I keep finding names that fascinate me. Names that I can't stop thinking of. Names, that if I were to ever have another child, I would want to bestow upon them. Names, that quite simply, I am in love with.
When I was pregnant with Savannah, her name was one of the most difficult things to determine. Later, when Savannah was still a babe in arms, I discovered the first name I was completely and undeniably certain of--and knew that if I had another child, her name would be Gabrielle Kathleen.
In writing I have never been able to name my characters. In fiction I write endlessly about un-named people who, after a very short while, become quite cumbersome to keep track of without proper names.
This (and other, less easily identifiable reasons) is one thing that keeps me in the realm of journalistic and memoir-style writing. I don't have the burden of giving anyone a name. Their parents already did that for me.
The name, to me, feels like a heavy responsibility with many consequences. My strong resistance to naming characters comes from a fear of limiting them--restricting them to someone's idea of what a person with that name is like.
But, as I continue to encounter and collide with names that start to haunt me-- showing up in fitful dreams or becoming daydream companions--I think that, perhaps, these names are a gift. A map, if you will, to the people whose stories I may need to tell.
As my daughters continue to grow and the time that they need me as a daily guide grows ever shorter, perhaps these names are the children who will help fill the void. Ease the pain. Stave off the hole left in the inevitable empty nest. Perhaps, after all, I can write fiction. And these wonderful, delightful, daunting names will lead me there.
Perhaps.
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
re·union
Pronunciation: \(ˌ)rē-ˈyün-yən\
Function: noun
Date: 1610
(Merriam Webster)
1 : an act of reuniting : the state of being reunited
2 : a reuniting of persons after separation
(urbandictionary.com)
a collection of "intellects" gathering over forgotten aspirations that have been transpired by bleak realities...
Other definitions that come to mind at the mention of the word "reunion" include references to torture, masochism, humiliation, fear and (gasp!) cash bar.
For me, it was mostly about curiosity. Even though high school provided me with some lifelong friends, fun memories and great experiences on the school paper (what a nerd!), I tend to think of my life actually starting after high school. I'm sure that this is not unique, but it does take some of the dread out of the inevitable class reunion.
After attending my 20th high school reunion this weekend, my post-reunion hangover is a combination of sore thigh and calf muscles (dance-related), sleep deprivation (again, dance-related--with a dash of drink) and residual delight at how awesome Bonneville High School Class of '90 turned out to be.
While I was a constant presence in high school due to my aspiring journalist ways, I was not one of the popular kids, per se. I was weird. Eccentric. Scrawny. And--as pointed out this weekend--"REALLY a waver."
The coolest thing about the reunion was that none of that seemed to matter. No one put anyone into the box they belonged in 20 years ago. Other than lots of "what are you wearing tonite?" and an impromptu trip to the mall with Kellie and Becky (excuse me, Rebecca) Huntington, it didn't feel very "high school" at all. When Kellie picked me up (as she had so many times before) and we said goodbye to my mom, it felt very deja vu--but having no curfew (and knowingly planning to come home a little inebriated) instantly brought me back to the present.
Everyone, to me, seemed more open-minded, accepting and diverse than I remembered--including me. Growing up non-Mormon in Idaho Falls was neither typical nor easy--and my non-Mormon status is one of the biggest things I identify with my childhood and teenage years. No matter how hard we all tried, it was just one of those things that was always present--and I think that our parents (both LDS and non) were often afraid of us "contaminating" one another and that added to the strange separation that existed.
Showing up 20 years later as a divorced, self-proclaimed wino who swears like a sailor could have been something that would make reuniting awkward--especially with the good friends I had who were and still are faithful "members." But it wasn't. They were just as cool and fun to hang with as those with whom I shared a drink (or three).
We all shook our groove thang on the dance floor. We all hugged and took pictures. We all laughed at the silly prizes (Cradle-Robber was my fave) and '80's nostalgia served up by the dutiful and very brave organizers of the whole weekend.
So, as I hobble (that dancing kicked my ass!) off to soak in the tub and enjoy a glass of vino, it is with fond memories of my classmates and unrestrained enthusiasm for the next time we all get together.
BHS Class of '90--here's to you!
Function: noun
Date: 1610
(Merriam Webster)
1 : an act of reuniting : the state of being reunited
2 : a reuniting of persons after separation
(urbandictionary.com)
a collection of "intellects" gathering over forgotten aspirations that have been transpired by bleak realities...
Other definitions that come to mind at the mention of the word "reunion" include references to torture, masochism, humiliation, fear and (gasp!) cash bar.
