Grandpa The Rolling Stone

It’s a funny thing when an object so insignificant becomes of great importance.

Every time my parents and I would go to the grocery store I would beg them for a quarter, and sometimes fifty cents to put into the gum-ball machines at Consumers our local grocery store. On one such occasion, out popped a rainbow-colored necklace made of jelly rings. Someone who was born a generation after myself may not know what I mean when I say, “Jelly rings”. Basically anything jelly was a cheap fad made of plastic in the 80’s, accessible to just about everyone, quickly fading away in the early 90’s.

Somehow overtime, this jelly necklace came apart, probably within the first few days of my getting it because I wanted to see how it was made. One of these rings somehow followed me from Ozark, Missouri, to St. Charles and back to St. Louis where it was tossed around my apartment with art supplies and shoved aside with bills. My official last week in St. Louis, I was sorting through art supplies and found this jelly ring. Something made me decide to put it on.

Little did I know, this whim would have a lasting impact. This week I would be visiting my Grandpa on my day off, the same week I found the ring.

My final week I had a hard time saying good-bye to co-workers and didn’t even have a chance to tell family. You see, those last eight to nine months I was battling depression. This isn’t a type of depression that can be cured with a pill, but only with time. However, through this depression, I feel and have felt it has harmed some of my friendships and relationships, and was worried it may have harmed anything I had with my Grandpa. I had turned into a recluse, and had gone from a vivacious fun-loving woman into a semi-hermit lifestyle except when at work when I had to turn on the charm for customers. Most of my co-workers knew what was going on, and some of the causes for this and therefore understood why I chose to lead my life this way.

Many nights I stayed up crying. Many nights I spent wondering where I went. Why wasn’t I the same person? As one best friend said in a brief moment of anger from me not having spent time with her, “You have everything going for you.” She didn’t understand my reclusiveness until l a long explanation followed her outburst.

In the final week of my time in St. Louis, anxiety started to build up in the days leading to seeing my Grandpa. Maybe it was because I knew it might be the last time I would see him? Maybe it was because I was afraid of being a huge disappointment as a Grandchild and didn’t want to let him down? Maybe because I felt like my behavior this last year, the depression, the withdrawing from socialization from the family and from friends would have made him ashamed.

Even I was puzzled by my anxiety. These last months I had anxiety trying to socialize with anyone. As a kid I welcomed company. In fact, I didn’t just welcome it, I celebrated it. Especially when my Grandparents or anyone from the family, or friends of my parents came down who are family to us.

When my Grandparents came, I knew a fun time was going to be had. One time, as soon as they came through the garage door I led them down the hallway to my bedroom to show it off to them, to show how I decorated, or rather plastered it with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle and New Kids on the Block posters. When they turned around toward the door where I was, I asked them to pose for a picture where I snapped a Polaroid of them. It is still one of my favorite pictures of them today.

I anticipated the nights we would play Balderdash, the smell of coffee being brewed in the morning, and the sight of seeing both Grandpa and Grandma at the rickety dining room table playing a game they made up a long time ago.

Usually when they would visit, I would wake up to Grandpa making a funnel with his hand, walking down the hall yelling, “WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” Much like a bugle call. I would wake up, usually wearing a night-gown featuring the cover of an Archie comic or Sylvester the cat. Waking up groggy I would make my way down the hall and into the dining room where I would see my Grandparents pouring over a list of words on a notebook. This was their morning tradition. They would pick up a dictionary, find a word at random, always more than five letters long, and then they would see how many words they could come up with out of that one word. Usually they would let me play, and they would make exceptions for me allowing me to use three-letter words, instead of their rule they used with each other of four or more letters.

Usually after these mornings, Grandpa would work on a project with my Dad or we would all do something together. However, the thing I looked forward to the most were the nights we would play Balderdash.

Let the squealing begin!

This usually consisted of us gathering around that rickety 70’s style laminated table. The chairs were comfortable but usually accentuated my short stature, but in some ways it was perfect because I could easily rest my arms without leaning down on the table because it was the same height as my armpits. There I would sit across from my Grandparents, with my Parents; one sitting at each end of the table.

Grandpa would often tell me in reminiscing about these nights how he would remember me squealing with laughter. Strangely I don’t remember the squealing, but maybe it sounded like squealing to him because my voice was at a higher register then when I laughed?

The game Balderdash usually begins with one person who reads off a word on the lead card from a box of multiple cards like it. Then everyone writes this word on their piece of paper. After the word has been read out, everyone is to make up a definition; no matter how ludicrous it sounds. We would each hand in our card to the lead reader. After playing a few rounds, we could figure out usually whose definition was whose. The point of the game was either to guess the correct definition; earning you two points or bluffing guessing your own and getting everyone to guess your own; sometimes resulting in more than two points. Grandpa however, was so good at making up definitions, it was hard to distinguish his from the actual definition. Actually, now with age and wisdom, I know it was due to his love of words and language and the daily word game he would play with Grandma that he actually knew what most of these words meant.

We would get close to the end of the rounds when both my Mom and Grandma would get frustrated and soon write anything down on that tiny piece of paper erasing it numerous times. It was usually when they gave up that hilarity would ensue. When it was Dad’s turn to read the lead cards, he would usually pre-read my Grandma’s definition and immediately start laughing welling up tears in his eyes. He would then read the definitions, often cracking up more and more with every one read with anticipation of Grandma’s definition thus blowing any cover she had for concealing that her’s was the true definition. This would in turn cause the rest of us to laugh, including Grandpa.

Grandpa would rarely do a belly laugh, but one thing is for certain, usually the one thing that could cause him to laugh heartily was something funny Grandma did or said. It was this laughter that made me sad to say goodbye to them on every visit but welcome them with anticipation, hugs and kisses every time they came to visit.

One time they came to visit over Christmas break when I was 10 years old. It was the worst Christmas break and the most embarrassing break of all time. Dad and Mom had originally set out with the intent to see family over Christmas vacation in St. Louis. It was these trips I looked forward to the most. Seeing extended family was something I always looked forward to. This particular year we were out running errands before the trip, and I started to feel very ill and quite possibly was running a fever. However, I wasn’t about to show it. I wanted to see my Grandparents, Aunts, Uncles and Cousins desperately. My Parents and I were in the middle of JC Penney when suddenly I had an accident, forcing my parents to buy me new underwear there in the store. It was embarrassing but I was too ill to care.

