Category Archives: memories

It is Halloween time, so here is a list of scary things

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I climbed on the elevator at work today and a maintenance man followed on behind me.  As the elevator moved up the floors, it made some weird noises and shimmied and shook.  The maintenance man looked at me and said, “We’ve been having problems with a couple of elevators in the building.  Four people have already been stuck in one over on the other side of the building this morning.”

My stomach twisted.  On my list of fears, getting stuck in the elevator is right up there.

I would be on the floor of this elevator, crying like a baby

source:  http://www.aqq.to/blog/wp-content/uploads/2010/06/panoramic_elevators2.jpg

So, naturally, I started to think about my list of fears.  In no particular order, they are:

  1. Getting stuck in an elevator
  2. Plummeting to my death in an elevator
  3. Spider crawling across my face
  4. Eating raw chicken
  5. Being mistaken for Roseanne Barr
  6. That I won’t be able to retire (due to lack of $)
  7. Sitting next to someone with bad BO on a long plane flight and it making me nauseated and then throwing up in mouth
  8. Anything to do with heights
  9. Realizing that the “Rhythm Is Going to Get Me” if I don’t run faster
  10. Bears, anywhere, anytime

That is one thing that I like about growing older.  And about taking antidepressants.  I have a lot fewer fears than I had when I was younger.

The Indigo Girls have a song called “Kid Fears” where they ask in the chorus “What would you give for your kid fears?”  I have always assumed that they mean by that question that the fears of a child are much less serious than the fears of an adult.  I have actually found the reverse to be true.  I grew up in the 80s, during the middle of the Cold War, the Iran hostage crisis, the Reagan administrations, etc.  And I remember going to bed afraid that nuclear war would break out during the middle of the night.  Such heavy fears for a 10-year-old.

Our world isn’t any more stable, but now I realize that I have the capacity to deal with a lot of the things that life throws at me.  Except for plunging elevators.  That shit scares me.

Lady Mama

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I named my blog “My Mama Always Said” because someone once pointed out to me that I started a lot of my stories with the phrase, “Well, my mama always said…”  And she really did have a lot to say, as I wrote about in one of my very first blogs.  I didn’t realize until I was Googling one day that most people associate that phrase with “Forrest Gump”, followed by “that life is like a box of chocolates.”  My mama never said that.  She said life isn’t always fair.  She said that you should eat chocolate if you get the chance.  But she never put life and chocolate in the same sentence.

So, I’ve spent my life hearing, listening (because there is a difference between “hearing” and “listening”) and repeating my mama’s words of wisdom, I was nonetheless shocked to realize just how hip she is.  This morning as I was driving to work, Lady Gaga came on the radio singing “Born This Way”.  Compare my mama to Lady Gaga.

me as a teenager:  I feel ugly / fat.  My hair is ugly.  I’m stupid.

My mama:  You are none of those.  You are beautiful.  God made you the way you are.  And He doesn’t make any mistakes.

Lady Gaga:  I’m beautiful in my way, ‘Cause God makes no mistakes

Who knew that my mama and Lady Gaga had so much in common?  I’m thinking of buying her a meat dress for Christmas.  My mama, that is.  Lady Gaga has been there, done that.

Lottery Thoughts

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There is a PowerBall drawing tonight worth $100 million.  I don’t normally pay any attention to the lottery because I know the odds of winning are stupid.  You know, like you’re 30,000 times more likely to get hit by lightning than you are to win the lottery, or whatever the statistic is.  (Of course, one of my aunts, my sister and my cousin were struck by lightning while they were in the car, driving down the road, and apparently that’s like supposed to be super-extra rare,and it happened to them.  So, the improbable does happen.). But I’ve been having a tougher time than normal at work recently, so I have been spending time fantasizing about being independently wealthy.

Any time I think about the lottery, it makes me think of mine and my sister’s babysitter’s husband, Roger.  Roger is one of the sweetest, kindest men that I ever met in my life, and as a distant cousin, my mom and my family have always known Roger and his family.

At our wedding (Susan Roark photography)

Roger used to talk about winning the lottery.  He had a plan.  And he always included giving part of his winnings to my mama, to help her pay off our mortgage.  When I was growing up, I thought the only reason that my mama had to work was this nebulous thing called a “mortgage”, and if this was gone, she could stay at home with me and Ashleigh, so I LOVED Roger’s plan.

