Mar. 17: More from my Wonder Years

Oh yes, it’s time once again for me to share choice, censored bits and pieces of my Wonder Years. You can watch TV if you get bored.

Remember, when we left off in 1985:

• I was using the word “sexy” way too much for a 17-year-old.
• Margaret was evil.
• Mike D was dating his half-sister (er… somethin’ unholy).
• I was in my senior year at a fine Adventist high school and, by all appearances, still the churchiest girl there ever was. In fact, I journaled often about being worried I’d have to transfer to public school—my dad cared NOT ONE BIT for Adventist education, and I had to work my butt off to pay my tuition each month—though I know it wasn’t public school I feared, but leaving my friends.
• I was singing almost every week at church or school assemblies or prayer meetings. (Side note: sometime between high school and college my ability to carry a tune disappeared, though I didn’t discover that until I had performed (terribly) at several embarrassing college functions. Nowadays I rock it in the car—who doesn’t?—but nowhere else. Sad.)
• I went to church when I wasn’t performing too. It would seem like sitting in church every Sabbath would translate to being a good, worship-ful teen, but in truth I went just to see boys boys boys.
• Not found in my journaling was anything about one of the stupidest things I ever did: I brought wine coolers in my travel mug and sipped from it at my locker between classes. I brought alcohol to school because it was risky and exciting, not because I had a drinking problem—I wasn’t in denial; truly, I couldn’t stand the taste. (My easy access to booze was courtesy of my over-21 brother-in-law.) I was sure I wouldn’t get caught because no teacher would’ve suspected such behavior from a good girl like me. If any of my friends had told on me—and OF COURSE, all of them knew about it because I thought I was that safe from suspicion—I would’ve been immediately kicked out of school. I don’t remember how long I did this, but I’m guessing the guilt and fear kept it going for a very short time.
  
  I wanted to be a bad girl. It just wasn’t in me. I mean, I sewed my own prairie dresses, for goodness’ sake.

---

My first journal entry for 1986 contained very important information:

Jan. 7: My newest cassettes are by Eddie Murphy, Jack Wagner, Amy Grant, Depeche Mode, Charlie Sexton, Mr. Mister, Van Halen, Sting, Phil Collins, Whitney Houston.

I was still as boy-crazy as ever:

Jan. 12: Last night we watched Footloose and it made me sort of depressed—it is so romantic in some parts. It made me think of AH, I think because it brings back so many memories from last year at [my other school].

Laura, Tracey, and I went to tea.

Tea? I do not remember this tea. We were such wanna-bes, though, that I’m not surprised we thought it would be fancy and fun, thereby making US fancy and fun. Laura? Tracey? Do you remember?

Jan. 24: I found the stereo I want. It’s got a dual cassette and everything else.

Wow. That is some high tech right there.

Jan. 26: The Bears won the Super Bowl. I ♥ the Refrigerator!

I cannot believe for a second that I really cared.

Jan. 27: I got my stereo! It is so totally cool.

Rissa and I have been writing really naughty stories.

Feb. 11: I was supposed to study for Cit Ed but Moonlighting was on tonight.

TV was always more important than studying. Thank goodness I was applying to a college that didn’t care about grades. (Can you write a check? Congrats, you’re in!)

Since I started keeping a journal in 1985, every time I mentioned my niece, Erin (4-5 years old), I wrote how cute she was, how sweet, adorable, all that. And then this:

Feb. 17: Friday night I babysat for Erin and she was a brat.

Not to worry, Erin; that’s the only time I said anything bad about you. On paper. ;)

Feb. 18: Today started out shitty but it got better. We had a health check at school and I was measured at 5’8”. I can’t believe I’m that tall. I was in there when Mike D got measured, and he was embarrassed that he was an inch shorter than me.

April’s nasty story is the best one yet.

Is Mike being shorter than me really all I needed to know to make my shitty day better? I was so easy to please! Also, I can’t believe I used the word “shitty” back then. I was such a rebel.

Feb. 19: I hope it snows tonight because I really need to get my hair cut. Life is so horrible.

The drama!

Mar. 3: GD is scared to death of me. He asked Debi why I always stare at him and she said because I want him really bad. He wouldn’t believe her, but now he probably won’t talk to me.

Mar. 5: I had a really boring day, but after I got off the bus that all changed. I heard someone running behind me, and when I turned around, this guy was walking right next to me. I said “hi” and then he started talking to me. He asked me where I went to school and where I lived and how long I’ve lived there. Then I said, “Well, maybe I’ll see you again sometime.” and then I had to turn off onto [my street]. He was cute! I don’t know his name or where he lives. I think he probably goes to [nearby public high school]. I hope I see him tomorrow or I won’t see him ‘til Monday probably. It would be exciting if I saw him again.

Wow. Just… wow. I wasn’t just boy-crazy; I was a dolt. Telling a stranger all that stuff? Did I learn nothing from all those ABC Afterschool Specials???

Mar. 12: GD is so cute and sweet to me, but sometimes he acts so immature.

Pot v. Kettle, 1986.

Mar. 13: Laura and I wrote notes all day.

Today’s kids will never know the daring fun of writing and passing notes, will they? I mean, it was THE thing back in the day. Sixteen Candles would have been a much shorter movie if not for the passing of the notes. Really, though, texts and emails are less likely to fall in the wrong sexy hands; it’s just so strange that this HUUUUGE thing of my growing up years is a lost art. “Art”? Maybe “medium” is more the correct term. Although the stories we wrote in our notes were definitely artistic, considering they were borne solely from our vivid imaginations. Yikes.

Mar. 31: GD and I wrote notes back and forth all during Sabbath School.

Yesterday I went over to Deani’s and she cut my hair. My senior pictures are next week.

I let my friend cut my hair right before pictures? No offense, Deanna, but that was possibly not my best decision ever. Although I’m not wearing a hat in my senior pictures, so maybe you didn’t do too bad a job.

Apr. 11: Some kids were rehearsing a play in the chapel today and when GD saw me watching he turned all red. He kept smiling at me. He is so cute and flirty. I’ll miss him so much next year.

…which is funny, because after I left for college there isn’t a single mention of him in my journal. Out of direct line of teenage sight, out of teenage mind.

Apr. 22: GD sat with me at lunch. He and CW made fun of me and it made me sort of mad. I told GD I hate when he acts like a sophomore.

In all fairness, he was a sophomore.

May 1: I was in a really bad mood today. Deani kept trying to cheer me up and that made it worse.

