Eighteen years. At eighteen, the world is out there for you. It's ripe, ready for tasting. For most of us, it was the best time. Back then, we were "adults" We could drink, vote, join the army, get married. Many of my classmates did. Now, I don't know very eighteen year olds who are "adults". I don't think I was an adult at eighteen either-emotionally or mentally. Most of us were pretty naive and sheltered. I know I was. Maybe that was a product of my family life or where I grew up. I just recall that my first year in college, was - let's say-a transition period for me.
My wish for my daughter's eighteenth year is all good things. I hope she experiences that big earth shattering mental shift that inevitably will come sometime. I hope it's the mental shift that results in some reflection and growth and not panic or mistrust. Sometimes, I get a glimmer of her realization that she is a distinct individual-totally capable of knowing, seeking, understanding the world with no influence from anyone. That glimmer has been slightly annoying lately, to tell you the truth.
But there will be that moment when the world for her will be honest, real and sincere and I can't wait for that day. I remember the day with my mom, when she just looked at me and signed... "you really have learned a lot of new things?" I smiled. Of course, I didn't know very much then. I am still learning and making mistakes, but you live through them.
So, I hope my 18 year old has the best year of her life. She truly deserves it. A year filled with hope, excitement, joy and wonder.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Thursday, July 29, 2010
The Fairest in the Land
My hometown is home to the STATE FAIR. Fans of old timey movies will remember the musical State Fair.-"Our State Fair is the best State Fair"...I think that's how it goes? In my memory, the local fair sort of compares... sort of. There's livestock, pies, jellies, and out of town families that come in to the big city to win the big 4H prize and carnies. There's the freak shows and seedy characters, outrageous flirting and fights. So not much has changed? I guess that's comforting? I know relatives and family that plan their visit home just so they can go to THE FAIR.
Every year I say I'm not going to go to The Fair, but we go. During the first week of August my house is usually 95 degrees, so of course we go where it's even HOTTER and there's people everywhere! But there's something about it. The memories, the children, the smells, the organic heap of it all.
Of course, I've been to the pinnacle of amusement parks several times-Disneyland-and seriously; nothing compares to that Walt magic. You're in a bubble when you're there. The world is perfect, people are perfect,children are smiling, bubbles, balloons, it's pure magic. There's nothing slimy, seedy or smelly about it. But it's not fair to make a comparison between the two. Disneyland is a fairy tale princess castle, and The Fair is vomit in a trash bin.
So why do I go to The Fair every year? To me it's a snapshot of the cosmic community. Overall, it's a mass representation of what we are. Cranky kids in strollers with sunburned cheeks.A good harvest of new vegetables, garden flowers, fine rabbits and chickens; contrasted against the extreme chaos of the midway, juvenille madness, cliques and gangs, beer and greasy smells. And those smells, oooh. A curious cultural mix of Indian tacos, pizza, gyros, Norwegian deep fried meatballs and Bar B Que, layered with the sticky sweet fragrance of burnt caramel sugar.
So I go to The Fair because it is like life. Not all magic and bubbles in a fairy land far far away. The Fair is real. There's truth there. Hot and exposed, warts and all, the tattoos, the muffin tops, wife beater shirts, mullets, piercings, diapers on the park lawn, sippy cups, and sticky hands.That harsh ride that makes you sick, noisy tractors from 1926, pungent hay, the stillness of the quilt room. There's years of memories in every building, and it takes you back. It's the real deal baby.
They're always trying at The Fair to clean it up, pave walkways, put clean shirts on the workers and bring in Branson-type shows to "bring it up a notch." But it's the same. But there is one thing that just fixes it for me. If I'm walking down the midway, and if there's just enough money in my pocket for a Fresh Squeezed Lemonade, my life is good. And that lemonade at The Fair IS good.
Every year I say I'm not going to go to The Fair, but we go. During the first week of August my house is usually 95 degrees, so of course we go where it's even HOTTER and there's people everywhere! But there's something about it. The memories, the children, the smells, the organic heap of it all.
