[ Friday, May 28, 2004 ]
Yesterday, I thought of a ton of things I needed to put in here. But when I actually sat down to write...nothing. Could've had something to do with the fish I ate yesterday evening & the way I became engulfed in nausea 30 minutes after eating it. The "Place Grill Marks Up" instructions should have alerted me.[ Wednesday, May 26, 2004 ]
Today I went to Beattyville to visit Billie after I left Marcie's. She's at her mom's house until Saturday. I practically lived in that house from 13-18. It was just such a new feeling to be close to town, to have neighbors whose houses you could see from the window, to have Carlos' Pizza deliver to your doorway when you called instead of laughing hysterically and then hanging up. We tormented the delivery guy. He was in his 20's & had long hair & we just thought he was the shit. Years later, in Andrea & Rondal's wedding, he was Rondal's best man and I was the honorable maid. He had no recollection of his days as delivery boy.
I used to have so many home videos of us: hitch hiking up the road dressed in fake beards pretending to be ZZ Top, recreating Cops with a neighbor's white van & Billie & Sam pretending to be feds, the Redneck Christmas Special with the reading of The Redneck Christmas Story -
"Twas the night before Christmas
and all through the trailer
Mama's kids raised some money
so they could bail her
out of jail where she sat
on that cold winter night
cause her & Uncle Eugene
got into a fight..."
Huh. Good times. Too many in fact. And definitely too many stories to include in this post. But I've experienced & shared a lot of moments with Billie. And I think our friendship will always be like this despite the distance or time that comes between us. I'll always feel the deepest admiration for those girls( Billie, Sam, Andrea, Jodi, Tammy ). They were such a part of my growing up, such a part of my becoming.
After I left Billie's, I went out to my Aunt Joan's to borrow a tube for the lake tomorrow. It was such an experience. The tube was hanging near the ceiling to the side of the garage. Getting to it required some clever placement of the feet. Getting it down required climbing on a cabinet, trying to lift it & wiggle it off the hook while Joan pushed from the floor. It was an ordeal. I kept thinking 'God I hope this fits in my car.' Finally we got it down. I held it up to the car & realized, there was no way this thing was going to fit inside. Deflating it would have taken too much time. Plus we'd just have to inflate it again in the morning. So I put the top down. We put the tube in the back seat. Joan & Tammy held it down while I put the top back up. It fit. Bulged the top a bit but it fit.
On the way home I had two or three different stories running through my head. The theme? Things to tell cops when you're caught in peculiar situations. "Man, they're going overboard with this airbag thing." "I swear officer, I was gonna put it in my trunk but I've got the cooler and, like, all these fishing poles." "Back off. This is one big ass doughnut."
I'm gonna have to remember those. Cause tomorrow morning I'm driving to Shoemaker Ridge with that thing.
Of course I could always use the old standby..."Yeah, I know you. Didn't I see you parked in the Gorge one night?"
I love small towns.
Much love,
~ Rebecca 9:59 PM [+] (0) comments
32 Flavors by Ani DiFranco[ Sunday, May 23, 2004 ]
"squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
and I'm beyond your peripheral vision
so you might want to turn your head
cause someday you're going to get hungry
and eat most of the words you just said
both my parents taught me about good will
and I have done well by their names
just the kindness I've lavished on strangers
is more than I can explain
still there's many who've turned out their porch lights
just so I would think they were not home
and hid in the dark of their windows
til I'd passed and left them alone
and god help you if you are an ugly girl
course too pretty is also your doom
cause everyone harbors a secret hatred
for the prettiest girl in the room
and god help you if you are a phoenix
and you dare to rise up from the ash
a thousand eyes will smolder with jealousy
while you are just flying back
I'm not trying to give my life meaning
by demeaning you
and I would like to state for the record
I did everything that I could do
I'm not saying that I'm a saint
I just don't want to live that way
no, I will never be a saint
but I will always say
squint your eyes and look closer
I'm not between you and your ambition
I am a poster girl with no poster
I am thirty-two flavors and then some
And I'm beyond your peripheral vision
So you might want to turn your head
Cause someday you might find you're starving
and eating all of the words you said"
I had forgotten how much I love this song. This morning though I woke up with it on my mind. Before I left for Marcie's, I drug the cd out of my trunk. (?) Going down the road I thought hmmm let's just rock Big Andy Ridge out. And so I did just that. Ani's a departure from the Prince & Marvin Gaye mood I was in last week when I went around for days humming "Mercy, Mercy Me" & "I Would Die 4 U." I blame it on a hat I got on the trip to Ohio. I've been feeling funky ever since. My inner Shaniqua needed some attention.
