Seeing Sassy's comment on my blog got me to thinking about when I first started reading her blog. Yep, I've been a lurker for a long time. Actually, I'll fess up and say that I lurk at a lot of places. Too hesitant to comment often, but I'm working on that, little by little.
Anyway, there was a part of Sassy's site that linked to some stuff from her old site about Barbies. Stories from people who'd owned them or whose daughters had owned them. Yep, I have one of those daughters. I never, EVER wanted Katie to have Barbie dolls. I absolutely despised them, mostly because I thought they made little girls strive for a physical perfection that's just not possible. My ex husband's mother bought Critter her first one. Pissed me off to no end because he knew how I felt about them, he was in the store with her when she bought it, and he let it go on anyway. Of course, once Critter had it, I couldn't very well take it away. He knew that would be the case. However, Critter had her own ideas about what Barbies were good for.
She collected quite a few of them in the next few years. She was about 4 when she got the first one and collected probably about 15 or so of them until about age 9, all from my former mother-in-law or other husband related relatives. In 4th grade they were studying the early days of our country and the immigrants who arrived here. One Saturday Critter was in her room playing. I peeked in and found her making "something special" from a box of odds and ends; scraps of material, string, cardboard, construction paper, plastic beads, etc. It was her catch all box for crafts, and I was constantly replenishing it.
About 2 hours later she came out of her room, laughing and smiling. Her brother was with her and chuckling too. When I asked her what was so funny she said she had something for her teacher. She pulls this Barbie out from behind her back who is wearing a handmade outfit of dress, stockings, "boots", and a scarf. She looks.....financially challenged. LOL I asked Critter who this Barbie is supposed to be. "Indentured Servant Barbie."
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Sunday, September 30, 2007
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Memories.....
I read this just a little bit ago on MSNBC
First concerts
And it got me to thinking back, waaaaay back! OK, let's not talk about how far back.
First concerts. At first I was going to say John Denver, because yep, I saw him a bunch of times. But then I realized there was another one, really far back! I can remember seeing Sammy Davis, Jr. at the old RKO theatre in Yonkers, NY when I was really little, like maybe 7 or 8. He had to fight his way down the aisle and out the door at the end of the show. I remember wondering why he didn't just go back out the way he came in, from behind the curtain on the stage. I don't remember much else except a whole lot of screaming people and my older brother repeating, "YES! YES!" about a thousand times.
Between then and high school I don't remember seeing anyone else. I loved music, but I was a weird kid. I liked the old guys; Sinatra, Martin, I loved the way their voices sounded. My friends thought I was weird. They were all nuts about David Cassidy and Bobby Sherman. Blech!
I remember seeing Twisted Sister a bunch of times at clubs my junior year in high school. My best friend always dragged me along with her dozens of boyfriends. This was not a fun time for me.
But then there was John. I fell deeply in love with his music. Yeah, he looked like a muppet, but the man had a voice that would soar to the rafters in any venue. He sang about places I only dreamed of. I was a kid growing up in the slums in and around NYC, amidst the filth and decay that went with all those places. I hungered for green and growing things, for clean air that didn't reek of alcohol and urine. He sang about places that I could picture deep in my soul, but never dreamed I'd ever see.
So I went to see him perform every chance I got. Madison Square Garden, a bunch of times. Later in Phoenix, a 6 1/2 hour drive to get there but damn well worth it. Later still almost every year at the Concord Amphitheater in CA. For nearly 10 years, every single year he played and I went to listen. Cheap tickets up on the hill in the grass but I didn't care. I'd lay back on a blanket and just listen. It was his voice that mattered. It's always been about the voices.
I was about 50 miles away from where his plane went down that day he died. I heard about it in the car with the kids and my XH. I remember just going numb. I remember dreaming that night, about the time I saw him play St. Andrew's Cathedral in NY. I went backstage courtesy of the friend who took me there. Got to meet him, he was noodling around with a guitar and some friends. I remember being struck dumb when my friend said, "Hey, she sings too" and pointed at me. I remember singing with him for a little bit, and feeling like I was going to burst.
When I left Arizona at age 28, I spent six weeks driving most of the Pacific Northwest. It was the only chance I'd have, so I took it. Just my dog and I, in my old car. I stopped when I got tired, slept in the car, showered at KO campgrounds and truckstops. I stayed off all the interstates and took all the little backroads. It was a peaceful, healing time in my life. I remember literally standing at the top of the Continental Divide at dawn, at the highest point somewhere in Colorado if I remember right, literally singing at the top of my lungs. hehehehe It was a trip! I filled my soul to overflowing with sights and smells of all the places I'd dreamed of as a kid. I loved every single second of it.