Of course, I've been to the pinnacle of amusement parks several times-Disneyland-and seriously; nothing compares to that Walt magic. You're in a bubble when you're there. The world is perfect, people are perfect,children are smiling, bubbles, balloons, it's pure magic. There's nothing slimy, seedy or smelly about it. But it's not fair to make a comparison between the two. Disneyland is a fairy tale princess castle, and The Fair is vomit in a trash bin.
So why do I go to The Fair every year? To me it's a snapshot of the cosmic community. Overall, it's a mass representation of what we are. Cranky kids in strollers with sunburned cheeks.A good harvest of new vegetables, garden flowers, fine rabbits and chickens; contrasted against the extreme chaos of the midway, juvenille madness, cliques and gangs, beer and greasy smells. And those smells, oooh. A curious cultural mix of Indian tacos, pizza, gyros, Norwegian deep fried meatballs and Bar B Que, layered with the sticky sweet fragrance of burnt caramel sugar.
So I go to The Fair because it is like life. Not all magic and bubbles in a fairy land far far away. The Fair is real. There's truth there. Hot and exposed, warts and all, the tattoos, the muffin tops, wife beater shirts, mullets, piercings, diapers on the park lawn, sippy cups, and sticky hands.That harsh ride that makes you sick, noisy tractors from 1926, pungent hay, the stillness of the quilt room. There's years of memories in every building, and it takes you back. It's the real deal baby.
They're always trying at The Fair to clean it up, pave walkways, put clean shirts on the workers and bring in Branson-type shows to "bring it up a notch." But it's the same. But there is one thing that just fixes it for me. If I'm walking down the midway, and if there's just enough money in my pocket for a Fresh Squeezed Lemonade, my life is good. And that lemonade at The Fair IS good.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
It's a Jacket
Whenever I am out wandering department stores, boutiques, malls; whether it is by myself or with my sister and daughter; I stop and admire jackets. Fall, winter, spring, even summer. It’s my thing. Of course, this has become a family joke. “Look – It’s a JAAAAACKET” I love the whole premise of the word “Jacket”. Derived from Old French- jaquet: short jacket -short coat, one that is hip-length and has a front opening and sleeves. But other definitions strike me as perhaps there is more to the covering than the intended purpose, and possibly there is more behind why I love Jackets.
More definitions:
A life jacket: something that resembles this or is designed to be worn around the upper part of the body: meaning protection, safety security.
An exterior covering or casing, such as the insulating cover of a boiler: functional, purposeful.
Skin of a baked potato- natural, part of existence.
Metal casing used in certain types of ammunition – A shell to encase power.
Sleeve a cover to protect a gramophone record – preserving a memory.
Folder or envelope to hold documents- protecting information.
So, thinking about these things has led me to realize that there is way more to my closetful of jackets. I am, of course, all those things defined above. I am always seeking safety, security, a functional yet purposeful life. A natural existence. I guard the power of my emotions within, and also very protective and diligent about keeping my past with me.
My jackets have changed over the years as fashion trends come and go. A child of the 70’s; I was one of the multitudes of “working girl” masses that entered the work force in the 80’s. As a retail chick working in the mall, I sold newly empowered women those Power Suits complete with shoulder pads. Even the blouses under the suit jacket came equipped with shoulder pads. It seemed like working women had evolved into linebackers ready to take on the world. Personally, I never really reached that tier of needing an everyday power suit ensemble; but I had at least two or three that I wore – on occasion. I marveled at how the 80’s transformed into the hot suits of the 90’s – Ally McBeal style. Now, not only did women need the power suit jacket, they needed the micro mini skirt and legs to pull off the charade of making it in the working world. That really was ridiculous. Will my daughter have to endure a female dress code manifesto? On a recent trip to the mall, I’m not too sure. Tank tops, leggings, low rise jeans. No jackets. The kids just are; open, free, exposed. It’s different now.
