Saul Good and Co.

Treats

Today is a pretty great day.

Congratulations, 2013 World Series Champs. And congratulations to the Fenway Faithful.

Oh, and Happy Halloween from the most psyched zookeeper in the world.

I Wonder If It's Still There

I hardly ever make it up to the place where I grew up, usually just Christmas time, because weekends aren't what they used to be for us, and besides, my parents mostly come here. I miss it sometimes, but I'm not sure what I really miss because so much of what I remember isn't actually there. Only the three-family apartment building where I was raised and my parents and maternal grandmother, really. And the best junky American-Chinese food I've had in my life - I mean seriously, there's no reason a place that good should exist in the middle of nowhere. Eggrolls to die for. But nostalgia is so tricky. I'm glad I no longer live there, I love my current location, but I like having the option to return at will, even though I usually leave with a lingering smack of sadness.

Two weeks ago this time I was getting excited because my siblings and I were planning to go home for the weekend, just because. We thought maybe we'd be able to visit Memere in the hospital while we were up there, or even at my aunt's house if she was able to be released. And then Thursday night, while my car--packed with Mike and HR--was on its way to retrieve me at work and get on the road, I got the call about Memere. And the tone and length of the visit completely changed.

Being there for so long gave me a chance to get out and about, to see what was really different, and it was an eye-opener. For one, the "downtown" area, with the florist that could barely accommodate our order for the funeral because there were so many concurrent funerals, and not much else besides empty storefronts. There's a rather wonderful and successful new-ish restaurant, and the sports bar that seems to be doing well, but otherwise, just whoa.

Friday night, my sibs and Mike and I left HR with his grandmother and decided to get some food and tiki drinks at the aforementioned Chinese joint. That was when we were all pretty much numb from shock, and just needed something to do, so we did. It was virtually unchanged, and the good food and alcohol and company seemed to be just what we needed. I ran into Niki's mom there too, which was the epitome of bittersweet.

Afterward we hit up the Friday Night Lights, the last home game of the season for the football team, because our dad is the announcer, and I haven't been to a game in I don't know how long. And it was downright shocking to see how few people were there. I know the team's not having the best season, but holy moly, twenty years ago you couldn't get a seat in either team's stands, and walking around the track while the game went on was sort of the thing to do if you were a teenager. Not so much anymore. I suppose it shouldn't have been a surprise.

Later in the weekend I went out for a run and was floored by how few sidewalks there were. Didn't there used to be more sidewalks? Did I just never notice because I had no idea there was an alternative? And why in the world was the yearbook from senior year in high school the only reading material in the coffee room of the funeral parlor? At least my cousins got a kick out of that.

Still, even with the weird and depressing parts, even when my parents are able to move on, that place will always feel like home. Maybe the town will recover. Maybe the current population of young families will start to balance out the population in the cemetery. I just don't know. I have so many good memories from my younger days, but even as I was making them, I knew I wasn't meant to stay. It's just a place, and the people in my life are more important, geography be damned. But I can't completely separate myself from where I grew up. It is a part of who I was and who I became. And it's crazy how much power the idea of something can hold, even when held up next to the actual something.

Well. I probably won't be this emo forever. Probably.

Gather Ye Rosebuds

The tribute my Memere deserves is coming soon, but not very soon. It's still too fresh to process. You could say I'm really just now starting to parse through my feelings of loss after the rush of hugs and reminiscing and togetherness. Settling down with my thoughts, it's much harder on me than I assumed it would be. Though I'm not sure why I thought it would be easy, or at least, not too difficult to accept that she's gone. Losing your loved ones is not something you ever get used to, nor should it be. It's the inevitable downside of having loved ones in the first place. 

This picture was taken maybe the second-to-last time I saw Memere. I don't actually remember the last time, I don't remember saying goodbye. I do know it was on "our" island, which is fitting of course. But it was really, really important to me that I get this picture taken of her and Joe and HR. It's not like I had a premonition or anything, just being cognizant that people don't last forever and I had better capture the moments while I can. But even living with memento mori just under the surface, even with my halfhearted stabs at preparing for what's always coming, it's a shock to the system. There's no way to be pepared. You just deal with it, and hopefully make the most of the time you got. I really believe that I did.

I miss my Memere and I always will. Someday I'll be ready to tell you all the reasons why.

