Body and Other Four Letter Words

There are many reasons why I haven’t blogged in well over a year, but today I’m going to address one of the main reasons. One of the main reasons I decided to blog in the first place was simply to address issues most important to me, and with the issues of body image and infertility, I’ve failed to do just that. How do you address something that affects every single aspect of your life? How do you address something so overwhelming that no one, not even those who love you the most, wants to hear it? The thing is that the longer I let these thoughts fester, let these words go unsaid, the longer I wonder if there is something I could’ve done for girls and women dealing with the same issues.

As a child, I can precisely pinpoint the moment when I was told my body wasn’t good enough; it was the day I entered kindergarten. Prior to kindergarten, no one called me fat or felt the need to constantly remind me just how short I was. Sure, I was a “stocky” kid, but I was also active. I played outside constantly with my little sister, cousins, etc. I never felt self-conscious in a bathing suit; I was having too much fun swimming. I never felt the need to compare myself to anyone else. Did I envy my older cousins? Of course I did! I looked up to all four of them (all female), but even as a small child I knew that to compare myself to someone so much older simply didn’t make sense.

Everything changed in kindergarten. In gym, I was always picked last for teams. When we had to line up by height (again, in gym), I was inevitably last or next to last. Sadly, I was compared to a little girl who was much larger than me. I just remember the anger and outrage of such an unjust comparison, and yet, I felt empathy for the other girl. Was that really how other kids saw me? As time wore on, kids started making rhymes about my body. 25 years later, and I still remember it all: “Short, fat, and squatty; got no face, got no body.”

In some ways things got better in junior high. I went from being bullied to being mostly ignored. As others paired off and experimented, I just threw myself into my school work and books. Sports were never much of an option for me, and unfortunately, sports at the junior high/high school I attended were the key to popularity, especially if you were a girl. I wasted my time on crushes who couldn’t be bothered to even talk to me, much less date me. Once my little sister joined me at the same school, I was bombarded with comments such as: “I can’t believe you two are sisters! Your sister is so pretty and popular!” The implication, of course, being that I was the exact opposite: ugly and unpopular.

As an adolescent, I would’ve given anything to look like my Mom and sister, both of whom I considered relatively thin (though they would both fight me on that one), beautiful, and popular. At the time, I wanted blonde hair and blue eyes if it meant acceptance. I remember driving with my Mom in her new red Grand Prix as a young teenager. GM had completely redesigned the Grand Prix, and my Mom had one of the first redesigned models in the area. My Mom had lost a lot of weight, and frankly, looked great. Every time I went somewhere with my Mom, it seemed as though we would get stares, mainly from men. I couldn’t help but wish I was the one making heads turn, not my Mom. Despite all of the disparaging remarks my Mom would make about her own weight, I never saw her as anything but beautiful.

Adolescence is hard, but it is even harder if you are short and fat. At the time, I thought I was huge, and that there was no chance I’d ever lose the weight. Today, I’d love to weigh what I did in high school. In college, I proved myself wrong and lost a lot of weight due to walking Michigan State’s campus and walking all over Spain during my semester there. What I wasn’t prepared for was how I would be treated differently. People were interested in me, in my life – even a few men.

After college, after moving to Houston, Texas for my first “real” job, things changed. I took all of the stress of that job, the joy of being in a relationship, and the loneliness I felt before Brian joined me in Houston, and I did what I do best: I used it as a license to eat. The desk job didn’t help either. Not only did I gain back all of the weight I lost, I kept gaining more too. It got to the point that my Dad and Grandma were shocked when I returned to Michigan. They couldn’t even hide it as I’d gained that much weight.

Today I’m at a point in my life where I’d love to lose the weight again. I’m single, and frankly, happier than I’ve been in a very long time. The thing is that I’d be kidding myself if I didn’t admit that I’m scared: I’m scared of all of the attention I’d receive if I did lose the weight. The experience of having lived through that once left me angry. Am I really that much more of an interesting person if I am relatively thin? As I thought through all of that, I realized that losing weight would only be temporary (again) if I didn’t deal with my own body issues. I’m left wondering how I am supposed to do that when everything in our society states, quite bluntly, that my body, even at its best, will never be good enough on account of my height alone.

If there is anything I want girls and women to take from this, it is this:
We should not feel we have to be a certain weight to feel loved and accepted for who we are, society be damned.
Never let anyone tell you differently.

We as a society need to come to accept the simple fact that people come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. Words hurt much more than most people realize.

Is this what we want for girls?