How horrible of my friend to do that. Just awful.

May 14: Today we got our caps and gowns. They’re red, and the cords are white and silver, the tassel is all three colors. It made me depressed.

This shows the melancholy mood so typical of my teenage years. It was exciting to get our caps and gowns, but I couldn’t just be excited because I knew it meant graduation and the end of high school. While a lot of people hated high school and couldn’t wait for it to end, I loved so much about it that I wished it could last forever.

May 15: GD hasn’t looked at me, except once, and I think it was an accident.

May 16: Tonight Dad and I went over to [April’s house] for dinner. We had a good time.

April is laughing at this memory right now, I just know it. The “we” that had a good time was me and April, not me and my dad. It’s a long story, and not interesting to anyone else, but my dad would want me to say this: it was one of the most awkward evenings ever, and April and I were all ♫ LA ♫ LA ♪♬ LA ♩♪♫♬ THISISSOFUN!! because we had no clue.

May 22: Tuesday we had a special Girls’ Club meeting—it was like a goodbye for the senior girls. Laura gave me a rose and said the most special things about me. I cried so much.

Wait! I have a picture!

May 26: [MG had a graduation party with DANCING (gasp!)] Last night was so much fun!!!

I was trying to get SS to dance with me but he kept saying that he didn’t know how. Finally, after a whole bunch of people told him to get out there, we went out. We danced to “Faithfully” and it was really romantic even though it was only SS.

Later “Hold Me Now” came on and BW said he loved that song so we got up and danced to it. He was singing to me. [I’m pretty sure he was drunk.] He is so tall!!

MB asked me to dance, but I didn’t want to dance a fast dance with him. Finally we danced to “Hold Me” by Whitney Houston and Teddy Pendergrass. That was by far the best dance. He held me so close and Deanna said he was smiling and had his eyes closed!! So did I. Rissa said we were picture-perfect, just the right height for each other.

Mike D brought his kinky cousin/girlfriend.

I looooove how creeped out I was by Mike’s girlfriend.

May 29: Today GD gave me a great big hug and said he’d miss me after I graduate. I told him I promised to write every day.

Later I was in the library and MB came in and was sort of flirting.

...which meant he was talking to me.

Jun. 1: Today I graduated from high school.

Jun. 2: I packed up all my stuff and moved to my mom’s house in Walla Walla. Tomorrow is my first day of work in the VP’s office.

Jun. 7: After Sabbath School I was in the foyer of the College Church and saw MB!!! I couldn’t believe it. He said he’s here for his sister’s graduation. I wasn’t going to go to the ceremony tomorrow but now I am for sure.

Mom invited people over after church and there was this guy [MH] that is WONDERFUL. He looks like BL but cuter. We went out for pizza and he held doors for me and pulled out my chair. Later we watched TV in my room and talked until really late. He is really really nice and so good looking.

Jun. 11: I was in a bad mood all day because I was so tired and my hair looked gross.

Jun. 22: MH was here again yesterday. I think I really like him. He’ll be back in August.

Jun. 28: This weekend was really fun. I stayed in the dorm. I met a girl, Sher, from [the same school as MH]. I asked her about him and she said he’s dumb.

Not that Sherilee’s opinion meant anything (ha!) but I never saw or mentioned MH again.

July 6: I moved into the dorm last Monday. I LOVE IT!! On Friday Sher, Sherri, and I went to Ferris Bueller’s Day Off.

To this day, going to that movie is still one of my favorite and most vivid college memories.

July 7: Laurie and I went to [the guys’ dorm] tonight and the guy at the desk let us go to SG’s room. When he answered the door he wasn’t wearing anything! We were so embarrassed!

There’s a story there that picks up about six years later, but if you ask me for details I’m pleading the fifth.

Aug. 2: I found out this guy DB likes me. He is kinda cute but not really my type.

The other night a big group of us made a few prank calls over to the guys’ dorm. Most of them were pretty boring but one really gross guy really got into it! It was disgusting.

This might be the first recorded evidence of our epic prank phone call sessions. I wrote about my life-changing one here.

—please take a Brief interlude—

Between August and December there are an embarrassing number of pages about different guys I went out with (mostly the two that I didn’t like all that much and another that I really liked but kept me at arm’s length until I started dating other guys and then he wouldn’t leave me alone), high school friends that had finally arrived for college, moving into the other dorm and getting a roommate, the zit that nearly killed me, Mike D and me becoming actual friends, and surprisingly little about classes I was taking.

Why is it that I’m more embarrassed by my immaturity in college than in high school, just months earlier? Whatever… I’m Facebook friends with too many of the people involved to go into any level of detail.

—end interlude—

Dec. 7: Tonight is Open House and all the guys are coming through the dorm. We have mistletoe! Shevaun’s and my room is so cool! We have posters of The Breakfast Club, Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure, Thief of Hearts, and Levi’s. We also decorated for Christmas—lights, spray snow, wrapping paper on our door, and tiny paper trees hanging from our ceiling.

Wait! I have a picture!

This next part really freaked me out. This journal is written on both sides of notebook paper, and as I was transcribing for this blog post, I missed a side of one sheet, which made an entry look like this:

Mike D and I went to the caf tonight and had a long talk about [the guys I liked]. He thinks I should come up with an excuse to call B again. [***] We came back to the dorm and he kissed me!

***Mike D has never kissed me, let’s just make that clear right now. He only kisses girls related to him. But between our talk in the caf and a page worth of journaling, B, the guy I HOPED would kiss me, did. That was the part I missed.

Whew. And now that we have that straight…

We’re done. The journal closes with a bunch of boo-hooing about how much I missed B over Christmas break… the recurrence of the killer zit… more whining about B’s absence… fights with my roommate… and the end of 1986, one of the most remarkable years in The History of Jen (now with more drama!).

Shall I continue on to share bits from 1987? I’m thinking NO. Unless Meanie Margaret shows up again. That could be entertaining.

Mar. 8: ‘Twas a sexy 1985

I just finished reading a book that inspired me to dig up my journals from high school, and hoo-boy, I’ve hardly stopped shaking my head since. I’ll write up my review of the book soon, but for now, there’s this: selections from how I poured my heart out on paper all those years ago. I have to limit my sharing to a choice few bits, because back then I wrote pages and pages every day. You’re welcome.