For me, it was mostly about curiosity. Even though high school provided me with some lifelong friends, fun memories and great experiences on the school paper (what a nerd!), I tend to think of my life actually starting after high school. I'm sure that this is not unique, but it does take some of the dread out of the inevitable class reunion.
After attending my 20th high school reunion this weekend, my post-reunion hangover is a combination of sore thigh and calf muscles (dance-related), sleep deprivation (again, dance-related--with a dash of drink) and residual delight at how awesome Bonneville High School Class of '90 turned out to be.
While I was a constant presence in high school due to my aspiring journalist ways, I was not one of the popular kids, per se. I was weird. Eccentric. Scrawny. And--as pointed out this weekend--"REALLY a waver."
The coolest thing about the reunion was that none of that seemed to matter. No one put anyone into the box they belonged in 20 years ago. Other than lots of "what are you wearing tonite?" and an impromptu trip to the mall with Kellie and Becky (excuse me, Rebecca) Huntington, it didn't feel very "high school" at all. When Kellie picked me up (as she had so many times before) and we said goodbye to my mom, it felt very deja vu--but having no curfew (and knowingly planning to come home a little inebriated) instantly brought me back to the present.
Everyone, to me, seemed more open-minded, accepting and diverse than I remembered--including me. Growing up non-Mormon in Idaho Falls was neither typical nor easy--and my non-Mormon status is one of the biggest things I identify with my childhood and teenage years. No matter how hard we all tried, it was just one of those things that was always present--and I think that our parents (both LDS and non) were often afraid of us "contaminating" one another and that added to the strange separation that existed.
Showing up 20 years later as a divorced, self-proclaimed wino who swears like a sailor could have been something that would make reuniting awkward--especially with the good friends I had who were and still are faithful "members." But it wasn't. They were just as cool and fun to hang with as those with whom I shared a drink (or three).
We all shook our groove thang on the dance floor. We all hugged and took pictures. We all laughed at the silly prizes (Cradle-Robber was my fave) and '80's nostalgia served up by the dutiful and very brave organizers of the whole weekend.
So, as I hobble (that dancing kicked my ass!) off to soak in the tub and enjoy a glass of vino, it is with fond memories of my classmates and unrestrained enthusiasm for the next time we all get together.
BHS Class of '90--here's to you!
Saturday, July 3, 2010
Fireworks
On my way home from Terri's tonite I saw brilliant explosions of color and light through my windshield and in my rearview mirror. I was surrounded by fireworks. And it was awesome.
It got me thinking about how many bright, scary, fun and always surprising explosions happen in our lives all the time.
Savannah graduating from high school.
Gabi's irresistable snicker at an "adult" joke she just shouldn't get.
A puppy nuzzling my neck.
Seeing Bachelor #2 drive by me smiling and waving in the Kaysville 4th of July Parade this morning.
A bevy of young, 20-something guys vying for my affections.
Terri's mom having emergency exploratory surgery to find the source of internal bleeding after a "routine" operation yesterday.
The surge of support and love triggered by a text message prayer chain.
Every day we have many "fireworks" moments. Moments that cannot be ignored. That call us to full attention--whether in awe, in excitement, in happiness, in fear, in gratitude, in anger, in sorrow or in laughter.
The form and delivery of these everyday explosions are varied and often unexpected, but what can be relied upon is that they will happen. It can be that touch on your hand that still feels thrilling after years of marriage or that accidental glimpse of your child being completely themselves when they think no one is looking.
It can be an inexplicable feeling of calm in the middle of a furious emotional storm that you fear may overtake you. Or the simple joy of breathing in the air after a rainstorm.
Some days we are searching for miracles and others they just show up, out of the night sky, in our rearview mirror.
It got me thinking about how many bright, scary, fun and always surprising explosions happen in our lives all the time.
Savannah graduating from high school.
Gabi's irresistable snicker at an "adult" joke she just shouldn't get.
A puppy nuzzling my neck.
Seeing Bachelor #2 drive by me smiling and waving in the Kaysville 4th of July Parade this morning.
A bevy of young, 20-something guys vying for my affections.
Terri's mom having emergency exploratory surgery to find the source of internal bleeding after a "routine" operation yesterday.
The surge of support and love triggered by a text message prayer chain.
Every day we have many "fireworks" moments. Moments that cannot be ignored. That call us to full attention--whether in awe, in excitement, in happiness, in fear, in gratitude, in anger, in sorrow or in laughter.
The form and delivery of these everyday explosions are varied and often unexpected, but what can be relied upon is that they will happen. It can be that touch on your hand that still feels thrilling after years of marriage or that accidental glimpse of your child being completely themselves when they think no one is looking.