Through all of this over-thinking of body image as of late, I came to realize that I’ve never truly even liked my body, and much of the reason stems from infertility. The first thing I ever remember wanting out of life was to be a mom. At no point in my life did I ever not want a family of my own. Unfortunately, biologically, it just isn’t going to happen. Fortunately, I came to terms with the fact adoption is a wonderful alternative a long time ago. And yet, I’ve never quite forgiven my body for so fundamentally betraying me.

If I resemble anyone on either side of my family, it would be my Great-Grandma Suszko, my Dad’s maternal grandmother. At nineteen, I was working with my Grandma (her daughter) when she opened a package from a niece containing her parents’ wedding photo, newly redone. My Grandma kept staring at the photo and then back at me. It was clear she thought I looked like her Mom, although the fact that I was the same age as the girl in the photograph probably helped. As someone deeply interested in family history, I have a copy of Great-Grandma Suszko’s naturalization papers. Her physical description could fit me perfectly, with one exception: she was two inches taller than I am. My Great-Grandma Suszko had ten children, all but one of whom lived well into their 70s. Add in the fact that my Mom has four sisters, and I came up with one conclusion: My body should be built to bear children. It just isn’t.

What people who don’t have infertility fail to realize is that dealing with it is an on-going process, not a one-time deal. Just when you feel you are fine with it, accepted it fully, and have moved on, something happens that forces you to deal with it all over again. For me, one of the hardest things to deal with was the day I realized that I fully met the medical definition of infertile (I’ll spare you the details). There just wasn’t anyone I could share that deep sense of loss with at the time, even my boyfriend. I’ve talked a lot about my experiences with body image, but it just wasn’t complete without discussing infertility as well. There was a time in my life that dealing with infertility was so painful that I downplayed my desire for a family of my own. I downplayed it to the point that my own sister never realized that I wanted children. It saddens me that those I love most can never fully understand due to the simple fact that they are parents.

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BlogHer Challenge 2013: Roots

BlogHer Challenge | The Black Tortoise

Last night as I was thinking about how I want to revive and update this blog, I realized just how much I miss my blogger friends.  One of the nicest is Adela from The Black Tortoise and Once A Little Girl.  As it just so happens, I read her new post today about the BlogHer Challenge.  Now I am signing up myself.  I’m disappointed that I didn’t participate in the April A to Z Blogging Challenge after having so much fun with it last year.

So, here it goes.  Watch for a new post every day this June.  The theme is perfect for me and my blog:  Roots.  So check out Adela’s first entry – BlogHer Challenge | The Black Tortoise – which is very sweet, as always, and stay tuned for mine!

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Home

Over the last seven months, I’ve thought a lot about the meaning of home.  November 2, 2012, at nearly age 32, I moved back to my hometown to take care of my Grandma.  After a very rough winter and spring, she now resides in a local skilled nursing facility.  Fortunately she now appears to be healthy and at least content.  We are fortunate she is still with us.  Even though I visit her nearly every day, I miss her.  I think of all of our outings to her favorite restaurants, all of her little quirks, not to mention all of the fun we had when I was a kid.  Then add in the fact that I am currently living in her home.  I am reminded daily of French toast and bacon breakfasts, mouthwatering ice creams sundaes with fresh berries, and countless family gatherings, whether Easter, hunting season, Thanksgiving, or Christmas.  She’s always been an important part of my life and the lives of everyone in my immediate family.  It’s difficult to watch her world constrict, watch her lose interest is things she used to love, watch her slowly forget.  No, this year has not been an easy one thus far. So many little things surprised me when I first moved back to Omer.  After managing a convenience store in another small Michigan town, I came to realize just how friendly people can be in my hometown.  They may not be more sophisticated, articulate, or educated, but they are much friendlier.  Working in a convenience store built by my Grandpa brought about mixed emotions.  I wish he was here.  Things you never thought would change change, and yet so many things remain the same. Growing up, all the boys into skateboarding congregated in the large parking lot behind the convenience store.  Well, during an unusually warm January day, I had to smile as I stepped out back to see a group of skater boys trying to impress one another.  Same story, different kids.  I saw more former childhood classmates while working at the convenience store than I’ve seen in the last 14 years.  Since when did we become adults?  Now we are discussing who moved back to town and who moved away, marriage and kids, not scheming and dreaming to be anywhere but here. In mid-May I quit my part-time job at the convenience to work for my parents at Russell Canoe Livery for the summer.  My brother and I eventually plan to purchase the business from our parents.  Already there are so many names I recognize from my childhood, customers who have been with us for over 25 years. Yet, so many things have changed.  I miss my grandparents being there day-in, day-out.  We no longer run out of canoes on prime weekends, we rent more tubes.  You no longer need an adapter to get into our electricity.  Somehow I missed that one.  I love the business and hope we can expand for years to come. All of the little things I mentioned above mean “home” to me.  For better or worse, I do belong here, and I intend to make the most of it.  Now for the hard part:  I have to somehow make this all work.  Somewhere along the way I lost sight of what is possible.  I need to regain the drive and vision I had in college.  I need to once again ignore all those who say “I can’t.”