Upon hearing of my illness my Grandparents decided to come visit. When they did, my Grandpa only thought I was mildly sick. Upon their arrival, both Grandma and Grandpa saw the severity of the situation. I was retching up everything that I sipped or swallowed and was severely dehydrated. If it wasn’t the night of their arrival it was the night after they came with my parents and I to the hospital. I had the unfortunate experience of being admitted to the emergency room, where my Dad sat with me in the room while I dry heaved into the white plastic bowl we usually reserved for coffee grounds and eggshells to compost later. Because the room only had a curtain, it couldn’t muffle the sounds of my heaving. Apparently the heaving sounded odd because the Doctors and Nurses were trying to stifle their laughter outside the curtain, as well as my Dad. It was so bad my Mom and Grandparents heard it out in the lobby.

After this visit to the hospital and a first round of antibiotics, my Grandpa took my Mom to the store, and loaded the cart with as many juices as he could find while Grandma and Dad stayed home with me. He would ask, “Would she like this? What about this one? What do you think?” He was obviously alarmed at what had happened. When they came back the refrigerator was filled with fruit juice and Gatorade to the max. It was due to his generosity, and the patience and care of both my Grandparents and my Parents that I was able to get back to health. Within a few days I was back to myself wearing a Tiara made out of a gold pipe cleaner, bouncing on an old brown ratty ottoman from the 1970’s. Even Grandpa took note saying, “Looks like she’s feeling better!”

One of the next visits with Grandma and Grandpa, Grandpa taught me how to shoot a BB gun with my cousin, and then spent some quality time with me showing me how to throw pottery.

You see, my Grandpa was a bit of a genius. He was never tested, it was never confirmed, but he knew how to take parts from other machines and put them together to make a new contraption. This is how he made toys for my Aunts and Mom, and how he put together this potter’s wheel.

I think it was due to his childhood growing up at the Missouri Baptist Children’s Home and having to make due with what you had that he learned how to make new things out of old things.

One time he took apart one of those old exercise machines that people used to use in the 40’s and 50’s; you know the kind, the kind that have the wide belt that go around your rear and then it jiggles every ounce of skin or fat on your body off. At least that was the machine’s intent. He took it apart, used the motor from the machine, and made a conveyor belt from that wide strip people would place around their rears, and hooked it up to a sewing machine pedal. He created a toy for my youngest Aunt that was like the conveyor belts you see at the grocery store.

Like the conveyor belt toy, this is how he put together the potter’s wheel that he and I used that summer. Even though by nature I am very artistic, I didn’t know how to throw a pot to save my life. He taught me, and later taught my cousins how to, and it was one of the most fun experiences I had. He had built a kiln in the basement to support this hobby. He would throw the pottery and Grandma would glaze it. Together they had come up with some amazing pieces of artwork.

This is how they operated, this is how they did things; why buy something when you can make it yourself?

My Grandparents loved to interact with all of us cousins, and even some of our friends. When they would come to visit, not only would I anticipate their visits, but so would one of my best friends who lived around the corner from me. One day I remember she came over and we had been playing in my Parents’ basement. In the next part over is my Dad’s workshop where he makes beautiful benches, furniture and anything under the sun from scratch. It was one of those days Dad and Grandpa had been working on a project while my friend and I had been playing with a doll-house in the basement. My friend and I would hide in the far back room on a musty old bunk bed that used to be my Dad’s when he was our age. We would quietly stand up, make some sort of noise toward the workshop, giggle and hide on that bunk bed, knowing my Grandpa would retaliate with some sort of noise. To our surprise, he made his hand into a funnel, and made a duck noise. We squealed. This is when I personally remember squealing. No matter how hard we would try, my friend and I just couldn’t make our hands into that same funnel shape, and quack back. Instead it came out more like weak flatulence.

This is something I remember about my Grandpa, his humor. This is something where I think we were kindred spirits in a way.

Even when I was a toddler, he nicknamed me the nut, and then I would call back, “Grandpa is a nut!”. One time for his birthday when I was very young, I tried to draw a bunch of peanuts in varied colors of crayons on a piece of black construction paper with scraggly arms and legs. This was probably just after he taught me how to blow the wrapper off a straw in a restaurant; something I got in trouble for with my parents by doing this act solo at Hardees after he and Grandma went back home to St. Louis. On that note, he taught me other things that were innocent trouble-making things to do. Mostly noisy things, like how to pop fallen rose petals using your hands, something I’ve taught to others in my life. When you pop the petal perfectly it lives a small hole in the middle and results in a satisfying bottle rocket noise.

We shared a lot of things. We both shared stubbornness, tenacity, a thirst for knowledge and the curiosity for how things worked and trying to put them together, which reminds me of the jelly necklace I took apart all those years ago.

The day before visiting Grandpa in the nursing home, I prepared for the visit by purchasing the version of Doritos the grocery store that I worked for manufactured and some lemon bars which had been some of Grandpa’s favorite foods. Due to his ailments he was on a very limited diet and was only allowed a few indulgences once in a while. Even when allowed to indulge, he only did so when he felt like it. I was hoping he might indulge with me to prevent me from eating all the lemon bars. Like my cousin said in her blog, he didn’t like people doing anything for him, and loved doing things for others. Anytime any of us did anything for him we had to make it look like the very thing we intended to do for him was something we were doing anyway and any benefit he received of our doing said act-of-kindness was an accident or bi-product so he didn’t feel as if we were doing things for him.

My day off had arrived and I dressed to see my Grandpa. I wanted to look nice, so I wore a blue and green striped wool sweater I received from my Parents at Christmas and some ill-fitting brown dress pants that were too large for me, and some shoddy brown loafer flats. It was all I had at the moment.

I left on the blue jelly ring and wore my bracelets. One bracelet is an orange friendship bracelet from the Art Show I was a part of in October that my boyfriend and I each put on the other’s wrist. The other bracelet is one I picked up with one of my St. Louis besties before my depression set in, made of a green stone called Labradorite. I chose to leave the watch off I typically wear. I wanted to have all the time in the world for Grandpa.