Here are the main things you need to know about me in 1985:

• I was 16 and in my junior year at an Adventist high school, which I loved. I was a church-y girl.
• I frequently went on “seminars,” which were basically a bunch of us kids putting on a church service somewhere in Oregon—sometimes they required overnight trips, sometimes they were just on Sabbath mornings in the Portland area. I sang. I rarely missed these semi-monthly events, not because I yearned to be a missionary but because they were really fun and sometimes involved bases.
• My junior year a bunch of us created a club and called ourselves “The Ravaged Five.” Yep, we were the five boy-craziest virgins you ever knew. Our senior year April was welcomed into the group and we changed our name to “The Sexy Six.” Our logo—because OF COURSE we had a logo—was the number six inside an upside-down heart. Why? Well, the shape of the butt on our primary object of affection was an upside-down heart. Duh. We spent many hours talking about that butt. It was a good butt. Twenty-some years later, when I realized that butt and the guy who owned it had a kid at my kids’ school, I drew upon my best evasive techniques to avoid him every day at 3pm.
• Parties! Planning parties, attending parties, crying about not being invited to parties… parties were a huge deal.
• I lived with my dad. Those were not our best father-daughter years. The parties might have had something to do with that.

Jan. 3, 1985. Yesterday AH called me and we talked for two hours. Why does he have to live so far away? He said his friend DK thinks I’m cute. They might drive over here for church next week. I hope NS is there so he’ll maybe be jealous. I think we’ll invite them to the party when Dad’s gone on the 28th.

Jan. 29, 1985. Last night with NS was weird. He was flirting more than he used to, like when I wanted him to. He kept trying to hold my hand. I loved it but it mad me sad too. I wish he went to [my school] and I could see him every day.

I can’t quote this because there are just little bits here and there, but it seems that my dad made me give him one of my contacts as a punishment. Since I was blind as a bat, I can’t imagine how this was a good idea. Given that my dad’s buttheadedness knew no bounds, it’s hard to know if what prompted this action was even a big deal.

<Sigh.>

Feb. 3, 1985. I’m fat and I look pregnant. I think I’ll tell everyone I’m pregnant so I’ll have an excuse for being fat.

Well, that’s just a super idea, Jen.

Feb. 5, 1985. Yesterday in history class, TW told the whole room I was pregnant. I was so embarrassed, but I just went along with it. This is what I decided to say if anyone asks: I can’t say who the father is, and if he goes to [our school] or not. I’m two months pregnant, due in September.

Feb. 6, 1985. Today I told KW I’m pregnant. It took a while to convince her, but she believes me. I’m singing [Amy Grant songs] for seminar this weekend.

Seriously, WTF???

Feb. 11, 1985: Mike D actually smiled at me today. I think he was laughing at my hair.

Feb 23, 1985: In chemistry yesterday I was talking with Tracey and [the object of our affection—we referred to him as “Mr. Cute Ass” or “MRCA” for super-secrecy] and I said that I would be home alone so Tracey said, “Well, I’ll come over and keep you company.” And I said, “You’re not exactly the person I had in mind.” Then [MRCA] started asking me who I wanted to come over. I kept stuttering and finally I just said, “Well, if you get really curious why don’t you just come by and see?” And he said, “OK,” like he really would. But he didn’t.

Of course he didn’t. Because I was ridiculous.

Feb. 24, 1985. Today was pretty fun. Mike D was nice to me. I think I flunked my history test. [MRCA] thinks I’m pregnant. I think it’s funny, but it wouldn’t be if he tells everyone. I had to work in the cafeteria today and broke three of my fingernails.

Soooo... which part of that day was fun?

Feb. 25, 1985. [I was dieting…] All I ate today was a donut and mashed potatoes. I wrote an essay on neon clothes. DK told AH to tell me he thinks I’m “sexy.” I wish he lived here.

Mar. 2, 1985. Tracey, Deani, Kari, Rissa, Yvonne, and Kim are coming over tonight. We’re going to read erotica books. I hope it’s fun.

Mar. 3, 1985. I am so in lust with Huey Lewis and Ray Parker, Jr. They’re both so sexy! And then there’s NS, DK, [MRCA] and Mike D.

Mike, I bet it makes you feel reeeeal good that I put you on the same sexy pedestal as Huey Lewis and Ray Parker, Jr., huh?

Mar. 5, 1985. I am in love! Todd was at the party. He is GORGEOUS!!!!! He’s 6’4” and blond. The one problem is he’s a year and two months younger than me.

I do not know this “Todd,” nor do I remember anything about the party to which I refer. I love what’s considered an obstacle in my 16-year-old brain: that he’s a much, much younger man.

Mar. 7, 1985. Today we wrote [MRCA] a note that said: “Dear [MRCA], we love your sexy body. We’ll be your private dancers and do what you want us to do ANY time you want!!!!!! We lust after your gorgeous physique!!” We put the note on his windshield. Nobody saw us do it.

Terrible, terrible paraphrasing of Tina Turner there. I’m so ashamed.

Mar. 17, 1985. I went to seminar at [local church] today. Mike B was there. I kissed him three times. My songs went pretty well.

WHAT was I doing kissing a guy at church? I remember kissing Mike B, but it certainly wasn’t at church. (I shared those details here, along with the sad direction Mike’s life took in recent years). I also love that I go from reporting this kissing thing right into a review of my singing performance, like it was just like every other seminar.

Mar. 24, 1985. I’m sobbing and I’m not sure why. I thought it was because of [a boy] but now I think it was my hair.

Mar. 26, 1985. Today in Bible class Margaret volunteered me to read. I was so mad at her, but I read anyway. I’ll get her back for sure.

Mar. 29, 1985. Tomorrow night The Ravaged Five is going to the Van Halen laser light show at OMSI. I can’t wait!!!!

May 19, 1985. I wrote a really perverted story last week and Tracey and Kari said they’d buy me a milkshake if I gave it to Mike D to read. I did, and he thought it was “pretty wild.” The thing so embarrassing was that the initials I used were “J” and “M.” I know he thought it was about him.

I feel like maybe it totally was.

May 22, 1985. Today was the last day of school. I can’t believe I’m almost officially a senior!

[At graduation the juniors walk down the aisle to be introduced as next year’s seniors.] I’m marching with GW. He’s cute so I’m glad. [GW didn’t show. I WONDER WHY???]

Jun. 10, 1985. Today when I got home there was a VCR on top of the TV!!!!! I’m going to have lots of movie parties this summer!

Aug. 27, 1985. We found out that the girl Mike D was with at Camp Meeting is his cousin AND his girlfriend. Kinky.

Sep. 3, 1985. Today Margaret kept telling me to turn around and shut up.

