Memories Monday --Boo!

 
When my mother was a child, she lived in a suburb that was really The Country.  There were cornfields on two sides of her house.  She and her friends would go into the fields, pick corn, shell it, and on the nights before Halloween, go out without adults, sneak up to windows of houses, throw the corn, and run away.  (It was animal corn, so it was hard, like the decorative Indian corn you see in stores, although in the summer, when it was soft, she and her friends would eat it.)  The bolder ones would ring the doorbell.  The kids love this story and would have loved to try it, but fortunately there aren’t any cornfields around.

In our town, Trick or Treat night is always the Friday or Saturday before Halloween, so the kids won’t be kept up too late on a school night.  This makes Halloween rather anti-climactic, but I always make a Halloween dinner, which we eat by candlelight; pumpkin soup from the intellectual deli and grilled cheese sandwiches imprinted with a jack-o-lantern. (I got the stamp in a set, with stamps of a smiley face,  Santa, an Easter egg, and a turkey.)  We have tomato juice to drink, since it looks like blood.

Karen asked me if I wanted to come over and try to contact Margaret with a Ouija board.  I said we always watch scary movies together, and why didn’t they come over here.  Maybe it makes me a wuss, but after The Exorcist, which gave me nightmares as a child, I’m afraid of Ouijas.  I asked Karen if they were going to have pea soup.

I would have told Karen that it would probably be more worthwhile to say a prayer for Margaret on All Saints’ Day, but I didn’t want to be an obnoxious churchlady.

Memories Monday -- Pulp Nonfiction

“So,” I said to Karen and Nikki “Betsey had her friend Becky overnight last Saturday and the next morning, I asked if she wanted orange juice with lots of pulp or no pulp.”

“You get both kinds?”  Karen was incredulous. 

“Well, Cilla and I like it with pulp, but nobody else does. We tried some with ‘some pulp’, but then nobody was happy.”

“Nobody ever is when you compromise,” Nikki said.  “You have to make a commitment, especially with things you feel strongly about.”

“What kind did she want?”

“Lots of pulp, and of course Betsey had to say how yucky it was, and I had to remind her that everyone is entitled to their own preferences.”

“Not at my house when I was a kid,” Karen muttered.  “My mother refused to buy chunky peanut butter.  Fortunately, Tom and the boys like it.”

“If they didn’t, would you buy smooth for them?”

Karen looked surprised, as if she had never thought this could be an option.

“I guess so, but wouldn’t it be spoiling them?”

“Well, not if Tom liked it too.”

“We always used Hellman’s Mayonnaise,” I said, “and Janet always used Miracle Whip.  It’s no wonder people say she can’t cook.  Anyway, when we got married, we bought both.  I think that’s when I really felt independent.  My mother probably would have made herself use Miracle Whip.”

“Unless she hid a little jar of Hellman’s in the back of the fridge and snuck spoonfuls of it once in a while.”

 “But anyway,” I said, getting back to my story, “Becky told her mother about it and about the mayonnaise and her mother called me and said that I was spoiling the children.  I told her that it gave them practice making choices.”

“What did she say?”

“That there are limits.”

“Did she mention the jelly, too?”  We have about eight kinds of jelly in the refrigerator: strawberry, raspberry with seeds, raspberry without seeds, grape, blueberry, peach, pineapple, and marmalade.  And we’ll probably have more after the Christmas Bazaar at church.

“Dear, God, the jelly!”  Karen looked up to heaven and laughed.  “I’m never going to let the boys look in your refrigerator”

“So what did you say?”  Nikki got us back on track.

“I thanked her for her input and told her what an angel Becky had been.  Then I said I had to go because Ed needed me for something.”

“Did he?” 

“Well, he might have.”

“I’m sorry I only have one kind of wine, tonight.” Karen said. 

Nikki snorted.  “It’s lucky we don’t need to learn how to make choices.”

 

 

Relax -- They're Short -- Poems by Alice Barrett

Word Choice

Alice Barrett

My parents died.

My dogs and cats passed away.

My old loves kicked off.

(And not a minute too soon;

It served them right,)

My favorite professor was killed;

His car went over a cliff.

How will they phrase it

When I’m no longer here?