I was nervous. I knew he knew most of what had been going on because Mom would call me with reports of how he had been doing and in turn when she would talk to him she would tell him how I had been doing. He knew I had a new job in Ozark and it came as a surprise to him, which made him claim that I was slick and wile.

Upon my arrival at the nursing home, I walked to his room to not find him there. I quietly walked to the nearest nurses’ station to ask the nurses if they knew where he was. I told the nurse I was his Grand-daughter. That is when the nurse exclaimed, “You’re the second one to see him today!” This made me glad. It made me glad that despite being a horrible Grand-daughter with depression that someone in my absence was visiting and keeping an eye on him.

The nurse said he was visiting a friend down the hall. I quickly said I didn’t want to interrupt if he was busy. He said it was alright and a fellow nurse went to grab him. She wheeled him down the hallway backwards and then swirled him around in a semi-circle to surprise him. He was genuinely surprised to see me. I asked him if he would like for me to wheel him to his room and he replied, “No, it’s O.K. I got it.” Now I know where I get my inability to accept help from. He used his legs to peddle himself down the hallway and we made our way into his room.

As we sat there, he asked how I had been doing and what was new. I burst into tears. I honestly don’t remember everything I said in that moment, but I wanted him to know how bad I felt, and how I knew I was a horrible Grandchild for not having the guts to shake this stupid depression and come see him. He peddled a few steps with his feet towards his bed where I was sitting and gently picked up my hand and held it; the one with the formerly insignificant blue jelly ring. I remember looking at his hazel eyes with my own tears welling and dripping from my eyes. He reassured me saying everything was O.K. It was then that I saw he wasn’t upset, he wasn’t mad or ashamed. What I saw, was that he understood. He knew I had to do what I had to do in the plight of self-preservation. He softly spoke, “Don’t cry, these aren’t sad tears, they are happy tears.” He then said I was going home and, “You’ll be with your best buddies, your Mom and Dad.” I kept trying to shove the tears off my face. I hate being weak, and hate crying in front of people, even those who love and know me.

It was then he told me what he had told Mom. He said, “Wow, you fooled us all!” He told me that me finding the job seemed to come out of nowhere. He exclaimed in his own way how proud he was of me and then while sitting there with his big hazel eyes he said something I will never forget, “You’re a rolling stone! You don’t let moss grow under YOUR feet!” Strangely every time I hear Mick Jagger I think of Grandpa now, even though he didn’t mean it in that sort of way.

My tears quickly dried and we began talking about the new job, what it meant and what I would be doing. He still couldn’t believe how I inquired on a whim the day after Christmas at the law firm in Ozark and how fast I got the job as a Legal Secretary.

While we sat and chatted he claimed he could only have a few of the faux Doritos I brought and wound up eating more. He refused the Lemon Bars so I ate two and refused to eat the rest. Pretty soon it was getting dark and we said our good byes. I told him I loved him and that I wanted to bring in my boyfriend to meet him in a couple of weekends when I would be back up to move. Due to a cold, that never happened. Then the following weekend he passed away while my parents and I were en route to see him upon the news of his failing health.

Like my cousin who wrote a blog herself about Grandpa, I am having a hard time writing this because it is causing me to tear and well up.

I hope that wherever he and Grandma are, they are looking and seeing how well we are all doing and that we are making them proud. This is for Grandpa, the instigator of fun trouble, the gardener, the giver, the engineer, the nut…the rolling stone himself. I love you.

Say an unconditional yes: an odyssey

In times of distress I believe that is when a higher power steps in and delivers an angel to you. In some circumstances, if you are really lost you are sent several angels. Early last summer after my divorce, I was having a hard time finding my way. As you know, I felt lost, like I was suspended in space; like that astronaut in Superman 3 or Wile Coyote; without ground to stand on.

During one of many conversations via text with one of my best friends back home, I explained to her how I never felt “home” anywhere here in St. Louis. Yes I have family, friends, and many friends I consider family in St. Louis, but something was amiss. Just as things would appear to be falling in place, a rug would be yanked out from underneath me; causing things to be unsettled, and keep me on guard. My friend told me to give it some time because I had just moved, so things would feel off. I explained to her the apartment I resided in felt the most like a home since leaving Ozark in June of 2005.

Her response, “Come home then!”

This is the first angel in this story and the first seed planted in my brain of the answer I had been looking for, but it was going to take a while before acknowledging it.

Later one of my St. Louis besties invited me over to her apartment 5 minutes away. We had been for a walk discussing life. (This was in May just before she and I would make our first visit back home since the divorce.) We were sitting in her room crafting jewelry when she pulled out a ribbon from her closet. Whatever reason she chose this particular ribbon, it set in motion the chain of events that led to a huge life decision.

On the ribbon was the phrase, “Say an unconditional yes.”

Enter angel two in this story.

She said the ribbon was part of an installation at an art show she went to. She said the show had a wall full of these ribbons and each one said something different. She took a bunch of them and decided to hand them out to her friends. The idea of the ribbon is you tie it on with knots and make a wish for each knot. Once each knot is broken, or when the ribbon falls off, the wishes come true. I made a wish not just for myself, but for other people in my life as well. After tying the knots, she then said it took hers 3 (and then some) years to fall off. Thus begins part two of the life journey.

This made me think about what I could and would say yes to. At first it started with a tattoo idea, with these words paying homage to the scenic Ozark Mill and bridge. It was an idea; an idea I never went through with. Then I truly started to think about what it meant, but thinking of it in the form of a tattoo made me realize what is and will be permanent in my life; what is important and unchanging. What can I unconditionally acknowledge and say yes to? What was important to me? What was I lacking?

Home.

The Ozark Mill and bridge

Still thinking and not knowing what would happen this year it seemed as if tying that ribbon on solidified the first seed of thought of coming home.

Enter angel number 3.

Early one morning at work, a co-worker heard me say how I hadn’t been home for Thanksgiving or Christmas in 6 years. She then reported this to one of my bosses (unbeknownst to me at the time) and said, “Can we get her home for the holidays?”

She helped me get home for the holidays and have the first Thanksgiving and Christmas THERE with my family since 2004. It was the best feeling in the world. Not only that, but if she hadn’t talked to my boss to help me out, I never would have coincidentally walked into the establishment the day after Christmas…that now employs me.