The Long Goodbye

I have so much to say that is not matched with any degree of readiness to say it. We buried my Memere yesterday. And I'm doing OK. But it's going to be awhile before it really sinks in. 91 years. 5 living children left behind. 14 grandchildren. 8 great-grandchildren. 1 great-great grandson. A fiance, brothers, sisters, countless loved ones remain, all with cherished memories of a true, loving matriarch. That's an amazing tally, and her passing after such a full life cannot be considered a tragedy. But knowing this is not the same as feeling it, and the sadness will stick around indefinitely. I did nothing to deserve the incredible family that I have, I was merely born into it, and I could not be more thankful for my lot. We have each other, and that's what's getting us through. Love you all, and love you Memere, you incomparable Grand Dame.

Real Talk

You know how I know I'm old? I think I might be back to liking Pearl Jam again. And Nirvana's on the ballot for the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. And my body aches after every workout like it's been months since the last one. And songs I adored from my youth are being used to advertise high fiber cereal. That's how I know. Knowledge is power. I am a fan of being old, so far. It's a comfortable place to be. I've settled into middle age with unreserved happiness. Not that I get a choice in the matter of aging, so might as well enjoy the ride.

I've been so spoiled all my life having three of my four grandparents into my thirties. My dad's dad died when he was still a kid, so I never got to meet him, but I've been so lucky to grow up close to my two grandmothers and my beloved Pup, who passed away five years ago (I also can't overlook Memere's fiance of decades, who by all means is considered my grandfather). I've been quadruply spoiled, too, to have these two grandmothers being monumentally healthy all my life. I remember my Gram breaking her leg once, and she had a hip replacement. Memere maybe had a small operation in my lifetime, but I don't remember seeing her in a hospital ever. Both ladies have lived independently all this time and have kept active. The way they both keep their houses puts me to shame. They never forget a birthday. And because of these genes, I feel like I have a decent shot at getting long in the tooth, so I had better embrace my potential longevity.

As I write this, Memere's going through a rough spell. She's been in the hospital all week, and doctors aren't sure what's what. She's got a great spirit about everything, and we all know it's amazing that we've been able to take her health for granted all this time, but it doesn't make it any easier to face when things aren't so super. Again, we don't know what's actually going on or what's going to happen. I'm making no guesses or jumping to any conclusions. Just thanking my stars once again that I've had all this time with Memere and it's been a throughly wonderful time. 91 good years is a lot to ask, and it's greedy to ask for more on my part, but here we are.

What I mean to say is, getting old is awesome. Every day you get for free, someone else would have paid a million billion dollars for. Don't put off love and being present in people's lives. Aging is a gift, not a curse. And wrinkles are beautiful. Suck it, beauty industry. Look at these guys. The ones in the back row. I mean, come on. That should be everyone's ideal.

Sentimental Gentle Wind

I've been experiencing a peculiar phenomenon of late that I'm going to call "second-hand nostalgia." It starts like this: HR is really into the idea of going to Story Land, an amusement park in New Hampshire that I went to approximately 5000 times in my youth. God I loved me some Story Land. Every time I knew we were going, I would never get any sleep the night before. I actually haven't grown out of that trait of being unable to sleep when I'm excited about something. I seems to run in the family. But anyway, I would love to take HR there, I think he's the perfect age to experience the wonder and we'll find a way to make the trip next summer for sure. Looking at the map of the park really reinforces my position in adulthood, I'm floored by how small it seems, so simple, when I was a kid it was sprawling and endless. I know that somebody owns that land, someone maintains it. It didn't just sprout from a pumpkin seed. But back then it was wild and magical, and I really want that interpretation for my kid.

HR lives in the computer age, which means he can feed his fascination with the place by asking us to go on the park's website as well as google images. Facebook also provides a wealth of photos, with people tagging the park in old and new shots. And that's really the part that gets me. The pictures of contemporary kids losing their minds with happiness are infectious and I love them and seeing the changes that have been made since I was last there (25 years ago? How do I remember it so clearly?) is cool but what truly gets me are the pictures now-adults link from their youth, particularly ones with their parents and grandparents. Sometimes the captions let you know these people have passed on, sometimes you just assume. I don't know those people, and it should mean anything to me. But it breaks your heart, the fleetingness of life. One day you're posing with your grandchild on your lap in front of the ill-advised Sambo merry-go-round (now removed, thankfully), cigarette burning devil-may-care between your fingers, then you're gone and a future stranger is looking at you through her future device and bawling her eyes out as quietly as she can so the three-year-old in her lap doesn't notice. Fun for the whole family!

The closed for the season this week, and they posted this picture on their FB page.

Can you guess how that made me feel? These mascots who should actually carry no significance because I've never seen them there-- who is this fuzzy, lovable Humpty-Dumpty? The one in my day was creepy and bolted to a wall and we liked it that way. But it's what it symbolizes. Someday this will be HR's own memory. And I'm already yearning in his stead. Time to sign off, crazy lady.