Nov. 15, 1985. We wrote CS a note. I said I loved his hair and wanted to run my sprained fingers through it.

Guess what? This stuff just goes on and on and on—I kept a journal for 15 years. Aren’t you already looking forward to the next installment of this pathetic blathering?

Liar.

Dec. 15: a look at our tree

One of my favorite parts of the holiday season is enjoying the tree late at night, after everyone else has gone to bed. Sometimes I’ll play Christmas music, other times I’ll keep things quiet. Either way, it’s peaceful, just looking at the light cast on the walls. This is the only time I actually appreciate the halo effect that LASIK caused—it makes the tree even more glow-y and nice.

More than anything, though, it’s our ornaments that I like to look at. Each one of them has special meaning to our family. I made collages of just a few.

1. A 50th anniversary Disneyland ornament from 2005 is a reminder of the year I went there three different times. Best. Year. Ever.
2. A Queen’s Guard bear from Harrod’s, a memento from our trip to London in 2001, was bought so we would never forget the tasty-ish $50 sandwiches we ordered at the Harrod’s deli, as well as our incredibly poor currency conversion skills.
3. Lucy! This was our first ornament honoring our giantest puppy ever.
4. Jack’s first Christmas. There’s no picture because he was goofy-lookin’ at six weeks old. I’m on the hunt for one of our funniest pictures we took of him on Christmas Day 2001 because he looks like such a goblin in it. I’ll share if I find it, I promise.
5. My oldest ornament is from 1976. We third graders painted them, and our teacher calligraphed our names and the year for us. Bethany Elementary, hollaaaaaa!
6. Our musical Charlie Brown ornament was a gift to Victor because it’s his favorite Christmas special. Don’t most of us oldsters have happy memories of that special? I remember putting on a puppet show version of it in sixth grade. TVJA, hollaaaaaa!
7. Victor and I visited the Cayman Islands in 2007 for our tenth anniversary Disney cruise. Another memento from that port is my anniversary ring. It’s slightly more valuable, so I wear the ring and hang the turtle on the tree instead.
8. The most special of our ornaments is one we bought in honor of Scout in 1997. Hallmark’s puppy series just happened to be a beagle that year. When Katie was little, this was the hardest ornament for her to put away at the end of the Christmas season—she always asked to keep it in her room year-round. If we’d let her, I’m pretty sure we wouldn’t still have it. (Have you seen the pig pen in which she lives???)
9. The Yankee ornament is in honor of my dad, the biggest Yankee fan there ever was. It’s not dated, but I bought it in 2005, the year he died.

1. We have lots of Mickey and Minnie ornaments; in fact, much of our tree consists of Disney ornaments of some type.
2. We also have several Scout ornaments. She was a special girl.
3. The “our new home” thing is a weird key and dated 1997, when we bought our house. That year was a big deal for us—we got married, adopted Scout, and built a house.
4. Elvis Stitch is one of Victor’s favorite Disney characters. I love the sparkles on his jumpsuit.
5. Katie’s first Christmas ornament has a picture because she was adorable at 11 months old. Yes, we know it makes us terrible parents to compare our kids this way. Oh well.

We’ve created a bit of a tradition for decorating the tree each year too. We put on Christmas music, and Vic and I start the decorating by wrangling the always tangled colorful garland (visible in some of the pics above) and lights. Then I sit and unwrap each ornament and hand them over to Katie, Jack, and Vic to hang them on the tree. It’s fun because we do the whole “I remember this one!” thing, or re-tell the stories about them, or ask ourselves why we keep some of them year after year. I occasionally pare down our collection, but more often we end up adding to it each year.

When we became a family in 1997, our tree had a few special ornaments but was mostly matchy-matchy with lights, garland, and bows. I love how it has evolved. Someday I’m sure we’ll go back to having a beautiful themed tree, but I’m going to enjoy our nostalgic trees for as many years as I can. 

Dec. 9: Scary stuff

I’ve said before that one of the reasons I enjoy crime shows like Law & Order, SVU, CSI, The Closer/Major Crimes, etc., is because they’re so completely different from the things that happen in my life (thank Buddha). On “my” shows, the crime has usually already been committed when the title sequence begins, and they go right to the whodunnit part—that’s the fascinating stuff. True, the shows are formulaic—you can count on that first or second person of interest showing up at the end in handcuffs—but I still love ‘em.

Every once in a while they’ll show the crime being committed. Sometimes they show all the stuff leading up to it, like a person watching someone without them knowing, or someone being chased, or a bad guy waiting to pounce on a victim. I don’t like when they do that. That stuff scares the shit outta me. That stuff goes into my brain and pops up every time I’m by myself in the dark. That stuff haunts me.

The first time I remember seeing something that stuck with me that way was after watching the second of the three Brady Bunch episodes in Hawaii. Remember how the tiki makes all that bad stuff happen to them? When we know the tarantula is in the room—and the boys don’t—and we see it heading toward Peter—and he doesn’t—and it starts to crawl on Peter—and he’s sleeping away, dreaming nice Brady dreams? I had nightmares about that for months. And by months, I mean that I watched that 35+ years ago and I still have nightmares about it.

And the delightful Little House on the Prairie, the show where the scariest thing that ever happened was when Pa couldn’t make it home with Laura’s penny candy because his horse only had three shoes? There was an episode in the later years of that show in which a new and boobalicious girl was stalked and raped. I KNOW! (here’s a pretty good and very analyze-y account of this unexpected plot.) I watched that one when I was 12 years old while babysitting at a neighbor’s; the kids had gone to bed and I was waiting for their parents to get home, so I turned the channel to Little House. That show was always a nice way to pass the time… it always had been, anyway.

The episode started like most; that mean ol’ Mrs. Oleson was getting kids in trouble. The stalker/rapist watched the girl walk across the meadow from low in the grass, and we were given his point of view. When they showed glimpses of his face, he was wearing a clown mask. A CLOWN MASK. And so began my fear of clowns.

As the horror of the episode went on, I was terrified but couldn’t turn off the TV, as though knowing the ending would make it better somehow. By the time it was over, I was shaking, and when I got home and went to bed, I couldn’t stop thinking about the clown, about how the girl didn’t know she was being watched. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I was afraid to tell my mom about how scared I was because I thought she’d be mad at me (I was an idiot), so I kept quiet. I didn’t even tell anyone about it at school the next day; in fact, it took me weeks to talk about it. Those weeks were spent getting little sleep, having nightmares when I did finally sleep, and being in constant fear when I was alone.

