Photo of the Day: Strong Silent Type

Wednesday, August 7, 2013, Market Square, Saint John, New Brunswick

part of People Apart Moving Together, 1983, by John Hooper

Doesn't this seem to say:

Hey Girl. I brought these flowers for you.

like these Ryan Gosling memes

(Photos found on Google images - sorry for no photo attributions.)

And Dad told me to:  "Pack tight and enjoy the north country, stay away from the single men on the ship!"

I did. He wasn't on the ship.

Retroblogging: Dubious Childhood Poetry III

Just when you thought it was bad before --- just wait ... and there's a bonus haiku! What really makes it, and you won't see it because I'm not posting a photo -- is that these are all written in turquoise ink -- and I got A+s for them ... Really? I didn't get comments like oh, "trite," "give it up," and "stop writing, for the Bard's sake!"

Friend

Friend, is all he thinks I am,
But, I think of him, more,

We've only known each other for a year,
But, boy, does it seem more.

I've seen him in all my classes,
Spanish, math, and more

Friend is all he thinks of me,
But, of him, I think of, more.

Rain

Rain, pouring down,
Upon the thirsty ground
Which drinks it up,
And make the flowers jump.

Why

Why do you like me?
Please tell me why,
If you don't I fear that I
will die.

You try to show you like me
And I still do not know why
And people look at me like,
"Do you like that guy?"

You seem to say you like me.
Please tell me
Why?

Haiku

Horses, red, brown, bay
black, white, dun, dapple, and grey
I love all horses.

Recipe for Reflection

Once upon I had a dream. It was so vivid. It was one of those dreams you wake up from and you can't believe that where you just were wasn’t your “real life.” It involved me being a bonus mom to two blonde little boys. We adored each other.

Adored.

But then I woke up.

Wondered. Cried a little. And tried to put it behind me.

Life has gone on.

The dream has faded.

It’s now a bittersweet memory – one that is only occasionally revived as the years have gone on by the casual mention by one of the two people I shared it with, or some other trigger or another.

I have a blonde little boy in my life. Two actually. But they are not mine to mother.

But, I had an epiphany this afternoon.

I was in the midst of stirring in the 4 cups of flour in yet another cookie recipe. Muttering in my head. Cursing my compulsion.

Why do I do this? Why do I feel the necessity of constantly making cookies? Why do I bother? Dang (actually another word) my shoulder hurts, I should stop stirring for a moment.

So I did.

And I realized.

I realized who all these cookies end up feeding, besides me.

The I.T. boys
The Security Guard Dudes
The MailRoom Guys

Huh! So, I do have my boys.

Better yet. I don’t have to mother them. I don’t have to pick up after them, deal with their laundry, harass them about their chores, find their lost stuff, shuttle them to practices, deal with their boy stinkiness, clean up after their bathroom issues, or handle all the annoying things. I just have to feed them occasionally.

This is better.

But still.

I can’t help but remember how I felt in the dream.




I might have been a good mother.


.....


Right.

Back to stirring

40 Diamonds for 40: Dan, my brother from another mother

Of all the Christmas letters I sent out with the request to participate in this little vanity project, this is the one I pondered about the most and wondered if I was doing the right thing. You see, this was the letter that I sent to the wife of my "old friend" Dan asking if she would be okay if he participated. I believe in making sure that the mate of your friends of the opposite sex are okay with you communicating with them, especially when there is "history."

When you get to this age, some of your friendships have multiple layers to them. Since this blog is part therapy/part historical record for the nieces and nephews, I thought it was important to try and get a cross section of all eras of my life to be represented. So far, family has chimed in, as well as friends from my high school, college, and work lives. But I've also had church friends, as well as friends that moved through different labels depending on our "status." This is the tale of my church friend, first boyfriend, and then first ex-boyfriend, and my "older brother," Dan.