Last week my aunt Marilyn brought down a pink rose for me. She'd saved a start from THE pink rose at my old house. Others have packed shovels over to the house trying to get a start & failed. I don't even have one. So it really meant something to me that Marilyn brought one to me. It's pressing right now inNostradamus: The Millenium & Beyond . Soon it will go into a frame. I should really buy a flower press but for years I've settled with books. And then weighted that book down with more books. Not long ago I picked up myee cummings: 1923 - 1954 and marigold petals fell out. I had forgotten about putting them in there. Kinda pretty in a way though.
Monday my grandma brought me a pink peony. Little things like that tickle me...when someone remembers that you love a particular type of flower. When they do something unexpected because they know it will mean something to you. Sometimes the tiniest gestures are the most meaningful.
Billie is really good for that. From time to time I get these decorated envelopes in the mail from Berea. The last one I received was decorated to the hilt. Billie had cut out floral paper & pasted it to the front, adorned with butterfly stickers. Inside was a gift. A just because gift. It made my day unbelievably bright just knowing that someone had taken the time to do all that work just because they cared about me. My letters to her though? Usually on lined paper in a plain envelope. I should do better but it seems like when I'm in that mood to write, I do so in a complete rush. I suppose I'm afraid I'll lose my train of thought.
I'll have to watch my back for awhile. I hate it when I have a reason to be paranoid. I helped play a prank on two of the most devious people in the world. It involved lying which I'm really good at when laughter is the intended outcome. It also involved a false report of a trip to the ER, singed hair and a supposed mad rush to Kentucky from Ohio at 9:30 last night.
The last time I was threatened with being paid back I had a back up plan. All I had to do was tell the boys that I had new Miss Swift Silver posters to put up all over Pine Ridge. Then reminded them of a nice pic of one of them in a blonde wig. All plans of retaliation were abandoned.
I'm looking so forward to South Carolina next weekend. I've never seen the ocean so I know that as next week approaches I'm going to be like a kid with ADHD. Plus, being around fresh straight from the ocean seafood, I don't know that I'll be able to contain myself! Lisa & Marcie have been working on a Drifters/Beach Boys cd to take with us. A while back Lisa & I were watching old home videos. One was of a trip to South Carolina when Liz lived there. In one scene they were driving the van to the beach & in the background The Drifters were blasting. So we're gonna recreate that this summer.
On another note, I've had some really great conversations this week. I do keep some things to myself ( not many, but some ) so I won't go into detail. But I love it when you talk to someone & it just feels like the most natural thing in the world. Not forced. But easy. Like you've known them for a while.
Connection on any level is good. Especially if you're given the ability to just be yourself.
Much love,
~ Rebecca 6:45 PM [+] (0) comments
From Adaptation[ Friday, May 21, 2004 ]
Donald: I loved Sarah, Charles. It was mine, that love. I owned it. Even Sarah didn't have the right to take it away. I can love whoever I want.
Charles: But she thought you were pathetic.
Donald: That's her business, not mine. You are what you love, not what loves you.
I've thought about Joe today. Lisa & I went fishing on Hell Creek. We rode the four wheeler down with a cooler & tackle box strapped to the front & our fishing poles parallel to the four wheeler & hanging off the back. Six fish in, the sky darkened & thunder began to roll. We decided to pack up & head back.
Just as we got to Miller Road, it started to rain heavy. We were still on the four wheeler. It was around 5:30. At six, Joe's visitation would begin. Standing in the rain I couldn't help but think how appropriate it was. That only one year & 7 months earlier it was Joe, Lisa & I trying to outrun a storm on a four wheeler & failing. Being caught in the rain. Loving it. Enjoying life. The grit & grime of it.
