and some comfort food.

So I stopped at Kroger and bought a cheap bottle of Rioja (imported de España), some frozen spinach, fake hot dogs, and Lipton Alfredo noodles. Many people, I realize, find comfort in mashed potatoes, or chicken noodle soup, or other things their parents made for them when they were sick. My comfort foods, on the other hand, are those meals my dad would make for me and my brother when we visited his house on the weekends. Compared to mom's food, which was natural, wholesome, and healthy, my dad's food was almost like a foreign cuisine. I'm not sure why we ate this particular combination so frequently; I doubt he was enjoying meals of Alfredo noodles, frozen spinach, and hot dogs during the weeks when we were at mom's. But when we got there, he would bake the hot dogs until the skin was crispy and black, just the way I loved them. I have loved spinach since I was very young, and my brother and I thought Alfredo noodles, next to ramen, were the greatest thing on earth.

He did many things differently than mom. Although he doesn't drink now, he used to. He gave my brother his first taste of beer. I remember Baxter was so young, he couldn't even hold the bottle. I was old enough to know it was wrong, but I assured myself that daddy knew what he was doing. He used to buy us cereal with sugary marshmallows and frosting. I begged him to buy Cheerios because I couldn't stand the sugar (unlike my other friends parents, my mom absolutely refused to add sugar to our cereal). He bought Honey Nut Cheerios, which I found disturbing and gross, but I appreciated the effort and didn't complain.

We used to spend all weekend glued in front of his television, where he would let us watch MTV. Mom never had cable, but I can assure you, even if she did, she would not have let us watch this.

Daddy lived in apartments, moving around year to year, until he married my stepmother in 1987. I loved this roving quality, and apartment complexes were like magical places to me. Daddy would always be so tan (he went to tanning beds before swimsuit season, but he only had to go a few times because he tans so easily), and we would go swimming in the apartment pools when the weather was nice. Baxter and I used to take turns holding on tightly around his neck while he swam the length of the pool underwater. It was thrilling, but felt safe because I knew I could always let go and kick off his back to get to the surface, which I admit I did a few times out of panic.

I used to relish riding around in his sporty, single-man cars. I loved sitting in the front seat beside him, watching in fascination while he spritzed on Jovan Musk for Men and shaved the few hairs on his head with his portable electric razor. He would talk on his radio ("W-A-4-R-U-Lucky!" he would call out, and turn to us and grin), and he taught us how to stick our hands out of the windows and sunroof, changing the angle and curvature of our hand to maximize the wind on our faces. When I sat in the back, he would always call out, "Is that too much wind on ya, Charity?" Pulling my long straight brown hair out of my mouth, I would always respond in my little girl yell, "No, Daddy," or "No, Daddy, it feels good!" depending on how long I could keep my hair in my little hands. It was always too much wind, but I never wanted to say so.

Baxter and I told everyone once that daddy was on the Greensboro Hornets, the local minor league baseball team. We got confused, because he took us to his softball games when it was the season. Baxter and I would run around the bleachers, hiding and chasing one another, waiting for daddy's turn at bat, or the next time he would catch the ball. I remember once, after a game and while he was making our Alfredo-spinach-hot dog meal, I picked up his glove and fingered the soft leather. "C-R-A-B," I read. "Daddy, why does it only say crab?" He laughed. "Everyone knows who Crab is," he responded. (When daddy is happy, he laughs. Not a loud laugh, but a knowing laugh. No matter why he's laughing, you always feel like maybe you're in on the joke, or maybe there's more you arent privy to.)

Daddy once gave Baxter an elaborate racetrack with electric magnetic cars and big loops and jumps, and he helped us set it up on the dining room table. We played with it, the three of us, for hours. Daddy did fun things, unlike mom, who did grown-up things. Once daddy had a Halloween party while we were at his house. I came down from bed to find him standing with a rainbow clown wig on, in a black cape, with a bumper sticker attached to his chest that read: "Beam Me Up Scotty, there's no intelligent life down here." He let me stay, after I begged, and I almost immediately gravitated to a woman dressed as a diner, with a short little waitress dress on and a circular table hanging around her waist. I was enthralled by the change glued to her portable workstation.

Sometimes he took us to work with him. I remember when he worked at a sign shop with a friend of his; they set up the machines to make big signs for businesses. (This was back when people actually made stuff using machines, not just computers making stuff using machines.) He showed us the welding hat he wore sometimes; we made him put it on and show us.

