Monday, August 31, 2015

Music and Time

So, here's the thing. I don't really know what years things happened in. As in the number. I just know songs. We grew up with music. Both the parents listened to a lot of music. There are songs that I hear that instantly take me back to a specific time. Often to an extremely vivid memory.

Most of my friends knew my 'dad'. They didn't really know he wasn't my biological father. He was at the things. All the things. The games, the prom, the stuff. That dude held his breath for a lot of soccer games. I got scored on anyway. But, he felt it too.

I remember my stepsister, who is as close to me as any blood relative, see me hug a man just before my sisters wedding...

"Who is that guy?"

"Um, that's my dad."

It as awkward for everyone. But, especially as we'd lived in the same house for a number of years and she had no idea what the other half of my DNA looked like.

He and I weren't close. Which is a bummer; I've heard he was a pretty fun guy.

And then, well, he died. Years after that, but still kind of youngish. 62. Just before my 31st birthday. Don't think that I haven't thought about being halfway through. A lot. I plan on living a lot longer than 62 years. But, I do whatever I want. No regrets. Just in case. Because, hell, it could all go boom tomorrow.

What's the whole reason for this ramble... and how the heck does it tie back to music? Well, stick with me...

Dad moved to Olympia in the early '80's. We went for a week or so. I have no idea how long we were there. But, he had this new channel. MTV. Music Television.

COOLEST. THING. EVER.

It was the summer  of '84. There are a number of songs that I can equate to that summer. Cars, Corey Hart... But, really, it was Huey Lewis. And the News.

'If This Is It' must have played 10 times a day that summer. You all remember the video. The family searching for the perfect place on the beach while hauling around a ton of stuff... as Huey is trying to call a girl. On a pay phone.

Went to see Huey the other night. Live. Felt like 1984. Except I drove myself there and had a couple beers. And Huey is 65. Other than that. It was just like being eight.

Took me back. Made me think about that summer. My dad. That was the last time I really spent with him. When I was eight. Saw him for a night two years later. And, for a few minutes at graduation and my sisters wedding. He was at my brothers wedding too. But, at that point I was pretty much pissed off. I marinated in anger for about 15 years, after all. I called the hospital when he had the first heart attack. Sent flowers. I wasn't a total ass. Just mostly.

Refused to go to the viewing. Sat there stunned at the funeral.

Lot of regrets there. Can't be fixed. Packing up the lessons learned. Vow to do better myself.

For now, I've got Huey, Corey and the Cars and that summer in 1984.







Sunday, August 30, 2015

6th Grader?

Somehow there are some milestones that stick out more than others... For instance, I'm a little blown away that I have a sixth grader. Sixth grade. I started a new school for sixth grade - probably why it sticks out so much in my mind.

Kindergarten. So far away.
Anyway, the boy. Headed off to sixth grade in a couple days. I think I'm slightly in shock that I have a kid old enough for sixth grade. Might be easier if he was a really smart 8 year old that was going into sixth grade. Sixth grade. Sixth grade. It's just ringing in my ears. But he's the correct age and everything.

He's a tween. Which I think is code for asshole. But, they can't say asshole on television. So, it's tween. All in all, he's a pretty good kid. Any time I complain, my friends say, 'oh, but he's such a good kid'. Really? Because if he rolls his eyes at me one more time, I'm going to punch him in the head. Maybe. Probably not. Well, not a chance. I'd like to think that the look I give is enough. But those eyes keep on rolling.

Sixth grade is where things start to happen. Girls call. Or text. Or, I don't know. I really have no idea what happens these days. 'These days'. Because I'm suddenly old and out of touch with a tween. Who hates the clothes I buy and rides in the front seat and reaches over and changes the radio station. Holy hell.

So, anyway... he's headed off to sixth grade. I'll be white knuckling through the whole thing. And, really I don't have a lot for advice other than, 'most of the stuff you're going to run into is really stupid and will have no impact on your life'. Except in that moment, when it's the worst thing ever. EVER.

I'm pretty sure that's my job though. Just keep him going. Give terrible advice. Hold my tongue when I want to snap. Let him change the radio station. Show up. Be present. Even when some times I'm just pretending and have no earthly idea of what he's talking about.

Because the years are ticking away. There aren't many left. Six years from sixth grade... well, that's heading out the door.

Jesus.

I need a drink.