And Now You Know I'm the Worst

I have nothing against animals. I don't want them to be caused any harm. I put spiders outside instead of squashing them. I like to snuggle up with my parents' little dogs when I go home for a visit. I tear up at those godforsaken Sarah MacLachlan commercials like any human with a soul. But I didn't grow up with cuddly, high maintenance pets and that's probably why I have no innate desire to bring one into my home. I like other people's animals just fine but, as I'm sure people who choose not to have kids feel, when it's time to go you give them a pat on the head and go about your non-dependent life without a second thought. Mike grew up with dogs and is definitely a dog person. He would get a dog in a second if the realities of having a dog in the city without any real outdoor space weren't a factor, but they are a factor and so there's no strife between us in that regard.

With HR, Mike and I have decided to take a similar approach to pets in to how we're approaching religion: answer any questions along the way as best we can, expose him to family traditions on both sides, teach him the basic principles of love and care, then when he's old enough he can decide on his own path. Meaning, if he wants a dog/cat/turtle/gerbil/alpaca, he is going to have to embark on that journey with an adult understanding and full responsibility. We'll support him, but we're not cleaning up the poop. I do believe that learning how to take care of another living thing is very important for kids, but I'm happy with that living thing being a goldfish.

Oh yeah, we got goldfish this weekend.  Probably a good time to invest in this book.

 

Crystalline

Fifteen years ago today was my last day as an unmarried woman. I remember my mindset so clearly, how excited I was for the big day, scared I was going to start crying during the ceremony and be puffy-faced in all the pictures (I didn't), but mostly looking forward to the party and having all our friends and family there to celebrate with us. I had my one allotted pre-wedding freakout and used it the night before on my poor dress, which I chose and suddenly decided I hated. But it didn't even cross my mind to be freaked out about what I was about to do. (I also calmed down about the dress, in case you were wondering.)

Mike and I married relatively young, and while I would not recommend doing that for most people, it worked out really well for us. Partly because, as we met when we were housemates, we never didn't live together, so there were no surprises down the road. But the major part of why it has been such a good run for us is not something we had much control over. We just really dig each other, we get each other, you know? Really, why else do people in modern society get married? But we're lucky that that has never changed. A month shy of my 24th birthday, I didn't think twice about making a lifetime commitment to this man with whom I'm still happily sharing my life because I couldn't see things being any different with us. It just made sense. We were Mike and Dawn, and that's how it was going to be, so why wait?

A decade and a half down the road, and so far so good. We're not still together out of necessity, out of habit, because we share an awesome child, or because we're so entertwined with each other's families that it's impossible to separate them at this point. Sure those are all factors, but we built this union on the strong foundation of a shared love of the same things. Baseball, trivia, beer, food, music, family and each other. None of that has changed. I'm aware that all marriages take work, and we have our rocky moments here and there, but I do truly feel that for the most part things have been smooth because we have one of those rare connections. We live together well, we enjoy each other's company, we're best friends, plus that something extra that started out with immediate attraction and evolved and evolved. We grew up together. And so did our love. We have the same goals and priorities, and we've been lucky to get to do everything we wanted to do in our lives. We support each other, and if something's important to us, we find a way to make it work. We take care of each other. It's second nature.

We never do much in honor of our anniversary, it's not a big deal for us and we're not present-buying spouses. But because 15 years seems substantial enough to observe, we were thinking of using it as an impetus to do something big, maybe even take HR to Europe, but that's not in the cards this year. We have a plan to get away for a couple of days in the winter, but tomorrow night I think we'll celebrate the best way we know how, just hanging out with each other. These days, because of the structure of our life, that's a pretty rare gift.

I write this entry, not as an authority on marriage or to start a "whose marriage is better?" competition. I write it as a tribute to my husband and best pal of life, who is a great husband, a great father, and a great man. I feel infinitely grateful to be breathing beside him every day. I know that life is a big fat middle finger of uncertainty, and there's no guarantee that both of us will still be here fifteen years from now, but I know with rock solid certainty that if we are, we'll be together.

Our wedding song was Bob Marley's "Is This Love" and we chose it partly for its stripped down sentiment: "I wanna love you, and treat you right. " And that's the beating heart of it. Every day, and every night. Happy Anniversary, babe.

Readin' and Such

I haven't done a reading roundup  in a long time. Below is a list of stuff I crammed into my eye-holes recently. If you've read any of these I'd love to hear your thoughts. And recommendations are always, always welcome.

