My mother still has her Christmas tree up. She's got a project this year to write down all the stories associated with all the lovely ornaments she's collected and displayed over the years. I'm going to help.
Here's the story of the little felt Christmas tree that hangs on her tree every year, usually in the back, because I made it when I was six. The tree itself is green felt, with a bit of stuffing between the two sides, with a silver corded ribbon and some shiny sequins shaped like candles, stars and moons glued on with Elmer's glue.
The day I made the little felt tree I was in kindergarten. Some time before the craft happened I was pulled away from the group, probably to take some medicine. I tended to be a sickly child and was always taking some sort of medicine, usually some pink bubblegum flavored syrup. By the time I got back, all the big gold star sequins were taken to top the other children's trees. I gathered what I could, which looks like two gold moons, two red stars, two gold candles, and a tiny blue star, which topped my tree. I decorated the tree with the glue in paper dishes in the middle of the table (which is why there is glue on the front sides of the ornaments) and had the nice teacher stuff and glue it together. The teacher also wrote "To Mommy 1978" on the back of the tree.
Today when I was sitting in Mom's living room waiting for her to get ready for the play we were going to see, I looked at the little Christmas tree and started to cry. I took it down and turned it over in my hands and realized that the nice teacher, so many years ago, had spelled Mommie wrong, on top of everything else. I really was feeling sorry for myself. I had a very trying day at work, was told I was letting things get to me, that everyone felt the way I felt, that I shouldn't be as frustrated as I clearly felt, and not to make a scene as it wasn't good for the team. As I looked at this little ornament, I felt like my whole life had gone the same way as that long ago craft project. Everyone got to the table before me and got the good stuff, and I was left to make the best of what I got, which was pretty pathetic and sad. Every time I try, it seems I fall on my face, and everyone has something I want, but I am too afraid to go after it. Hell, I don't even know what my gold star would be at this point.
Since getting home from the play, I sat down to finish writing this post. I'm not saying that I had any epiphany and now realize that if I'm given lemons I should make lemonade, but I did think that I'm possibly the only child who still has their little ornament from kindergarten on the family Christmas tree. I'm just trying to decide if that's enough.
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nostalgia. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 31, 2006
Saturday, May 14, 2005
Good-Bye House
Last night friends of mine had a "Good-bye House" party to celebrate the house they lived in for over 25 years. This little bungalow in North Cherry Creek has been sold, sadly not for the beautiful house, but for the land beneath it. My friends are moving to a smaller house a few miles away.
The next door house (which was not nearly as cute as this one) has already been scraped and a hulking building stands where once was a yard both front and back and even on the side. Most of the block now has succumbed to the scrape and build epidemic that is raging through some of the most beautiful parts of the metro area.
A friend once told me how she hated to see the scrape-offs, and the resulting hulks squating where once a home lay sweetly on the lot, these houses built with speed and money. At the time, I thought the houses she pointed out looked nice, they were big and new.
But I changed my mind when my "Uncle" sold a house that was scraped to make way for a complex of townhouses, tall and shining, but lacking warmth and charm. I'm sure the people who live there feel that their home is lovely, but the little house where I stayed with a friend and consumated an illicit love affair will always be in my mind when I drive past that lot.
And after today, when we plan to go visit once more (everyone was tired when the last guest left so we didn't actually get to talk) I don't think I will ever drive down that street again. This house has been part of the landscape of my life for as long as I can remember. I celebrated my first Christmas in Colorado by the fireplace here, we fingerpainted in the living room and danced to records on the old victrolla. It started out as a cozy and dusky home of friends of my mom's and became partly my home, growing up with their son then daughter, watching the renovation expand and beautify the house, hearing Hummer work in the back yard deep into the twilight, playing pool and asking personal questions of my "little brother's" friends in the oubilliette. This is a place in my world that I will never be able to go back to, except in my mind's eye. I guess it's true you can never go home again.
The next door house (which was not nearly as cute as this one) has already been scraped and a hulking building stands where once was a yard both front and back and even on the side. Most of the block now has succumbed to the scrape and build epidemic that is raging through some of the most beautiful parts of the metro area.
A friend once told me how she hated to see the scrape-offs, and the resulting hulks squating where once a home lay sweetly on the lot, these houses built with speed and money. At the time, I thought the houses she pointed out looked nice, they were big and new.
But I changed my mind when my "Uncle" sold a house that was scraped to make way for a complex of townhouses, tall and shining, but lacking warmth and charm. I'm sure the people who live there feel that their home is lovely, but the little house where I stayed with a friend and consumated an illicit love affair will always be in my mind when I drive past that lot.
And after today, when we plan to go visit once more (everyone was tired when the last guest left so we didn't actually get to talk) I don't think I will ever drive down that street again. This house has been part of the landscape of my life for as long as I can remember. I celebrated my first Christmas in Colorado by the fireplace here, we fingerpainted in the living room and danced to records on the old victrolla. It started out as a cozy and dusky home of friends of my mom's and became partly my home, growing up with their son then daughter, watching the renovation expand and beautify the house, hearing Hummer work in the back yard deep into the twilight, playing pool and asking personal questions of my "little brother's" friends in the oubilliette. This is a place in my world that I will never be able to go back to, except in my mind's eye. I guess it's true you can never go home again.
Friday, April 08, 2005
"Save The Date"
I was going through my work emails today and I found a “Save The Date” request. I checked it out and realized it was for our Christmas party last December. (Ok, so this means I need to clean out my inbox more often, I know, I know) In years past we have had lavish parties at the Historic Boulder Theater, a stunningly beautiful venue. This past December was no exception, we had a lovely dinner along with magicians entertaining us with slight of hand and silver coins, and, of course, a live band.
