Oops! I never did post last year's Top Ten list! I was waiting for a while, hoping I'd see something really amazing on DVD that I had missed in the theaters, but sadly, 2008 was simply a WEAK movie year. Here's what I've got...
1. Slumdog Millionaire
2. WALL-E
3. The Reader
4. Benjamin Button
5. The Dark Knight
6. Son of Rambow
7. Revolutionary Road
8. Young @ Heart
9. Quantum of Solace
10. Penelope
Honorable mentions: Ghost Town, Get Smart, Last Chance Harvey, Expelled, and Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day.
Two movies I wish I hadn't wasted time on: Jumper and The Happening.
What were some of your favorites (and least favorites) of 2008?
Check out past years' Top Tens here: 2007, 2006, 2005, 2004, and 2003.
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Friday, May 15, 2009
Life, spaces, and stuff.
The window seat was about as wide as my nine-year-old legs were long. I could scoot my butt up against one wall and place my feet flat against the other, and just barely straighten my knees. From my second-story window perch, I’d curiously observe the neighborhood and take notes like my hero Harriet the Spy: “Lisa’s mom pulls weeds in front yard and waves to neighbor across street. What does it mean!? 4:08p.m.”
As the eldest of four children, I got my own bedroom. So did my brother, since he was the only boy, but our middle sisters always shared. Oh, was I glad I was born first! My room was my world, filled with all my treasures, decorated in my taste, and governed by my rules—at one point, literally scrawled on construction paper taped to the door. My bedrooms over the years tell the story of my life, through phases and friendships and the wee hours spent filling up pages of my diaries by flashlight.
In my room in the house on Spinnaker Drive, the window seat doubled as storage space, and inside was my growing collection of stuffed animals. The plush bunnies, teddy bears, and Glo-Worms would eventually fill three enormous boxes when we moved from Alaska to California when I was 12. I liked to collect things—and could never let them go. Arranged on the long, grown-up dresser I inherited from my mother were dozens of Precious Moments figurines, even those accidentally broken by the cat, a stray bouncy ball, or a younger sibling. Gymnastics ribbons in a rainbow of colors were pinned neatly onto corkboard above my desk. The walls were covered in kitty posters. I had bins of My Little Ponies, Micro Machines, star charts, art supplies, and microscope slides. I was a budding pack rat and curious about everything.
Those things weren’t quite as “cool” when I was a teenager, and they found a new home in the attic of the house on Sage Way. Kitty posters were replaced with Pearl Jam and Green Day, magazine clippings of Brad Pitt, and 8x10 prints of Homecoming and Prom photos, with dried corsages hanging nearby from pushpins. Alternative rock played loudly and continuously from the CD player, and the air was filled with the sweet, smoky aroma of incense. It floated whimsically through the nostrils of my black, ceramic dragon incense holder, part of a new collection of Medieval and fantasy figurines.
As a surprise birthday gift one year, my parents removed my lofted bed with an attached desk below and replaced it with a day bed and trundle. It was perfect for sleepovers. Instead of sleeping on the floor, my friends could have their own bed, and when the trundle was pushed up against the bed, three to four of us could fit across the other direction. We’d giggle through the night, playing Truth or Dare, or gossiping about our classmates.
I always wanted to replace the bedspread—a quilt of hearts in different pastel prints that always seemed too childish—and when I used that same bed after five years away at college, I did. Studying art, I had developed an overwhelming fondness for color. My new bedspread was a patchwork of velvet in my favorites: olive green, navy blue, and maroon. On top were a dozen pillows in the same colors, some with beadwork, others with unique texturing. My bedroom in the Vista apartment was a gallery of paintings—my own, a hand-painted replica of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” Story People illustrations, color study prints—as well as frames, candle holders, and photo boxes in the same color scheme. When the mother of one of my roommates, an interior decorator, first saw my bedroom, she exclaimed, “Wow! Someone likes color!” I was never sure whether that was meant to be positive, but I cherished my artful digs.
The pièce de résistance, however, was my computer: a G-4 flat-screen iMac, the cute one with the gumdrop base and swivel neck. Most of my free time was spent at my desk on my computer, between freelance projects and connecting with friends through MySpace and Facebook. My life was becoming as “virtual” as it was real, sharing photos and music, chatting, status-updating.