Music is so much a part of my soul. I learned to play piano, guitar, and flute. I sang for a while in NY, small places. I loved it. Haven't sang for anyone but my kids in decades. I used to tell friends they were my "evening set" because I did "tickle and a song" every night before they went to sleep. Tickle their backs lightly and sing for them. Good memories. "Momma, tickle and a song time, k?" You betcha, baby.
I love music, all kinds of music. From classical and jazz, classic rock to the blues, opera to celtic. The only thing I don't like is rap, and that's mostly because of the lyrics that usually accompany it. Two years ago Marcy got me tickets to go see Cathy Ryan. I'd never even heard of her, but Marcy was sure it was just the thing for me. She was right. I laughed and cried, sang along with her, it was one of the "filled up and overflowing" kind of things.
It's the voices. Always. It's the voices that draw me. Pure, beautiful, powerful, haunting voices....they get me every time. When I went to see IG, I didn't expect to enjoy their opening act. But Trina has a voice that just grabbed hold of me and didn't let go. It's not beautiful in the classical sense, but it's powerful, strong, and there is beauty in what pours from her throat.
Yeah, I'm a music addict.
So....what about your first concerts and the ones since? What kind of music draws you in?
First concerts
And it got me to thinking back, waaaaay back! OK, let's not talk about how far back.
First concerts. At first I was going to say John Denver, because yep, I saw him a bunch of times. But then I realized there was another one, really far back! I can remember seeing Sammy Davis, Jr. at the old RKO theatre in Yonkers, NY when I was really little, like maybe 7 or 8. He had to fight his way down the aisle and out the door at the end of the show. I remember wondering why he didn't just go back out the way he came in, from behind the curtain on the stage. I don't remember much else except a whole lot of screaming people and my older brother repeating, "YES! YES!" about a thousand times.
Between then and high school I don't remember seeing anyone else. I loved music, but I was a weird kid. I liked the old guys; Sinatra, Martin, I loved the way their voices sounded. My friends thought I was weird. They were all nuts about David Cassidy and Bobby Sherman. Blech!
I remember seeing Twisted Sister a bunch of times at clubs my junior year in high school. My best friend always dragged me along with her dozens of boyfriends. This was not a fun time for me.
But then there was John. I fell deeply in love with his music. Yeah, he looked like a muppet, but the man had a voice that would soar to the rafters in any venue. He sang about places I only dreamed of. I was a kid growing up in the slums in and around NYC, amidst the filth and decay that went with all those places. I hungered for green and growing things, for clean air that didn't reek of alcohol and urine. He sang about places that I could picture deep in my soul, but never dreamed I'd ever see.
So I went to see him perform every chance I got. Madison Square Garden, a bunch of times. Later in Phoenix, a 6 1/2 hour drive to get there but damn well worth it. Later still almost every year at the Concord Amphitheater in CA. For nearly 10 years, every single year he played and I went to listen. Cheap tickets up on the hill in the grass but I didn't care. I'd lay back on a blanket and just listen. It was his voice that mattered. It's always been about the voices.
I was about 50 miles away from where his plane went down that day he died. I heard about it in the car with the kids and my XH. I remember just going numb. I remember dreaming that night, about the time I saw him play St. Andrew's Cathedral in NY. I went backstage courtesy of the friend who took me there. Got to meet him, he was noodling around with a guitar and some friends. I remember being struck dumb when my friend said, "Hey, she sings too" and pointed at me. I remember singing with him for a little bit, and feeling like I was going to burst.
When I left Arizona at age 28, I spent six weeks driving most of the Pacific Northwest. It was the only chance I'd have, so I took it. Just my dog and I, in my old car. I stopped when I got tired, slept in the car, showered at KO campgrounds and truckstops. I stayed off all the interstates and took all the little backroads. It was a peaceful, healing time in my life. I remember literally standing at the top of the Continental Divide at dawn, at the highest point somewhere in Colorado if I remember right, literally singing at the top of my lungs. hehehehe It was a trip! I filled my soul to overflowing with sights and smells of all the places I'd dreamed of as a kid. I loved every single second of it.