By the time you are done reading this dear readers; because of these angels, I will be en route back home and starting my new job in the Ozarks next week and starting the next chapter in my life.

Yes, there were other angels along the way, most of whom were written about on this blog, helping me with stress, everyday woes, helping guide me to the right path (whether they knew it or not) and weighing life decisions after some plans were set into motion. Angels, to all of you; those discussed in this entry and other blog entries, I owe you so much and say a BIG thank you. Know my heart, ears and couch are all open to you.

Flowers from Rose...

Cake and cookies from the Trader Joe's crew (presented by Rachelle, with Champagne from Kim) on the last day of work...(Kitty claims the pink ones were from her!) Sean took our picture together, and we all toasted to "New Beginnings"!

What have you said unconditionally yes to?

Nice Hat

My outfit looked like this, minus the glamour and brains Hedy Lamarr had.

After my girlfriends left it was yet again time to wash the sheets and get the place ready for my next friend to stop by the coming weekend. We had decided over the phone this would be the time we would go on our second first date.

You see, we met in high school. We had 6th hour English class together and I already sat toward the back because I was in the same classroom during 5th hour. He was running late and was thus forced to sit next to me due to seating issues. This was the beginning of our friendship. Later, I found out he had a crush on me through a mutual friend but at that time I was not ready after having just been in a relationship. So almost a full year later, after graduation, he FINALLY asked me on a date.

Needless to say, the date was awkward. We didn’t know how to act around each other, it wasn’t like we hadn’t been on a date before, we just hadn’t been on a date with each other, and we were at that time having trouble seeing each other in a light other than a friend and a kindred spirit. We wanted to, but maybe the timing for us just wasn’t right. We wound up spending the date like we spent most nights, laughing about random things, and talking like we usually did. I wanted to see him as more than a friend, and I think he wanted to see me as more than a friend but we were both too nervous, too shy and too scared.

Fast forward to late July of this year. We had already discussed doing some local St. Louis things, (weather permitting) and knowing if the date didn’t work out we would just go back to being friends.

Again I had just gotten off work, and he had text me to let me know he was already at my apartment waiting for me. I was nervous, and was hoping to have had more time to get ready before he saw me, you know; and maybe put on a little more concealer. That whole month I was nervous and had worked myself up so much my skin broke out. It was rather embarrassing.

Upon arrival at my apartment, I found my buddy hanging around the car, and hugged him hello. Little did we know this would be our last hug as just friends.

I helped him with his luggage and we made our way into the apartment. It was awkward at first. Knowing we were going to go on a date the next day it was hard to act like everything was cool and like we were old pals. So we wound up watching IT Crowd on Netflix.

The next day was date day. Desperately I wanted to impress my friend; even after 16 years. I wore a strapless top and a black pencil skirt with my favorite black summer time hat…and the red rose in my hair that got him thinking of me in a different light in the first place. He in turn dressed completely in white. It didn’t don on me until we left the apartment how funny we might look. We looked like “Spy vs. Spy” from Mad Magazine. He held out his arm for me to grab onto and we made our way to Delmar Boulevard.

As you know readers, I’ve blogged about Delmar before. I used to have problems with this Boulevard, but since the change in my life and my outlook…Delmar became different. It used to be that I would almost get run over on the street, and have to have awkward interactions with people and say loudly, “I’m walkin’ here!”

This time was different. We walked down the street when a random stranger complimented me on my hat. As they walked by, they smiled and said, “Nice hat!”

“Thank you”, I replied and my buddy and I continued down the street, both of us beaming. We kept encountering more people who kept saying, “Nice hat!”

After about the third person complimenting the hat, I turned to my buddy and said, “Funny, I wore this hat before with your sister and nobody said anything.” He replied, “I don’t think its the hat” and smiled.

We made our way to the restaurant “Pie”. As we made our way in, I received 3 more compliments on the hat. Then after taking the hat off, an older gentleman made his way over where my buddy and I were sitting and said, “I always said when a beautiful woman entered the room I had to tell her.” (Surely somewhere there is an obvious Groucho Marx joke in there.) The only thing I could say was “Thank you” and it made me more nervous seeing as the whole reason for being there was to be on a date. My buddy just continued to look at me and smile.

We ordered what we decided was one of the best pizzas ever and nearly “face planted” it. Luckily my buddy had seen me eat before so I wasn’t nervous about having sauce on my face and neither was he.

We made our way out of the restaurant stuffed and decided it was too hot to do anything else and started walking toward the car where again, a couple of teen agers walked by and said, “Nice hat”.

This was an experience for me all the way around, FINALLY I was able to see my buddy in a different light and able to look people in the eye on Delmar Boulevard without them wanting to run me over.

Life as I know it was beginning to look up, which is why it was so hard to say good bye to my now boyfriend. The only thing that could make me smile after this weekend was this picture we took. Unfortunately my camera broke during the weekend so this is the only surviving picture. It kind of sums everything up.

What recently has made you see your life differently?  What changed your outlook?  What makes you smile when you reflect on it?

My life as a Betty

     The same work bestie who asked me to kick box with her also invited me out with some other work besties to see the movie “Bridesmaids”. Being newly single I desperately needed some girl time and to be around people who loved having fun. We went to the theater and I wasn’t prepared for what we were about to watch. I thought I was going in to see an all out comedy with some girlfriends, but as it turned out, it was like holding a mirror up to my life. The movie strangely reflected my own reality.

There was one thing though that I walked out of the movie wanting. I wanted Kristen Wiig’s cop boyfriend. The type that will be there for you even at your most embarrassing and goofy moments, one who embraces the fact that you will go out of your way to embarrass yourself to get their attention because; well, you’re in love with them.

The only difference between Wiig’s character and myself is, she’s a baker and I’m an artist and amature writer. One of my favorite lines in the movie is where her new cop boyfriend says, “There’s just something about you that sticks.” I wanted to be on somebody’s brain. I wanted to be the girl of someone’s dreams. I was tired of being the Betty and wanted to be the Veronica; just once.

After watching the movie it kind of gave me an idea of what I wanted in a man, however the timing wasn’t quite right yet. One of my girlfriends and true blue best friends called and we had a conversation about the power of positivity and putting out “there” what you want. If you are constantly thinking of what you don’t want, in turn that type of person will come to you. If you start concentrating on what you do what in a person, then that type of person will inevitably come to you. It sounded weird but it was worth a shot.