I don’t remember who I finally talked to about the episode, but eventually I was able to NOT think about that stalking clown. I still had occasional nightmares, but my bank of horrors by then contained the tarantula AND the clown, so it was a crapshoot which would play the main character in my dreams each night. They had to fight for screen time with Cruella DeVille, too, who was still in my nightmare bank from years earlier, as well as the abominable snowman from the Rudolph Christmas special.

Years later, I had nightmares while reading The Firm. When we knew that everything Mitch did was being seen and heard by his employer, but he didn’t know, it felt so sinister and creepy. Around that time, a movie also invaded my dreams: The Hand That Rocks the Cradle—same thing; the ominous stuff just terrified me. I hated the things are not what they seem-ness. I didn’t make a habit of reading books like The Firm (which never set out to be scary) or seeing psychological thrillers like The Hand That Rocks the Cradle, but just the little bit I was exposed to gave me horrifying, incredibly realistic dreams that, after finally and desperately waking me, made me stay awake until morning.

Once I was married and rarely alone at night, my nightmares pretty much disappeared. My subconscious knows that the guy next to me would, if necessary, pull that dull machete out from under his side of the bed and throw it at whoever’s trying to git me. My dreams are still way too vivid, but I feel safer now. I think that’s why the crime shows don’t usually work their way into my dreams. I can watch them without worrying I’ll pay for it later by waking up in a cold sweat.

Last night was an exception, kinda. My dream began at a high school reunion. While walking around downtown, we went into a building and, for some reason, had to go into a stranger’s apartment when he wasn’t there. (Isn’t that what YOU do during your high school reunions? Or are you not crime-fighters?) We heard noises and discovered a trap door in the floor, so we pulled up the carpet and opened the door to find a woman that the guy had been holding captive for years. Straight outta L&O: SVU, right? Super scary and sinister. Until the first thing the woman said when we pulled her out was “Oh man, I gotta poop.”

Great. Now my 12-year-old’s sense of humor is taking center stage in my dream life.

I guess it’s better than a clown.

Sep. 27: One silly phone call

Day #27 of our blog challenge. We’re almost done! Today’s prompt:

Describe a distinct moment when your life took a turn.

It would be easy/quick to respond to this one with “the day I found out I had cancer,” but that’s obvious and not very fun. Instead, I’m going to grab a moment from a long, long time ago. I’ve probably told this story here already, but YOU dig around in 13 years of archives and figger it out. Here goes:

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Freshman year at Walla Walla College, if you were in the student photo directory, you got a prank call from me and April. It was our thing; we were dorks who thought we were super fun to talk to. And pre-caller ID days, we could be anonymous. Wait, read that word again, but in a sing-song voice: AAAA-NOOOON-Y-MOOOOUS!! Much better. Prank phone calls were the best, Jerry; the best! Not a single WWC student was off-limits when it came to our favorite evening activity.

I knew a senior named Victor Manullang; I had met him four years earlier when he was a college freshman and on a date with my sister. I was a high school freshman (read: complete moron). I remember teasing him a lot, asking WHAT ON EARTH was he a history major for because THAT’S SO STUPID and THAT’S SO BORING and WHAT CAN YOU EVEN DO WITH THAT MAJOR and I wouldn’t stop because, in case you missed it, I was 14 and stupid. So, when I got to WWC as a freshman and saw that Victor was a fellow student, I wasn’t exactly excited about revealing my identity as that bratty girl—not that he’d remember anyway. (Right?) I avoided him. I was afraid he would try to talk to me, and that would mean he remembered me from four years earlier and that would not be a good thing. If you were 18 once, you get how completely humiliating that would have felt—now, though, it seems insanely silly.

One night I came to April’s dorm room and found she and her roommate passing the phone back and forth, laughing hysterically. April whispered that they had called our friend Kevin’s room and were talking to his roommate. I wanted in on that action, of course, and grabbed the phone. I started talking and flirting and doing all the stuff we usually did on our prank calls, and I don’t know how it hit me, but suddenly I realized who Kevin’s roommate was: I was talking to Victor Manullang. I stifled a scream and tossed the phone to April, and I don’t remember what happened next, but April said my name so I slammed the phone down.

(Kids, that was a thing back then, slamming a phone down. It’s sad you can’t do that anymore, it really is.)

I screamed at April WHY DID YOU SAY MY NAME, HE’S GONNA KNOW IT WAS US! and she screamed back WHY DID YOU THROW THE PHONE AT ME? and who knows what else but a lot of things I’m sure and then I remembered that Kevin’s (and Victor’s) room was directly across the courtyard from April’s and he could probably totally see us so I screamed again and ran for the light switch and we sat there in the silent dark and I don’t know what we were waiting for, but we were definitely hoping that that was the end of our prank phone call (to that number) for the night and then…

THE.

PHONE.

RANG.

He knew it was us. There was a lot of chaotic screaming and blaming and cursing and I turned the lights back on and I don’t remember what happened after that. Maybe we answered the phone and pretended we were asleep, that we’d been asleep for hours and knew nothing about any random anonymous callers. Maybe I forced April to answer and pretend she had acted alone. I don’t remember the details, but I know that we were caught and it felt like it might just be the worst thing that had ever happened in the history of ever.

Oh, but then. THEN! At lunch in the cafeteria the next day, Kevin and Victor set their trays down and sat directly across from me and April. They were both grinning ear-to-ear. There was a lot of embarrassed chuckling and non-meeting of the eyes. They wouldn’t stop smiling; they *might* have been proud to get attention from freshman girls. We eventually felt less uncomfortable and actually had a conversation. And then the next time they saw us in the cafeteria they sat with us again. And the next time, and the next time…

And, slowly, Victor and I became friends. Yes, he remembered me being that teasing know-it-all from long ago, but it was okay. The two of us hung out when neither was dating someone else. He moved to Ohio for a few years, and we wrote letters and talked on the phone. He got a job in Portland around the same time I graduated and moved back home, and we were each other’s dates for stuff when everyone else said ‘no.’ We watched TV together over the phone. We went to movies and concerts and ball games and plays and new restaurants. We vacationed with friends in Las Vegas and L.A.

But we weren’t dating. That would come later, when both of us gave up on someone better coming along and he cut off that awful mullet. It took 14 years from when we first met, ten from when we first became friends, and just.like.that, we lived happily ever after.

I didn’t realize at the time that the ridiculous prank phone call had changed the direction of my life, but whenever I look back on that night, I feel genuinely glad for my freshman immaturity.