Music is so much a part of my soul. I learned to play piano, guitar, and flute. I sang for a while in NY, small places. I loved it. Haven't sang for anyone but my kids in decades. I used to tell friends they were my "evening set" because I did "tickle and a song" every night before they went to sleep. Tickle their backs lightly and sing for them. Good memories. "Momma, tickle and a song time, k?" You betcha, baby.
I love music, all kinds of music. From classical and jazz, classic rock to the blues, opera to celtic. The only thing I don't like is rap, and that's mostly because of the lyrics that usually accompany it. Two years ago Marcy got me tickets to go see Cathy Ryan. I'd never even heard of her, but Marcy was sure it was just the thing for me. She was right. I laughed and cried, sang along with her, it was one of the "filled up and overflowing" kind of things.
It's the voices. Always. It's the voices that draw me. Pure, beautiful, powerful, haunting voices....they get me every time. When I went to see IG, I didn't expect to enjoy their opening act. But Trina has a voice that just grabbed hold of me and didn't let go. It's not beautiful in the classical sense, but it's powerful, strong, and there is beauty in what pours from her throat.
Yeah, I'm a music addict.
So....what about your first concerts and the ones since? What kind of music draws you in?
Saturday, September 22, 2007
Knit one, purl two, knit three, purl one....
Out of nowhere last week the Critter announces she has joined the knitting club at school and she wants me to teach her the basics so she doesn't look like a total dork at the first meeting. Eh? You want to learn to knit??? Alrighty then! I remember she asked me this many years ago, when she was around 5. I have a picture around here somewhere of her, tip of her tongue stuck out to the side of her mouth, brow furrowed in concentration, chubby little hands trying so hard to make those knitting needles do what she wanted them to do. The fascination wore off rather quickly back then.
Now, she's totally determined. I hadn't picked up a pair of needles in more than 10 years, despite the fact that I really love to knit and crochet. I used to make blankets, scarves, socks, sweaters, hats, you name it and I made it. I'd totally forgotten how relaxing it is to do this.
So, off to the craft store we went this afternoon. Her teacher said the first project would be done on larger size needles, 13 to 15 gauge. That seems kind of large to me, to be trying to get the hang of it to start with but that's what she said so that's what we bought. Critter picked out two colors of yarn, and while we were there I picked up a smaller set of needles and some really good shades of black and orange. I see an OSU scarf in Andy's Christmas stocking this year!
Two hours later, and she's not quite gotten the hang of it. I still think those needles are too big, but she's determined to do it with the ones the teacher said she had to use. We'll get it, soon as I figure out how in the heck she's adding stitches every other row or so.
This brings back good memories that make me smile. I was around 14 when I first learned to knit. An aunt came over one day and was making something, I don't remember what. I asked her to teach me. She was kind enough to do it. Months later I'd decided to make an afghan for my best friend for her birthday. I sat in the corner chair night after night, knitting away. One night my Dad was in the other chair, and I was concentrating on what I was doing. It was a good hour later before I realized that he was very softly saying, "Knit one, purl two, knit three, purl one, knit one, purl two....." and damn it! I was doing what he was telling me to without even realizing it! I got so mad at him! And he laughed so hard he cried big tears, he couldn't stop. Jerk! A loveable one, but still a jerk sometimes. I laugh about that now, I have for a long time.
So...knit one......
Fever broke this afternoon. I'm still on clear liquids, still hurting, but it's getting a little better. Good for me!
Now, she's totally determined. I hadn't picked up a pair of needles in more than 10 years, despite the fact that I really love to knit and crochet. I used to make blankets, scarves, socks, sweaters, hats, you name it and I made it. I'd totally forgotten how relaxing it is to do this.
So, off to the craft store we went this afternoon. Her teacher said the first project would be done on larger size needles, 13 to 15 gauge. That seems kind of large to me, to be trying to get the hang of it to start with but that's what she said so that's what we bought. Critter picked out two colors of yarn, and while we were there I picked up a smaller set of needles and some really good shades of black and orange. I see an OSU scarf in Andy's Christmas stocking this year!
Two hours later, and she's not quite gotten the hang of it. I still think those needles are too big, but she's determined to do it with the ones the teacher said she had to use. We'll get it, soon as I figure out how in the heck she's adding stitches every other row or so.