Until today the last time I rode a four wheeler in the rain was when the three (four) of us rode on Devil's Creek.
Coming home I had a mini-breakdown. The first time I've really cried about this. I've felt tears swell then pushed them back, unable to keep a few from escaping. Tonight when I broke, I really broke. Too many things surfaced. I've been pushing back, pushing back, pushing back emotion for a while, uncomfortable being anything but pissed, but not wanting to deal with what I really feel.
I can't deal with distance. Especially between people who once loved each other. I know that sometimes there's a need for it. A need to draw a line & say 'i won't let you treat me like this. i don't deserve this. i can't let you affect the core of me.' I've had to distance myself a lot lately for exactly those reasons. But a big part of me misses the relationships I had with those people. The closeness. The ability to understand with just a glance. The feeling of security. The ability to be exactly who you are without worrying about being criticized for being that person. I miss inside jokes. The comfort. And although I realize that I can't beat myself up because someone makes a mistake or worry myself to death because I don't feel they're making the right decisions, I feel guilty because I want to be there when I'm needed. I want to be available & understanding.
I never wanted to be the type of person who couldn't empathize with someone else's condition. At the same time I'm aware that there is a huge difference between empathy & sympathy. And I don't want to enable anybody. I don't want to say 'this is okay' when I know in my soul that it isn't.
Today I sat in Campton & waited on Sam. I hadn't done that in a long time although Campton used to be the place I'd run to when I needed inspiration. I'd sit by Farm Bureau with a notebook & a pen, observing life, jotting lines & notes, watching people circle town, dart into Quik Mart, hold down the bridge. It amused me endlessly. To watch the patterns of behavior. To wonder about back stories. To silently inquire what motivates some people to do the things they do, to walk a certain way or rev their engines in a straight stretch of road. I wondered what defense mechanisms were in operation. Who was trying to cover what feeling. And finally, why do I feel like I'm part of all this but removed in some strange way. As though I'm always observing the big picture instead of losing myself in the detail.
Today was different. I sat in Farm Bureau parking lot without notebook or pen. I watched. A husband. A wife. Within seconds of each other but never crossing paths. One driving a dump truck, the other running errands with the baby. A man trying to figure out the mystery of Quik Mart gas pumps. A young chick doing her best Jennifer Lopez impersonation right down to hoop earrings the size of dinner plates. I wondered about insecurities, mine & theirs, how destructive it is to keep covering up & covering up.
I wondered about Joe. What he was trying to cover up with drinking. Tonight I learned that a few weeks ago his Dr. told him to quit drinking. That it would kill him. This week he drank & never woke up. I worry about how he felt on the inside. I worry that he didn't think he was special. That he didn't know how people felt about him, how many people actually loved him. I'm sorry that I never told him that I thought he was beautiful. Flawed but still beautiful.
The truth is I may not be as close with some people as I once was, there might be small gaps or even country miles between us, but there is a part of my life they own; there is a part of me that is solely theirs. Because I loved them. Because I chose to love them. Because I chose to let them in & occupy that space. Sometimes I regret the outcome, but never the choice to love. Because opening up is such a hard thing to do. Becoming vulnerable, exposed, subjecting yourself to rejection or hurt--it's difficult. But at the same time, it's the grit and grim of living, getting your hands dirty together, finding beauty in that--that makes life not only worth living, but something you would choose to do over & over again.
I am what I love. Not what loves me. If I have ever loved you, I still love you. Though I might be recoiled in hurt, there is still a piece of you that is me. And a piece of me that is you. And regardless of the outcome, I am thankful that we have this ability, to give of ourselves, to loved & be loved, to identify with each other. Because sometimes, life is so so hard & the contents just seem to scatter everywhere. Cleaning it up is a messy business.
Much love,
~ Rebecca 1:22 AM [+] (1) comments
[ Tuesday, May 18, 2004 ]
From left to right: Beck, Joe, Lisa.