 

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If you’re a blogger and want to do our blog challenge with us, let me know and I’ll send you our list! Otherwise, tune in here (and on Sherilee’s happy little blog) every day in September.

Sep. 11: Memories of 9/11

It’s Day #11 of our September Blog Challenge. Today’s topic was easy to choose:

What do you remember about this day in 2001?

I’ve written about my memories of 9/11/2001 several times in the past 12 years. My most personal account is this one. I cannot, nor do I want to, write about my memories again; this day represents so much agony. When I look back, I feel pain for our country, for sure, and empathy for those who lost loved ones to the attacks.

On this date every year since the attacks, I’ve joined so many other Americans to watch live news stories of the ceremonies across the country that honor those lost, and I plan to do that again today. I hope this anniversary will never be a day like other holidays (Memorial Day Mattress Sale, YAY!!), but one on which we will remember with reverence all we lost on 9/11/2001—as a nation and as individuals.

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If you’re a blogger and want to do our blog challenge with us, let me know and I’ll send you our list! Otherwise, tune in here (and on

Sherilee’s happy little blog and Lisa’s and Jenn’s and Sunshine’s too!) every day in September.

Sep. 7: How we met

Day #7 of September Blog Challenge. I’m getting tired of starting every post with that sentence. Today’s topic:

Write about when you first met one of your dearest friends.

Since Sherilee and I started this blog challenge together, I’ll tell you about how she and I became friends.

Allow me to set the scene: It was the summer of 1986, and Billy Ocean, Falco, and Mr. Mister were topping the charts. On TV, we were catching reruns of Airwolf and Perfect Strangers. We crowded into theaters to see Top Gun, Cobra, and Short Circuit, because Howard the Duck, Big Trouble in Little China, and Meatballs III: Summer Job were months away. Ronald Reagan was president, and we paid little attention to world news because we were 17 years old and thought it didn’t matter. It was a time of innocence, of carefree spirits, of Smart Start at Walla Walla College.

The summer session at WWC (now WWU) was like WWC Lite—very few students, a pared-down class catalog, limited hours of offices and eateries, etc. This meant that everyone who lived on campus was pretty much in the same place at the same time. Meals in the cafeteria were for socializing more than eating, and I remember spending a lot of time in there. There really wasn’t much to do on campus in the summer.

My first class at WWC started the week after I graduated from high school. I first remember seeing Sherilee when we were both in line in the admissions office. I think it was later that same day that we ran into each other in the dorm and introduced ourselves. We lived on the same hall and her room was next door to a friend’s of mine. Between lounging around the dorm and wasting time in the cafeteria, Sher and I became fast friends. If I opt for a selective memory of that summer—and I do!—I can say that my first few months at WWC would have been one big yawn without her.

I remember the boredom being extreme on the Fourth of July; it was pouring rain, and the campus was completely quiet. We went into Walla Walla for a matinee of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, which had just come to town. We probably saw it again and again (I honestly don’t remember, but since that was kinda my thing back then—seeing movies repeatedly until I could quote them word-for-word because THAT’S a great use of time and $$—we undoubtedly did). Here’s what I love about this little bit of our story: I always always always associate Ferris Bueller’s Day Off with Sher. Always. And I adore that movie so, so much, and that gives me smiley face.

Is it okay if I stop there? Because if I continue, then we get into the strange tale of this guy that liked her and then changed his mind and liked me but neither of us really liked him at all, and then this other guy that I liked and she hated, and then later how I would visit her room and whine about my boyfriend and her roommate thought I was a friggin’ idiot, and then Sher went to Australia, and then she came back and we were still friends, and then we weren’t, and then a lot of years passed and we reconnected on Facebook and then the rest of the story is good again? Yep, Ferris Bueller is a good place to stop.

Because now? Now I just love the friendship that Sherilee and I have. Thanks to texts, emails, Facebook, and our blogs, we “talk” almost every day; we occasionally see each other face to face, and we exchange delightful gifts. I absolutely treasure her.

1986:	Shevaun, Jen, Sherilee
2010:	Sherilee, Jen, Kim F’n-W

Life takes us so many directions; it’s good to have a friend along the journey. You should be so lucky to have one like Sherilee.

If you’re a blogger and want to do our blog challenge with us, let me know and I’ll send you our list! Otherwise, tune in here (and on Sherilee’s happy little blog and Lisa’s and Jenn’s and Sunshine’s too!) every day in September.

Sep. 2: Writer write writing written wrote

Today’s topic for the September Blog Challenge:

Writers on writing

I’d like to write a book someday. For as long as I’ve loved reading, I’ve envisioned myself as a novelist in my spare time—certainly not in a way that would provide me a living, but in addition to my career. And here I am, about to turn 45 years old and, well, it is just not happening, folks. On the up side, I haven’t received a single rejection letter! Yay Jen!

If or when I ever write a book, it’ll probably be about my cancer story. I don’t think mine is exceptionally different or inspiring compared to anyone else’s, but if I can help another person who has just been told “you have cancer,” if I can give them even the tiniest glimmer of hope that they can kick cancer’s ass, I would love to do that.

My book wouldn’t be an autobiography; it would fit into the “memoir” category. In my opinion, memoirs have the potential to be amazing because they don’t have to tell a person’s entire life story, just a part of it, and in fascinating detail. I know there aren’t very many people who would enjoy From Birth to Now, The Life of Jen—OMG, I just totally fell asleep on my keyboard typing that title—but maybe a few years’ worth of it could be slightly readable.

As with all writing, the toughest part is getting started. And because I know several people who have stories to tell, and those stories definitely NEED to be told, I’d like to share some suggestions on how to get started. These are things I’ve come up with on my own (because yes, I have started putting together my story), and some I’ve run across while looking for help on the ‘net.

Create a rough outline of the story, including the theme and major points.

“Find your important moments of meaning -- the true North of your memoir -- by listing turning points or moments that are important to you. Make a list, keep it up for a while, and then you'll have the spine of your memoir. Choose to write your scene from this list, and you can write in any order. Making an outline is helpful too though, because at some point, you'll want to put those scenes in some kind of order.” –Dr. Linda Joy Myers

You don’t have to write in chronological order.

Grab a manageable chunk of your outline and just write. Leave gaps. Try focusing on the most memorable moments, the things you can’t imagine your story without. In the instances where your memory is less sharp, sometimes writing about them will help the memories come back. Skip around your outline and assemble the parts when you’re ready.

Don’t edit as you write. Write, leave it, and come back later with fresh eyes.