This brings back good memories that make me smile. I was around 14 when I first learned to knit. An aunt came over one day and was making something, I don't remember what. I asked her to teach me. She was kind enough to do it. Months later I'd decided to make an afghan for my best friend for her birthday. I sat in the corner chair night after night, knitting away. One night my Dad was in the other chair, and I was concentrating on what I was doing. It was a good hour later before I realized that he was very softly saying, "Knit one, purl two, knit three, purl one, knit one, purl two....." and damn it! I was doing what he was telling me to without even realizing it! I got so mad at him! And he laughed so hard he cried big tears, he couldn't stop. Jerk! A loveable one, but still a jerk sometimes. I laugh about that now, I have for a long time.
So...knit one......
Fever broke this afternoon. I'm still on clear liquids, still hurting, but it's getting a little better. Good for me!
Saturday, July 21, 2007
Stupid things I have done
So, I'm sitting around having this lively discussion with the kids tonight. We're laughing. A lot. Andy went to the really cool activity tonight with his Boy Scout troop called Trapeze University. He had a blast. 5 turns on the trapeze. He loved it. In typical Andy style he had to try a few things he wasn't supposed to. Thank God for harnesses and safety nets. He said, "As I was falling I kept hearing your voice in my head, Mom. Just remember buddy, that one little phrase.....seven hundred fifty dollar deductible." I laughed out loud. It's what I always remind him of when he heads off to do something that involves some risk. It's the amount of my medical deductible for him.
Him telling us about his adventures tonight got us talking about other things we've tried that perhaps didn't work out as well as we planned. Katie reminded us of the time she wanted a cupcake for breakfast and knew I wouldn't say yes. So she decided to take the cupcake out with her, hop into the van really fast, sit in the back and have her forbidden breakfast while I was driving them to school, thinking I wouldn't see her. She REALLY wanted that chocolate cupcake.
She heads out to the van about a minute or so ahead of me, but not quite so far ahead that I missed seeing this. I could see her back as she hopped into the side sliding door of the van, set her stuff on the seat, and the turned around planning to quickly slam the sliding door closed so Andy would have to sit in the front seat. She was a little too quick. She forgot to pull her head all the way in. Yep. She slammed the sliding door on her head. Fortunately not very hard. I was holding her in the driveway, applying an ice pack to her noggin, listening to her tearfully explain how she'd tried to be dishonest and it was bad, bad, bad; all the while commiserating and inside my head literally laughing my ass off. It was bad to laugh, but at least I didn't do it to her face. It really was pretty funny, but only because she wasn't seriously hurt.
Then there was the day I asked her to clear the kitchen counter and start the dishwasher so I could put on a batch of banana bread. She did a very thorough job. I walked into the kitchen just as she started the dishwasher. I looked around, did a mental "hmmmmm" and said "Katie, where's the mixer? I left it on the counter, honey." She pointed to the dishwasher. Yes, she'd actually loaded my electric mixer in there. And started it. I quickly opened the door, fished it out (thankfully, on the top rack), and turned to tell her gently, "Honey, water and electrical appliances are NOT a good mix, baby." Andy was sitting on the floor laughing, howling hysterically. hehehhe
Then they got started on the tell us your silly stories, Mom. OK. You get one. Only one. It's a real winner. When I lived in Arizona, I was dating a guy who was renovating his house. One day he needed to haul a pickup truck load of junk to the dump. Me, having been raised in New York City and surrounding areas, had never been to a dump. I had to go to. I wanted to see!
We drive out there, and while he's off-loading the stuff from his truck, I start wandering around. Fascinating. All sorts of things out there. Freezers, barbecues, pool table, all kinds of things. I climbed up to the top of this hill and looked down the other side. There's this bright blue ball laying at the bottom. It looked like the kind you buy in WalMart or Target for a buck. Something kids would play with in a pool or backyard. Cool!
I run down the hill, and with everything I had in me I kicked that ball as hard as I could. Instant brain short circuit. Literally. I couldn't breathe in, I couldn't move, I was literally shut down except for pain screaming from my toe, through my foot, up my leg. I must have made some sound because he came running. I'm hopping on one foot, trying to breathe, and he's asking me what happened? What the hell is wrong? I peel off my tennis shoe and my sock, and my foot is quite literally the darkest purple black I've ever seen. From the tip of my big toe and quickly travelling toward my heel and up my ankle, my foot is growing rapidly darker, and it's spreading, and the damn thing is swelling REALLY fast.