Yesterday morning Lisa told me that Joe Perry, one of our old stomping buddies, passed away during the night. I didn't know his family very well...his sister or mom & dad, although I'd met them once or twice when they came tracking Joe down to see if he was okay. I don't feel comfortable going to the funeral but I want to remember him in some way. To pay tribute to who he was. To acknowledge that I appreciated him being here. And will miss knowing that he's not around somewhere inspiring mischief & laughter.
Yesterday I couldn't get his face out of my head. He had the prettiest smile, the kind where your eyes make all the expression even if you're only slightly grinning. The last time I hung out with Joe, Lisa & I went four-wheeling with him on Devil's Creek during a god awful storm. We got the four wheeler stuck quite a few times & Lisa & I had to crawl down into knee-high mud & push that bad boy from the front while Joe directed it & heaved from the side. The creeks rose until they looked like rivers and were moving just as swift. I had to sit on the front of the four wheeler to weight it down just so we wouldn't float down the creek when we crossed. You would think that we would have been scared to death. Somewhere inside we were. But facing that mess together made everything so funny & memorable. We came out of Devil's Creek around 9:30 at night, drenched from head to toe, cold & ready to get home. We made it back just before hail started pouring down. Little did we know that during the trip there were 4 of us on the four wheeler instead of 3. (We met the fourth 8 months later.)
On another occasion we all stayed in Winchester. Joe got his clothes wet in the pool & ended up having to wear one of my shirts. He came out and modeled it for us. We died laughing. My grey capped t-shirt made a belly shirt on Joe. But he wore it all night. And laughed as hard as we did.
Last night Sam & I were talking about him, remembering funny things he did. Sam said "One thing is for sure. If Joe was your friend he was your friend." That's true in so many ways.
I don't know exactly if it's hit me yet or not that he's gone. On one level it has. But I know that if I were to see a little yellow truck pass by, without thinking I would wonder if it was him. I lost one other friend tragically. It took years before I quit spotting his car. I would have to remember all over again that he was gone. That he couldn't have been driving it. That he wasn't here to drive it anymore.
There are so many things that I wish I would have said to Joe. I suppose I thought I would run into him again one day. That the opportunity to talk to him the way I needed to talk to him would just present itself. I'm filled with regret. There were things I needed to say. I needed to tell him that I appreciated how sweet he was to me. How knowing that he always had a crush on me made me feel special in lots of ways. How his bashfulness even made me feel special.
Last night I was looking through pictures & came upon the one posted above. That was the night we rode around with top down, freezing our butts off in the chilly October air. There were pictures of me & Joe with our faces taped up. Noses taped up hog-style. It didn't take much to convince him to do that. But that was Joe. Not too full of himself to act silly. Up for anything. Always laughing, joking. Lightening the tension. Or creating it, if he had a good reason to do so.
I guess this is just to say that I will miss him. Although I hadn't spoken to him in a long time. There are just some people who make you feel more comfortable by simply being in the world. And you don't realize how it will affect you until they're gone. He was Little Joe Perry.
And I thought he would be around forever.
~ Rebecca 8:41 PM [+] (0) comments
I wanted to post last night. But at 12:30 in the morning I thought 'If I start now I won't ever shut up.' I've missed this. Whatever it is. Tangible internal dialogue. Documentation of life. Random narrative.[ Monday, May 17, 2004 ]
I haven't written anything that even resembles a poem in a while. Yesterday I scribbled some lines. Inspiration still lingering from the weekend. Friday night we made our annual pilgrimage to the holy land. Trenton, Ohio in late May is Redneck Mecca. Rows & rows of houses & streets with cast-offs for sale in the yard or garage. Last year I lost my Trenton Yard Sale virginity. We left out at 6:00 in the morning. Invaded Ohio. By 10:00 we were scouring yards for the deal of a lifetime. The rain came. Vigilant, we continued. Just like the United States Postal Service, rain nor hail nor snow nor anything short of the apocolypse could stop us. I came home still high of mothball fumes & glee. One fruit press & several aluminum creamers richer.