If you set a goal—say, to write one page per day—complete the writing part and move on to your next goal. If you set aside that page and move on, you’ll eventually return to your writing and see better how it fits into the big picture of your story.

When you start writing, write for yourself, not an audience.

Hold off on polishing it up for others to read. Sometimes you just need to get your story out for your own healing. I started journaling in high school for that very reason—I didn’t write all that teen angst-y stuff for others to read, I wrote to make sense out of my life. Jeannette Walls, author of the memoir The Glass Castle, says, “I’m constantly urging people, especially older folks, to write about their lives. It gives you new perspective. It was hugely eye-opening for me and very cathartic. Even if the book hadn’t sold a single copy, it would still have been worth it.”

Be honest.

While there are lots of parts of my life I don’t talk about on my blog, the things I do share are what I believe to be true. Sure, it may be the highlight reel, but it’s still honest. “When you’re truly honest and revealing about yourself, it creates a sigh in other people,” says Lorna Kelly, author of The Camel Knows the Way. “They realize they’re not alone, they’re not a freak: Someone else has felt the exact same way or lived their dream. If you’re going to skimp on the truth, then you’re doing a disservice. Honesty is not only a gift to other people—it’s a gift to yourself.”

Know that your writing may cause hurt feelings.

Even if you don’t intentionally set out to hurt a person’s feelings, you very well may. It’s also very possible that you’ll have to write about moments that make a friend or family member seem like an asshole. I’ve heard Armistead Maupin talk about how family members have started to tell him a story but stop themselves because they’re sure he’ll find a way to use it in his books. David Sedaris seems to have no reservations telling horrific family stories (though I’m sure he does have a filter, and when you think about what he doesn’t tell, it’s a little scary). If you’re writing to get revenge or intentionally hurt a person’s feelings, you may not be writing a very good story. And yet, you should be truthful… so there’s a big ol’ writing dilemma for ya. You must find that balance of fairness and honesty. (And good luck! That’s one of the biggest challenges I face in my story, and I have not yet figured out how to deal with it.)

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This list isn’t exhaustive, of course, but it ought to get some ideas going in your noodle. These things helped me get going, anyway. If you have a story to tell—and really, who doesn’t?—get busy telling it. WRITE.

If you’re a blogger and want to do our blog challenge with us, let me know and I’ll send you our list! Otherwise, tune in here (and on Sherilee’s happy little blog) every day in September!

Sep. 1: Moving

Sherilee and I have created a blog challenge! We’ve both been slacking on posting regularly to our blogs, so our goal is to post every day this month. We’ll write fun/interesting lists, tell some tales, share recipes, and more. Can we do it? I think we can! We’re starting with this topic:

Did you move many times as a child? How did that impact you, and does it still influence how you see the world today?

Jack asked me the other day how many places I’d lived, and then got bored before I was out of high school. The kids get a look on their faces when Victor or I start waxing nostalgic, like I’VE MADE A HUGE MISTAKE, and if we notice (which isn’t always, much to the kids’ dismay) we leave out most the details and stop talking.

So… I’m not gonna go through the list of every place I’ve ever lived, and I’m gonna define “child” in the above question as the years before I started college. That will shorten the post considerably.

1. I don’t remember living in the house in which I was born, but I visited it later because we knew the people who bought it.
2. The first house I remember was on Miracle Lane, in Medford, and we lived there until I was six-ish. I’m still in touch with some of the people we knew in that neighborhood. We lived in an apartment in Medford for a bit, too, before we moved to Portland.
3. When I was seven years old, we left our extended family in Southern Oregon and moved to Portland. We bought a new house in the Bethany area of Beaverton and I went to the public school for three years. My parents divorced during that time and Dad moved out. We stayed in the house another three-ish years—and I transferred to an SDA school—until Mom got remarried and we moved to the Walla Walla area.
4. We lived in a house in College Place for a year and a half; I went to two schools during that time. I got fed up with my step-dad’s complete jackassitude and, after ninth grade, moved back to Portland to try living with my dad.
5. We lived in a high-rise apartment building in downtown Portland. I thought it was pretty cool, being one of the few kids who lived in the building. I attended the same SDA school I had been at before.
6. After a year I moved on to the SDA high school in SE Portland. Dad decided we should live closer to the school, and we were there for two years until I graduated and left for college. Dad was really happy to see me go. Not like my friend Stephanie’s dad when she left for college, but close.

As far as impacting how I view the world today, I feel like it wasn’t moving that made such a difference as it was changing schools. I didn’t like being the new kid, not knowing anyone and feeling lonely and lost. Adjusting to each new school’s rules was less than fun. Going from a public school to a conservative SDA school was a culture shock in many ways, but then I went to a different SDA school that required girls to wear dresses every day—that was like going back in time a few decades. Sheesh.

Something else that was difficult about going to new SDA schools is that I was always lumped in with the other “divorce kids.” There was such a stigma back then (in Adventist circles). Some teachers would “tsk tsk” when they saw us; others would avoid us. A few were downright mean. (Isn’t that strange? It’s hard to believe life was like that and that we tolerated it.) But there were also the kind, accepting, nurturing grown-ups who knew that “divorce kids” couldn’t help being “divorce kids.” They made school a nice place to grow and learn.

My kids have lived in one house their entire lives, and have only switched schools when they’ve grown out of them. Staying in one place was never intentional, exactly, but since we haven’t been interested much in moving anywhere else, it’s how things have worked out for us. I’m glad Katie and Jack have that stability, even if they don’t yet realize its benefits.

One last itty-bitty comment:

I’m still in touch with friends from all of the different times (and locations) in my life, partly thanks to Facebook, but mostly just because I met some really great people over the years. While I admit that I wish life had gone a little differently at times, I’m grateful for the goodness that has come of these experiences, and the people who have stuck by me and stayed in my life. I know not everyone feels blessed by such a thing, but I definitely do.

If you’re a blogger and want to do our blog challenge with us, let me know and I’ll send you our list! Otherwise, tune in here (and on Sherilee’s happy little blog) every day in September!

Jul. 16: Our water dog

We took our gigantic Lab puppy to the river today. Did you know there’s a river near us? Yeah yeah, the Willamette and  Columbia run through Portland, but I’m talking about the Clackamas River, which is popular with rafters and drunks and a bunch of people drown in it every year. This river is super-close to us—like walking distance-close—and I don’t think I’d actually ever been on it before today.