She suggested to help in this process to keep a list and start listing the things I want in a man. The list was started before my first trip back to Ozark. This list I kept a secret from everyone except for the friend who I had the conversation with, and my parents. The list was going to turn into a blog but on the advice of both parents it was probably best not to post it.

After writing the list, my bestie in St. Louis and I went to Ozark for the first time in a year and since my divorce. The first night we stayed up chatting with my parents and playing a game of “Fact or Crap” which cracks us up every time. We stayed up til‘ about 2 in the morning; because my parents are party animals like that.

The next day was the day we were going to hang out and bum around town with friends. We wound up going to a flea market where I found old jelly jars from 1972 and 1973 featuring the main “Archie” characters. Buying all of the jars, I wanted to give them to everyone who made it out to the barbeque later as a gift and a thank you. Seeing they’ve been friends with me as long as all the Archie characters have been friends, it was appropriate.

Everyone showed up, one friend brought me a new set of guitar strings and in exchange I gave him a 4 pack of root beer which sent him into a sugar coma. Another friend brought her son who I hadn’t seen since he was in her tummy, it was a real treat to see her sweet little boy. Another friend tiredly made it out after her long shift as a nurse which was greatly appreciated. Then my friend who knew about “the list” came over. My dad instantly put her to work asking her to help grill up some of the meat (she’s a professional chef) and she grilled up some tofu for my vegetarian bestie. Shortly after her arrival, her twin brother came over. Everyone was sitting at the table and my parents were still preparing food when Dad told me it was time to put the corn on the grill, which was my job.

As the smoke circulated through the air, I nervously kept turning the corn over because I was afraid it would get burned. Eventually I had to step away from the heat and smoke and went up to the window just outside where the dining table was. Looking in trying to get my chef friend’s attention her brother was sitting just to her side in front of her. I started doing the hand gesture from “Meet the parents” where I point at my eyes and then point at her trying to tell her I was watching her, but her brother (and my friend) thought it was directed at him.

After many rounds of “I’m watching you…” he shot up out of his chair. Knowing he is extremely playful and strong I immediately got nervous and didn’t know what to do. Bare in mind, he is six feet and three inches tall, a Marine and could probably lift a car if prompted. I’d only had two kickboxing/boxing classes under my belt and was only armed with a pair of tongs. Not knowing what he was going to do I was at least mentally prepared in case he tried to pick me up; after all we’ve known each other 16 years, so I kind of knew what to expect.

Come to find out, he only came outside to briefly say hi privately and smoke his E-cigarette.  This is not what I expected and he didn’t do what I thought he might do. Instead we had a conversation about how he was trying to quit smoking and he offered to bring in the corn. He kept trying to help even though I wouldn’t let him. Basically I playfully told him, “When you cook it, you can bring it in.” Giving him the small plate of corn to take in, I brought in the huge wok full of corn ears…just in case there was any question of who grilled them.

We all sat, conversed, dined and my friends stayed until the wee hours of the morning. It was so much fun seeing everyone and I just remember looking over at my buddy in the living room as he talked to my dad; wondering what he was thinking. This was the usual for us. We met in high school because he was running late for class and sat next to me at the back. He often would act like he was talking about me to his best friend and then they would look over giggling which made me nervous and blush. However, this night in particular the look was a little different. Apparently I looked a little different too. The look was so obvious my friend from St. Louis noticed but didn’t think anything of it…at first.

As people were beginning to leave, I ran into the other room where the Archie jelly jars were. Since I had already given a couple away to other friends I still had SOME duplicates left. There were two jars in particular featuring Archie and Veronica sharing a milkshake with a comic sans script at the top reading, “Friends are for sharing”. If you looked into the jar, at the bottom there was an imprint of an Archie character. These two jars in particular featured “Hot Dog” and “Betty”. My buddy was getting ready to leave and I panicked. I could choose another jar but something compelled me to give him the jar with this design and I didn’t know why. Once I decided on this jar, which character on the bottom was I supposed to choose? Hot Dog or Betty? Panic, panic, panic…Betty. I’ve always in my heart been a Betty. I wanted him to know I was a Betty. Why at that particular moment I wanted him to know I didn’t know, it just seemed important at the time. I wanted him to know I was a good person, and fun, and interesting…which is strange because he already knows those things; otherwise we wouldn’t have been best friends and he wouldn’t have been at the barbeque in the first place; right? Why was I feeling this way? Why should he absolutely know I was a fun loving Betty Cooper? As he left he gave me a big hug and went on his way.

After everyone had left, my chef best friend stayed along with my St. Louis bestie.  She stayed because she wanted to help me finally cross something off my bucket list…which is what true blue best friends do.  She brought over Graham crackers, Hershey’s chocolate bars and marshmallows.  We were going to have S’mores.  Suddenly making S’mores turned into a very fun game of “Chubby Bunny”.  We’ll just put it this way, we all tried it while my parents broke out the camera.  It involved my friends trying not to look like a freshly squeezed tube of toothpaste and me doing a horrible Marlon Brando impersonation.  It was an all out gross-a-thon at it’s best and the hardest I’d laughed since seeing the movie “Bridesmaids”.

The next day was another day with the parents and the St. Louis bestie running around to find more treasure at flea markets. I found myself distracted texting to my buddy and his sister. We were roaming around the flea market and it seemed as if every three steps I was getting a text from one of them. (I think its a twin thing.) Next thing I knew I was having to catch up to my mom and bestie several times due to texting. Suddenly feelings of sadness came knowing the weekend was coming to a close. I knew I would have to say goodbye to my family, best friends and leave knowing I was coming back to the hectic lifestyle I have up here in St. Louis.

Pretty soon the bestie and I had to leave and hit the road. Halfway through the trip, I took the wrong exit heading toward an unknown destination, probably because I couldn’t quit thinking of home. I couldn’t quit thinking of how wonderful the visit went with friends, no matter how brief it was with some of them and suddenly a face kept running through my mind. It took everything in me to keep from crying and thinking about this face didn’t help. My friend and I started talking about the visit and she started talking about my buddy. She said she liked my buddy, thought he had “good vibes” and…“sweet eyes.” These were the words she used to describe the look she and I had noticed the night of the barbeque. It was those eyes and that look running through my head that made me sad to say good bye to Ozark that night.