During this evening of fun and frivolity (company-sponsored, of course) I spoke briefly with someone I had become close to in the past few years. Over the course of the last few seasons we had drifted apart and now, at the end of the year, I was facing a stranger that I once knew. It was awkward; I was both flattered to be sought out yet a bit stand-offish since we had not spoken since Halloween. By the end of our conversation, I was a bit confused and just wanted to go back to somewhere I can only visit in memories.
At the end of the evening (which came early as it was a Sunday and everyone had to be at the office the next morning) only the dancers and a few others were left out of the huge influx of people. And I got my set-list from the violist, and I left without looking back.
And today, I found that email, and realized, I haven’t heard from or spoken to my old friend since that night almost four months ago. And that makes me sad for what was, and I’ll probably be a bit melancholy today, but somehow it doesn’t bother me as much as it did last year this time. I suppose time does heal, and distance yields perspective. Yet on windswept days where the sky is clear and the mountains seem close enough to touch, I miss him.
During this evening of fun and frivolity (company-sponsored, of course) I spoke briefly with someone I had become close to in the past few years. Over the course of the last few seasons we had drifted apart and now, at the end of the year, I was facing a stranger that I once knew. It was awkward; I was both flattered to be sought out yet a bit stand-offish since we had not spoken since Halloween. By the end of our conversation, I was a bit confused and just wanted to go back to somewhere I can only visit in memories.
At the end of the evening (which came early as it was a Sunday and everyone had to be at the office the next morning) only the dancers and a few others were left out of the huge influx of people. And I got my set-list from the violist, and I left without looking back.
And today, I found that email, and realized, I haven’t heard from or spoken to my old friend since that night almost four months ago. And that makes me sad for what was, and I’ll probably be a bit melancholy today, but somehow it doesn’t bother me as much as it did last year this time. I suppose time does heal, and distance yields perspective. Yet on windswept days where the sky is clear and the mountains seem close enough to touch, I miss him.
Saturday, January 29, 2005
Musical wanderings
Earlier this week, Bowling for Soup played at a local venue. Well, I didn't have tickets, and as I'm getting old and set in my ways, I have a hard time going to shows on a work night. But the guys from BFS were on my radio station in the afternoon for a quick interview. They played two or three songs and then Bo asked them to play a couple of sit-com theme songs.
They then played Gilligan's Island (a three hour tour...) and then they played The Dukes of Hazzard (Just the good ole boys, never meaning no harm...). Aww, I had forgotten the good ole boys song... and the deep subliminal messages imbedded into the music made some post-hypnotic suggestion to me and being as I am easily convinced to do something I already want to do, I went to my local DVD store and bought the Dukes of Hazzard Season One on DVD. And Season Two. And the Bowling for Soup cd - A Hangover You Don't Deserve.
So my nostalgia has been completely sated, as I spent many hours perusing the episodes where John Schneider was eighteen and just as cute as I remember. I don't remember their shirts off quite so much (but it's still nice) and I don't remember how terribly cute John's smile was. Or how um, well, dumb (for lack of a better word) his character was written. Ah well, it was still quite fun. Although yee-haw is still ringing in my head and I'm sure I'm going to be saying y'all a mite more than normal next week...
They then played Gilligan's Island (a three hour tour...) and then they played The Dukes of Hazzard (Just the good ole boys, never meaning no harm...). Aww, I had forgotten the good ole boys song... and the deep subliminal messages imbedded into the music made some post-hypnotic suggestion to me and being as I am easily convinced to do something I already want to do, I went to my local DVD store and bought the Dukes of Hazzard Season One on DVD. And Season Two. And the Bowling for Soup cd - A Hangover You Don't Deserve.
So my nostalgia has been completely sated, as I spent many hours perusing the episodes where John Schneider was eighteen and just as cute as I remember. I don't remember their shirts off quite so much (but it's still nice) and I don't remember how terribly cute John's smile was. Or how um, well, dumb (for lack of a better word) his character was written. Ah well, it was still quite fun. Although yee-haw is still ringing in my head and I'm sure I'm going to be saying y'all a mite more than normal next week...
Wednesday, January 12, 2005
Lunchtime Musings
I made a totally nostalgic purchase yesterday at lunch. I went into the EB by the shop I got lunch at, and I got myself a “previously played” copy of The Dukes of Hazzard racing game.
When I was little, I loved this show. I would watch it every week, and after every show, I would write to John Schneider and tell him how great the show was. I had a photo of John , a black and white 4x6, “autographed” that I toted around with me in a little wicker basket. I even snuck into my mother’s closet and borrowed her strappiest high heel shoes and pretended I was Daisy Duke. Ah, to be 9 again.
At any rate, the game is pretty fun, and even tho I’m really good at racing games, I’m not so good at them on the Dual Shock controller (but the analog stick is easier to use than the buttons) And you get to hear voices from the show and get to go over ramps and do the General Lee horn sound. So for my ten bucks, it was worth the ride.
When I was little, I loved this show. I would watch it every week, and after every show, I would write to John Schneider and tell him how great the show was. I had a photo of John , a black and white 4x6, “autographed” that I toted around with me in a little wicker basket. I even snuck into my mother’s closet and borrowed her strappiest high heel shoes and pretended I was Daisy Duke. Ah, to be 9 again.
At any rate, the game is pretty fun, and even tho I’m really good at racing games, I’m not so good at them on the Dual Shock controller (but the analog stick is easier to use than the buttons) And you get to hear voices from the show and get to go over ramps and do the General Lee horn sound. So for my ten bucks, it was worth the ride.
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