-Savages and The Kings of Cool by Don Winslow - I picked Savages (and its prequel) because I didn't much like the movie on which it was based but I felt like I wanted to know more about the story. It was worth it, I think, though the writing is super stylized, and the character of O is more of a Frankenstein's monster of a male fantasy than a person that rings true. Great beach reads though, I read one on each leg of my summer vacation.

-The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer - I've heard mixed things about this book, but I loved it. Loved it. I was so engaged with the characters. They were real to me. Sometimes I still find myself thinking about the Spirit-in-the-Woods Camp gang and what they're doing right now.

-What We Talk About When We Talk About Anne Frank by Nathan Englander - a prickly collection of short stories, many based in Jewish folklore, that I chose on a whim. Dark stuff, impressive writing, but I was pretty eh about it overall.

-The Dinner by Herman Koch - absolutely chilling. It starts out innocuously enough, but the creep factor builds and builds until it ends and you're a fetal ball of nightmares. I recommend it, but it's not going to leave you with the warm fuzzies. In fact it may leave you with a fuzzies deficit for years, so proceed with caution.

-I've just cracked the binding on Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children by Ransom Riggs and am pretty stoked about it. I've been wanting to read it for awhile and it so happened my cousin just finished it one day on the beach and passed it on to lucky old me.

-I haven't read a YA book in ages, I feel really out of that loop so if anyone has recommendations I will jump on them. I do have Eleanor & Park on my library queue, but that's it right now.

-I'm still working on at least three other books but I won't be mentioning any of them until they are finished.

-HR is loving the Frog and Toad books, a lot of Dr. Seuss, anything and everything. Reading with him is still my most favorite, and thinking about all the amazing reading that's in store for him lights up my life. 

Two Left Feet, Indeed

The first song I ever slow danced to with a boy was "I Guess That's Why They Call it the Blues" by Elton John. I can never hear it without remembering that, though I wouldn't say that it is one of my greatest moments. Most mortifying, maybe, though really the contenders for that list are so numerous it could chart in the 100s and still be number one in the lives of most people (the fact that I can even feel the emotion of embarrassment any more is a medical miracle). The memory of that first dance and the immediacy and power with which I can recall it sort of explains everything to me about why I have such a soft spot for young adults. Being a person is hard, y'all, and it's crazy to look back at your life and see all the things you did when you were learning how to grow into one and navigating the rules of living in the world. I'm still not claiming to have nailed that skill set, but I can usually get through the day without resorting to physical violence to deal with my influx of feelings. Not that I've ever been a bruiser, that's just part of the story of my first partnered dance.

Let me set the stage, a bare-bones stage because now that I'm old and my brain is swiss cheese I can only recall about three major details. It begins with me, at ten years of age, attending a co-ed community center dance for kids twelve and older. I went with my best friend, who was twelve. There was lying involved. It was all very exciting because of its illicitness and its co-ed-ness and the exoticism of there being kids who went to the PUBLIC school (I was a naive, parochial lamb). Also, I was boy crazy. There wasn't a time in my life where I didn't think boys were cute, I just mainly kept it to myself. Anyway, we ended up at this dance.

This is not the part where I reveal my Cinderella moment, though. No record scratching (the DJ was definitely playing records though, 1984 in the house). No hush fell over the crowd. I did not get a "Who is THAT creature?" reception, despite rocking it in my Olivia Newton-John mullet, popped-collar polo and sweater vest (again, 1984). But somehow, somehow, we got to the part where I found myself feeling pressure to say who I wanted to dance with and when I picked someone under duress, a chain of events was set in motion.

If you grew up in the greater Mountain Valley, you probably had a crush on this boy at one time or another. You might have even dated him. I am not going to reveal his name or even confirm your guesses because what fun would that be? All I'm going to say is, I picked him out, though I honestly can't say if I actually was interested in him or if I just knew his name because girls always talked about him. And one of my friends talked to one of his friends, and suddenly this guy is asking me to dance and I freaked out and stepped on his foot. Like, stomped on it.

I immediately regretted this move, because as I said, I am not a violent person. And then I kind of really wanted to dance with him after all. So somehow, I honestly cannot fathom how these things happen, I was talking to his friend and it was like the junior mafia and this guy was consiglieri and he granted me a second audience with L'il Casanova and we danced and it was over. It looked just like this.

We were friends later on in life. But I never brought up our "history" because even if he did remember our early encounter--which I seriously doubt, anyway--I was still working on repressing it myself. And I soon learned an important life lesson, which is that fast dancing with friends will always be more fun than slow dancing with a dude, even if you did bust some skulls to get that dance to happen.

You are welcome, if I helped your preteen years come off a little less awkward in comparison.