Once daddy was working with some friends at local college NC A & T, making a pod that would go up into space on the next space shuttle. They were going to put an ape in it and I remember being horrified, since after Challenger I figured that all spaceships were doomed. One of his friends on this project gave me a hamster, named Herbie. I loved him and took him home with me to mom's (daddy never had pets). He would sneak out all the time, though, and we would find him in the plush carpet on the stairs. Once I made mom sleep with me because he was gone and we couldn't find him. I was afraid his little ghost would come get me, but he ended up waking us up in the middle of the night, scratching at the side of the Barbie pool that had trapped him.

Adventures have always followed daddy around. We went to Hanging Rock State Park once and he made us sit on an overhang to get a picture. I remember being so terrified and certain I was going to die, repeating to myself the order not to grab for my brother when I fell, like a mantra. I saw the picture years later and I look perfectly calm and happy, basking in the glow of my daddy's presence.

Once he took us on a plane with his friend, who did loops in the air. I thought I was going to die, and almost threw up in the plane. There's a picture afterwards and I'm grinning uncertainly, glad to be on the ground but looking scared about something. My hair is long, blonde, and curly, and I'm wearing my favorite light blue dress with matching knee socks. I wore it the one day he took me to school that year, too. I was so proud, as if I needed to show to everyone in my class that I had a daddy, too. He didn't come inside.

Once I sat for hours on the front porch, certain he would come pick us up despite the fact that it was getting dark and even Baxter had already gone back in. My mom came out and sat beside me eventually, tenderly suggesting that perhaps daddy mixed up the weekends, and that I should come in. I refused at first, thinking surely he was on his way. I didn't want him to think I gave up on him when he got there. I sat with my new doll on my lap, wanting to show it to my daddy, wanting him to drive up in his sporty car and prove somehow to my mom that he did love me.

Actually, one of my first memories is of my dad driving away. I followed his Cadillac Eldorado down the driveway, confused. I asked my mom when he was coming back, but he wasn't. I was four. He did come back sometimes, to pick us up for the weekend, but every time he did, he and my mom would start fighting. I almost wished he wouldn't come by because when he did I had to face the fact that they weren't getting back together. I wrote in pen on my chest of drawers "CHARITY [heart] DADDY" and made my mom promise not to clean it until daddy saw it. He never did. I think it's still there, actually. My mom kept her promise.

An earlier memory is of waiting downstairs by the television on Saturday morning. We had to wait until daddy would come turn on the TV for us, and then we would squeeze in as many minutes of cartoon heaven as we could before church. When it was cold he would start up the woodstove, which was also in the living room. Then he would go back upstairs to my mom. I'm glad I have that memory.

It took me years to forgive my dad for all the times he abandoned me, and the family. It took a few more years for me to realize that he never really did. He just wasn't ready for all that life had handed him. I can understand that now. At some point, I had to realize that I could either pine over the daddy I never had, or enjoy the daddy I have. I chose the latter.

Forgiving him was one of the hardest and yet most worthwhile things I have ever done. But loving him was always easy.

love story for my grandmother

Someone has planted a bubble gum tree on North Decatur Road. I noticed it the other day when I was walking to school. The sun was shining and a breeze was blowing, with just enough of an edge to keep me cool, but not enough to make me put on my cardigan.

The breeze lifted the smell of the flowers, and this particular day no one was mowing their lawn, and my allergies were hardly bothering me at all, so I could actually smell the flowers on the breeze without sneezing. As I passed the pink and white and fuschia azalea bushes, I smelled the bubble gum. It made me smile because it was such a beautiful peaceful moment. I remembered my grandmother's house, as I usually do when I pass azalea bushes. She had a beautiful one right outside her door. It was such a vibrant pink; I loved just sitting on the front steps staring into it. I remember wanting to crawl inside the well-trimmed bush, like a flower apartment. With bees.

Her yard was a sloping yard on a cul-de-sac, and her house was a ranch house paid for in cash by her and my grandfather. He died when I was very young. I have a picture of me and my brother at his funeral. I'm about five and he's about three. My hair is blonde and curly and Baxter's hair is even blonder, although it is straight. We are wearing our dress-up clothes and our little puffy winter jackets, because it is February. We have huge smiles on our faces, because we don't understand death yet.