Light in a Churchyard

Alice Barrett

In the early autumn late afternoon,

Tea-stained gold sunlight

Splashes through the umbrella

Of the magnolia’s leaves,
Into the birdbath
Between the chapel

And the parish hall.

  

Although best known for her fiction (The Story Lovers, The Cod), Alice Barrett first came to attention through her poetry.  Her collections include Rings on Tables and Hoping for Lies.  

My Dinner with Michele -- From Charlie's Diary

 

I had expected Michele to be gorgeous, either in a hippie bohemian way or a cool bad girl motorcycle jacket way.  Emily didn’t have any pictures.  She said it was too painful.

But when I met Michele, she reminded me of Joyce Carol Oates.  Ms. Oates (I feel odd calling her Joyce or Joyce Carol) is a great writer and probably a nice person, but she doesn’t do anything for me sexually.  And I can’t see her doing anything for anyone else.  But what do I know?

“I’ve been so wanting to meet you,” she said.  “Poor Emily does need taking care of doesn’t she?”  I was surprised that she didn’t scold me for getting Emily in a situation that broke her heart.  But as Karen pointed out, our efforts had put Emily in a position where she was a sitting duck for Michele. 

The three of us had dinner at Emily’s; Michele was staying there.  I wasn’t sure if that was a good idea, but Nikki said it really didn’t make any difference.  If Michele wanted Emily again, she could get her wherever she was.

Michele is quiet but very intense, with a way of looking at you straight in the eye as if whatever you said was very important to her.  When Emily was in the kitchen, Michele leaned forward.  “How is she doing?  I’ve been very concerned.”

“I don’t know.  She still sees Alice and she swears she knows they’ll never be more than friends, but . . . I don’t know.  I feel terrible for starting this.”

“It must be very hard for you.  But you really shouldn’t beat yourself up.  You wanted to help a friend.”  She reached over and patted my hand.

“Well, yes.”  For some reason I felt a little funny, but then Emily brought in the spaghetti.

“Just the way you used to make it with the cloves,” Michele said, smiling at Emily. “This is my all-time favorite spaghetti sauce,” she said to me, as if she was confiding a secret, like she'd lied about her age on Facebook. “It was the first real dinner we shared.”

Shared?  She sounded like a character in a Bible movie.

Emily giggled.  “We were going to go to the movies afterward, but we never got there.”

For a change I got something.

“Did you ever get to see the movie?”

“Oh, Charlie,” Emily laughed.  “Charlie thinks of things nobody else does,” she said to Michele.  Then she looked sad.  “So does Alice.”

“Do you, Charlie?”

I felt flustered and started going over my repertoire in my head.  I’d really rather do my wives of Henry VIII trick.

“You must be very creative.  Creativity is a real gift.”

“Thank you.”

“I love your blog.  You have such a feeling for people’s idiosyncrasies.”

“I’m glad you enjoy it. . . Have you done any sightseeing?  Not that there’s that many sights.  Of course the college is beautiful.  The library has a great spiral staircase.  And if you’re here on Sunday, you should go to Mass at Epiphany.   The high Mass is at ten.  Does incense bother you?  It doesn’t bother me, but my husband said worlds would collide if we went to his mother’s church, so we go to Trinity.  It’s Low Church, but I don’t mind.  Cilla would like more pageantry, but I tell her she’ll have to wait until she can drive herself there.  That won’t be until she’s sixteen or maybe even eighteen.  I want to hold off on the kids driving as long as possible.  They’re pretty responsible kids, but with all the crazies out there, you never know.”

“Charlie knows all the wives of Henry VIII and the husbands of Elizabeth Taylor.”

“Oh, let’s not make Charlie perform,” Michele said.  “It’s so much more fun just talking.” And she smiled at me.

Emily had carrot cake from the organic bakery for dessert.

“I know it’s both of you’s favorite.  Or both of your favorite.  Or the favorite of both of you."  Emily giggled again.  "Here I am an English professor making grammar mistakes.”  

I was glad I didn’t get the history of the two of them and carrot cake.

We really did have a nice dinner and I liked Michele in spite of all the awful stories about her.  She hugged me and said, “I’ve really enjoyed meeting you,” and squeezed my hand.

I’ve had Emily’s spaghetti and the bakery’s carrot cake before, so I don’t know what it was that made my stomach feel uncomfortable.
 