That night I realized some things but was too afraid to admit it.

What experience in your life has led you to something you were afraid to admit? What made you afraid to admit what you needed/wanted to admit?

Next up, “The month of July” or “Half the Ozark Mafia comes to St. Louis”

For Dad

We were like this but, sillier, and not in our dress clothes, and reading a comic book instead of a newspaper. O.K. Maybe we only hugged like this.

Recently I took a trip back home to hang out with the parental units, have a barbecue with them and my closest friends. So for Father’s Day, since I knew I would be heading back, I purchased my Dad a coffee grinder and a few different kinds of Whole Bean Coffees and assembled them in a Hyacinth leaf woven basket.

The gift might not make a lot of sense, but if you know my Dad, it does. You see, my Dad is like the energizer bunny. The nut doesn’t fall from the tree, we’ll just say that. Most kids’ parents, or rather their Dads, would come home and poop out on them. Some of these friends’ Dads were office workers or pencil pushers and were still exhausted when they came home. What did my Dad do you ask? He loaded trucks for a living and occasionally drove them in town. During this time of loading trucks he managed to tear tendons in his shoulders and work on a damaged knee from a motorcycle accident and still didn’t let that stop him from spending time with me.

When my Dad would come home, sure he might have taken a nap, but he only took a nap for about an hour. Then, after having been up since four in the morning, loading trucks all day, and coming home, he would come outside and play baseball with my friends and I. He wouldn’t just play catch, he would actually pitch, bat and run the bases. Lets just say this, my Dad was the cool Dad in the neighborhood. Dad used his time with me as something to look forward to after his 8 hour shift during the day.

I remember a time in second grade when I found a Chess set my Aunt had made for him in our game chest. I didn’t know how to play but was intrigued by the intricate pieces. I asked and Dad willingly taught me how to play. Most people probably would have looked at someone who was 7 years of age and disregard them as being smart enough to play a game of chess. Dad didn’t do that. He saw potential for me in everything and not just Chess.

You see, my Dad always told me, you can do anything you want to do as long as you set your mind to it. He was right. Every time I’ve tried something, even if it wasn’t a major commercial or public success, it was a personal success. However, growing up, if he hadn’t help coach me on things, without him I wouldn’t be the success that I am today.

There was a time when I had to do a solo for band at a music competition. Somehow I was having problems with timing (seems to be a common theme in my life as well). The teacher was trying to coach me during individual classes she held after school. The problem was, I wanted to rush the music, I wanted to rush the notes. Dad, ONE TIME worked with me after he got off work. He sat with me, worked on the solo with me, helped me time it through tapping his foot, helped me internalize the tapping in my head, then helped me memorize the solo entirely on the flute. The next day at the contest, I scored one of the highest scores and received a medal. Dad often brags about this moment in my life and often gives me too much credit, when actually he deserves all the credit. If it hadn’t been for him, that medal wouldn’t have been possible.

Dad would indulge in my artistic abilities as well by having a personal competition with drawing cartoons. The nice thing, unlike most people, he actually tried and gave it a shot, he didn’t do the thing most parents do where they purposely do something poorly to help their kid shine. This is something he has always done and something I’ve always appreciated. He never hid his abilities, his smarts or his talents. This enabled me to see how something was properly done and not to mention it helped me to understand why I have some of the abilities I do.

However the moments I remember most about my Dad are the ones where he tells stories to my friends and actually enjoys talking to my friends. Anytime I had friends over, he didn’t mind talking to them, made them feel welcome and always treated them like people rather than an annoying booger in the house. As I got older, he made it a point to tease and joke with me in front of friends, further making him the cool Dad.

Often before school dances in junior high he would slide in on the wood floor, dance in the opening on one foot and proudly ask, “So are you going to ask ‘insert current crush’s name here’ to dance? Are you going to shake a leg? Cut a rug?” Granted this mortified me at the time. Being 13 with a poodle perm, braces and awkwardly approaching a second growth spurt, with your Dad dancing asking you if you’re going to dance with the “Love of your life” (who you write in your diary about every night) in front of one of your best friends is not something most girls think fondly of. However, now that I’m older, it comforts me knowing how much my Dad took an interest in my life when some of my friends would beg their parents to even remotely show interest in something minor they had going on in their life. The fact that he knew the name of my crush says everything.

My Dad also made it a point to take an interest in my interests. If I was into the New Kids on the Block, he would listen to their cassette tape while he was in the shower and would often come out singing, “Oh oh OH oh oh…” and then took a renewed interest in comic books because he saw this could potentially be a life interest. When my interests evolved from NKOTB to the Beatles, he then took an interest in their music and movies despite the fact he despised them as a teenager because they, “Got all the chicks.” When my interests evolved from comic books to fine art, he helped encourage me by making canvases out of various materials for my Senior Art Show in college and contributed to my many sculpture projects by offering up metals and materials.

Dad asked me questions and wanted to know what was going on, and not in an intrusive annoying way. Dad always made sure to let me know, no matter what I was going through, no matter what the situation was, I should NEVER be afraid to talk to him about anything. He also made sure to be open with me; he practices what he preaches. With Dad its always been a two way street.

Its funny, when you’re younger, you don’t realize how much you’re like your parents. As you get older, you start to piece everything together and you realize where you get certain quirks and traits from.

Some of the things I’ve inherited from my Dad:

A lead foot.
The ability to attract ticket issuing cops.
A love of story telling.
Not being afraid to try something new.
A love of silly humor and bad puns.
Raucous laughter.
A love of all music. (Except twangy country!)
A love of people and animals.
Positivity and trying to see the bright side of things.
Being comfortable with who your are and not being afraid to ‘be’. (This is something that is coming back to me.)
The inability to hide excitement about something.
Singing or whistling while working, especially when content or happy.
Perseverance.

This list could go on and on but these are some of the main ones that stick with me and I’m sure my friends new and old would agree with.

What are some things you’ve inherited from your Dad that you love? What are you thankful for that your Dad has done for you?