How awesome was it that Roger was going to give us part of his winnings?  I don’t know many people who would give me any of their lottery jackpot…

I haven’t seen Roger in a couple of years.  The last time that I saw him, he didn’t remember or recognize me because of dementia.  I reminded him that I was Libby’s daughter.  To which he replied, “You’re Ashleigh’s sister, right?  You used to be the pretty one, but now she’s the pretty one.”

I agreed with him.  My sister is the pretty one. 

And she’s been hit by lightning.  Dang, she does have the luck.  Maybe I can get her to buy me a PowerBall ticket.

My Music Debut Then and Now!

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I love to sing!  It is one of my favorite things to do.  When I was little, I just knew that I was going to be a famous singer when I grew up.  I loved Olivia Newton-John and Leslie Gore.  Don’t know who Leslie Gore is?  She sang “It’s My Party” (and I’ll cry if I want to, cry if I want to…) and my mom had her album.  I played it over and over growing up.

I made my singing debut around the age of 8 during my 3rd grade Halloween Carnival talent show.  I sang “Don’t Cry Out Loud” for two shows.  I look back at that and wonder that no one laughed Out Loud at an 8 year singing:

Don’t cry out loud

Just keep it inside and learn how to hide your feelings

Fly high and proud

And if you should fall, remember you almost had it all

I mean, seriously….

My next singing performance was about the same year at the Glendale Springs Missionary Baptist Church, where I sang “Just Build My Mansion (Next Door to Jesus)”.  I still remember what I wore — a blue pleated skirt with a matching blue top, that had a white pilgrim collar with a rose at the throat.  I belted out “It doesn’t matter who lives around me, just so my mansion sets near the throne.”

But here’s the thing:  I can’t sing.  Not a lick.  I think I may be tone deaf.  I didn’t know it (obviously) during my talent show performance nor during singing in church, but my friend, Melissa Sheets, told me soon after the church performance that I couldn’t sing very well.

And other friends continued to give me feedback.  My best friend in high school, Becki, only allowed me to sing on my birthday and prom night, i.e. special occasions.  When I sing now, Matt says that he can hear dogs howling.

Thank goodness for long commutes in my car and my iPhone app Songify.  This app allows me to “produce” myself.  Check it out–I recorded my haiku tribute to Diet Coke.  It rocks.

Let’s See You Match Me With This

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We hardly ever watch network TV in our house, but we have been watching the Olympics since they have been on.  I guess the Olympic-watching crowd is mostly single because I have been overwhelmed by the number of match.com and eharmony.com commercials that come on.  Every time one of these commercials comes on, I think, “I’m so glad that I don’t have to date anymore.”

Matt tells me that I am the worst dater that he has ever met.  He says that he didn’t like me the first, second or third time that he met me.  On our first official date, I remembered that I had a prescription that I had to pick up before the pharmacy closed.  I thought that I was being extremely flexible when I told him that I had to go to the drugstore so we could (1) go together, (2) I could go and he could wait for me at the restaurant or (3) we could call the evening done and talk later.  Matt has said that it wasn’t being flexible, it was being the worst date ever.  (By the way, he opted to go with me to the drugstore.  I told him that I could have bought a bunch of yeast infection medicine and foot fungus treatment and then he could call it the worst date ever.)

My bad dating skills aren’t the worst around.  Recently, we had a girls’ weekend at my mom’s house with my mom, aunts and cousins.  During the course of the night, my Aunt Margo told the story about going on a double date with her ex-husband (her boyfriend at the time) and another couple back when they were all in high school.  I can’t remember the names of the other couple, and it really doesn’t matter, but the story goes that as they were driving through town the other girl yelled, “Stop the car!  I gotta shit!”

Even as I laughed, all I could do was think a couple of things.  First, I was surprised that the teenagers of what I’ve always thought of as my mom’s squeaky clean background would use the word “shit”.  Then I kept wondering why the girl (let’s call her Jane Doe), why Jane Doe would think that it would be okay to just yell out “I gotta shit”.  Did she grow up in one of those houses where talking about that was normal?  Like “I’m thirsty” or “I’m hungry”?  I’ve never been in a house like that, but surely they exist.  Or maybe she was trying to turn off her date?  I guess we’ll never know.

Then my Aunt Bobbie piped up and told us about one time when she was out on a double date.  My Aunt Bobbie worked at the hospital for 30+ years and was working there as a young woman during the time of the story.  She and her companions were out on their date when she realized that she needed to check on a patient that might be released.  She said to them, “We need to run by the hospital so I can check to see if I have a discharge.”

