Today I felt a bit like Frances.
"Well," said Frances, "things are not very good
around here anymore. No clothes to wear.
No raisins for the oatmeal.
I think maybe I'll run away."
"What time will dinner be tonight?" said Frances.
"Half past six," said Mother.
"Then I will have plenty of time to run away
after dinner," said Frances,
and she kissed her mother good-bye
and went to school.
I'd like to run away.
"Where are you running away to?" said Father.
"I think that under the dining-room table is the best place,"
said Frances. "It's cozy,
and the kitchen is near if I run out of cookies."
But not very far. And to somewhere with cookies nearby.
From our bedtime story A Baby Sister for Frances by Russell Hoban, 1964, renewed 1992.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Saturday, January 16, 2010
My sense of things, Vivi ed.
I see my big sister; my face breaks into a smile.
I feel the fluffy tuft of hair on my stuffed monster; it comforts me.
I smell so good.
I taste my hands; they fill me with wonder.
I listen to Emerald Road, track 10; it soothes me when I'm fussy.
I feel the fluffy tuft of hair on my stuffed monster; it comforts me.
I smell so good.
I taste my hands; they fill me with wonder.
I listen to Emerald Road, track 10; it soothes me when I'm fussy.
Wednesday, January 6, 2010
JUICE and the last five years
or "In which I am exposed as completely ridiculous"
Today, a sad thing happened. They took JUICE away. I don't know if I will see her again. JUICE is our 2005 red Subaru Forester, so named because her license plate includes the letters JUC, and it made me think "juice" when I first saw it. No one knew I called her JUICE, but I did.
As a bit of background, I have a long history of intimate associations with inanimate objects. On my last day of first grade, I kissed my desk goodbye. It had been a good desk. As we moved out of my house at 3504 Greenwood Avenue when I was thirteen, I kissed each mint green wall of my bedroom goodbye. It had been a good room. When I was visiting home in my early twenties, my family had an idyllic day of togetherness at Laguna Beach during which my mom bought a piece of furniture to hold CDs. When she returned it because it did not fit into the spot she intended for it, I wept. It represented the foursome I had left.
So now that we have established that I am ridiculous, let me continue telling you about JUICE.
We bought her in August 2004 shortly after we moved to California. She was the fourth car I had owned and the second new one, and I had no idea she was so important to me until today. On New Year's Eve, on our tenth anniversary, we were driving her to Berkeley to see The Fantastic Mr. Fox and eat at Chez Panisse Cafe. A sleepy driver rear-ended and side-swiped JUICE. (We are all fine, and maybe one day I will tell you more about that, but this is about JUICE.)
Today, the tow truck came to take her away to the auto body shop. Some think she will be totalled. Maybe I will never see her again.
I emptied her of most of our belongings last night. Happy Meal toys, antibacterial wipes, Purell, bandaids, tissues, extra straws, maps, the audio versions of Winnie-the-Pooh and Frog and Toad Together, a CD of Bible songs, the new Avett Bros. album, some Christmas albums that should have already been tucked away for next year, stray pacifiers, the pencils and papers I carry around for work, Jay's sunglasses. I took out the last few things this afternoon when the auto body shop told me to expect the tow truck within the hour.
The driver took her out of our garage while my daughters were sleeping. He loaded her onto his rig in front of our house while I stood on the curb alone watching. She is wounded, but still lovely to me. I grew very sad. I remembered loading my first tiny new baby into her and driving my little one home. I remember only months ago driving in the earliest morning hours to the hospital to give birth to my second child. I remembered taking a three month old Audrey on our first daytrip sans Daddy just to see if I could. I remembered all the days we girls drove into the city to see art and have adventures. I remembered how when Audrey would not fall asleep when a baby I drove her up and down 85 until she slept. (I realize this is environmentally unsound, but she had GERD, and she screamed, and this worked, and if this happened to you, you would forgive me and totally understand.) I remember how I drove an hour to Santa Cruz and back once a week for a year to teach a fifty minute art class, use my M.A., and be self-actualized. I remember how one day driving over the Santa Cruz Mountains in JUICE I realized this was not serving God or my family and came to my senses and decided to be satisfied even if I was "unactualized." Errands, trips to see family in So. Cal., JUICE was an extension of our home.
She signified to me on this grey afternoon the last five years. Good years. In which my children were born, my grandparents died, I grew up a lot, my husband lost his job, I found community, and wore a miniskirt as a bridesmaid while pregnant. Years that look a lot like JUICE does now - banged up, but beautiful to me. Years in which God has changed me, humbled me, brought me low, showed me my inadequacy, and loved me anyway, and taught me to know this.