Get Back

This week I finally accomplished the task of creating a message board; this has been in the works now for over a year. I was going to finish it with my mom, but we hardly see each other. Then I was going to finish it with my friend, but we’ve not been scheduled off enough time at the same time to finish it. The other day, I finished it myself. I’m pretty proud of it, even though its a bit lumpy on one side. The whole point of this board was to hang it above my drawing table to “draw” inspiration from. I was worried at first about not having enough memories and drawings to fill it up. Sorting through piles of things I’ve collected, I found things one of my best friends here gave me, and some things one of my best friends back in Ozark gave me. Strangely, they have a similar sense of humor.

I found an old Valentine’s card from my best friend back home. This one in particular sported The Red Ranger of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.  She lovingly wrote on the back, “Hey Spazz!” and exclaimed I looked like a “terd”, (yes, spelled with an “e”) because I was wearing a brown sweater that day.

"You look like a 'terd'!"

This was enveloped with song verses to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band…also highly appropriate for Valentine’s Day. My friend here in St. Louis will do similar things. She’ll pass me notes sometimes at work with song verses of the current song on the radio illustrated in full glory. Both friends write and draw things that make me laugh uncontrollably.

The last couple of weeks have been an interesting process, I’ve been trying to plan a short trip back home; it’s pretty much a 48 hour trip. This particular trip is going to be different, I’m going to be bringing one of my best friends from St. Louis with me (the one mentioned above) and introduce her to some of my other closest friends; including the one that said I looked like a “terd”.  These friends I’ve lately been referring to as “The Ozark Mafia”. It wasn’t until early this morning I started worrying about this introduction. Recently  e-mailing one of my friends, he and I have been discussing a barbecue that’s going to take place at my parents house. He asked the typical questions, “What does one need to bring?” “How are we to dress?” then he goes on from there. I got to the bottom of his list of questions, and he asked, “Will you be doing any Cher imitations?”

Wow.

The last question caught me off guard and made me giggle. In the process of growing up, one can forget exactly where they came from at times. I read a book called, “Friends like these” where the author Danny Wallace talks about how this happens. He talks about how friends are there to remind you of who you were and where you “came from” so to speak. In my case, I forgot just how well this friend knew me.  (“If only I could turn back time” so he didn’t have to witness the aforementioned Cher impersonation.)

I worry my friends back home will tell my best friend up here what I was ACTUALLY like, from their own perceptions.

These last few months have been trying for me, and its been difficult feeling some people out and realizing who doesn’t mind if you’re a goofball and yourself around them. Recently I had a situation where I found out someone just really thought I was too goofy and had enough. In describing this incident to a best friend back home she reminded me and said, “If you were to act this way in front of us (The Ozark Mafia), would we have cared?”

She was right.

“No,” I said reluctantly. Then I quickly corrected myself and said, “Yes.”, just because I didn’t want to admit the sad truth; the truth that my goofy demeanor, that makes me… me, drove this other person up a wall. She said, “NO, you KNOW we wouldn’t mind!” She reminded me that true friends love you for who you are, quirks, corny jokes and all. In remembering this particular conversation, I’m constantly reminded that I shouldn’t worry. If people stick around, it’s because they love you for you. Dr. Seuss put it best, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

Maybe I worry too much. Maybe I’m just worried my St. Louis best friend will find out just how unashamed, carefree, and unabashedly awkward I was and how much I’ve changed from that, into this person that thinks too much about what others might think. Maybe I’m afraid not necessarily what she’ll find out, but what I’ll find out; that at one time I was a cool chick and turned into this…whatever I am now.

Hopefully this trip will be a good reminder and knowing my friends, they’ll understand exactly where I’m coming from. They’ve been helping me along the way to remember what it was like to be me, and surely in person everything will become much much clearer. If I’m lucky, maybe we’ll celebrate at the barbecue and all do a rendition of the Beatles, “Get Back” and sing the famous verse, “Get back to where you once belonged.”

Here’s to the future of becoming my old self.

What have your friends reminded you of that you’ve forgotten about yourself?  How do your friends keep you in check?

No Country for Creepy Old Men

This is dedicated to my friend who urged me to write about my old man experiences…the book shall come later, and thank you for the inspiration.

It has become apparent now more so than ever that I’m an old soul. However just because I’m an old soul, doesn’t mean that I’m a kindred spirit to a man my Dad’s age. Let me illustrate my point.

A few weeks ago I made a run to a local 24 hour drug store after my night shift to purchase some cheap purple hair dye to go with the new blue streaks some girlfriends put in the night before. While I was there I had to make a few other purchases. When approaching the register, the older clerk kept asking me to show him sunshine. He pointed out I had sunshine in my hair, referring to the sunflower on the right side of my head. Due to my poor hearing abilities and Tinitis, I didn’t really understand him, so I feigned a smile pretending I did. What came next I heard clearly. He smiled like a Cheshire cat, made; what can only be described as a ray gun noise and exclaimed, “There it is! Got it!” At that moment I was hoping he would see the purple hair dye he was ringing up and think I was some sort of strange abnormal person like most people would, but it didn’t phase him. He unfortunately looked at my name tag and then told me I had been on his mind. I get this frequently.

I love my name, however because my name is Georgia, just telling a slightly off center person elicits the Ray Charles version of the song by the same name from them, and usually the person is a creepy old man. When I was a teenager and working at a restaurant, line cooks would frequently sing to me if I had to put a request in. I don’t understand why my name affects people like this, but I digress.

There was another instance where I was opening a store a few years ago. A little old man in a trucker’s hat with pants hiked up to his ears shuffled up and asked where the peanut butter filled pretzels were. I offered for him to follow me in order to show him the way. In my ignorance, I realized maybe the old man couldn’t keep up with me and it might be best to turn around, go back and slow down. As I turned around, the little old man was RIGHT behind me, staring me in the face. I showed him what he was looking for, and he responded, “How ‘bout a kiss?” Come to find out, the man was married and a square dancer. He then asked me if I wanted to square dance with him. I was mortified.