But as my working world adapted to more casual dress, I too left the constraints of the suit-straight jacket to more casual jackets. In fact, I’ve evolved to the sweater jacket. It’s softer, looser, comforting. I think it reflects how I feel about life. What’s next for me? The cardigan sweater. I’m sure that’s coming. “Look mother- it’s a lovely pink cardigan.”
More definitions:
A life jacket: something that resembles this or is designed to be worn around the upper part of the body: meaning protection, safety security.
An exterior covering or casing, such as the insulating cover of a boiler: functional, purposeful.
Skin of a baked potato- natural, part of existence.
Metal casing used in certain types of ammunition – A shell to encase power.
Sleeve a cover to protect a gramophone record – preserving a memory.
Folder or envelope to hold documents- protecting information.
So, thinking about these things has led me to realize that there is way more to my closetful of jackets. I am, of course, all those things defined above. I am always seeking safety, security, a functional yet purposeful life. A natural existence. I guard the power of my emotions within, and also very protective and diligent about keeping my past with me.
My jackets have changed over the years as fashion trends come and go. A child of the 70’s; I was one of the multitudes of “working girl” masses that entered the work force in the 80’s. As a retail chick working in the mall, I sold newly empowered women those Power Suits complete with shoulder pads. Even the blouses under the suit jacket came equipped with shoulder pads. It seemed like working women had evolved into linebackers ready to take on the world. Personally, I never really reached that tier of needing an everyday power suit ensemble; but I had at least two or three that I wore – on occasion. I marveled at how the 80’s transformed into the hot suits of the 90’s – Ally McBeal style. Now, not only did women need the power suit jacket, they needed the micro mini skirt and legs to pull off the charade of making it in the working world. That really was ridiculous. Will my daughter have to endure a female dress code manifesto? On a recent trip to the mall, I’m not too sure. Tank tops, leggings, low rise jeans. No jackets. The kids just are; open, free, exposed. It’s different now.
But as my working world adapted to more casual dress, I too left the constraints of the suit-straight jacket to more casual jackets. In fact, I’ve evolved to the sweater jacket. It’s softer, looser, comforting. I think it reflects how I feel about life. What’s next for me? The cardigan sweater. I’m sure that’s coming. “Look mother- it’s a lovely pink cardigan.”
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Helicoptering: Launch Pad
Helicoptering: Launch Pad: "I've been dreading this coming event. My only child, darling daughter, everthing in my world is leaving home in a few weeks for college. I'v..."
First Time
I am venturing out into the land of blogs. First, to find out how to do one; second because I think I'm a frustrated writer that always got B's in composition in college. Maybe this will help me become a better writer. I'm not always going to correct my syntax, my dangling participles, and my run on sentences. I actually think that the era of text messages and email has created a new style of writing. I'll probably employ that style here.
So my blog- Benn there. Sort of a play on my name of sorts. But also a nod to my maturity. Because, dear reader... I have reached that milestone of age-dom. But I still cannot accept it. But I have "been there", probably done that, and have gained wisdom from it. I have learned that it is better to be humble about one's experience and knowledge than to spout off about it. However, I do take occassion to go to my "been there" lines when it comes to discussions with my child. Despite what she thinks, my wisdom and hard lessons are there for her to learn from not tune out.
My posts will mostly be about my journey into the next year. I have a huge transition coming my way. So I'm hoping that anything I've learned from my past will lead me through the next new thing.
So my blog- Benn there. Sort of a play on my name of sorts. But also a nod to my maturity. Because, dear reader... I have reached that milestone of age-dom. But I still cannot accept it. But I have "been there", probably done that, and have gained wisdom from it. I have learned that it is better to be humble about one's experience and knowledge than to spout off about it. However, I do take occassion to go to my "been there" lines when it comes to discussions with my child. Despite what she thinks, my wisdom and hard lessons are there for her to learn from not tune out.
My posts will mostly be about my journey into the next year. I have a huge transition coming my way. So I'm hoping that anything I've learned from my past will lead me through the next new thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)