I remember my grandfather, but only vaguely. I remember he used to read to us. He was very tall and strong, so we loved it when he would come down to our level; he used to sit with us on the bed or on the couch and let us climb all over him. We'd always ask him to read "Journey Cake-Ho," about a little boy who is very poor; he makes a pancake with the last of the food in the house but it falls out of the pan and rolls all through the town, with the boy chasing it, scared he'll lose his dinner. I can't remember how it ends, but I remember the excitement of the story because my grandfather would get so animated when he was talking about it. He had a huge mouth to match his booming deep voice and I would fall asleep listening to him talk, feeling the vibrations in his chest.

He was big and strong because for decades he delivered mail. They lived in Asheville, and he walked around all the hilly neighborhoods in Postal Service issue boots after getting out of the military. He and my grandmother met at the Army base in San Diego. They got married and took a honeymoon in La Jolla, back when working class people could still afford to do that. He was very strong, and his presence filled up a room. He died of leukemia, and the hospital would not let me see him before he did because I was not immediate family.

When I would go visit my grandmother later, we would play with all her old things, and one of my favorite things to play with (aside from all her old teaching materials) was this Old Spice bottle shaped like a mailman's car. It was thick clear blue glass with a red plastic cap and it said "U.S. Postal Service" on the side. Although the wheels were not real, I would push it through the green shag carpet of my grandmother's family room and think of my grandfather when I closed my eyes and opened the cap. There was a picture of my grandfather taken in Hawai'i at a convention and you could always spot him immediately: he was the one with the biggest smile, the one who looked like a hug.

My grandmother never remarried, and we often went to her house and stayed for long periods of time, partially (I realize now) to relieve my single mother and partially to keep my grandmother company. I used to lie in her sleigh bed and pretend my grandmother and grandfather were both there with me. I would make my grandmother drive us through the big tunnel they blew out of the mountain with dynamite and I would hold my breath and make a wish every time. She always took us shoe shopping and I would always get very girly shoes, which my mom didn't let me buy, since they couldn't be handed down. Baxter was always thrilled to get new things of any kind, things that I had never worn. We would go to my grandmother's Methodist church on Sundays and I would marvel at the developmentally-disabled grown-ups in her Sunday school class, including my Aunt Julie, wondering at their kind eyes and open hearts, always delighted to see us.

Grandma was an artist, so her living room was filled with paintings and collages. We loved to hide behind them and I loved to feel the texture of the paint on the canvas. She had sculptures of bizarre weird things she had completed as assignments when she went back to school after my grandfather died (eventually she even glued the Old Spice bottle shaped like a mail car into a dollhouse). She didn't like us to play in that room, so usually we just went outside.

There was a tree in her front yard that was split open on one side and filled with moss. Baxter and I used to take turns calling each other from it (it was obviously a phone booth). We would run around finding spider webs in trees and crushing mushrooms with our bare feet in hopes of finding the ones that would spray spores out in a cloud of dust. Squealing with delight, we would walk down the cracked sidewalk to her cracked driveway, and run in circles around the cul-de-sac. When we were out of sight, we would walk along the concrete wall that led from the street, along the driveway, and up and around to the back of the house. Thrilled with the possibility of falling 12 feet, we would hold our breaths and speed up or slow down depending on the state of our nerves or the other's taunting. We would look for the places in the sidewalk where the ants emerged, and I desperately tried to avoid stepping on the monstrously huge black creatures.

When we had to be inside, we would watch public television: Sesame Street or Mr. Rogers if we were lucky, the McNeill-Lehrer News Hour if Grandma was. She would play restaurant with us, ordering steaks and coffees and eating endless amounts of popcorn out of little paper cups. We would sneak spoonfuls of Ovaltine or frozen chocolate chip cookie dough when we went into the kitchen to retrieve her food, amazed at our own sneakiness.

I never thought about my grandmother's decision not to get remarried. She and my grandfather were a couple even when she was the only one left on this earth. For years, she went to sleep in the huge sleigh bed by herself, and restocked her kitchen for herself, and went to her art openings by herself, and went to church by herself, and cared for her severely mentally handicapped daughter by herself, and played with her grandchildren by herself. But she was never really by herself.

When I saw the azalea bush on North Decatur Road the other day and smelled the bubble gum someone had planted, I smiled thinking of my grandmother. Walking along, I saw a robin in the distance, poking something lightly with its beak before hopping off into the yard next to it. As I got closer, I realized it was another robin, lying dead on the sidewalk. The first robin stood looking inexplicably at the huge house standing on the other end of the yard.

My grandmother showed me a robin's nest once. It was a small little cup-like thing with bright blue eggs. I remember they looked like candy.