The problem with going to a river we’ve never been to before is we didn’t exactly know how to get there. I mean, it’s a long, wind-y thing and we drove along it for miles. There were people out there. HOW DID THEY GET OUT THERE? We couldn’t figure it out. All we wanted to do was park the car and walk out into the water—no boat ramp necessary. We wanted a beach-ish area and shallow water. That’s it.

We eventually ended up at Clackamette Park, which is where the Clackamas and Willamette rivers meet. I know it best as the park at which a scene from Grimm was set last season, and also from the time it was underwater during the floods of 1996.

“The floods of 1996.” That makes me sound like an old lady. Back in myyyy day, this was all underwater, far as the eye could see, dontcha know. You kids today don’t know floods like we knew floods. Anyhoooo…

Lucy hadn’t experienced a river before, but she loved it like we expected she would. It would have been fun to let her off the leash to see if she’d swim, but we just don’t know how much we can trust her yet. She was especially interested in four ducklings swimming by, and I was a little worried her instincts might kick in and suddenly we’d have ourselves a bird dog. No thanks.

On the way home, we bought a very small kiddie pool for our water-loving girl. She’s a fan. She sloshed around happily and then came inside to shake herself dry. (We’re still working out the kinks on learnin’ her proper pool behavior.)

Later this week: the Oregon coast. Happy Lucy!

Jun. 25: Currently

Has it really been a week since I last posted? I guess when I blog in my head all the time, I forget that I’m not actually posting. Hm.

Listening

…to Michael W. Smith. I know, I cannot believe it also! I was browsing my iPod this morning, looking for something comforting and familiar, and there he was. I honestly don’t remember putting his music on my iPod; I have his entire discography on there, in fact, and even after all these years (since my Jesus Freak-itude ended), there’s something I still love about hearing his terrible voice over all that beautiful music. Must be one of those once-a-fan-always-a-fan things.

…to Katie practicing the guitar. This morning was #1 of four lessons. First thing out of her mouth when I picked her up? MY FINGERS HURT. I am so not shocked. She’s even whinier than I am. Really.

Loving

…the memories listening to Michael Dub brings. Seriously. Good stuff: high school, college, the years after college, going to concerts, being told I was going to Hell for listening to contemporary Christian music and arguing back with the a-hole who thought he was being helpful… wow. OK, some of them are good memories. Some are just memories that remind me why I have put my Jesus Freak-itude far, far behind me.

…the very different dog Lucy has become since Oliver’s been gone. I still miss him tons, but OMG, Lucy is such a lovable pup. We were never really able to see her true self amid their snarling and play-fighting. She’s a sweetie. Sherilee—Chief and Lucy would totally high-five each other if they could right now.

…the pretties in our front yard now that we’ve finally had some sun:

Feeling

…thrilled that my work friend, Terri, who had a heart transplant June 17, is doing so well. She’s already out of ICU and starting physical therapy. What a fighter, that one!

…grateful for first-responder types like Kim F’n. This morning I got news that a dad at our school was killed in an accident on Friday near Tillamook. I texted her immediately to see if she had been the attending paramedic—she was. It’s heartbreaking that one of our students lost his dad, but that the man had a person like Kim at his side in his last moments? We should all be that lucky. Thank you, Kim. (I hope I didn’t just violate HIPAA laws and get you fired.)

Wanting

…a magic wand. I would totally use it only for good.

…um… another one… to use for evil. Not gonna lie.

Accomplishing

…so much in my office! I attacked it this week with a vengeance. Furniture has been rearranged and much of the clutter has found new homes. Two huge bags of recycling and another two of trash, ready for the curb, is what makes me feel like I’m really getting something done. There’s still a bit to do, but it’s coming along. It feels very good.

Enjoying

…making summer 2012 memories. Katie and I saw Brave on Saturday—what a gorgeous movie. Pixar is pretty much just showing off now—I mean, how do they do it? Thirteen blockbusters in a row!

…a sense of relief now that the kids’ piano recital is over. It stresses me out way more than it does them, I think. My piano recitals at their age were terror-filled events that I willed myself to forget. Ick. Both Katie and Jack did really well yesterday and had big smiles afterward. Yay!

On a related note, I sat in a church for an entire hour and was not—even once! I counted!—struck by lightning. Vic still wouldn’t let me near the holy water though. Dawn and I couldn’t figure out how we’re supposed to get the water if/when we want it—cup? Straw? Just pick up the bowl and guzzle? Who knows? Not this un-holy (and un-fried!) girl.

sharing silly stuff

This blog is by a woman who tries to make stuff she finds on Pinterest. It’s all kinds o’ hilarious.

 

 

Katie likes her shrimp. The tails? Not so much.

 

I’m just gonna let this one go without additional comment.

And something from a smart guy

 

 

Later, doods—

Apr. 20: Next comes the haunting

If you’ve been here awhile, you’ve read the sometimes-humorous, mostly irritating stories about my grandma. I was going to give you links, but after reading over some of those posts, I decided that they make me sound more evil than I ever accused her of being. Actually, this one is pretty good. Just ignore the others for a while, OK?

Grandma died this afternoon.

She was in hospice for the last couple months, so it wasn’t a shock. Honestly, we’ve been expecting it for a few years now. I talked to her the other day and told her I loved her—I guess that’s my closure. Still, the finality of death is super-sucky; that part makes me sad. Mostly, I feel for my mom and her brother. The combination of relief and loss they’re feeling right now can be even more upsetting when it starts making moods swing like ca-razy. Of course, Mom and Uncle Paul are the ones who are really going to be resting in peace now. No more middle-of-the-night phone calls from Grandma!

When I was little, I thought my grandma was awesome. She was 18 years younger than my other grandma, so she seemed young and energetic in comparison. Her silly sayings (“Can you watch my purse? It’s got a million dollars in it!” … “You left some trademarks” –how she told us to pick up our stuff) and stopped-being-cute-years-ago ways (you’d say “I’ll pick you up at 10,” and she’d call at 8:30 accusing you of being late) became the stuff of family folklore. We will undoubtedly roll our eyes forever at those memories.

It was when I became an adult that Grandma and I started butting heads. I hope someday I’ll be able to put that crap away and just remember the good times, when she had both her legs, whined way less, and was fun to be around. One thing that definitely helps me forget the rotten stuff is that she was a pretty good great-grandma to Katie and Jack. I’m glad their memories of Nana will always be smiley ones. Here’s one of my favorites, when Jack was four years old and Grandma was 132:

For better AND worse, my grandma left her “trademark” on the world. No doubt about that.