It can be an inexplicable feeling of calm in the middle of a furious emotional storm that you fear may overtake you. Or the simple joy of breathing in the air after a rainstorm.
Some days we are searching for miracles and others they just show up, out of the night sky, in our rearview mirror.
Thursday, July 1, 2010
A page from my secret, fantasy life
Why I should have been a rock star:
With the right hair, makeup, wardrobe, lighting, wind machine and highly-skilled (and patient)photographer (oh hell, let's throw in a couple martinis for good measure) I could look damn good on the cover of an album.
I have been rated a "Hit Artist" repeatedly on Sing Star.
I'd have the perfect excuse to develop a seedy addiction, destroy my life and go on Celebrity Rehab where I would finally meet the dreamy Dr. Drew!
After Celebrity Rehab I could write an inspirational tell-all cautionary tale that puts me on the NY Times Bestseller List and gets me invited to be on shows like Oprah and Ellen (although I would totally pick Ellen--I want her and Portia to adopt me, but that's a different fantasy).
Back in the day, I could totally rock both leather and vinyl pants.
With the right hair, makeup, wardrobe, lighting, wind machine and highly-skilled (and patient)photographer (oh hell, let's throw in a couple martinis for good measure) I could look damn good on the cover of an album.
I have been rated a "Hit Artist" repeatedly on Sing Star.
I'd have the perfect excuse to develop a seedy addiction, destroy my life and go on Celebrity Rehab where I would finally meet the dreamy Dr. Drew!
After Celebrity Rehab I could write an inspirational tell-all cautionary tale that puts me on the NY Times Bestseller List and gets me invited to be on shows like Oprah and Ellen (although I would totally pick Ellen--I want her and Portia to adopt me, but that's a different fantasy).
Back in the day, I could totally rock both leather and vinyl pants.
Friday, June 18, 2010
eHarmony disHarmony
So I'm expired with eHarmony.
My favorite Bachelor #2 is MIA.
A hopeful Bachelor #3, whom I nicknamed the Urban Redneck, has devotedly texted me for more than a month of mornings with increasingly "ewww" messages (e.g. Have a SUPERlicious day!) that are very sweet, but just not my flavor.
After too much life and too much work and too many reschedules of our first "let's get drinks" (all but one my fault) arrangements, I decided I had to cut him loose. I know he's not right for me (I present: SUPERlicious, gages in his ears, and a midlife infatuation with tats) and while I'm trying to be open-minded, I know that meeting in person will not turn this into a blissfully happy eHarmony commercial.
But, sometimes, the idea that I will be on my own into the foreseeable future makes me embarrassingly, unforgivably and inexcusably sad. I don't have a crazy dream of a Prince Charming and "happily every after," but there are moments when I feel undeniably alone.
I am not lonely, but I have (shockingly) a lot to say (and most of it I think it pretty damn funny and/or insightful), and a lot that I want to share and when I have only a glass of wine and a bathtub to share it with, I sometimes get the strange feeling that something is missing.
I have tried to be very stoic and strong (at least on the surface) in the face of Savannah's graduation and inevitable move out on her own. I know that those closest to me don't think I've been as "together" as I feel I've been, but the fact that I didn't totally break down at her graduation was a huge triumph for me.
Yesterday, however, when I dropped her of at the University of Utah for her overnight orientation (where she will test-drive the dorms, etc.) I totally lost it.
She didn't know because I had my giant movie-star sunglasses on, but I had to take a detour back to work because I didn't want anyone to be able to tell that I had been crying. Like a baby.
As I write this on the couch, in candlelight, with Keeping Up With the Kardashians on the TV (and the random tear rolling down my cheek), I can't help but wonder if part of my pathetic emotional state is the prospect of night after night (year after year) of being right here. Alone. Typing my ramblings to a few interested souls.
What sucks the most is that I don't think I need a man, a "nother," a partner, etc. to be complete. I don't really feel that I need more than my wonderful (if infuriating) girls, my awesome friends, my family and the gifts of life and beauty and love that I have and experience every single day. So, when I feel these weird waves of...I don't know, nostalgia or acceptance or whatever...that plays my future out mostly by myself and it leaves me sad, I feel defeated and frustrated.
So, in summary, eHarmony is over. I did meet someone that I was interested in exploring more with. It didn't pan out. I found no one else that really offered what I might be looking for. I don't feel a compulsive need to be in a relationship with someone...but sometimes I do feel acutely on my own.
I guess life continues. I am open to dating, but I don't feel like seeking it out--especially via modern dating venues (i.e. online dating). I am focusing on getting the last boxes unpacked; on getting my elder daughter settled in her dorm for her first year away from home; and getting my younger daughter through summer school and graduated from high school (on time in three years).
