We’ll Frolic and Play the Eskimo Way

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cheeseballs, christmas, cookbooks, DPchallenge, festive, Friends, Gram, Hero, memories, nostalgia, parties, postaday, recipes

For the past week, I have been “coaxing” Christmas songs to pop up on my iTunes. And finally here they are! Perfect timing, after the best of the 8 Christmas parties I have thrown. The food was a hit all around. I’m very pleased. Salad was killed, no one left a bite of dessert, and I have only half a lasagne left. Mrs. Desmond’s cheeseball was even better this year because I didn’t have Worcester sauce and replaced it with soy sauce and sriracha. Wonder if ol’ Mildred, from Richmond, Virginia, would approve. Well, my friends did. It was really good.

We didn’t eat dinner until nearly 10. Not because it wasn’t ready, but we were too busy chatting and opening gifts and telling stories and drinking champagne. Most people left at 12:30 which is impressive. I moved the party from Sunday night to Saturday, and it made a difference. I began this party the first year I lived alone, which was my last year at USF. There were six girls, and it was a white elephant. We had a silver madonna boob purse, a scary wooden cat with real human hair, lottery tickets, and giant underpants. I didn’t have the cheeseball. I had a store-bought cheeseball. Until I didn’t.

The story of the cheeseball is that the year before Gram died, I interviewed her about her recipes because I wanted to write a cookbook for all of us. It’s actually a beautiful book, filled with awesome pictures of my grandmother in the 50s and 60s and beyond, in her kitchen, in her apron. I asked her about family recipes that we grew up eating, most of which I already knew how to make by heart. Each recipe in the book comes with a story, of the reason behind the recipe.

We sat for hours in her small assisted living studio, only furnished with a microwave. She told me who her cooking partner was in 7th grade. She recited her recipe for Hermits from when she was five. This was the woman who at nearly 90, was slowly losing her mind. The stories I heard that day from a woman who had always been my hero, always been my best friend, amazed me. How she could remember that if your fruitcake was too moist, stick half an apple in the tin and put it in a dark cupboard? And that you always press down ginger cookies with a glass dipped in sugar?

Mildred Desmond, or Mrs. Desmond as I had always known her, was Gram’s next door neighbor when they moved down from Canada. She was a lovely woman. We always

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Slide and Let the Silicone Embrace You as You Fall

Tags

concerts, family, Friends, memories, Neil Young, past, Pearl Jam, perspective

When I was 17, nearly 18, I flew to Colorado without my parents to attend my college orientation. It was early summer and I raced back to attend a Pearl Jam concert that was supposed to change the world of ticket sales. Eddie Vedder et al chose to boycott Ticketmaster due to onerous fees. In the spring of 1995, I paid what I remember to be “a buttload of money” to attend the Pearl Jam concert in the Golden Gate Polo Fields. Three of us made our way to San Francisco, and were ready for the day. Well, sort of. Temperatures skyrocketed to high 90s. In the Sunset District, this is highly abnormal. People passed out right and left due to sunstroke. My friends chose to drink straight vodka and were eventually sicker than dogs. Neil Young, who was opening for Pearl Jam, kept singing and playing, playing and singing. I wasn’t a fan.

By the time Eddie Vedder and his band made their appearance on stage, he was stumbling. I was up close to the stage thanks to my drunk girlfriends. I didn’t dare to leave them because this whole scene was (and probably is, even still) very new to me.
But they played like hell for nearly 30 minutes which was fantastic, until it wasn’t. Eddie pawed at the mic, set off an exorbatant amount of feedback which caused everyone to clutch their ears, and mumbled an inaudable phrase. We as an audience received the occasional word and had to piece everything together. “Flu”, “sick”, “worst day of my life”, and then Eddie split. As the crowd realized what happened, the booing began. And we stopped once one of the band members spouted explatives as a result of our booing. Then Neil Young came out. He played, and played, played, and played. I waited patiently for my friends who insisted on waiting for Eddie to return. When it’s hotter than Hell and the guy you are listening to sounds like a broken record, mentioning moons and gold and being helpless, well–you tune out. I tuned out. I was pissed. We waited diligently with the hope that they would return. Actually we were promised more than several times that he would, but he didn’t. And I waited, hating every minute.

I’m not sure why I am thinking of this moment–perhaps because both Neil Young and Pearl Jam are present tonight. All six songs also have to do with waiting, oddly enough. But I wonder about the idea of perspective: I chose to boycott Pearl Jam for

These are my Heart Songs, They Never Feel Wrong

Tags

childhood, Heart Songs, memories, Music, songs that changed my life, Weezer

The bipolar nature of tonight’s playlist made me laugh at first. I searched the lyrics of each of the first five songs, thinking to myself that it’s going to be difficult to make anything out of this collection. Deano talks about being in love, The Fixx, well, I still can make very little out of that one. Perhaps being cowardly? This song might be Barry Manilowe’s most depressing, Prince makes me get up and dance, and “Go” has Eddie Vedder screaming about a drug overdose.