It’s a good thing I married a tech guy. It’s unfortunate, however, that he dislikes abstract art! Right now, our bedroom is full of mismatched stuff: the bedspread we registered for, a few of my old throw pillows that happened to match, our new dark wood bed, his bookshelf of sci-fi novels, my unfinished wooden nightstand, his file cabinet subbing as a nightstand, and new frames and decorations leaning against walls, waiting to be hung when one of us figures out how to use a power drill. On either side of the bed are boxes and bags of stuff we haven’t unpacked since moving in six months ago. We sleep here, but otherwise, I don’t spend much time here. My computer is upstairs in the loft; the television is downstairs. We have many rooms, but none is my own—not like my old bedrooms were anyway.
My childhood things are now sitting in a storage locker. The Micro Machines, Brad Pitt photo clippings, velvet patchwork blanket—they’re all there. I’m slowly going through each box, getting rid of the junk, donating the good stuff, and saving only the most sentimental items. I’ve longed for a simpler life in recent years, and besides, I want to make room for this new chapter. Not just room for more stuff, but for more laughter and love and lazy Saturday mornings where all we need is each other.
My current home is a little messy, a work in progress. Sometimes, I reminisce about those old personal spaces, and how I grew and changed with each, and I smile. These days, “home” transcends spaces and stuff. Home is in his arms.
As the eldest of four children, I got my own bedroom. So did my brother, since he was the only boy, but our middle sisters always shared. Oh, was I glad I was born first! My room was my world, filled with all my treasures, decorated in my taste, and governed by my rules—at one point, literally scrawled on construction paper taped to the door. My bedrooms over the years tell the story of my life, through phases and friendships and the wee hours spent filling up pages of my diaries by flashlight.
In my room in the house on Spinnaker Drive, the window seat doubled as storage space, and inside was my growing collection of stuffed animals. The plush bunnies, teddy bears, and Glo-Worms would eventually fill three enormous boxes when we moved from Alaska to California when I was 12. I liked to collect things—and could never let them go. Arranged on the long, grown-up dresser I inherited from my mother were dozens of Precious Moments figurines, even those accidentally broken by the cat, a stray bouncy ball, or a younger sibling. Gymnastics ribbons in a rainbow of colors were pinned neatly onto corkboard above my desk. The walls were covered in kitty posters. I had bins of My Little Ponies, Micro Machines, star charts, art supplies, and microscope slides. I was a budding pack rat and curious about everything.
Those things weren’t quite as “cool” when I was a teenager, and they found a new home in the attic of the house on Sage Way. Kitty posters were replaced with Pearl Jam and Green Day, magazine clippings of Brad Pitt, and 8x10 prints of Homecoming and Prom photos, with dried corsages hanging nearby from pushpins. Alternative rock played loudly and continuously from the CD player, and the air was filled with the sweet, smoky aroma of incense. It floated whimsically through the nostrils of my black, ceramic dragon incense holder, part of a new collection of Medieval and fantasy figurines.
As a surprise birthday gift one year, my parents removed my lofted bed with an attached desk below and replaced it with a day bed and trundle. It was perfect for sleepovers. Instead of sleeping on the floor, my friends could have their own bed, and when the trundle was pushed up against the bed, three to four of us could fit across the other direction. We’d giggle through the night, playing Truth or Dare, or gossiping about our classmates.
I always wanted to replace the bedspread—a quilt of hearts in different pastel prints that always seemed too childish—and when I used that same bed after five years away at college, I did. Studying art, I had developed an overwhelming fondness for color. My new bedspread was a patchwork of velvet in my favorites: olive green, navy blue, and maroon. On top were a dozen pillows in the same colors, some with beadwork, others with unique texturing. My bedroom in the Vista apartment was a gallery of paintings—my own, a hand-painted replica of Van Gogh’s “Starry Night,” Story People illustrations, color study prints—as well as frames, candle holders, and photo boxes in the same color scheme. When the mother of one of my roommates, an interior decorator, first saw my bedroom, she exclaimed, “Wow! Someone likes color!” I was never sure whether that was meant to be positive, but I cherished my artful digs.