Unfortunately, this concludes my eHarmony posts. But--I do hope to be dating in the near-ish future, and will be happy to share my exploits. In the meantime, please send all those eligible bachelors you know my way!
My favorite Bachelor #2 is MIA.
A hopeful Bachelor #3, whom I nicknamed the Urban Redneck, has devotedly texted me for more than a month of mornings with increasingly "ewww" messages (e.g. Have a SUPERlicious day!) that are very sweet, but just not my flavor.
After too much life and too much work and too many reschedules of our first "let's get drinks" (all but one my fault) arrangements, I decided I had to cut him loose. I know he's not right for me (I present: SUPERlicious, gages in his ears, and a midlife infatuation with tats) and while I'm trying to be open-minded, I know that meeting in person will not turn this into a blissfully happy eHarmony commercial.
But, sometimes, the idea that I will be on my own into the foreseeable future makes me embarrassingly, unforgivably and inexcusably sad. I don't have a crazy dream of a Prince Charming and "happily every after," but there are moments when I feel undeniably alone.
I am not lonely, but I have (shockingly) a lot to say (and most of it I think it pretty damn funny and/or insightful), and a lot that I want to share and when I have only a glass of wine and a bathtub to share it with, I sometimes get the strange feeling that something is missing.
I have tried to be very stoic and strong (at least on the surface) in the face of Savannah's graduation and inevitable move out on her own. I know that those closest to me don't think I've been as "together" as I feel I've been, but the fact that I didn't totally break down at her graduation was a huge triumph for me.
Yesterday, however, when I dropped her of at the University of Utah for her overnight orientation (where she will test-drive the dorms, etc.) I totally lost it.
She didn't know because I had my giant movie-star sunglasses on, but I had to take a detour back to work because I didn't want anyone to be able to tell that I had been crying. Like a baby.
As I write this on the couch, in candlelight, with Keeping Up With the Kardashians on the TV (and the random tear rolling down my cheek), I can't help but wonder if part of my pathetic emotional state is the prospect of night after night (year after year) of being right here. Alone. Typing my ramblings to a few interested souls.
What sucks the most is that I don't think I need a man, a "nother," a partner, etc. to be complete. I don't really feel that I need more than my wonderful (if infuriating) girls, my awesome friends, my family and the gifts of life and beauty and love that I have and experience every single day. So, when I feel these weird waves of...I don't know, nostalgia or acceptance or whatever...that plays my future out mostly by myself and it leaves me sad, I feel defeated and frustrated.
So, in summary, eHarmony is over. I did meet someone that I was interested in exploring more with. It didn't pan out. I found no one else that really offered what I might be looking for. I don't feel a compulsive need to be in a relationship with someone...but sometimes I do feel acutely on my own.
I guess life continues. I am open to dating, but I don't feel like seeking it out--especially via modern dating venues (i.e. online dating). I am focusing on getting the last boxes unpacked; on getting my elder daughter settled in her dorm for her first year away from home; and getting my younger daughter through summer school and graduated from high school (on time in three years).
Unfortunately, this concludes my eHarmony posts. But--I do hope to be dating in the near-ish future, and will be happy to share my exploits. In the meantime, please send all those eligible bachelors you know my way!
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Doing Time
Today I spent 11 hours in a tiny room with two other women, three laptops, four cell phones and wall after wall of "artfully" cluttered "decor"--being choked by aromatherapy diffusers and smothered by relentless piano music.
It was around hour nine that we really started to lose it. The mean started coming out and we couldn't be pleased by anyone or anything except our own, caustically witty banter (filled with plenty of bile and disdain for our captors).
Under the best of circumstances, an accreditation visit is painful. Today it was damn near suicidal (or should it be homicidal?).
"I'm just a resource," is the mantra of our fearless leader. A natural resource--and no one's looking out for our conservation. We, like fossil fuels, will one day run out (screaming).
Today was the latest incident of abuse in a long line of "domestic" situations between campus and corporate. Corporate, unexpectedly, being the victim--and we just keep coming back for more.
There was a sign lying on a filing cabinet that stated: "If your name is on this list you have an unresolved problem." We decided to use that statement to frame the idiocy of those around us. The list of "unresolved problems" we could identify is far too long to even start on here.
The degree of masochism reached an intolerable level as the tedious tinkling of those piano keys once again cresendoed to its peak. It felt like it was attacking me--I even startled my colleagues by actually yelling out in a futile attempt to halt the onslaught.
Finally, nearly five hours after the Campus President left without a word to us, the visiting team also left without a word to us. The team that we were waiting on in the ungodly massage office prison. The team that was our whole reason for being there in the first place. The team whose status report of the day's findings would tell us whether we would need to return to the chamber of torment for another go tomorrow.
