gobble gobble gobble

I had a great visit with my Aunty and Uncles, discovered great pictures from my dad's childhood and history, had no drama or stress, just a blissful speed run up I-5 and back down.

We even made it home in time for The Honey's family gathering, too.

If I could've figured out a way to meet the new baby on Big O's side of the family, four more hours in the opposite direction, I think it would have been the trifecta!

Happy Thanksgiving!

Was this funny to you?

My father outdid himself and threw a surprise birthday party for my mother. I took this poem.

The Honey and I heard this poem a few weeks before,and I thought it was perfect for my mom. We thought it was funny. Apparently,we really needed Billy Collins to read it to them, because no one else did. They thought it was deep, or touching, or even somber. I usually hate poetry, but I like funny. huh.

I'm glad the Honey liked it, too, at any rate.

sigh.

I'm also really hoping my mother snorts at "Dress your Family in Corduroy and Denim" on CD. Nobody had "Me Talk Pretty One Day" in stock. When your parents HAVE everything they need or want, gifts are a challenge. ESPECIALLY given that there isn't anything that I could buy for her, I thought the poem was perfect. I looked for a lanyard kit to whip one up for her, too, but no luck. Probably for the best given how well the poem went over. I'd have been cross-eyed from braiding the damned thing and not gotten the laugh.

Brian Crook, Where are you now?

Brian Crook is no longer Brian Crook. He changed his name, and we lost contact.

Brian wasn't even my friend, he was my brother's best friend when we lived in Sacramento. He and his younger brother, Brent, lived across the street from us, around the corner from Birdcage Walk as it was under construction. I would get sent over to call my brother home for dinner and
Brian's mom would always tell me to get a piece of candy from the dish--I was four or five, people, that was HUGE. Brian's family had also come from Redding, but they lived in Enterprise. Being four or five, I had no concept of subdivisions or parts of town. I thought Brian and his family had lived on the Starship Enterprise. I always wanted to ask if I could see their uniform shirts.

The Crooks moved back to Redding about the same time we did. The boys made their own skateboards, for YEARS. They became fans of Devo, of Blondie, of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. They double dated. Then Brian and his family moved to Portland. My brother went to live with them the next summer. It broke my heart. I hope Big O always makes time for Little O the way my brother made time for me. I'm sure a sister six years younger worshiping you was a drag sometimes. My brother sent me tapes for my birthday, Synchronicity, by the Police, and Bonnie something, she sang total eclipse of the heart. (Sweet lord, why am I telling you that? I apparently have NO kind of filters or dignity) I about wore out that Police tape.

I'm thinking of Brian Crook because after my brother went up, Brian came down and stayed with us. He brought his guitar, and on lazy afternoons, he would sit in the family room and play Beatles songs on his guitar and sing them with me. It was heaven. I sing. It's just my nature, I sing constantly, to the point of annoyance and monotony, at times.

I bought Little O the Disney sing it because my girl loves to sing, too. Imagine my glee at discovering that the microphone is compatible with Rock Band. The Honey bought me the Beatles Rock Band disc for my birthday. I told him we could get the guitars and drum set later, I just wanted to sing.


I didn't know I knew the words to Dear Prudence, but listening to it, I don't hear the Beatles singing, I hear Brian Crook. It makes me smile.

I hope someday he googles his old name and finds this. I hope his kids (I hope he has kids) buy him Beatles Rock Band and sing it with him.

My name is Jennifer

...and some days I feel like this guy. I refer to myself as socially retarded, but some days it's just that I'm annoying. I fall into patterns and say the same things over and over again in conversation to fill in the gaps. If we're walking by each other and you seem to be expecting something but we've already said hello for the day? You'll probably get a snippet from Camptown Races.
If someone is giving me news that I don't want to hear? "It's all an adventure."

Is is like social tourette's? I know it's annoying, but it just falls out of my mouth.

I'm filling in for a different department and it's fun to learn a new job. My co-worker in...hmm...it's not the fishbowl, let's call it the tank--the toilet tank. Don't get me wrong, it's nice back there, and there's a lot more room, but there's also the potential...well, you get the idea. Anyway, my co-worker in the tank is someone I really like. She's new to the company, but our sons are friends. People, I am trying so hard to NOT be annoying. I've told her she can stop me when I start singing, because half the time I don't realize I'm doing it--which wouldn't be so bad if I sang anything good. No, I hum the Chicken Dance for no reason. It's annoying to ME.