Five years ago we moved to California for my husband's job, bought a Forester, and started a family. Now that job is gone and maybe JUICE is too. That little family we started is moving on. To what new adventures, I am not sure. But today, I paused to remember a little threesome, a mommy and daddy and a little girl driving down the road laughing and singing off key to good music. I stopped to think about the first time they rode together with their new baby. I thought about a husband and wife who giddily escaped their parental responsibilities for good food and a quiet spot to read some decent books and snuggle in the city. I smile and get a little weepy.
Goodbye last five years. Goodbye JUICE. I should have kissed you goodbye. You were a good car.
Today, a sad thing happened. They took JUICE away. I don't know if I will see her again. JUICE is our 2005 red Subaru Forester, so named because her license plate includes the letters JUC, and it made me think "juice" when I first saw it. No one knew I called her JUICE, but I did.
As a bit of background, I have a long history of intimate associations with inanimate objects. On my last day of first grade, I kissed my desk goodbye. It had been a good desk. As we moved out of my house at 3504 Greenwood Avenue when I was thirteen, I kissed each mint green wall of my bedroom goodbye. It had been a good room. When I was visiting home in my early twenties, my family had an idyllic day of togetherness at Laguna Beach during which my mom bought a piece of furniture to hold CDs. When she returned it because it did not fit into the spot she intended for it, I wept. It represented the foursome I had left.
So now that we have established that I am ridiculous, let me continue telling you about JUICE.
We bought her in August 2004 shortly after we moved to California. She was the fourth car I had owned and the second new one, and I had no idea she was so important to me until today. On New Year's Eve, on our tenth anniversary, we were driving her to Berkeley to see The Fantastic Mr. Fox and eat at Chez Panisse Cafe. A sleepy driver rear-ended and side-swiped JUICE. (We are all fine, and maybe one day I will tell you more about that, but this is about JUICE.)
Today, the tow truck came to take her away to the auto body shop. Some think she will be totalled. Maybe I will never see her again.
I emptied her of most of our belongings last night. Happy Meal toys, antibacterial wipes, Purell, bandaids, tissues, extra straws, maps, the audio versions of Winnie-the-Pooh and Frog and Toad Together, a CD of Bible songs, the new Avett Bros. album, some Christmas albums that should have already been tucked away for next year, stray pacifiers, the pencils and papers I carry around for work, Jay's sunglasses. I took out the last few things this afternoon when the auto body shop told me to expect the tow truck within the hour.
The driver took her out of our garage while my daughters were sleeping. He loaded her onto his rig in front of our house while I stood on the curb alone watching. She is wounded, but still lovely to me. I grew very sad. I remembered loading my first tiny new baby into her and driving my little one home. I remember only months ago driving in the earliest morning hours to the hospital to give birth to my second child. I remembered taking a three month old Audrey on our first daytrip sans Daddy just to see if I could. I remembered all the days we girls drove into the city to see art and have adventures. I remembered how when Audrey would not fall asleep when a baby I drove her up and down 85 until she slept. (I realize this is environmentally unsound, but she had GERD, and she screamed, and this worked, and if this happened to you, you would forgive me and totally understand.) I remember how I drove an hour to Santa Cruz and back once a week for a year to teach a fifty minute art class, use my M.A., and be self-actualized. I remember how one day driving over the Santa Cruz Mountains in JUICE I realized this was not serving God or my family and came to my senses and decided to be satisfied even if I was "unactualized." Errands, trips to see family in So. Cal., JUICE was an extension of our home.
She signified to me on this grey afternoon the last five years. Good years. In which my children were born, my grandparents died, I grew up a lot, my husband lost his job, I found community, and wore a miniskirt as a bridesmaid while pregnant. Years that look a lot like JUICE does now - banged up, but beautiful to me. Years in which God has changed me, humbled me, brought me low, showed me my inadequacy, and loved me anyway, and taught me to know this.
Five years ago we moved to California for my husband's job, bought a Forester, and started a family. Now that job is gone and maybe JUICE is too. That little family we started is moving on. To what new adventures, I am not sure. But today, I paused to remember a little threesome, a mommy and daddy and a little girl driving down the road laughing and singing off key to good music. I stopped to think about the first time they rode together with their new baby. I thought about a husband and wife who giddily escaped their parental responsibilities for good food and a quiet spot to read some decent books and snuggle in the city. I smile and get a little weepy.
Goodbye last five years. Goodbye JUICE. I should have kissed you goodbye. You were a good car.
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