All I know, is if I have to hear one more note of "relaxing" piano numbers, someone's going to pay. And it ain't gonna be cheap.
It was around hour nine that we really started to lose it. The mean started coming out and we couldn't be pleased by anyone or anything except our own, caustically witty banter (filled with plenty of bile and disdain for our captors).
Under the best of circumstances, an accreditation visit is painful. Today it was damn near suicidal (or should it be homicidal?).
"I'm just a resource," is the mantra of our fearless leader. A natural resource--and no one's looking out for our conservation. We, like fossil fuels, will one day run out (screaming).
Today was the latest incident of abuse in a long line of "domestic" situations between campus and corporate. Corporate, unexpectedly, being the victim--and we just keep coming back for more.
There was a sign lying on a filing cabinet that stated: "If your name is on this list you have an unresolved problem." We decided to use that statement to frame the idiocy of those around us. The list of "unresolved problems" we could identify is far too long to even start on here.
The degree of masochism reached an intolerable level as the tedious tinkling of those piano keys once again cresendoed to its peak. It felt like it was attacking me--I even startled my colleagues by actually yelling out in a futile attempt to halt the onslaught.
Finally, nearly five hours after the Campus President left without a word to us, the visiting team also left without a word to us. The team that we were waiting on in the ungodly massage office prison. The team that was our whole reason for being there in the first place. The team whose status report of the day's findings would tell us whether we would need to return to the chamber of torment for another go tomorrow.
All I know, is if I have to hear one more note of "relaxing" piano numbers, someone's going to pay. And it ain't gonna be cheap.
Monday, May 24, 2010
Mustache in Dad Jeans Seeks Honesty
I just buckled down and sorted through my 139 new/unviewed matches on eHarmony. I now have 5 in the "new" category (I'm still mulling them over), 38 in the "communicating" category (but I'm only really communicating with about 10) and 140 in the "archived" category.
Tonite was an onslaught of mustaches, dad jeans and (once again) 9 out of 10 guys who named the number one thing they're looking for in a "partner" as HONESTY, INTEGRITY, MORALS, FAITHFULNESS (and yes--they are usually in ALL CAPS).
I know I have bitched about this before--and I also want honesty, morals, etc. in a "partner"--but come on! I'm not going to look forward to a second date or obsessively check my email or phone because of honesty. Honesty will not make my heart race or compel me to change my clothes five times before leaving the house in the first outfit I tried.
I choose to believe that I can find a fun, attractive, smart, witty guy who is ALSO honest and has morals. Call me a dreamer, but I want it all.
The guys who weren't mustaches in dad jeans either remind me of my dad or obviously have no friends or family with enough balls to tell them that their picture is very sad and that a smile is NEVER overrated.
Maybe I'm just too tired after my never-ending move (that has, finally ended--mostly) or too cynical (as usual), but tonite's exercise makes me pretty excited that I am just around the corner from my final month on eHarmony. Hopefully the newly organized inbox will leave me a tad more excited to check out my next new match--after all, weeding the flowerbed is the only way to make room for more flowers...not that I want to date a flower...or imply that the guys I don't dig are noxious interlopers...actually, this analogy sucks. I'm just going to stop. Now. Really.
Tonite was an onslaught of mustaches, dad jeans and (once again) 9 out of 10 guys who named the number one thing they're looking for in a "partner" as HONESTY, INTEGRITY, MORALS, FAITHFULNESS (and yes--they are usually in ALL CAPS).
I know I have bitched about this before--and I also want honesty, morals, etc. in a "partner"--but come on! I'm not going to look forward to a second date or obsessively check my email or phone because of honesty. Honesty will not make my heart race or compel me to change my clothes five times before leaving the house in the first outfit I tried.
I choose to believe that I can find a fun, attractive, smart, witty guy who is ALSO honest and has morals. Call me a dreamer, but I want it all.
The guys who weren't mustaches in dad jeans either remind me of my dad or obviously have no friends or family with enough balls to tell them that their picture is very sad and that a smile is NEVER overrated.
Maybe I'm just too tired after my never-ending move (that has, finally ended--mostly) or too cynical (as usual), but tonite's exercise makes me pretty excited that I am just around the corner from my final month on eHarmony. Hopefully the newly organized inbox will leave me a tad more excited to check out my next new match--after all, weeding the flowerbed is the only way to make room for more flowers...not that I want to date a flower...or imply that the guys I don't dig are noxious interlopers...actually, this analogy sucks. I'm just going to stop. Now. Really.
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