I'm also really bad at ass kissing, apparently, because interpersonal politics are so NOT my bag, baby. There's a whole lotta ass to kiss in the tank.

******

And on a happier but FB related note, I just realized (When she joined four more stupid groups including "no-such-thing-as-pro-choice" and "Global warming--see? I told you they were making it all up!") that I could opt to get less news from the sweet but misguided eastern cousin, so unless she actually asks me to join, I don't have to get mad each day. Because seriously, If I wasn't so boy crazy I'd be flying a rainbow flag in my front yard. Just because. I AM a California girl,, and the only reason my dad turned out to be a republican is because he made money. I know I got my hippie ideals and need for logic and reason from my parents. I think my mom secretly IS a democrat. Because she's my hero like that.

Family night--Yay! Boo.

Last night we went to see this movie at the Fox theatre downtown--yay!

It cost almost as much as a regular movie--boo.

We went inside to discover complimentary tiny cups of soda, and free cookies--yay!

Took our treasures up the stairs to the balcony and were told no food or drinks--boo.

Plenty of seating in spite of our close to the last minute arrival--yay!

Organ music concert at the beginning not doing much for my six year old--boo.

Big O laughing out loud at the Abbot & Costello impersonators--yay!

Little O laughing at the same impersonators--oooh!

Cartoon AND a fifties dance movie before the main event--yay!

Little O whining about when Franklin Stein will be on--boo.

Gah, I can't keep up this format, my attention span just isn't there for this kind of thing. The movie was a lot of fun, and Little O thought the theatre was beautiful and delicious. Both of my O's enjoyed the movie, although Little O had a few scary moments with Drac, Franklin, and the Wolfman. I thought she was a little more ready, but she got over it pretty quick, and maybe that's part of the fun when you're little? No place you'd rather be when seeing those fellows for the first time than snuggled up to your daddy, or sitting on your momma's lap. She was even worried for Franklin at one point, and we covered her eyes when they torched him at the end.

(Cracks me up that there is a Transylvanian castle on an island off the Florida coast.)

A couple of years ago in one of my birthday madness fits, when Big O was still in Karate and wanted to invite EVERYONE, I looked into renting the theatre across the street, picturing a three stooges night in my head. They wanted a hell of a lot more than I had envisioned, so that went down in flames, but I think there is a lot of charm and fun in those old classics (but definitely not PC!!), and they would be a fun theme for a kids party.

In Redding, the Shakey's Pizza (Or was it Straw Hat?) in Cypress square would have those old B&W movies running all the time. *cough cough* That was, ahem, before the days of VCR's when anything could be watched at will. It was always a treat.

Good times then, and good times now. Worth every penny to go out as a family and have everyone laugh at the same bad jokes.

What would you do?

Okay, a preface:  When my Grandma passed away, at her funeral, we somehow came to the conclusion that the fly that was buzzing around was her, still around.

 

Do we avoid swatting flies now? 

 

No, but we apologize to Grandma as we squash her.

 

*******************

 

In going through the family photos, we found papers.  There were receipts from the grocery store in the twenties, the canceled checks that my grandfather wrote to pay for the birth of my uncle, and just random stuff.

 

I read the very sweet note my Grandpa Ernie sent to my Grandma when they were courting.  Grandpa Ernie was my Grandma's second husband, but he was the only Grandpa I ever knew on that side, and I would never use the word step- in reference to him.  He was my Grandpa.

 

As I tucked the note back into it's envelope, smiling, I told my mother that a swarm of flies was about to descend, because I didn't envision Grandma thrilled to have her letter read by anyone else.

 

My mom laughed and told me that she had said much the same thing when SHE had read the note, and that her brother AND her son had been horrified that she had read Grandma's letter.  She said that my sister-in-law looked like she was dying to read it, but didn't, faced with the frowns from my brother and uncle.

 

I was honestly taken aback.  Isn't that why we keep things? 

 

My grandmother has passed, and  the only way I have to get to know her better now is through my mom's stories and the things she left behind.

 

Is it the difference between men and women?   Is there such thing as privacy for your ancestors?  Her history is my own, and I loved delving into it. 

 

I dunno, what do you think?  Did I invade her privacy?  

I love pictures!

My mission this visit was to help my mom sort through phtots so we could scan some in--we sent the bitchin' ones from the turn of the century to be restored, but I thought I'd share this one. It's my maternal grandfather with his little brother and his parents, we guestimate it was taken about 1927-29.

My Waking Nightmare--oh, and four more things

So I was just surfing my favorite blogs, and both Luckybuzz and
XO mentioned real life meetings with their blogging buddies.