The pièce de résistance, however, was my computer: a G-4 flat-screen iMac, the cute one with the gumdrop base and swivel neck. Most of my free time was spent at my desk on my computer, between freelance projects and connecting with friends through MySpace and Facebook. My life was becoming as “virtual” as it was real, sharing photos and music, chatting, status-updating.
It’s a good thing I married a tech guy. It’s unfortunate, however, that he dislikes abstract art! Right now, our bedroom is full of mismatched stuff: the bedspread we registered for, a few of my old throw pillows that happened to match, our new dark wood bed, his bookshelf of sci-fi novels, my unfinished wooden nightstand, his file cabinet subbing as a nightstand, and new frames and decorations leaning against walls, waiting to be hung when one of us figures out how to use a power drill. On either side of the bed are boxes and bags of stuff we haven’t unpacked since moving in six months ago. We sleep here, but otherwise, I don’t spend much time here. My computer is upstairs in the loft; the television is downstairs. We have many rooms, but none is my own—not like my old bedrooms were anyway.
My childhood things are now sitting in a storage locker. The Micro Machines, Brad Pitt photo clippings, velvet patchwork blanket—they’re all there. I’m slowly going through each box, getting rid of the junk, donating the good stuff, and saving only the most sentimental items. I’ve longed for a simpler life in recent years, and besides, I want to make room for this new chapter. Not just room for more stuff, but for more laughter and love and lazy Saturday mornings where all we need is each other.
My current home is a little messy, a work in progress. Sometimes, I reminisce about those old personal spaces, and how I grew and changed with each, and I smile. These days, “home” transcends spaces and stuff. Home is in his arms.
Thursday, April 30, 2009
Words n stuff
I started an online writing class this week. Sixteen weeks and eight assignments—all in the memoir genre. I received my first packet on Monday (assignment: home), and went through all the warm-up exercises to help get the ideas flowing. It was going pretty well until I read the enclosed examples of writing on the same theme. They were spectacular and moving. My ideas seemed sooooo lame and shallow in comparison. Why must writers be their own worst critics?
Friday, April 03, 2009
Lint Collection No. 1: Weight Watchers, the decade's best movies, and XIII
I returned to Weight Watchers this morning. Restart number 2,467, or something like that, in my effort to lose the approximately 60 pounds I gained in five years of college. It's a purely psychological game at this point. I have the desire, ability, and support–I just need to get my brain on board. I have no idea how to accomplish this, but I did find one semi-good thing about the big number that came up on the scale this morning: I'm not heavy enough to be a Biggest Loser contestant.
San Francisco Chronicle's Mick LaSalle named the decade's best movies. In April. But whatever. It's a strange list. I've seen The New World, The Pianist, Almost Famous, Bridget Jones' Diary, Match Point, and V for Vendetta. They are all GREAT movies. But the best of the decade? I dunno. I'll have to come up with my own list... Off the top of my head: Amelie? The Incredibles? (Heck, any Pixar movie of the aughts except Cars.) Memento? Lost in Translation? Little Miss Sunshine? Lord of the Rings trilogy?
I blogged earlier about the state of newspapers. It's a very popular topic in the blogsphere these days. Today, Gawker posted a resignation letter from a Wall Street Journal feature writer. It's an interesting personal perspective on the state of journalism. His long articles take months to write, and in an era of "urgent," he feels out of place. Anyway, an interesting read.
Jamie Oliver and his wife welcomed their third child: daughter Petal Blossom. Congrats to the Naked Chef. I learned today that their other two children are named Poppy Honey and Daisy Boo. Um. Wow. When I was a teenager, I thought it would be fun to name my future child XIII. Instead of pronouncing it phonetically, like "exxxiiiiii" or something, it would be "thirteen." I thought I was wildly cleaver. Thankfully, I've grown up.
It has just come to my attention that there is a musical named Lint: http://www.lintmusical.com/
San Francisco Chronicle's Mick LaSalle named the decade's best movies. In April. But whatever. It's a strange list. I've seen The New World, The Pianist, Almost Famous, Bridget Jones' Diary, Match Point, and V for Vendetta. They are all GREAT movies. But the best of the decade? I dunno. I'll have to come up with my own list... Off the top of my head: Amelie? The Incredibles? (Heck, any Pixar movie of the aughts except Cars.) Memento? Lost in Translation? Little Miss Sunshine? Lord of the Rings trilogy?