But then came the best gem of all–Weezer. I don’t know if I have ever heard this song. Add it to the list of songs I own and don’t know. This is the reason I started MWOAS after all.

I have mentioned before that I found Weezer when my friend’s older brother returned from college. I was about to be a senior in high school, and was hooked. About a year ago, I heard the lead singer, Rivers Cuomo, on Teri Gross’ Fresh Air. The guy is a genius. If you haven’t heard it, check it out. Not only does he have a degree from Harvard, he also spoke about what it was like when he was a kid living on an ashram. I remember some sad-ish story about a school fight or being picked on, which led to some of his songwriting.

Anyway, after looking at the lyrics to the slow-paced “Heart Songs”, I realize how much songs have changed my life. Specific songs. I have referenced this many times in the blog, but it’s funny which ones we forget. In the second stanza of Weezer’s song, Cuomo sings, “Eddie Rabbitt sang about how much he loved a rainy night”. I don’t know where we were but it was in my mom’s car, before my brothers. I think we were in a parking lot, and it was pouring rain. This song was on, and it was a song I tried over and over to remember because I remember liking it. All of it’s 6 catchy lyrics: “Well, I love a rainy night”. We were in a fender bender. That’s all I remember.

When that song came on the radio as I got older, I could still remember the impact of this stupid song–rain and darkness and safe with my mom, after being rear-ended. Weezer lists many other songs that changed my life in a way–Nirvana’s Nevermind album, “Man in the Mirror” by Michael Jackson, Rick Astley.

So I thought, if I were to choose 6 songs that define me, what would they be and why? What are my heart songs?

In no particular order:

“Running to Stand Still”–U2, The Joshua Tree. This was my first CD. Up to that point, I hadn’t listened to lyrics to anything so deep. And Bono’s oohs still haunt me.

“Pancho and Lefty”–Waylon Jennings and Merle Haggard, Pancho & Lefty. This defines my childhood. Plus it tends to be a theme song for me and my best friend.

“Diamonds on the Soles of Her Shoes”–Paul Simon, Graceland. I’ve discussed this album ad nauseum so I won’t say anymore.

“Let it Loose”–The Rolling Stones, Exile on Main Street. This song defines the moment I fell in love with Mick Jagger. He took the shine right off my shoes.

“You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling”–Hall and Oates (this mortifies me btw). The unnamed cassette tape that came with our 1981 Mercury Colony Park station wagon. It’s the song I remember most. Plus, that’s the car I grew up in. Seriously.

“Tomorrow”–Aileen Quinn. Annie. Yes, the soundtrack. The other tape that lived in our station wagon, until it “got lost” when I was 7. That was the first movie I really remember. We saw it in that station wagon, Mom, Dad, and I, at the Drive In in San Jose.

What a bizarre collection. I could have added many, many more. Most were discovered between the ages of 5 and 10–the informative years. I didn’t include bands I grew up with like The Beatles, The Beach Boys, or The Eagles because the lyrics meant nothing to me until I was older. They were background music in my childhood.

One that I didn’t choose is for a simple, loaded reason. “Danny Boy” represents bagpipes and my family, death and loss, love and life. Like “Amazing Grace”, I hear the first few bars, especially on a bagpipe, and I am down for the count. So I avoided those types of songs.

Cuomo included Rick Astley, DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince of Bel Air, and Gordon Lightfoot. So no judgment here. I love my heart songs because they make me laugh out loud. I love my heart songs because they bring me back to childhood, adulthood, in-between-hood. I’m glad they’re mine.

So what are your Heart Songs?

—–

Ain’t that a Kick in the Head–Dean Martin

One Thing Leads to Another–The Fixx

When October Goes–Barry Manilow

I Wanna Be Your Lover–Prince

Go–Pearl Jam

Heart Songs–Weezer

Windows are Rolled Down, Sun is Rising High

Tags

Cars, childhood, Dad, driving, editing, Friends, frozen yogurt, life, memories, Mercedes, Nanaimo Bars, Paul Simon, writing

When I was younger, my dad had this very diesely, loud Mercedes. I still remember how the inside smelled. The perforated blue leather seats weren’t creased and stained and accidentally drawn on like Mom’s station wagon’s seats. Dad drove the car to work, and we usually reserved it to special occasions or church with all five of us in it.

We had this car until I was at least driving, before he blew the engine, nearly 200,000 miles under its belt. Everything lit up inside like a Christmas tree. Dad used to take me to Frozen Yogurt as a kid, I think to get me out of my mom’s hair as she was trying to put the boys to bed. It was great. We drove up what seemed to me a large hill, but it was just the diesel engine straining during acceleration– at anything higher than a curb.