I laughed even harder at this story because this would So. Totally. Happen. to me.  I misunderstand people and they misunderstand me all the time.  Just word choice, I guess, and where your head is and their head is.  Like recently, I had to have a colonoscopy.  Which means drinking this nasty stuff called “movi-prep” the night before.  The next day before the procedure, the nurse asked, “Did you get clean from the movi-prep?”  And I said, “Yes, I took a shower this morning, so I don’t have any on me.”  She said, “No, are you cleaned out?”  Oh, yeah, that too.

And I just realized that my story and my Aunt Margo’s story both come back to poo.  Maybe I do know one of those households and it’s mine.

Happy Birthday to My Mother

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Today is my mom’s birthday.  I called her tonight to wish her “Happy Birthday” and she was getting ready to have dinner with some friends.

Growing up, my sister, cousins and I used to have the best birthdays.  They weren’t huge parties and they didn’t involve huge cakes or mounds of presents, they just included small parties at my Mamaw and Papaw’s house.

Wendi, Matt, Birthday Girl JJ, Cristy & Ashleigh

On the Sunday closest to the birthday, after all the lunch dishes were washed and the kitchen table was cleared, the birthday cake was brought out and placed before the guest of honor.  The rest of us gathered around and sang “Happy Birthday”, while our aunts and Mamaw looked on, then we got down to eating cake and opening presents.

Ashleigh, Birthday Girl Cristy and Matt
Aunt Baby, gamely wearing her headdress

I don’t remember any of us having big parties where lots of people were invited, where school friends came, where venues were rented out to entertain all the attendees.  Instead, I remember these simple Sundays at Mamaw’s with just my family.

One birthday that stands out was either my cousin Matt’s or my cousin Wendi’s.  I know it was one of them because the mother of the birthday girl or boy was responsible for bringing the cake and on this birthday, the cake had had an accident.  My Aunt Mary June (Wendi & Matt’s mom) had put the cake on the roof of the car while packing the car, unlocking the door (back in the day of inserting a key into a door lock), etc. and she forgot it was on the roof.  She drove off and the cake fell off.

The damage was minimal.  We only had to pick a little bit of gravel out of the icing before we cut into the cake.  We kids thought that was hilarious.

Front:  Birthday Girl, JJ, and Cristy
Back:  Mamaw, Aunt Margo, Mom and Aunt Baby
(One of my FAVORITE pictures–love my Mamaw in a birthday hat)
Birthday Girl, Ashleigh

If it wasn’t our birthday, we didn’t expect to get any gifts.  Only the birthday boy or girl had presents to open, and the rest of us were okay with that.  But, the birthday guest of honor usually let the others play with his / her presents.

I hear about the parties that parents throw their kids these days and I’m a little astounded.  They seem like very complicated and expensive.  But I don’t have children, so this is a current mystery that I just cannot answer.

But I can say with complete confidence that these birthdays of my youth were wonderful days, full of laughter, happy expectations, and feelings of being special for the day.

I hope that my mom is having as wonderful day today as she provided for me all those many birthdays.

Happy Birthday, Mama!

Kindergarten Memories

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I met one of my good friends for dinner the other night (*waves* Hi, Nikki!) and one of the things that we talked about was her oldest child starting kindergarten this fall semester.  She’s excited and proud and nervous (about him potentially riding the bus) all at once.

Waking up for the first day of Kindergarten

I started to think about my first day at school, and yes, that included riding the school bus.  Mrs. McConnell was my kindergarten teacher and I remember walking into the school room full of other kids.  Here, I met Marla Miller, Scott Bare, Jimmy Thompson and Lance Shumate.  I remember Marla being the first one to talk and play with me (I was too shy to talk to another kid first myself).  I remember Jimmy Thompson kissing Vicky Barker and being shocked (I was a strict rule follower and kissing definitely didn’t follow the rules of the classroom).

And on the bus home that afternoon, our neighbor’s son, Jamie, who was in 7th grade, took my hand and walked me up the bus aisle and helped me climb off the bus.

Waving “Good-bye” on my first day

Marla, Jimmy, Scott and Lance were friends until we graduated from high school.  With the creation of Facebook, I actually know a lot about what is going on in the lives of many of these same people.  Where they live, what they do for a living, if they have children, even what their children look like.  Kindergarten is definitely a watershed moment in a life.  A great beginning — to make friends that can last for the rest of your life, to begin the journey of learning, to begin the process of your world opening up beyond the confines of your family.  I’m a little jealous that I don’t have any such “big Milestone” moment left in my life.