 

A McDonald's Memory -- Corn Dogs, Cannons, and Cotton Candy



My mother, aunt, and uncle grew up in what was technically a suburb but was really the country.  They had cornfields on two sides of their house and a neighbor who raised bantam chickens.  Every year, the township Volunteer Fire Company held a carnival the second or third week of September.  My mother, Aunt Pooh, and Uncle Hank had always gone and years later they would take me and my cousins.

The carnival was held in a large field in back of the firehouse.  A policeman would direct you to a parking spot in the beaten down grass and you hoped the ground wouldn’t be muddy.  As soon as you got out of the car, you could smell the carnival:  pierogies frying, the cotton candy swirling in its machine, the pony ride ponies simply smelling like ponies.

We were all supposed to stay together, which meant that the older ones had to stand around while the younger ones went on the baby rides and the younger cousins had to wait while the others did the flying swings and the house of mirrors.  I’d like to say we did this without complaining, but I know you wouldn’t believe me.  Aunt Pooh had told us stories about children who wandered off from their families and were never seen again.  That scared some of us, but later my cousin Jimmy pointed out that maybe the children had run away with the carnival, which didn’t seem so bad.

When it got dark, the strings of lights went on.  Local bands would play on the stage – country music or tributes to whatever rock group was popular.  The younger children would dance, while the older ones stood around and said how corny it was and then went on to talk about how corny the world was.

I liked to wait until it got dark to go on the Ferris wheel.  It seemed braver to go up in the dark and feel you were in the sky yourself in the middle of the stars.

Towards the end of the evening, a man would be shot out of a cannon.  We would spend the ride home talking about whether we would want to do that and arguing whether girls could be human cannon balls.

The carnival is still going on, and naturally Ed and I try to take the kids every year.  They sit in the back seat playing video games and asking if we are there yet.  Ed, who can be quite literal at times, says, “No.  We are on the way.  If we were there the car wouldn’t be moving.”

“What if you’re parking the car?  Is that being there?”

Josh had him on that.

“It depends on what you mean by being and what you mean by there.”

But eventually we are there, the car is parked and we are in the middle of the crowds and smells and noise.  The kids are discussing what they are going to eat, but I tell them they should go on the rides first.  They are still the same, including the “sit down ride.”  After Ed took Betsey and Josh on it last year, he had to sit down.  It’s one of their favorite stories, although, as Betsey pointed out, it would have been better if Ed had thrown up.

Then, of course, we have to eat, after we have walked around to see what’s available, so that no one gets stuck with something after they’ve seen something better, stopping at the game booths to try to win stuffed animals or tee shirts or outdated video games.  Cilla wins six stuffed animals at the skill crane, with Betsey and Josh cheering her on as Ed and I hand out the money.  I end up carrying them for the rest of the night.  Fortunately, I have some plastic bags in my pocket that I keep for Duke’s walks.

Finally it is time to go home.  Topics of discussion during the ride home are:

Why do they have only the sucky red candy apples and not the caramel ones?

Why wouldn’t working for a carnival be a good career choice, since you could probably go on the rides for free?  (Because carnival workers don’t have health insurance.)

                                                                  

                                                             

Are the ponies being exploited?

How many times did everyone see the ponies go to the bathroom?

Why do we say that animals “go to the bathroom” when they don’t have bathrooms, except, of course, those cats that are trained to use the toilet or cats whose litter boxes are in the bathroom?

Why don’t they shoot people out of cannons any more, or did I make that up?

By the time we get home, Cilla is asleep and even Betsey and Josh are rubbing their eyes.  Ed leads Cilla upstairs and tucks her in with her new stuffed animals. 

I give Betsey and Josh some cocoa and then herd them up the stairs. 

“Do you think they might shoot somebody out of a cannon next year?” Josh asks.

“Do you think they might have caramel apples?” Betsey wonders.

Memories Monday -- It's That Time Again

Right in the middle of the wedding planning, it was time for Back to School, the unofficial holiday between the Fourth of July and Halloween. There were paper leaves and cardboard school bells and apples all over the stores and back to school ads on TV, with kids dancing and singing as if new clothes and backpacks made up for losing their freedom.  They do help, of course.
I got Ed to take care of Josh; I knew he would get everything done quickly and efficiently.  So we went in separate cars, a jolly caravan of consumers.