I first met Danny, now known as Dan, at church when my family moved from Utah to Connecticut in 1980. His family too, had relocated from Utah, and our congregation was pretty small. It was inevitable that since we were within a few years of each other, our social spheres were going to overlap. We had Primary together, then youth activities, seminary, temple trips, etc. Basically, a bunch of us grew up together. We were "church friends" for many many years.

Our religion is very conservative, and there are definite guidelines about just about everything. Including dating: when to date, how to date, how to avoid getting into areas of temptation, etc. Being properly brought up, Dan waited for me to be old enough to date, and then was probably the best first boyfriend a girl, or her parents, could ever ask for. Out of respect for his wife, that's all I'm going to say about that period of our relationship.

Now, perhaps it was because we had been friends for so long, it was difficult for me to initiate the conversation that changed our status once again. But it ultimately was for the best. Dan continues to be a gentleman, as you'll see below, but it did take some time to circle back to being the fraternal platonic friends that we were and are.**

In another Mormon tradition, we exchanged letters while he was on his mission, but it was always as friends, with my "older brother" giving advice that I really should have followed more. But what sister completely, or ever, listens to her sibling?

Time has gone on. Dan met the lovely and generous MickiAnne, married, settled down, and has three children. Thanks to MickiAnne's approval there were occasional phone calls and e-mails, a brief visit when their two boys were really young, as well as her annual Christmas cards. Thanks to the latter, I am more aware than ever of the passage of time. Their eldest is now in high school! Their youngest, a daughter, is the age that I was when I moved to CT. How is it possible?

Intellectually, I know that time has passed. I sure as heck see it in the mirror everyday, but perhaps because I haven't seen him very often, when I read Dan's entry, I still see the high school boy who was my friend and still is one of my other brothers.

Thank you to MickiAnne and to Dan too. We're not old, just more "mature."

Says Dan: You might have turned 40 but I'm going to turn 43 and can't blog, stay away from Facebook and don't get me started on twitting. I sent my first text today. I will do my best. Here we go:

Little sis,

I have known [Auntie Nettie] since we were kids. I don't remember when her family moved in to the area and the ward (branch at the time).

I think we really started hanging out in 1987, my senior year of high school. We spent a lot of fun times going to her high school football games. I remember going to the games, a lot of rainy nights and getting wet. I had a lot of fun. Of course she wasn't 16 yet so we couldn't date, so I had to meet her there at the games, but we still had a lot of fun. After the season was over we didn't do a lot but church activities and somehow we started to like each other and after she turned 16 we could finally start dating. Of course we had to double date at first, friends from church and school. It wasn't until months later we could go out by ourselves. She went to senior prom with me; that was a big dress, southern-belle-type with a metal hoop***. Also who could forget my graduation party at the Four-H Club where we played tennis for hours? Didn't stop until after midnight. That was a lot of fun.

After school got out and the summer came there was youth conference. That was fun as well, but it was the start of the end as boyfriend and girlfriend. The nice thing was that when we broke up and said we should still be friends, we were. The relationship of dating just stopped and the relationship of just being friends took over. I think she is the only person I dated and then ended up being better friends after than before.

[She] became my little sister and I became her big brother. She is the oldest of three and I am the youngest of five. It was nice for her to have a big brother to talk to about things and it was nice for me to have a little sister to help and listen to. Since then we have kept in touch somewhat, have seen each other a couple times, Christmas cards and so on. Even though we don't talk or see each other a lot, I still feel like we are as good of friends as we have always been.

[Nettie] is very talented and one of the nicest people I know. Happy 40th, you old lady, and many more to come.

P.S. Every year you get older so do I!

{Auntie Nettie says: And if THAT isn’t a snarky older brother comment, I don’t know what is!}

** Also, in fair disclosure, this is the ONLY relationship I have had where I still am on good terms, or any terms, with my ex. I really think that being friends for so long really made the difference. Given my past dating history, I think I can fairly confidently say that I am better as a friend than as a girlfriend. Well, except for G-Dawg. We have a *very* "special" relationship status.