Goodbye Pontiac

A week ago yesterday, I picked up my new car, a 2013 red Chevy Malibu.  Sad to say, it just seems like an end of an era in my life.  In the 16 years I’ve had my driver’s license, I’ve owned and driven two Pontiacs – a 1989 red Grand Prix and a silver 2002 Grand Prix.  That’s it.  I tend to hang on to cars.  I don’t think I exaggerate when I say that I believe my 1989 Grand Prix saved my life.

July 24, 2002 I was in a bad car accident in Austin, Texas.  I was driving on highway 290 on my way to work at Applied Materials.  I was almost to work when a big white moving truck made a left-hand turn in front of me; I had the green light and was traveling 55 MPH.  The other driver did not see me.  I slammed on the brakes so hard I broke my big toe and fractured the metatarsal.  I was lucky.  Most of the front end of my car ended up under the side of the truck.  I hate to think of the possible fate of any front-seat passenger I may have had.  Fortunately the only other injuries I had from the crash was a bad cut behind my ear from the molding on my driver’s side door and a small cut on my knee.  Despite not having airbags, I did not get bombarded with glass from the windshield.  Fortunately the safety glass held.  At 5 ft. 0, airbags might have made things worse prior to smart airbag technology.

Ironically I originally planned to sell that car after the end of my co-op with Applied Materials.  Instead I found myself car shopping for a new Grand Prix in Austin, Texas with my Mom.  There are so many memories of that 1989 Grand Prix though, I was very sad to see it go, despite its quirks.  My parents purchased the red 1989 Grand Prix new in 1989; I was 8 – and excited for a new family car.  Prior to that car, my Mom drove full-size vans that doubled as canoe livery vehicles throughout the summer.  Suffice to say my Mom was very happy to have a car again!  I was just as excited to go car shopping with my parents.  It was a 2-door, red, and sexy for its time.  Of course it was love at first sight.

One snowy Christmas Eve a year or so after my parents purchased the car, my parents, my sister, and I found ourselves helping a young woman who ended up in the ditch.  As we drove home from festivities at my grandparents’ home in Standish, we were nearly home when my parents saw a set of headlights in the ditch.  My Dad backed up the car and helped the driver, a young woman on her way to her parents’ home for Christmas.  My Mom, in her gorgeous fox coat, which my Dad had trapped for her, climbed into the backseat with me and my sister.  As the driver wasn’t badly hurt and didn’t want medical attention, we drove her to her parents’ home.  It is one of my favorite childhood memories.  When you are just newly 9 years-old, I suppose it passes for adventure.

I think the intention always was to hang onto that car until I was old enough to drive.  In the 1995 model year, Pontiac came out with an entirely redesigned Grand Prix, the wide track.  At the time my parents were friends with a couple who owned the local GM dealership.  Mr. W knew what he was doing and drove one of the new Grand Prixes over to my parents’ house.  All of us fell in love with that car.  Hook, line, sinker.  My Mom ended up with the car and the 1989 Grand Prix was put in the pole barn until I could drive.  At the time, there weren’t many 1995 Grand Prixes on the road yet, and my Mom got plenty of looks in her new car (of course it was red too).  At 14, I have to admit I was envious.

Now I had a car of my own!  I had nearly a year to play around with what would become my car, drive it in the campground, and set it up exactly as I wanted it.  I couldn’t wait to drive, even if it meant driving my little sister everywhere too.  A few months after I got my license, I ended up in my first fender-bender in that car one icy February morning on my way to school.  It was the first car crash my sister and I had ever been in.  We both just absolutely burst into tears – and then drove on to school and called Mom.

In many ways, it was E’s car too.  It seemed as though each school day my sister and I would fight over control of the radio and tape deck.  There were certain single tapes I had in the car that she insisted on playing over and over again; it drove me crazy.  I hate to admit this, but I used to make E pump my gas.  It was a while before I did it myself.  On cold winter nights, I picked her up from 4-H ski club, along with her skis, which we would have to put through the trunk into the backseat.  She even drove my car throughout my freshman year at Michigan State and had her 5 CD changer installed in the trunk.  Eventually, though, she ended up with my Dad’s old Jeep, which is an entire post on its own.