I was allowed two flavors and a topping. In those days, I wasn’t that into chocolate, which my dad didn’t understand. I don’t think I do now either. But I liked gummy bears and bubble gum and sprinkles. Not chocolate sprinkles, rainbow sprinkles. I’d bury the gummy bears, especially the green ones, my favorite, at the bottom of the frozen yogurt, making them hard as rocks, which would prolong our outing. A few games of tabletop Ms. Pac Man or Donkey Kong were always essential. We’d sing loudly in the car, going over that hill in the slow-paced sedan.

I actually began my novel, which has never come to fruition, years ago with a drive similar to this one, Paul Simon’s Graceland playing in the background. Funny how “The Boy in the Bubble” was the song Dad and I sang so loudly. We would change the lyrics from “These are the days of miracle and wonder” to “These are the days of Miracle Whip and Wonder Bread”, and would kill ourselves with laughter.

I’ve been writing so much lately about my life between the ages of 9 and 15, why I am not sure. Nothing life-altering happened. Last night, I picked up my six short stories I wrote last summer, the six I haven’t touched since November 24th, and took the pen to them once again. There’s something so satisfying in this process. Cross out, revisit, think of new ideas, repeat. I think they are all at their stopping point, and if I choose to do anything with them, I shouldn’t tinker with them too much.

Yesterday on our way to lunch in my car, I was explaining to a friend I hadn’t seen in many many years that at times, my mom has been nervous about me sharing my writing. Most of the stories are based on truth or real situations, but not all things are true. Not everything. I think Mom worries that I will reveal some big family secret, although there really are none to be had. Maybe I do too. Perhaps she’s worried that I don’t feel things were as perfect as they truly were. I don’t think that’s it. My life for the most part has been nearly 90% perfect. That’s an A- life, not bad at all. Little things, even arguments, or big things like family fissures, even those don’t make life bad–they make life normal.

My friend’s granddaughter greeted me yesterday when I picked her up with a plate of Nanaimo Bars–an amazing treat that my Gram taught me to make as a girl. I don’t think I have had one since her death–maybe even before. I could have taken down the whole plate, I swear. But because of my stupid stomach, I had to settle on the smallest one. Let me tell you, it reminded me of Christmases, break-ups, family gatherings, college, old friends. It’s kind of like my writing–I can take the Nanaimo Bar, knowing perfectly well that they’re not perfectly suited for me and my stomach, but they bring me back to a safe, comfortable place. The good comes with consequences. Sometimes unpleasant memories make for the best stories. And there’s some comfort that we manage to come through unscathed on the other side.

I drove that stupid Mercedes once from my Gram’s home one night when I had my driver’s permit. It was just me and dad. It was dark, and the accelerator was so slow, my foot held down the gas pedal for an eternity. Merging onto 101, we were almost hit by someone with no patience. I started to swerve into the shoulder to avoid him and dad raised his voice, “No. Hold your course. He has to merge too”. That day I learned to not just be a defensive driver, but an offensive driver, that it was strategy-based. If people want to alter my plans or ideas, or interpret them as scary or dangerous, let them. But I need to hold my course. And I will.

Monkey–George Michael

Cool Dry Place–The Traveling Willbury’s

Summertime–The Samples

Windows are Rolled Down–Amos Lee

The Boy in the Bubble–Paul Simon

Whiskey River–Willie Nelson

All is Memory Taken Home with Me

Tags

college, friendship, hiking, memories, Music, Oregon, sorority sisters, support

Years ago, I had a t-shirt with the Dave Matthews Band “Crash” album cover on it with one small alteration–it was renamed “Crush”. It was for a date party in college. Date party? you ask. Yes, my friends, I was in a sorority. Surprising since I never really was nor really will remain now or in the future “sorority material”. Although 17 years later, I still don’t know what that phrase means. None of us fit that description. Regardless, my undergrad was enormous, and the Greek system was very small, but it didn’t matter whether you joined or not.

Seven of us got together this past weekend in Oregon for a reunion–the trip I mentioned before in a previous post (Ideas Starting to Move) . The one with all the apprehension. Yeah, that one. The trip was nothing short of awesome fabulous. In hindsight, I need to a) have more faith in myself b) realize that friends that are more than 13 years old know more about me than I realize and c) never wear overalls and bangs again in public.

Through babies, divorces, miscarriages, horrible breakups, job losses and just life, even though we are not always in the loop with one another, it’s easy to fall back in. We remain a safety net, a panel of judges, fashionistas, globetrotters, independent thinkers, idealists, and even realists. I think we all walked away from this past weekend grateful that we remain friends, happy that we have our memories, and pleased that we all have lives we love. It took a trip to another state to realize that I love my life. I bitch and complain sometimes about trivial matters or not feeling like I am where I should be. But I like what I have. I don’t want what others have. And it goes on and on with all of us…