I blogged earlier about the state of newspapers. It's a very popular topic in the blogsphere these days. Today, Gawker posted a resignation letter from a Wall Street Journal feature writer. It's an interesting personal perspective on the state of journalism. His long articles take months to write, and in an era of "urgent," he feels out of place. Anyway, an interesting read.
Jamie Oliver and his wife welcomed their third child: daughter Petal Blossom. Congrats to the Naked Chef. I learned today that their other two children are named Poppy Honey and Daisy Boo. Um. Wow. When I was a teenager, I thought it would be fun to name my future child XIII. Instead of pronouncing it phonetically, like "exxxiiiiii" or something, it would be "thirteen." I thought I was wildly cleaver. Thankfully, I've grown up.
It has just come to my attention that there is a musical named Lint: http://www.lintmusical.com/
Twitter Takeover
This blog thing isn't working. I blame Twitter. I can tweet ten times a day without breaking a sweat. I can share random thoughts and fun links and not have to take time to compose an actual blog. You know, with an actual word count.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Sex Education
Wow. This was brought to my attention today. Bill Clinton has absolutely no idea what he is talking about, and Gupta doesn't question him, or even seem fazed!
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Scrapbook Nerd
I just put this on my car today. Tee-hee.
UPDATE: My husband suspects this move was to keep him from driving my car. LOL! Not intended, but an amusing development in our ongoing "my" car/"your" car battle. (He delights in saying, "Let's take my car," and then walking over to MY car. You know, the whole what's-mine-is-yours marriage thing... hehehe...)
UPDATE: My husband suspects this move was to keep him from driving my car. LOL! Not intended, but an amusing development in our ongoing "my" car/"your" car battle. (He delights in saying, "Let's take my car," and then walking over to MY car. You know, the whole what's-mine-is-yours marriage thing... hehehe...)
Monday, March 09, 2009
Newsosaur
I stumbled upon this blog today. If you're interested in the eminent death of the American newspaper, check out Newsosaur.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
Geeking Out at Video Games Live
Paul and I went to Video Games Live tonight at the recently reopened, art-deco-fantastic Fox Theater Oakland. The show is a retrospective of video game music—from Pong to Halo and everything in between—using an orchestra, choir, lighting effects, video, and audience participation. It was sweeeet.
While we waited for the show to begin, game-related fan and music videos played on the big screen ("Yuri the Only One" by LeetStreet Boys was amusing. Watch it here.) and the winner of the costume contest was awarded. There were three finalists, and we didn't really see anyone else dressed up, which surprised us. WonderCon was going on across the Bay, even!
The concert began with a tribute to old-school Atari and arcade games, the audience cheering when their favorite flashed across the screen. Then the set list moved into more modern games with lush orchestrations: Halo, Final Fantasy, World of Warcraft, God of War, Metroid, Civilization IV, and Castlevania, among others. There were tributes to Mario Bros., Zelda, and Sonic the Hedgehog. Special guest Martin Leung, known for his viral video of a blindfolded Mario Bros. piano tribute, performed a medley of Final Fantasy melodies with the skill and energy of a concert pianist. And there were two songs using audience members. For Space Invaders, the volunteer donned a logo shirt and was tracked as the space ship—running back and forth across the stage to shoot. For Guitar Hero, the winner of a preshow mini tournament was called onstage to play "Sweet Emotion" on the big screen with orchestral accompaniment. He had to score 150,000 points to win a DS and some fancy new gaming mouse and other swag. He did.
My favorite segment was the tribute to ten years of World of Warcraft. It was one of the few I knew (in addition to Mario Bros., Zelda, and the Atari tribute), and I've always been impressed with the game's epic, cinematic music. Overall, it was a very cool show. I highly recommend it to any gamer and to fans of contemporary classical music.
Friday, February 27, 2009
What's black and white and read all over?
I knew newspapers would one day be extinct—I just didn't think it would be during my lifetime. But I guess a bad economy (and a resulting slump in advertising) will accelerate that! This week, we learned that San Francisco may soon be the largest American city without a daily newspaper, as the Chronicle will close if it doesn't find a buyer. And the Rocky Mountain News, Denver's oldest paper, shuttered its doors Friday.