As I look at these pictures, however, I think that my days are actually not that much different than they were back in kindergarten.  I look pretty much the same when I wake up (no “bright-eyed”, morning person for me).  Then I wave good-bye to Matt and head to work.  Sometimes, though, work feels like spending my day with 5 year olds, fighting for attention and arguing over toys.  “I didn’t do it.  He did it.”  “No, she did it.”  “It wasn’t us.” echo around the halls.  The only thing missing is nap time.  And we aren’t as cute with milk mustaches.

And like in kindergarten, whether I end the day with my name in the column for making good decisions or in the column for being a poopy head is entirely up to me.  I don’t wanna be a poopy head so I’ll do my best not to be.  Unless someone kisses me, then all bets are off.

$1.50 the First Mile, $0.50 Every Mile After

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Matt and I just went into Statesville for some frozen yogurt.  On the way home, a cab turned in front of us onto our road.  We live in the s-t-i-c-k-s (definition of s-t-i-c-k-s here), so a cab is a very unusual sight.  In fact, that was the first cab that I have ever seen in Statesville.

Our conversation as we followed said cab went something like this:

Matt:  I hate to sound mean, but I bet that cab is going to that nasty-ass trailer park.

me:  Why is that mean?  Because you assume that it is picking up someone who lost their license?  Picking up someone that is drunk?  Bringing someone some more beer?

Matt:  I’m pretty sure that cabs won’t bring you beer.

me:  Oh, yeah, they will.  We had one cab in West Jefferson that I remember growing up.  Joe’s Cabs.  And I remember hearing a story about somebody…shit, I can’t remember who…who would call Joe and say “Hey, Joe, would you go by the Backstreet and pick up some beer and bring it to me?”

Matt:  And Joe would?

me:  Well, hell yeah, for money.

*silence*

Matt:  Wow, he would deliver beer.

*silence*

me:  In New York City, that’s called “concierge service”.

Matt:  What’s it called in Jefferson?

me:  Joe’s Cabs.

The cab did turn into the nasty-ass trailer park*, but I don’t know if there was any beer delivery or not.

*Disclaimer:  The trailer park is nasty-ass because it’s nasty-ass, not because there are trailers.

A Rotisserie Chicken Led Me Down a Weird Path Tonight

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Tonight, I did what many people do on their way home each day and stopped at the grocery store to buy our dinner. And like most people (I think), I changed my mind about what we were eating while walking the aisles.

The rotisserie chickens had just finished cooking and they smelled great.  One chicken to go.

After I got home and started to get the meat off the chicken, all I could think about was one of my favorite books The Glass Castle: A Memoir by Jeannette Walls.  If you haven’t read it–GO READ IT NOW!  Anyway, it’s the author’s memoir of how she grew up, in a less than privileged (or safe) environment.  As she recounts some incidents that seem horrible in their neglect, abuse and / or poverty, you sometimes find yourself laughing with her at the absurdity of the situations.

One of my favorite quotes from the book comes when she is telling about the time she is invited over to another girl’s house.  The girl was the daughter of the “town whore”, Ginnie Sue.  Jeannette couldn’t pass up the invitation to see inside a whore’s house, so she gladly accepts the invitation.

The house wasn’t gaudy like she expected, but she was thrilled to see a big, cooked chicken on the table.  Ginnie Sue asks Jeannette if she knows how to pick a chicken clean and Jeannette assures her that she can.  And her chicken-picking skills impress Ginnie Sue because she tells her that is the best chicken-picking she’s ever seen.

Jeannette spent a lot of her childhood hungry, so the important lesson she took away from her day at Ginnie Sue’s house is one of my favorite quotes:  “One thing about whoring:  It put chicken on the table.”

So, naturally, as I’m up to my elbows in rotisserie chicken, all I can think about is “One thing about whoring….”

And unlike Jeannette, I can’t pick a chicken clean.  Exhibit A:

Chicken as picked as it will get 

I don’t think that is a skill that I ever learned.  And I’m OK with that.

There are lots of things that I saw my grandmothers and mom do, however, (like chicken-picking….you knew that I would get to my point eventually) that I wish that I knew how to do and I wonder if it’s too late.  For example:

  1. Make biscuits using Crisco
  2. Quilt
  3. Can vegetables
  4. Sew on a sewing machine
None of these things are necessary to daily life, I know this, but I think that I would feel a little more connected to the generations that came before me if I could do these things.
And I would be more prepared for the Zombie Apocalypse.