Robins mate for one breeding season, sometimes more than one, but not for life. If their mates die, they frequently search for new ones.

I hope the robin I saw finds another mate. Although it's not quite as romantic as my grandmother and grandfather's story, I guess it is more practical. At the same time, I have immense respect for my grandmother's commitment to my grandfather, and can only hope that someday I'll love someone as much as she loved him. And I can only hope that as she lay in a nursing home towards the end of her life, alone and crippled by Parkinson's, she was comforted by thoughts of seeing him again soon.

dream story

i wrote this a few years back, too. i think it's my favorite story i've ever written. the process of writing the dream was really amzing in itself. liberating. i actually felt like i was dreaming at times. i hope you enjoy it too.
charity :)

02 November 2004

I look up at the moon. It's a full one. Stars shine above, more stars than I've ever seen in my entire life. I feel a sense of expansiveness, and the hair on my arms stands up. I look down and it's daytime. My mother is standing at a distance, waving to me from the edge of a forest. She's smiling, and young. She's younger than I can ever remember her being, before she cut her hair. I think that this is what she must have looked like when I was a baby, and remember from the pictures that it is. All of a sudden I know I have to talk to her. She can help me. She's my age, and I realize this is the only opportunity I will have to talk to her like this. I run over to her and her smile grows larger. I'm running so fast I don't even feel the ground beneath my feet and I think I'm going to start flying. She opens her arms and I feel a sense of elation as I approach, knowing that finally, I'm going to get all the answers.

When I get to her, I realize that the forest she was standing next to wasn't a forest after all. Instead, I find that we are standing at the edge of a lake underneath some very large trees. These trees are so tall I can't see the tops of them, and I think that this must be what the giant sequoias look like that my grandmother used to talk about all the time. I look down at the lake and I can't even see the tops of the trees mirrored in their reflection. Looking closer, I realize that I can't see myself either. Instead, there's a small white flower, dwarfed by the trees and looking very fragile and out of place.

I look up at my mother to ask her why I don't see my reflection but she's not there. Instead, my second-grade teacher Ms. Dobson is bent down beside me, smiling. I feel the comfort of knowing she's there and look back down at the lake only to see my math workbook, with almost all of the answers completed. I feel proud and relieved, knowing the answers are right. I look across the table and see Luke, the red-headed kid who always comes to class dirty. He is grinning at me in his dirty white t-shirt. Ms. Dobson pulls me to her and gives me a big hug. The hug gets so tight that I can't see out of it anymore and from inside I hear her voice: "I'm going to hug you so hard your bones will break!"

The feeling of calm and safety dissipates. Suddenly I panic, searching for a way out. No matter where I look, there's no opening. I'm trapped in a dark cave. My feet are so heavy I can't lift them. As I look around desperately for some light that would indicate an opening, an escape into the fresh air, I realize that the cave is actually a huge body of water. Despite being underwater, the realization brings a newfound ability to move. My feeling of release has allowed me to breathe again and I relax. As I swim through the darkness, I flip over so that I'm on my back. Swimming on my back, I surface under the same full moon and sky full of stars. My strokes slow until I stop, and I feel the hard surface of the earth rise to meet me.

I feel calm and serene. The earth cradles my back and I think that the feeling of security I receive from the earth at this moment is better than the softness of any bed. I feel as if I could lie there forever, and that the earth molds itself to my back in an attempt to convince me to do so. I look up to see a shooting star, and smile. I begin to see more. At first, only one falls at a time. As I continue gazing upwards, the number begins to grow until, at some point, I realize there are stars everywhere. So many stars are falling down around me that I begin to feel dizzy. The world seems to be spinning beneath me until I realize that the stars swirling all around me are actually snowflakes. I open my mouth and try to catch some on my tongue, and close my eyes to keep them out.

I feel the snowflakes accumulating on my eyelashes and then realize that snowflakes are moving across them. My eyelids flutter open and I see you lightly brushing the snow out of my eyes. You say something to me, but I don't hear you. When I start to ask you to repeat it, I realize that what you said isn't important. What is important is that after you say it, you smile down at me.

The world flips and I'm looking down at you. I kiss you on your forehead and lay my head on your chest. I feel your arms lightly rubbing my back and roll to the side, to lie with my arm touching yours. I see our feet and they look like they are miles away. I gradually see that they are moving.