After my sophomore year at MSU I ended up with an internship at IBM out in Rochester, Minnesota.  There was only one problem:  I still wasn’t comfortable behind the wheel.  On my first day of driver’s education, back in June 1995, my cousin A, who is only 10 months older than me, ended up being hit head on by a drunk driver.  Fortunately A survived; the other driver did not.  A owned a white 1988 Grand Prix, and it too probably saved her life.

As one can imagine, her crash left an impression on me as a new driver, especially since we grew up together and went to the same schools.  I simply didn’t trust other drivers.  Things were better by my sophomore year at MSU, but the idea of driving out to Minnesota for the summer was daunting.  My Grandma ended up riding out to Rochester with me and then flew home.  By the end of the summer, I looked forward to the drive home by myself.

My drive home from Minnesota is one of my favorite memories of my 1989 Grand Prix.  I loaded up my sister’s 5 CD changer with my favorites and drove through Minnesota, Wisconsin, and the UP of Michigan.  It happened to be a gorgeous August day, and I was anxious to start getting ready for my year of adventures in Ecuador and Spain.  After all those years, I finally started to feel comfortable behind the wheel.

If I learned how to drive in my 1989 Grand Prix, I learned to love to drive in my 2002 Grand Prix.  That poor car:  I put it through a lot!  It has a few trips from Michigan to Texas and back again on it, and almost exactly 183,000 miles when I turned it in last week.

The thing is:  It was not the original car I wanted.  My Mom talked me into it.  Sure, I wanted another Grand Prix, but I wanted a sexy gold 2001 with leather seats and a sun roof.  The cars happened to be about the same price.  My Mom talked me out of the gold 2-door though.  She brought up the fact that I’d probably be moving at least once after college and the 4-door gray would be infinitely more practical.  She couldn’t have been more right.  I moved several times with the help of that car.

The funny thing is that the 2002 I owned echoed some of the styling of the Grand Prixes of the 1970s.  As a child, the Mom of one of my best friends owned a chocolate brown late 1970s Grand Prix – a boat of a car.  I remember thinking how deep the backseats were back then.  The same goes for the 2002.  In fact, three of my little cousins, all siblings, ended up getting carsick riding in the backseat of my car.  I doubt any of the three could see out the side windows at the time.

Oddly, I can’t say I have any memories of dating in either of my cars.  I didn’t date in high school, and when I finally did date in college, we always ended up either not driving or taking my date’s car.  I do have very fond memories of my boyfriend Brian’s old Pontiac 6000 though.  It wasn’t particularly sexy or great looking, but Brian more than made up for that.  It was just a great car with even better memories.  Originally owned by Brian’s Grandma Menja (Marie), Brian drove the 6000 throughout high school and college.  Brian totaled the car in 2001 only to have it fixed up and continue driving it until after we graduated from college in 2004.

In fact, most of our first date – the worst blind date I’ve ever been on – took place in that car.  It happened to be a rainy, freezing late February night in 2000, and since we couldn’t decide what to do next on our date, we spent a good share of the evening just driving around Bay City, trying to get warm and dry after getting caught in a freezing rain walking along the riverfront.  After we finally got together in 2004, we always seemed to find ourselves driving around in that car.  We drove all over Lansing, East Lansing, and Michigan State.  I loved that car too and was sad to see it go.

One of the best memories I have of that car is coming home to my apartment in East Lansing on graduation day to see him sitting on the trunk of his Pontiac looking like the best graduation gift ever.  My family couldn’t come to the graduation ceremony for my Spanish degree from the College of Arts and Letters, they were coming the following day for my graduation from business school, so Brian decided to come.  Memories of that last semester of college and that spring are some of the best of my life, thanks largely to Brian.

Yeah, you could say that I liked Pontiacs.  I will never understand GM’s decision to kill the brand.  If they ever bring it back, I will definitely take a look at what they have to offer.  Since Pontiac’s demise in 2009, I’ve heard time and time again that the Aztec was to blame.  I have to admit, it is quite possibly the ugliest car I’ve ever seen, although I don’t think it was the sole reason why GM decided to kill Pontiac.  Unfortunately, Pontiac’s untimely demise left a huge hole in downtown Bay City.  Dunlap Pontiac closed its doors in downtown Bay City after 85 years in business.

I love cars, and I’m not sure if I could truly call myself a Michigander if I didn’t.  Last week I not only said goodbye to a car I owned for over 10 years, I said goodbye to a brand I loved.  I’m just glad my Mom still owns her 2007 Pontiac Solstice.  I loved my Pontiacs.  I love my new Chevy Malibu too.  What I really love is the freedom a car represents.  I think it is time for a road trip.  Feel free to share your car memories in the comments.