Friday, August 7, 2015

Teeth!

The tooth fairy assigned to our neighborhood is at best lazy, or at worst, has early onset dementia. She often forgets to drop by, is often without quarters and generally disorganized. She's even had to hide teeth in the cup holder on the treadmill - more than once - in an early morning panic.

Gappy.
So, this morning when I got a call from the boy that the girl had lost a fang (his words, not mine)... I mentally filed it away.


Don't forget the tooth fairy. Don't forget the tooth fairy.


Trouble is, he called me just as I was walking into a meeting. File instantly archived.

When I got home this afternoon the kitchen was a little bit of a disaster. Plates out, cereal spilled on the table, the usual summer day untidiness that I'm finding lately. Loaded the dishwasher, started it, we ate dinner... typical night.

Until about 9:30. When the girl, hysterical, screamed, "Where did the glass go that was right here?"

"You mean your milk cup? It's on the table."

"NO. The water glass that was right here!" Tears are now coming, she can hardly get the words out.

"There's a water glass in the living room on the coffee table. Is that it? I think someone is tired."

"I DON'T WANT WATER! My tooth was in it. RIGHT HERE!" She slams her little hand down on the counter.

Oh, shit. 

I quickly run over to the sink to see if it somehow survived the kitchen clean up.

She's now sobbing at the thought of the tooth having been washed down the drain. I assure her that the tooth fairy can find it in the drain. As long as she doesn't have a glass of wine later.

And then, light bulb.

FOUND!
Here's the thing. I don't like to waste water. When I come upon a water glass on the counter with a bit of water in it, I pour it into the dog bowl. They drink out of the toilet so I'm pretty sure they're okay with backwash.

And, there it was, resting on the the bottom of the water bowl. Tooth!

Tears are gone, smile is back, "It's so good that one of the dogs didn't swallow it, the tooth fairy would have had to fly into the dog!"

Yep, that forgetful bitch would have had to fly into a dog...





Wednesday, August 5, 2015

Summertime and the livin’ is easy…

I love summer. Love. Love. Love. Although not my favorite season, fall wins there. Chilly in the morning, warm in the afternoon, orange leaves and pumpkin flavored everything.


But, back to summer.


Until I was 11, I lived in either Eastern Washington or Northern Idaho. Close to the sun. Where I used to be very tan and blonde; I am now pasty and “blonde”.


I achieved this fantastical tan through the over-usage of Hawaiian Tropic Dark Tanning Oil. Because, I was eight. And it smelled good.


Spent a lot of time on the Snake River. A lot of time. I can still hear it. There is a sound, distinct. Drop under the water, just cover your ears. The muffled sound of laughing and playing in the water and behind that, the hum of boat engines. It’s meditative.

We’d head to the river, Hells Gate State Park, when we lived in Idaho. When we lived in Washington, we walked out the front door. Hells Gate was nicer. It cost a dollar per car to get in. Relatively early in the morning. To get a good spot. Spread out the blanket. Green plaid. Start the process of blowing up the air mattresses.


Break out the snacks: Sour Cream and Onion chips, soda pop, light beer (mom only!) and oreos. The beer and oreo thing has stuck with me. If you haven’t tried it, you’re missing out. Truly.


It would be hot. Often 100 degrees or more, it was Hells Gate, after all. You’d run from the grass to the water to try to not burn your feet on the sand. That run got longer as the river receded later in the summer.


Start at the top of the swimming area, float to the end. Flip over and do it again. Again and again. Jump in. Dive. Somersaults. Handstands. You need to have an even base burn. You should be absolutely red, blistered is even better, by the end of the day. You’ll be miserable and unable to sleep for a few nights and then you’ll peel. And peel. And peel.


But then, well, you’ll be a perfect golden brown. Repeat each Saturday or Sunday - after church of course. And as you’ve completed the task of the base burn, you don’t burn again all summer. Just a deeper and deeper tan. Which translates into some amazing sun damage as an adult.


My children have no idea what this is like. The 80’s seem like another planet now. They’ve never been in the sun without massive quantities of sunscreen. Nor have they ever been encouraged to work on their base burn. In turn, neither one is as comfortable in the water as I was. Probably due to the distance from Western Oregon to the Snake River. And, my fear of damaging their perfect innocent skin.

They do know about beer and oreos though. Because I'm raising them right.