As I look up, I see that we are walking ahead now, you and I. We pass valleys full of trees that stretch for miles across and see the leaves changing before our eyes: from green to bright yellow to brilliant orange and red. We pass the fuchsia sun setting on the ocean and I feel the warm sea breeze blowing through my hair. We pass people standing on corners and trees filled with children. We pass buildings so tall we can't see where they meet the sky. The world goes by faster and faster, but we just keep walking together. I don't look at you and I know that you don't look at me, but you squeeze my hand, and it is enough.

A light rain begins to fall and we turn to look at one another. The raindrops get bigger and bigger, and I touch your face, trying to touch every raindrop as it falls. You look tenderly into my eyes and that's the last thing I see before I shut them to keep out the rain. I feel every drop, and they are falling faster now. My clothes are soaked through and heavy. I feel you begin to take them off, slowly and tenderly, a piece at a time. As you remove them, I realize I am dry underneath. I feel your hands touching my face and open my eyes.

We are lying in bed, inches from one another. "Should I get my umbrella?" I ask. You look quizzically at me. Then you smile and put your hand on my cheek. In a whisper, you ask, "Is that why you started taking off my shirt?"

Still in a daze, I look around: no answers, no water, no trees or moon.

No math homework.

My eyes come again to rest on your face, and I see that there is just you, smiling at me, and I know it is enough. I cuddle into your arms as I fall back to sleep, and I feel your skin on my lips as I smile.

ode to max

Max escaped last weekend. She fled through the back door sometime Sunday. It was Monday night before I realized she was missing.

Our door sometimes blows open on windy days if unlocked. I noticed it standing open on Sunday, and secured it, thinking how lucky it was that I noticed it before a cat did. Honestly, I didn't even notice that she was gone.

She has gotten out before; in the past, I have left the back door open when I went down the back stairs to the basement to do my laundry. Once she pushed open the screen door and I caught her on the landing. Another time I didn't notice she had escaped but I found her within the hour, two floors below looking bewildered and lost, searching the closed doors for her home.

This time, it took a little longer. Sam was trying to tell me, I think. He was exceptionally loud and talkative. I think in hindsight that he was attempting to alert me to her absence. What all his talking did, though, was distract me and prevent me from realizing that Max, who is always quiet and aloof, was actually gone.

Monday night, panic struck as I stood in the bathroom doorway looking down at Sam, who was yet again yowling.

"Good night, Sam," I impatiently responded to his yowling. That was when I noticed.

In my nightgown, I began searching the apartment, looking in her usual spots and calling her name. At this point, though, I knew she was gone. I asked my roommate if she had seen her, but she couldn't remember either. I went out the back door, remembering finding it open over the weekend, and panic started bubbling around in my tummy like indigestion.

I called as I walked all the way downstairs, where I knew she had to be. Unless she got outside, I thought and stopped myself, remembering finding Rocky out in the road two days before being approached by his panicked owner searching for him. "We just moved here," she said, visibly distraught. "I'm really worried. He doesn't know the neighborhood." I had to give her a box to carry him home and I remembered watching her walk away, stooped and bent with the weight of loss that is unique to losing a pet.

I pushed the memory out of my mind and continued calling Max. I thought I heard her collar jingling. Afraid I was hallucinating, I called to her again and walked to where I thought I had heard it. There were stacks of boxes I hadn't seen before. Someone new must have moved in, I thought to myself. I wonder who it is?

Just then, I saw a little black head pop up over the top of the boxes. The white fur on the corner of her mouth looked like drool and her white whiskers stuck out like fresh highlighter in a dusty old book. Max looked at me with panic and desperation and immediately began trying to figure out how to get to me. She looked down and around her, finally jumping up on top of the boxes. I reached over and picked up her full-figured cat body and she laid against me, purring, as I purred over her and carried her home.

Max does not behave this way, normally. When I first met Max, she was walking around the neighborhood, meowing loudly with the desperation and determination of a female cat in heat. She was so small, though, I thought surely she wasn't in heat already. I was in the process of moving out of that apartment, and hated to leave her. She would come up to the porch when I came out of the door. She would meow to me and rub against my legs. The thing that really endeared her to me was how she would lean against my legs with her whole body while I pet her, and then fall on my feet in purrs.

I took her with me when I moved and she seemed happy and grateful to be an indoor kitty. She seemed content to sit in the windows and doors watching the leaves blow and the squirrels play in the trees behind my building. She and my other cat developed a tentative bond that lasted until he became very ill, finally passing away. Max refused to go in the room with him the last couple of days, but sat outside the door watching him with alarm as he struggled to breathe.