The next predicament was rather embarrassing. I was helping to load some product for a man who was close to my Father’s age and looked strangely like Hulk Hogan’s non-steroid induced brother. The guy I was helping (who isn’t with my work or in any way affiliated) was taking product from my hand and placing it on a truck. I was trying to trim off some plants so he had the fresh parts ready to go. He was kind enough to hold the plant while I sliced off the sprigs that had fallen to the side. He then presented me with the sprigs and said, “Don’t say I didn’t ever get you anything.” Then he asked me on a date. I said, “No, but thanks” briefly explaining I just got out of a long relationship. He then asked again, “How about for the future?” Again I had to burst the guy’s bubble. He finally left with his head hanging low much like George Michael’s on Arrested Development, or Charlie Brown’s when they both were rejected by their love interest.

You see, this isn’t just a recent development. This kind of thing has happened since I was a kid. Hence the “creepy” in the title of this blog.

One incident dates back to when I was six years old. My family, and a friend and her family were all going to a local theme park close to where I used to live in the Ozarks. My parents and I were approaching the turnstile to get in when a rather sweaty, large man in thick plastic glasses was manning the station. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief, and said, “Phwew, I haven’t had a hug all day…can you give me a hug?”  I remember not wanting to hug him but felt obligated. All I knew was after hugging that sweaty large man, fun awaited on the other side of the gate, and I was willing to hug to get to it. At the age of six years old, for me, hugging this odd man was the equivalent of having to answer a Troll’s three questions at a bridge just to cross it. Next in line was my friend who is the same age as me and her family. I was growing impatient waiting on the other side because I knew fun was happening somewhere in the park and we were missing out on it. As I stood there watching, they went through the turnstile with no problem. She didn’t have to hug the sweaty troll.

"Hurry up and ask me the three questions already!"

So you see, no matter what age I am, I will always be attracting creepy old men. When I become an old lady, in theory, creepy old men will become a thing of the past and I won’t have to worry about getting hit on; much to my delight.

Have you had any instances where someone who gave you the heeby jeebies hit on you or just plain made you feel uncomfortable? Were they age inappropriate?

The world’s oddest room mate

Believe it or not, I do have a room mate. She might not be what one considers the typical room mate, but she does try to carry her weight around the house. It is due to this I don’t mind that she doesn’t share half the rent, the utilities and the internet bill.

She does do some things that bother me though. She eats my food. She eats my plants when she’s in crazy mode.

Resistance is futile to the African Violet and Corn plant in the corner!

She keeps me up all hours of the night by having dance parties and trying to give me a scratchy tongue bath.

Gizmo loves to show off how to appropriately do glow-stick dancing.

She rides her imaginary velocipede around the apartment.

She's not one for riding "tandem".

She doesn’t help me keep count when I do sit-ups as part of my work out routine; and today of all days for the first time, she threw up on the carpet; probably from eating my food and dancing at all hours of the night.

In spite of all this, she does make a really awesome friend. She helps to clean the blinds by incessantly licking them. She vacuums up her own fur using her mouth.  She lets me know if someone is at the door (in fact she’ll be the first to greet them). She’s a great listener and she also greets me every time I come home, with a kiss.

Try and tell me these ears don't listen well!

Moving to an apartment from a home can be pretty lonely, especially if you’re an extremely social person, however there is something to be said for pets…or rather animals that allow themselves to stay with you and let you take care of them. They can take the sting out of something that for most would be unbearable. I’m not used to being on my own, but we’ll just say due to Gizmo, it’s getting better all the time.

Eat your heart out!

What have your pets done for you? How do your pets take care of you in ways you didn’t expect?

All photos are courtesy of Kitty’s photography.  (Yes, that is her real name!)

If you’re not gonna laugh, you’re gonna cry

This is a word to my readers. I apologize for the lack of blogs here of late. You’ll have to excuse the length of time it has been since you’ve last seen anything on here. You see, I’m on my own again. I don’t mean, on my own doing my own “thang”; I mean, on my own in life.

I had an 82 year old neighbor tell me one time, “You know what kid, if you’re not gonna laugh, you’re gonna cry.” SO instead of crying, or concentrating on the negatives, I’m choosing to concentrate on the positives in life and what I do have.

The first obvious positive to focus on is one of my best friends and companions; my cat Gizmo. Since moving into the new place, her overall physical and mental health has improved so much she acts like a completely different cat. This is due to the fact she no longer has to worry about her brother beating her up anytime she decides to eat or use the restroom. (How awful would that be in the human world?) Since the move she’s been bounding off the walls, licking my face and arms relentlessly and she’s recently developed a tap dancing problem; which really isn’t a problem at all, its cute.

The other positive is I can concentrate FULLY on making “the” comic book and showcasing it at the Chicago Comic Con in 2012. The only interruptions will be Gizmo, and hopefully between her and myself we won’t cover the new apartment in India Ink. This comic has been in the works for such a long time I’ve only managed to draw a few pages, sure I’ve written quite a bit for it; two complete full books, and an overall story arc in case I do choose to have someone help me with the lettering. However, the pages never managed to draw themselves. The blog was always a quick outlet for completing short, quick drawings, but that being said, being an artist and story teller I want to set out and do what I’ve been meaning to since the age of 8…become a cartoonist. The comic book is one way of accomplishing that goal.

The third positive in my life is my friends.  They say friends are the family you make for yourself and I have full intent to continue to strengthen my friendships. Strangely, you never know what great friendships you’ve forged over the years with people in a strange new place until you realize you CAN’T handle everything on your own. It genuinely surprised me when two friends up here offered up their homes to me in case I needed a place closer to work to live for a short amount of time to help save time and money. It was enough to make me want to cry, not because I was sad but because it was incredibly touching that these people would even think enough of me to open up their lives that much to let someone they’ve only known through work come in and be a part of it for a period of time. Granted, I didn’t take them up on it, even though they may not have minded, it still felt awkward like I could never pay them back for their kindness.

Though I’ve made new friends up here in St. Louis, I’m still strengthening friendships with people back home and with people from my hometown who no longer live there. It’s nice to know no matter how far apart you are from your friends and old classmates, the true ones only feel like they’re a block away like they used to be when you were kids.

The fourth positive is the amazing strength of ALL my family and friends who-are-like-family to me. Even though they don’t know all the details of what happened or what went down, its nice to know they all have my back should I ever need it. On the flip side, to all family and friends reading this, know this is reciprocal; I have your back too.

To everyone on both sides of this issue, thank you for everything, your time, patience and love, my heart goes out to you.