Gun ‘N’ Roses ~ Just Because

 

Ok.  For some reason “Sweet Child O’ Mine” has been in my head lately.  It would actually make a perfect theme song for this blog.  Of course, as soon as I start stalking YouTube to listen in and maybe even find the original music video, so many other great Guns ‘N’ Roses songs came up.  “November Rain” and “Welcome to the Jungle” in particular, both of which will always remind me some of the best times in college.

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Paul McCartney: History

I’ve been promising a series of posts focusing on Paul McCartney for some time now.  I suppose I’ll start with the obvious question:  Why am I such a huge fan?  It is all about creativity.  I don’t think anyone or anything has inspired me as much as the Beatles, Paul McCartney in particular.  As I have no musical talent whatsoever, and have no desire to pursue music, you may ask how that is possible.  It is all in the lyrics.  Please tell me how a writer wouldn’t be inspired by the man who largely wrote the lyrics below.  I dare you.  Supposedly Paul McCartney wrote this for his one-time fiancée Jane Asher.  The song, of course, is only one of hundreds, with the Beatles, Wings, and solo.

I’m Looking Through You – Rubber Soul (1966) – Lennon/McCartney

I’m looking through you
Where did you go?
I thought I knew you
What did I know?

You don’t look different
But you have changed
I’m looking through you
You’re not the same

Your lips are moving
I cannot hear
Your voice is soothing
But the words aren’t clear

You don’t sound different
I’ve learned the game
I’m looking through you
You’re not the same

Why, tell me why
Did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit
Of disappearing overnight

You’re thinking of me
The same old way
You were above me
But not today

The only difference
Is you’re down there
I’m looking through you
And you’re nowhere

Why, tell me why
Did you not treat me right?
Love has a nasty habit
Of disappearing overnight

I’m looking through you
Where did you go?
I thought I knew you
What did I know?

You don’t look different
But you have changed
I’m looking through you
You’re not the same

Yeah, oh, baby you’ve changed
Aah, I’m a-looking through you
Yeah, I’m looking through you
You’ve changed, you’ve changed
You’ve changed, you’ve changed

Below is the video if you are in the mood for some vintage Beatles or just a great song.

Now that you know where my interest in Paul McCartney’s work comes from, it is time to learn how it all began well over 50 years ago.  It is well-known that John Lennon met Paul McCartney at the Wooten Village fete in July of 1957.  What many might not know is what actually got Paul into the band.  It was a nearly perfect performance of “Twenty Flight Rock” by Eddie Cochran.  He knew all of the words.

The rest, of course, is history.  Since the entire history of the Beatles is well-covered ground, and I had my fair share of fun dredging it all up again this past April, I won’t go there.  What happened to Paul McCartney after the Beatles is almost as interesting as anything that came before.

I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it again, whatever possessed Paul’s wife Linda to agree to be in a band with her famous husband, I’ll never know.  I’m just glad she did.  Wings weren’t the Beatles, but that seems to be the point.  It just started out as Paul, Linda, their kids, and their dogs.  I’ve included the first few parts of Wingspan.  It is fascinating.  The videos speak for themselves.  For those who don’t know, the interviewer for Wingspan is Paul and Linda’s oldest daughter Mary.

More than anything I admire Paul McCartney’s, and the Beatles’, dogged determination to get it right. They weren’t content to leave things as they were; they continued to innovate. Many people don’t know this, but Paul McCartney has also tried his hand at classical music (quite successfully), pursued abstract painting, and worked to save his and George’s school from demolition. It is now the Liverpool Institute for the Performing Arts, or LIPA.  Oh, and he isn’t done…  yet.

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Paul McCartney performs in Dublin, Ireland on July 10, 2010 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

The Beatles Anthology: A Love Story

I’ve been digging into the Beatles Anthology as of late thanks to Robin Coyle’s piece here.  Somehow I made a few observations that escaped me during April 2012’s A to Z Blogging Challenge:  Beatles Edition.  I thought I’d share them here.  Here we go:

1. The Beatles Anthology is much more complete than I ever imagined.  It nicely set the stage for Love years later, both the Cirque de Soleil show and the album.
2. The Beatles gave it their all and truly loved one another.  I’d realized this before, but it is an inescapable conclusion of the Anthology.
3. John, Paul, George, and Ringo were first and foremost fans.  In describing their various musical influences, it is clear they remained in awe of the likes of Carl Perkins, Buddy Holly, Elvis, the Ronettes, and more, long after they achieved fame themselves.  Their desire to take that music further is what ultimately led to their success and their continued popularity.
4. Both “Free As A Bird” and “Real Love” were better songs than I remembered, and even better videos.  They were modest hits at the time of release, but at the time I didn’t really register their significance or how truly good they really are.
5. The Beatles Anthology is truly a gift to fans.  In the extra segments in the Anthology, Paul, George, and Ringo discuss the technical difficulties in making both “Free As A Bird” and “Real Love” from unfinished and unreleased Lennon tracks.  They state that “Free As A Bird” is truly a Beatles song, while “Real Love” is much more similar to John Lennon’s solo work.  I couldn’t agree more.  It says a lot about the band that the three remaining Beatles (at the time) put aside petty grievances to complete the work they started so long ago, and include their slain band mate in a fundamental way.  All of them had long established solo careers at the time of the Anthology and could have easily walked away from anything relating to the Beatles; they didn’t

I have to say, after reviewing all of the extras in the Anthology, the ukulele scene at the end of “Free As A Bird” gets to me even more now.  I think most Beatles fans recognize it as a tribute to John Lennon.  Legend has it that John’s mom, Julia, taught him to play the ukulele first.  When John and Paul first became friends, Paul had to teach John guitar chords as he still played the ukulele chords his mom taught him.

But it gets even better.  According to the director, George wanted to play the ukulele in the ending scene of “Free As A Bird.”  The director said no.  At the time he wanted someone not recognizably a Beatle to play it.  Of course, after George passed away in 2001, the director felt horrible about his decision.  I can imagine George wanted to play it as a tribute to John.

I suppose that is what I absolutely love about the “Free As A Bird.”  There are so many references to Beatles songs in the video I notice something new every time I watch the video.  It literally covers every aspect of their career.  I have no idea how any band could ever top their career and everything they accomplished.  It may be cliché to say that or even admit to being a Beatles fan.  I simply don’t care.  Sometimes things are cliché simply because they are true.

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1979 ~ Smashing Pumpkins

 

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness is by far my favorite double album, excepting only The White Album.  The Smashing Pumpkins were one of my favorites all throughout high school.  It just seemed fitting to include this video as I’ve been rediscovering a lot of music I used to love.

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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The Story Of Us

America The Story of Us — History.com TV Episodes, Schedule, & Video

Sometimes fragments and germs of ideas are bounced around in several different ways before they truly come together.  When they do finally come together, it can be downright magical.  It all started with the simple notion that I am a writer and I love genealogy.  Once those two things became known, a cousin suggested I write about the history of the family business on my Mom’s side of the family.  That idea has been kicking around for a while, I am far from ready to go there for a whole host of reasons, but it was something important, an idea.  By the way, if you are reading this L., I haven’t completely given up on that idea.

Fast forward a couple of years and all of a sudden my parents and siblings are aware of my blog.   Not only are they aware of my writing, they actually think I am a good writer.  No bias there, right?  Here’s the thing:  I think the biggest praise was from my Dad.  He is not the type to give praise for just anything, whether or not you are his child.  The fact that he is even aware of my writing is huge.  But I digress.

So, as my Mom is boosting my ego by telling me my entire nuclear family is at least somewhat impressed by my writing, she completes the idea.  She thinks I should write the history of our family business, the history of Russell Canoe Livery.  I like to think of it as The Story of Us.  The thing is that Russell Canoe Livery is such a family oriented business, and I hope it always will be, that it will be impossible to write about the livery without writing extensively about the history of my Dad’s family, as well as our own.  The entire idea gets at the very heart of our family, the reason I decided to study business in the first place, and even who I am as a person.  I want to make this clear:  I can’t imagine my family not owning the canoe livery.  I can’t imagine growing up not working for my parents.  It will always be very near and dear to my heart.

Aside from all of that, it is a compelling story.  It is a story of entrepreneurship.  It is the story of a mother and son working together to keep a business running under less than ideal circumstances.  It is the story of two baby-boomers raising a family of three kids.  It is also the story of the love between grandparents and grandkids.  It is also the story of an extremely small town that likes to keep to itself.  It is also the story of friendly competition and a changing society.

I have to do this.  If nothing else I have to do this for my nephew and any future nieces and nephews.  They all deserve to know the story.

Oh, and not to get political, but:  Yes, my family did build this.  We did it DESPITE government actions.

By the way, if you’ve never had the pleasure of watching America The Story of Us on The History Channel, it is wonderful, even if long.  It is a unique look at what makes the US what we are today.