CRSE tagged me for five heretofore unblogged things about myself.

How about this one:** I am socially retarded.

Oh, Jen, you have written that before.

Yes, but I don't think you grasp the depths of my social ineptitude. I would be, literally, stiff as a board, back against the wall, smiling and declining offers to dance or one more drink. Okay, maybe not the one more drink, but sweet lord tiny baby Jesus, I would be tense and unhappy in a fiesta type situation. I am severely, pathologically shy. Once you get enough lube alcohol in me I can loosen up enough to actually speak, but it would literally take weeks of conditioning to get me to be myself. I seriously don't think the Honey knew that I existed for the first few (12) months that we were hanging out in the same place. Because I was a ghost, baby. I think I baffle the Honey's friends. Possibly his family, too.

Shite, now that I have started this, I have to think of four more, don't I?

**I suck ass at all games involving physical aptitude--Pool, Darts, Anything involving a bat or racket. I always think I can kick the Honey's ass at trivia games and he always surprises me--freaking sports categories suck. This fact may have been inferred by my Dork status, but I am sure there are sports dorks out there, somewhere.

**Rather than the oh-so-common 1970's Jennifer, my parents had 2 other names in the running.
1. Rhonda, after the uncle in Vietnam (who was, in fact, seriously wounded, and my Mom did have a dream to that effect the same time he was wounded, but I arrived before she was notified, thank goodness).

2. My father campaigned hard for Escherichia. I come from a long proud line of Okie Dorks. Okie Dokey? Started out as Okie Dorky. Little known fact. For my non-medical friends, my dad wanted me named after the E in E. coli. Again, thank you Mom for stepping in.

**I was once solicited for prostitution at a magazine stand in Downtown Oakland. The guy kept mumbling and I kept smiling and asking him to repeat himself because I could not make out what he was saying. He was saying "Do you want to make some money?" I was twelve. My mom had us out of there in three seconds flat.

one more, one more...

**I once had a sheep named after me. Quite possibly the freakiest conversation I've ever had.

Um, tag? I'd like to tag Kim, just to get her to fucking post again.

Another hurry hurry quick plea...

Shamrock Smile
Originally uploaded by IntoTheLens

My brother and his firefighters shave their heads for St Baldrick's, a charity for kids with cancer...
His boys are participating for the third year, I think.
It works based upon sponsorship, and if you need a write off, or just want to thrill two little boys, or one big boy, go Here and make a donation.

Much better investment than green beer.

Grrr...okay you have to search under participant last name Fikes. My direct link won't work.

Bananas? You think there are any italians shaving their heads this year?

Sweet Dreams, Auntie.

abalone
Originally uploaded by lawatt.

My mom told me that our Auntie Poppa passed away this week. She was the oldest sister of my Grandmother, and she was just a magical figure when I was a child.

I think my mom is always a little hurt when I say this, but my Grandmother was not the warm and fuzzy type. She was a survivor, and she had gumption and grit, and I loved her because she was FIERCE. My daughter has a variation of my Grandmother's name because I hope she gets some of those qualities. Okay, a lot of those qualities.

Auntie Poppa was the warm and fuzzy one. She lost the lower half of her arm as a child, and until I was thirty, I really thought it had been twisted off in a washing machine accident. (I'm still fuzzy on the actual cause, but not willing to subject myself to the teasing from my family if I bring THAT one up again) Auntie Poppa would just smother you with love the instant you walked in the door. She fed everyone, including her dog, Kuhante. (SP?) After getting my first dose of lovin', I would run out the back door to her wonderland of a backyard. She had abalone shells lined up in endless rows as borders for her garden. They were the prettiest thing I'd ever seen, and she would always send one home with me.

When she passed away she was well over ninety, and had seen both of her younger sisters pass. I think it broke her heart. She had been in a gradual decline for a long time. My Auntie Doty, mom's cousin, had moved far from California to be closer to a daughter that really needed her, but she would come home and visit Auntie Poppa whenever she could. Auntie Poppa had not recognized her for the last few years. Doty came out this month and was stunned when Auntie Poppa recognized her and told her that she loved her. Then she went to sleep one last time and died three days later. What a blessing and a gift, just to hold your momma's hand one last time, but to hear her say that she loves you, and know that she really was talking to you? A Gift.

I don't think I can go to the service, but I'll make it over to see her grave eventually, and I'll take her an abalone shell. Love you, Auntie Poppa.