This year we wisened up. We left Friday evening. Around 8:00 Marcy, Lisa, Cody & I entered Cincinatti. There's something about being near a huge city that just excites me. Smokestacks. Six lanes of traffic. Graffiti in unimaginable places. Union member bumper stickers. The static. The energy. The hum of traffic. Goodyears whistling. Steering wheels transformed into makeshift drum sets. Soloists passing by us in maroon Hondas. As we drove past Cincinatti hyped up on the city & the prospect of bargains, I realized that I was composing lines of poetry in my head. Totally unaware of the process but picking out words, forming lines to describe the thoughts roaming through my head. That's not happened in a long time.
Friday night we stayed with my cousin Terri. Usually if I'm in a strange place I don't sleep at all. I toss. I turn. The house is too quiet or too loud. I don't have my fan. I don't have my knit jersey sheets. Lisa & I walked into the room we'd be sleeping in. (Terri gave up her room so Lisa, the baby & me could sleep in her bed.) King size bed. Egyptian cotton sheets. Ceiling fan. T.V. mounted in the corner of the room. Lisa & I just looked at each other. She was thinking 'Hell yeah, Nick at Night!!!'. And I was thinking 'A ceiling fan & soft sheets. We've hit the jackpot.' When we went to bed Cody was wide-eyed. So me & Lisa sang about four hundred verses of The Wheels on the Bus. As I was trying to go to sleep I felt Lisa tugging my sheet. I looked over at her & she pointed to the T.V. Orange County Choppers was on. I slept like a log that night. Even Cody's two little feet stuck right up in my face didn't bother me.
Saturday the rest of the family came in. When I say that, I don't mean two or three more relatives showed up. We were like a herd. Thirteen of us came from Kentucky in 4 different vehicles. Terri, Randy, Chelsea, June, Justin, Meaghan, Joe & Rene all live in Ohio. We were 21 total although we scattered during the day then regrouped. When we hit Trenton we were armed with beach bags, pull along carts, homemade totes & at least one truck. Believe me, scouring yard sales with this bunch is not for the faint of heart. At one point we were all lined up on the sidewalk like ducks & Randy stepped out onto the street pointing his umbrella like a traffic director. It was funny. The site of us foreigners strolling Trenton sidewalks thirsty for junk.
Around 6:30 it was just me, Marilyn & Lisa left. Everyone else had gone to Terri's to eat dinner. Lisa went to get the Jeep & Marilyn & I hit the last garage full force. We came out of there loaded down. I had my pull along bag filled to the hilt. Had a box of wine glasses tucked under my arm. Marilyn had her beach bag full & was packing a $1 Thigh Master under her arm. We looked like bag ladies. The wheels on my buggy gave as we went down the sidewalk toward the Jeep. It was zig zagging back & forth, scraping the pavement. We were losing our grip on the wine glasses & Thigh Master. I think people passing by were pointing & telling their spouses 'Look, Honey. There's two from Kentucky right there.'
It was fun though. When we got back to Terri's we were starved. But at least we didn't have to wait in line to eat. Terri had ordered a cake. I thought it would be for my aunt Rene's birthday. Instead it read: One man's junk is another man's treasure. With a big yardsale sign & balloons at the bottom. I cracked up. We are hard core.
With all of us together like that, there were too many funny moments to remember. Marilyn took the cake though. On our way to Trader's World, she said "God Lisa, turn that heat off. I'm an old lady with desires. I'm back here having a hot flash."
I could have fallen over laughing.
~ Rebecca 6:02 PM [+] (0) comments
Just a quick to note to say that:
Yes, it's 2:42 in the morning & my eyes are falling shut.
I just got my computer glitches worked out with the exception of my email account which I'll work out tomorrow.
I have lots to write about/talk about/post.
Everything that was on my computer which had not been saved to disk was lost.
That will drive me to work on new stuff.
As soon as I have my programs on my comp. again, I'll update my site.
I've missed this.
Terribly.
Too many ideas & no way to put them into action.
Going to bed now.
~ Rebecca 2:42 AM [+] (1) comments