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Dear D., Continued

It was unbearable.  The whole thing.  Every second worse  than the last.  I just kept thinking about calling him, wondering what would happen, if anyone would answer.  In the last weeks, we’d been reduced to spending our time together in recollection, but that was not nothing.  The pleasure of remembering had been taken away from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with.  It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we’d done were less real and important than they had been hours before.

The Fault In Our Stars – By John Green (Page262)

The Fault in Our Stars by John Green (Photo credit: theunquietlibrary)

Dear  D.,

I’ve been meaning to write you all this past week for the obvious reason:  August 15 would’ve been your 31^st birthday.  It pisses me off I can’t directly tease you about becoming a dirty old man despite the fact I am older than you.  I still feel cheated out of years of memories of us.  I suppose I had such a clear vision of us still arguing over memories in our 70s and 80s, just like your Great Aunts E. and G. and my Grandma, I still can’t quite believe it just wasn’t meant to be.

The passage above describes well what I feel nearly three years after you passed away.  I’m afraid those quirky memories we made in childhood, high school, and then college will die if I happen to forget.  I just don’t want that to happen.  I don’t want to forget.  I’m glad I read The Fault In Our Stars by John Green before I tried to write anything.  Now this letter has a purpose.

That is what is so aggravating.  Every time I think of you, what I want to say to you, or memories of us, it just seems to go nowhere.  Without you here, who is left to really care, besides me?  No one.  Once I come to that conclusion for the hundredth time, I realize how futile writing a letter to you is.  And yet, I can’t help it.  I have to do something.  There were way too many things left unsaid.

By the way, don’t get the impression that I’m the only one who remembers you.  I can only imagine the hole left in your family.  Just the other day I came across a post Carla posted on your Facebook wall.  I know she misses you just as much as I do, as does Jelly.  Some time ago I saw Jelly when I ordered something at Tony’s, and we just didn’t even know what to say to each other.  It was the first time I saw her since you passed away.  We talked about anything and everything else, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t first and foremost on our minds.

So here it goes.  Here are a few memories of us:

High School –

Freshman Year.  You ended up getting hours of detention for picking on me in Freshman English.  It became so bad Miss V. quipped that you and I would probably end up married someday, we were that practiced at nagging each other.  Every time I think of Friends, Romeo and Juliet, or Great Expectations, I think of Freshman English and you.  I can almost feel you tapping me on the shoulder and hear you make some smartass remark about people trying to look like Courtney Cox.  By the way, I know you knew you had it all wrong.  The haircut was called the Rachel for a reason.  You just liked to play dumb to get attention.  I still find it amusing that you ended up with detention and I didn’t.

Prom.  I will never forget you on Prom Night, senior year.  You ended up taking my cousin K. (Rusty) as your date, and she became Prom Queen.  I’d never seen you so incredibly happy.  You had to tell everyone that you were the date of the Prom Queen and were genuinely happy for her.  I know it is stupid, and I never admitted this, but until I saw you that happy, I was envious of K.  If you’d asked me to the prom, I doubt I would’ve said yes.  But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t imagine it.  It could’ve made up for years of us being ostracized by our class.  We could’ve spent all night making snide remarks, joking around, and just proving everyone wrong.  In the end, I don’t think either one of us had the guts.

Kayaking and Guy.  I’ll never forget your Aunt L. and Guy visiting from Texas one summer.  Somehow I was pressured into taking Guy kayaking.  I don’t think I ever paddled so fast in my entire life.  The entire trip was strange.  I just felt like I had to show him up, he was that cocky.  You were very right about him.  I can understand why you two weren’t exactly friends.  I’m trying in vain to remember whether or not you went with us.  Maybe you just came to the Livery and didn’t go kayaking?  It doesn’t matter.  We did talk about Guy and came to the conclusion that he was a little too wrapped up in Friday Night Lights.

State.  I distinctly remember the day we received our housing assignments for our first year at Michigan State.  My jaw dropped when I realized not only were we going to attend the same university, we were assigned to the same dorm complex, Snyder-Phillips.  Quite frankly, I wasn’t happy.  I just wanted to start fresh as MSU, and there you would be, a reminder of school years I would rather forget.  In the end, I’m so grateful for that simple twist of fate.  Quite simply, college would not have been the same without you.

Michigan State –

A National Championship and the Flintstones.  I love the fact that we somehow found each other among throngs of people in Cedar Village after MSU won the 2000 National Championship.  I think about that April night a lot.  How could I not?  That picture of us outside Cedar Village – you smoking a cigar and your arm around me, me smiling like my life depended on it – is among my favorites.