She is a very loyal companion, but she can be very hard to love. She likes to be petted, but not by everyone. She has specific ideas of how and how long she likes being petted, and if you are not in on this, she will attempt to draw you in line by pawing at you or snapping. Most people figure it's not worth the effort.

When I brought her in from her two-day basement adventure, though, she was so happy, she let me pet her for while, my way, even, and she even rolled over on my feet the way she used to do when she first won my heart. I was so happy and relieved to have her home.

My mom once told me "Charity, the thing is, people fall in love with you so easily. You're funny, you're smart, you're beautiful. But then..." In my mind and memory, she trails off and looks out the window, pondering why it is that I'm so alone, confused at this conundrum. The truth is, I pretty much blocked out what she said next, because it was something like "but then you make it impossible for them to love you."

I know that's true, though. I value my independence highly, but I always want to know what everyone else is up to. An analogy for you gamblers out there: I want to know what cards all the people at the table are holding before I reveal my own.

So I really like Max. And maybe it's partly because I have put all my issues onto her, but I like to think that we see eye to eye on things somehow. Sometimes she sits in the window when I'm working, never looking at me, but never leaving the room. Sometimes she sits on the end of my bed, on a little folded blanket covered in black cat hair, placed there in a surprisingly successful attempt to limit her contact with my down comforter and the afghan my grandmother made that I have thrown over it. She will just sit peacefully, napping or looking out thin slits of eyes at something only she sees. Sam usually comes up to her at some point and she will lick his head with motherly affection before hopping down and moving to a new place where she can settle down undisturbed, leaving Sam her vacated spot to do with what he pleases.

I really love Sam. There is something very special about a little kitty who talks constantly and always wants to play, and who sits right in front of you looking up with big eyes waiting for you to get him whatever treat he is thinking of at that moment. But sometimes I just want to be left alone. And that's when I appreciate Max, who loves me anyway and is happy to oblige. I guess the downside to this type of independence is that few people notice when you're gone. When I finally noticed Max was missing, I wondered how long it would take people to notice if I disappeared one day.

Max and I do things our own ways. I once read that Virgos such as myself like domestic animals because we can take care of them and control them; apparently we like the fact that our pets depend on us. This makes us feel in control and we are comforted by this. I thought that was very interesting. But I think the thing I like about Max is that she depends on me, but maintains her independence in spite of this. She is independently dependent.

She reminds me of myself.

april in may

i just came across this in my hard drive as i was working on my dissertation (oh, ok, as i was watching alias!). it intrigues me that i even wrote this. i guess i was trying something new? it's pretty interesting, especially considering how, um, it doesn't really fit in with my oeuvre, to date at least (i'm practicing for my reluctant but inevitable move to paris). anyway, i hope you enjoy it and give me comments (yeah right. you guys only care about the quizzes... but that's cool).

He felt the hot sting of the bullet turn cold as it ripped through layers, first flesh, then bone, then finally nestling into one of those organs tucked beneath his ribcage for safekeeping. I don't know, maybe the bullet and I can make peace, he thought. Maybe we can grow old together. He tried to smile at this idea, thinking it perfectly reasonable, but the faces on the people gathered around him did not look reassured. He felt a pool of warm blood forming in the hole the bullet had made and had the strange urge to take off his shoes and wade around in it. He was having trouble making sense of things. He couldn't seem to prevent absurd thoughts from entering his consciousness: Am I seeing myself or being myself? It was like a dream. He tried to ask the people around him if he was still the same size, or if perhaps he was actually changing size. He felt like he could see more but was he bigger? Smaller, even? When he tried to talk he began choking; a pool of warmth was collecting there, as well, and the faces around him did not seem comforted by his confused but well-meaning sputters. As moments passed that seemed to take forever he thought about the rapidly decreasing responsiveness of his body and considered the likelihood that he may never again feel anything. I may never see faces again. The thought occurred to him with a feeling of dulled surprise, and he started trying to remember all the things he had seen in his life, panicking suddenly at the thought that he had no idea what was next, trying to hold on to everything he knew and loved, or hated. The knowing was what he was afraid of losing, more than the loving or hating. As moments continued to pass, seeming to pass much more quickly now, he felt hands trying to hold his body down as his self, the perceptive him, began floating farther and farther away. Where are you going? he tried to scream. Where am I going? The last thing he felt was the gravel on the back of his neck and the last thing he thought about was a vacation he had taken with his fiance last spring. April in May, he laughed, and let go of the panic to slip finally into the unknown.