***Do you know how hard it is to find a dress that fits a curvy body type, that conforms with conservative dress standards, is affordable, is flattering, and is timeless? The 1980s were NOT good for hair or fashion styles for anyone. If you honestly thought I was dragging out prom photos, you are reading the wrong blog.

How to de-stress while on vacation, Part 2

Bowling

Another way to let off a bit of stress while on vacation, is to spent time chucking large balls down a slippery floor and to listen to the crash of resin on wooden bowling pins. If you go bowling with someone who requires bumpers, your score can artificially be inflated by the subtraction of gutter balls. I think I shall always go bowling with the junior set who requires bumpers, so I feel better about myself. (Sad, I know.)

As after a morning of shooting, Grandmary, Grumpa Max, and Auntie Nettie took Mr. Drew out bowling. Grandmary had often taken Drew bowling during her visit, but apparently this was the first time she actively participated. I don't know the last time Grandmary or Grumpa went bowling, but I know it had been about 20 years since I had been. Grumpa had an advantage though, as he used to take my brothers bowling when they were all part of a league. I was so glad that I had been working on my aim earlier that morning. I did better than I hoped I would.

First we had to get decked out in our fancy attire and check each other out. Drew was sponsored by Pixar and Lightening McQueen, (and was a bit put out that he had to wear someone else's shoes).

Here's Drew on his first approach, and his reaction to his first frame.A 3-5 was about what I got: a 4-5.

I like this bowling technique. If I had that booty, I might have bowled that way too. However, no one would want to see that. TRUST ME! After a close first set, with Drew getting a 71, Grandmary a 106, Grumpa pulled a strike in the last frame, ending up with a 119. He had walked off with Drew to the little boys room and Grandmary had walked off to try and get a lighter ball, so they all missed me getting a strike and a spare in the last frame to unexpectedly win the game with a 121. Grumpa was not amused when he returned. I tried not to gloat ... too much.

The second game had Drew improving to a 74, with Grandmary trying to help herself with a couple of spares. Sadly, the lighter ball didn't help her much, as her poor fingers were suffering. She came in with a 98. For the first five frames Grumpa and I were almost tied, with spares and strikes galore. The 6th frame saw Auntie Nettie getting tired and/or Grumpa getting annoyed and he pulled ahead to win 175 to 145. (Competitive much? Not us.)

It was a good thing it was the four of us. If there had been more family members, or more lanes, it wouldn't have been as de-stressing. It's cathartic to bash bowling pins. And to win. And to beat your parents. I recommend it as a new relaxation therapy.

Reversion Therapy

It's also cathartic to spend time with little peeps and be like a child. It's the little things that you remember to enjoy. Things like feeding the ducks,

Or swinging on the swings. (You'd think Drew was scared that Grandmary was going to push him out of the swing. He should have been scared ... cause I did that sometime after I shot this photo. WHOOPS!)What is it with boys and digging in the dirt? I don't see how that's de-stressing. That just stresses me out.

Drew thinks I'm weird.

I saw that face a lot on this trip. Is it me? Or is it a 5-year-old attitude thing? Can he possibly be too cool to hang with his aunt already? Or is it because I'm annoyingly persistent with the camera when I finally do see him? It's probably that.

Coming up ...

BABY TIME!

Nettie's Nocturne

Overture

Now that the fall season is underway, I’ve been taking advantage of the rich diversity of performing arts options that take place at the Big J and in the City. Last week I attended an organ recital, featuring six rarely heard Bach Trio Sonatas.

Organ, Auntie Nettie? Really? Yes. Organ … More precisely, the Pipe Organ.

Exposition

You see, once upon a time, not only did I used to be a pianist, I was also an organist. Well, almost; I played the manuals—the two to three keyboards that came standard on our (LDS/Mormon) Church electronic instruments. I used the various deep, rich, pre-sets to make it sound like I was using the foot pedals, though occasionally I did manage to use a few of them as a special effect.