2^nd Floor, Snyder Hall.  You used to love hanging out on my floor in Snyder Hall.  I’ll never forget the crazy 3 AM political conversations we had, Kim included.  I just can’t wait until we have the first female President of the United States.  I’ll smile, think about how you just lost a bet, and carry on, thinking about how very wrong you were the entire time.  Sexism doesn’t pay.

Where were you?  I’ll never forget getting a call from your Mom freshman year at State.  She couldn’t get a hold of you and simply wanted to know if I knew where you were.  I didn’t at that moment, and the entire thing broke my heart.  I wish I could’ve helped her – and you.

Capstone.  We’d lost track of each other during those years I studied abroad.  Nevertheless, you found your way back into my life.  You just wanted me to look over your résumé and rekindle our friendship.  It worked.  You once again became a fixture in my life.

Crunchy’s and a Broken Heart.  D, I have no idea what your true feelings for me were, but you must have truly cared for me on some level, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not.  During the spring of 2004, as my life was endlessly shifting under me before I could even regain my footing, you somehow knew how heartbroken hearted I was.  You knew that I simply needed a night out with an old friend who understood just how upset I was.  I wanted that job in Austin desperately, not to mention the mess that was my personal life at that point.  Many things happened that evening, of course , and even the next day.  I’m not going to talk about them here, but I need to say this:  Thank you!  You knew just what I needed, even if I didn’t.

Brian.  That same spring, 2004, I began my relationship with an old friend, Brian.  Your teasing still makes me laugh.  Some of it was so spot on, especially those jokes about how I could never have any fun while living in Arenac County.  You basically stated that any night of debauchery in Arenac County would become common knowledge before I even made my way home.  So very true.  I got the sense that you were happy that I finally had a man in my life, my first true romantic relationship.  Those were some wonderful days for Brian and I, and I think you could sense just how happy I was at that moment.  If only I could live in those moments forever.

Aftermath.

A phone call or two.  It still upsets me that we weren’t closer in those first few years after I graduated from Michigan State.  I thought we would have time.  Unfortunately that is what we didn’t have.  There were several times I wanted to call you up and just lay everything on the line.  I wanted to know what your feelings for me were.  That was one thing I could never figure out.  I wanted to know why you had so many issues with your Mom and brother, especially your Mom.  I wanted to know what was really going on with you.  Unfortunately we never had those conversations.  I didn’t realize just how wrong things were until you were gone.  It was too late.

Great Auntie G.’s Funeral.  Of all my memories of you, your Great Aunt G.’s funeral stands out.  It was the last time I ever saw you.  It started immediately.  We just gravitated toward one another.  I suppose that’s no surprise as we were the only people under 50 in the room.  Then, of course, my Grandma asked us to go get her a package of hearing aid batteries.  We may have been at a funeral, but it sure didn’t take us long to start laughing our butts off once we were out the door.  You either laugh or cry, right?  You have to admit:  It was the perfect excuse for us to catch up.  After picking up the hearing aid batteries, you and I just drove around  and reminisced.  We covered a lot of ground from Standish to Omer.  I’m so glad we had that opportunity.  In a way, it was almost as if you were saying goodbye.  The last time I saw you, you and your Dad were leaving the funeral home and walking toward the Granton.  It angered me at the time, but I suppose everyone deals with death in their own way.  I just never figured out how to deal with yours.

You have no way of knowing this, of course, but I never made it to your funeral.  I ended up having to work.  I suppose it is just as well as I would’ve been an absolute wreck.  A few weeks after your funeral, I tried to find your grave.  There were things left unsaid (most of which I am writing here today) and I wanted to get it all off my chest.  There is so much in our hometown and in East Lansing that will always remind me of you.

And yet, there is one thing that still bugs me.  What was our relationship?  Whatever it was between us was much deeper than simple friendship, and yet we never had a romantic relationship, not even close.  The closest thing I can come up with is that we were family without actually being related.  We knew how to get on each other’s nerves, we knew how to make each other laugh and cry, and above all, I think we both cared.  Was it really as simple as that?  I like to think so.  I love you and miss you.

Linds

PS – Oh, and one last thing.  Your Mom.  I never told you this, but your Mom happened to be my Grandpa’s favorite nurse.  I know that you didn’t have a good relationship with her and it never was any of my business, but I am grateful to her.  She took great care of my Grandpa when he was dying.  I wish I could simply tell her thank you.  I wish I could talk to her about you.

Dear D. | Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde

Snyder-Phillips Hall was built in 1947. The building was recently expanded to make room for a new residential college. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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