The first verbal statement must have come straight from somewhere deep in my brain. "There's a fucking rock in that ball!" Observant soul, aren't I? He looks at me really puzzled, bends over to pick up the ball, and sinks to his knees and starts laughing. A lot. Really hard. I whacked him on the back of the head. What the hell are you laughing at? He looks up at me, tears running down his face from his laughing, and manages to gasp, "Cate, it's a damn bowling ball."
Yes indeedy, I kicked a bowling ball with all my might. It was January. Just outside of Flagstaff, Arizona. I spent months walking through the snow in sandals. The thought of shoes made me cringe. I did go to the ER. They buddy taped all of my toes together. They couldn't do much else. I'd broken all five toes, and jammed the joint of the big toe.
OK, that's all you get. Just one. But yes, it was a really good one.
Him telling us about his adventures tonight got us talking about other things we've tried that perhaps didn't work out as well as we planned. Katie reminded us of the time she wanted a cupcake for breakfast and knew I wouldn't say yes. So she decided to take the cupcake out with her, hop into the van really fast, sit in the back and have her forbidden breakfast while I was driving them to school, thinking I wouldn't see her. She REALLY wanted that chocolate cupcake.
She heads out to the van about a minute or so ahead of me, but not quite so far ahead that I missed seeing this. I could see her back as she hopped into the side sliding door of the van, set her stuff on the seat, and the turned around planning to quickly slam the sliding door closed so Andy would have to sit in the front seat. She was a little too quick. She forgot to pull her head all the way in. Yep. She slammed the sliding door on her head. Fortunately not very hard. I was holding her in the driveway, applying an ice pack to her noggin, listening to her tearfully explain how she'd tried to be dishonest and it was bad, bad, bad; all the while commiserating and inside my head literally laughing my ass off. It was bad to laugh, but at least I didn't do it to her face. It really was pretty funny, but only because she wasn't seriously hurt.
Then there was the day I asked her to clear the kitchen counter and start the dishwasher so I could put on a batch of banana bread. She did a very thorough job. I walked into the kitchen just as she started the dishwasher. I looked around, did a mental "hmmmmm" and said "Katie, where's the mixer? I left it on the counter, honey." She pointed to the dishwasher. Yes, she'd actually loaded my electric mixer in there. And started it. I quickly opened the door, fished it out (thankfully, on the top rack), and turned to tell her gently, "Honey, water and electrical appliances are NOT a good mix, baby." Andy was sitting on the floor laughing, howling hysterically. hehehhe
Then they got started on the tell us your silly stories, Mom. OK. You get one. Only one. It's a real winner. When I lived in Arizona, I was dating a guy who was renovating his house. One day he needed to haul a pickup truck load of junk to the dump. Me, having been raised in New York City and surrounding areas, had never been to a dump. I had to go to. I wanted to see!
We drive out there, and while he's off-loading the stuff from his truck, I start wandering around. Fascinating. All sorts of things out there. Freezers, barbecues, pool table, all kinds of things. I climbed up to the top of this hill and looked down the other side. There's this bright blue ball laying at the bottom. It looked like the kind you buy in WalMart or Target for a buck. Something kids would play with in a pool or backyard. Cool!
I run down the hill, and with everything I had in me I kicked that ball as hard as I could. Instant brain short circuit. Literally. I couldn't breathe in, I couldn't move, I was literally shut down except for pain screaming from my toe, through my foot, up my leg. I must have made some sound because he came running. I'm hopping on one foot, trying to breathe, and he's asking me what happened? What the hell is wrong? I peel off my tennis shoe and my sock, and my foot is quite literally the darkest purple black I've ever seen. From the tip of my big toe and quickly travelling toward my heel and up my ankle, my foot is growing rapidly darker, and it's spreading, and the damn thing is swelling REALLY fast.
The first verbal statement must have come straight from somewhere deep in my brain. "There's a fucking rock in that ball!" Observant soul, aren't I? He looks at me really puzzled, bends over to pick up the ball, and sinks to his knees and starts laughing. A lot. Really hard. I whacked him on the back of the head. What the hell are you laughing at? He looks up at me, tears running down his face from his laughing, and manages to gasp, "Cate, it's a damn bowling ball."
Yes indeedy, I kicked a bowling ball with all my might. It was January. Just outside of Flagstaff, Arizona. I spent months walking through the snow in sandals. The thought of shoes made me cringe. I did go to the ER. They buddy taped all of my toes together. They couldn't do much else. I'd broken all five toes, and jammed the joint of the big toe.
OK, that's all you get. Just one. But yes, it was a really good one.
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