Shopping with two girls is one of those experiences that “challenge you to grow,” as my mother used to say when I complained about having to do something.  I tell the children to “offer it up.”  And I was given a lot to offer.

Cilla and her friends have decided that “if it isn’t pink, they’re not wearing it.”  And on the first day, everything had to be totally pink.  After that they would condescend to wear contrasting pants or skirts.

Betsey told me I was “spoiling her” and looked superior until I reminded her of the year she and her friends wore purple all day every day; even their pajamas had to be purple.

I shouldn’t have said anything because Cilla decided that she needed pink pajamas and wanted to call her friends right now, please, please, please so they could get some too.

I told her we would get the pajamas now, but she’d have to wait until we got home to call her friends.

Betsey was a little easier, since she doesn’t have a bust or interest in boys yet.  She needed five pairs of jeans, a variety of tops, some with sayings I didn’t understand, but which she assured me weren’t naughty, and some sweaters for me to nag her to take with her, even if she didn’t wear them, because it could get chilly.

All around us mothers were squabbling with daughters and exchanging eye rolls.  It was nice to have a sisterhood moment.

The girls wanted to stop at McDonald’s to celebrate their haul, but I told them that it wouldn’t be fair to Daddy and Josh, but we’d have pizza tonight.

On the way out of the mall, we stopped at the bulk candy store for the first candy corn and pumpkins of the season.

I said a prayer of thanksgiving that the girls didn’t see the McDonald’s wrappers in the trash when we got home.  Fortunately, Josh forgot to wave his Happy Meal monster in their faces.

Sometimes you get a break.

Alice Is Blocked -- From Charlie's Diary

Emily is still talking to Michele and hanging out with Alice.  Wendy tried to talk to her, but it didn’t help much.  Now I have two of them to deal with.  Alice feels guilty and keeps asking me if she should give Lesbianism another shot.

“What if it doesn’t work out again?  Then you and Emily would feel even worse.”

Alice is going to stay for the next academic year.  I don’t know if it would have been worse if she’d gotten another job. 

Then she called me up and asked me if I knew of a good therapist.  If I weren’t so modern, I might I have been insulted that she’d think I would know of one.  But I just laughed.  “I’ve never been to one.”

“You’re kidding!  Doesn’t everyone go to a therapist?  Would Karen or Nikki know of one?”

“Maybe, but I don’t know if they ever have either.”

“Golly,” Alice said. “I feel as if I’m in Never Never Land where everybody is always happy.”

“Aren’t you happy?  Except for this mess with Emily, I mean?”  Alice is one of the most cheerful people I’ve ever met.  She told me that it’s her gimmick.  People expect writers to be dark and gloomy, so people who hire writers for lectures or guest professorships see her as a breath of fresh air.

“Well, actually I am usually.  Most of my friends can’t understand it.  But I’m blocked and it’s driving me nuts.”

I didn’t know what she meant.  I love Alice, but I didn’t feel up to discussing a possible intestinal blockage.  I don’t even like delivery room stories.  “Have you seen a doctor?” 

“No . . . I think I can manage with a psychologist.”

I’m all for the mind-body connection and being holistic, but it can go too far. “Don’t mess around with this.  You could get impacted.”

Alice didn’t say anything for a minute.  Then she laughed.  “No, I mean I have writer’s block.  I sit down to write and I can’t come up with anything.  So I go on Facebook.  Then I get so upset with myself that I eat.  I threw away all the cookies in the house, but the next day I went out and got a box of Lucky Charms.  I picked all the marshmallows out and then I got another box.  This has never happened to me before.”

“Why don’t you talk to Kate?  I’m sure she’s always recommending therapists to people."

“Oh, thank you.  I hadn’t thought of that. I’ve eaten all the marshmallows in the second box and it’s so bad I’m eating the cereal.”

I didn’t tell Alice that you can get bags of cereal marshmallows on the Internet.  Nikki told me.  But picking the chunks out of the granola is good enough for me.

The good news is that right after she got off the phone with me, Alice sat down and started a story about a town where everyone is happy.   And it’s not science fiction.  She says she might even turn it into a novel.

The bad news is that the next call was from Emily telling me that Michele is coming for a visit.