As the ward organist for my congregation, I got to sit up, or rather hide, behind the instrument during Sunday services. I would play the preludes, the two to four hymns (we’re a singing people) in the main meeting, and then do a short postlude to usher the congregation out and on to their next meetings. My technique was amateurish at best, especially since piano technique and organ technique are very different. On top of that, my classical training had been a bit “corrupted” once I started playing for the musicals in high school. I would get some interesting looks from my parents as our hymn tempos got a bit faster than normal, or a rockin’ syncopated backbeat would sneak in—not to mention the raised eyebrows I would get when I would improv riffs on the traditional Christmas carols. (Hey, I think Handel would have enjoyed a bit of swing in his songs.)

Typical Mormon congregational chapels are fairly small and their electronic instruments modest, compared to Catholic/Episcopalian cathedrals hosting larger pipe organs. The only two instruments that we have to compare would be the two housed at the conference centers in Salt Lake City, with the most famous “Mormon” pipe organ the one that usually accompanies the Mormon Tabernacle Choir.

There’s no really comparison in the sounds. When you hear a pipe organ in full voice, it can’t compare to all the electronic organs most people have at home or at church. It really needs the proper setting to appreciate it. One of my biggest thrills as a musician was when I got to play on a pipe organ at a cathedral in Middletown, CT with my high school madrigal choir. The cathedral’s organist was kind enough to acquiesce to our requests to use the instrument at least once in rehearsals. Upon determining that I knew enough about what I was doing, he actually agreed to let us use it during the competition/concert. He sat alongside me, working the presets/stops, so I could play the registers and work the pedals. Learning how to pick up conductor’s cues while seated far from the choir, and to learn how to gauge reverb, echo distortions, and balance with the size of the vestry was invaluable to me as a musician.

I always meant to try and take lessons on how to play correctly. My undergraduate college offered lessons and had a large instrument and chapel where I could have practiced. My four-year prospectus/business plan outlined how and where I could later use these skills. However, as the years went on, fitting in the requirements for my major and double minor, plus other life demands conflicted with classes. I eventually even stopped taking piano lessons since there just wasn’t enough time to do everything.

Development

To this day, I’ve always been intrigued by what a trained and talented organist can do. As I sat at this concert, surrounded by a standing-room-only crowd of other organ aficionados, I watched in awe as the musician made it look so effortless. Prodigy and genius are two overused terms, but in this case they were both appropriate. Not only was it a feat of technical mastery (you do see why there are few overweight organists), it was a feat of memorization. Bach counterpoint is notoriously tricky, and the Trio Sonatas created a musical “dance” between both hands maintaining separate lines on separate keyboards, with both feet flying as a continuo on the pedals. At times the interweaving of the melody lines almost seemed “modern” to me, like the techno or electronica that I enjoy.

At the organist’s suggestion, I closed my eyes, so as to not be distracted by the blur of his hands and feet. The music was transporting. I sat there, letting the music wash over me, while the various melodies wove their various ways in and around and through each other.

Suddenly, their melodic mysteries helped me to solve one of mine, one that I’ve been pondering for more than 20 years. It was a wondrous moment, and proved to me that you never know the place, time, or means in which you will receive your personal revelations.

Retroblog April 9, 1982

Today is Friday April 9th 1982 Time 3:23 pm

I must tell you about Albert He is so cute. I meet him in 3rd trird grade. He was chaseing me around the play-ground. The next year he and I were on the swing. I told him he had chased me in 3rd grade. He said He liked me since then we have had fights and quarrells. But I still like him

Ah, first crushes. Innocent times. Sadly, Albert and I didn't get beyond the walking home stage. We were both way too young and too shy. Plus, I was a smart kid and he was a cool kid, so it wasn't destined to be anyway.

To this day, however, whenever I'm in the old neighborhood and see his childhood home, it's always "Albert's house" in my mind. Albert moved away a few years later, and I don't know what happened to him. I suppose I could run an Internet search, but it's more wonderful to think of those playground days with a glow of nostaglia. Not knowing is much better ...