Making a living in the print journalism industry myself, I'm nervously watching it all unfold. I'm not, however, someone who thinks the end of the newspaper is the end of the world. (See the campaign of one local newspaper lover here.)
When televisions became household staples, people worried it was the end of radio. Not true. Radio was just forced to change. Similarly, there will always be a need for news—it just doesn't need to be on paper. The internet is a fantastic vehicle for news coverage. News when it happens, real-time commentary and discussion, even user-submitted content (when everyone is an iReporter, what a wealth of tips and pics). This is EXCITING! That's why so few people in my generation take a paper and why local news bloggers (go Claycord) are so successful. While the future of newspapers may be bleak, the future of news reporting is definitely bright. This is a great opportunity for newspapers to restructure for a web-based format and remain relevant.
My prediction: The big papers will be the first to go (and the most savvy will live on in cyberspace). The community weeklies will hold on longer, as they are uniquely positioned to best cover regional trends, lifestyle, wedding announcements, obits, etc. Magazines... well, I optimistically believe they're here to stay.
Making a living in the print journalism industry myself, I'm nervously watching it all unfold. I'm not, however, someone who thinks the end of the newspaper is the end of the world. (See the campaign of one local newspaper lover here.)
When televisions became household staples, people worried it was the end of radio. Not true. Radio was just forced to change. Similarly, there will always be a need for news—it just doesn't need to be on paper. The internet is a fantastic vehicle for news coverage. News when it happens, real-time commentary and discussion, even user-submitted content (when everyone is an iReporter, what a wealth of tips and pics). This is EXCITING! That's why so few people in my generation take a paper and why local news bloggers (go Claycord) are so successful. While the future of newspapers may be bleak, the future of news reporting is definitely bright. This is a great opportunity for newspapers to restructure for a web-based format and remain relevant.
My prediction: The big papers will be the first to go (and the most savvy will live on in cyberspace). The community weeklies will hold on longer, as they are uniquely positioned to best cover regional trends, lifestyle, wedding announcements, obits, etc. Magazines... well, I optimistically believe they're here to stay.
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Style: How much is it worth?
I didn't watch the State of the Union address. I don't have television (okay, I do have a TV, but it's only set-up for DVDs and Wii) and I was busy with something else. But I did read the transcript later that evening, as well as the transcript of Bobby Jindal's Republican response. I thought both speeches were well-written and made good presentations about the direction each side would like to take our country, and how, especially with regard to the economy. Both were inspiring in different ways.
So I was caught off guard the next morning by speech reactions. The buzz wasn’t about Obama’s agenda; it was about Jindal’s style. It seemed everyone was put off by his awkward delivery and doubted the legitimacy of the man considered to be a likely candidate for President in 2012. Huh. Really? Americans would dismiss someone that easily because of “style?”
I think we’ve been watching too much American Idol. We really love to critique style and performance, don’t we? But how much does that matter in terms of one’s ability to govern? I think of all the presidents before the age of radio and television. How few citizens must have heard or seen their style—what the people knew, they read—and yet this country elected many great leaders.
On the other hand, Obama has style in spades. He is tremendously talented—perhaps the best speaking politician of my lifetime. I’m convinced the guy could sell anyone on anything. But this doesn’t automatically makes him a great leader. If anything, he makes it harder to spot the B.S.
Did you watch the speeches? Did style factor into your reaction? If so, how much?
So I was caught off guard the next morning by speech reactions. The buzz wasn’t about Obama’s agenda; it was about Jindal’s style. It seemed everyone was put off by his awkward delivery and doubted the legitimacy of the man considered to be a likely candidate for President in 2012. Huh. Really? Americans would dismiss someone that easily because of “style?”
I think we’ve been watching too much American Idol. We really love to critique style and performance, don’t we? But how much does that matter in terms of one’s ability to govern? I think of all the presidents before the age of radio and television. How few citizens must have heard or seen their style—what the people knew, they read—and yet this country elected many great leaders.
On the other hand, Obama has style in spades. He is tremendously talented—perhaps the best speaking politician of my lifetime. I’m convinced the guy could sell anyone on anything. But this doesn’t automatically makes him a great leader. If anything, he makes it harder to spot the B.S.
Did you watch the speeches? Did style factor into your reaction? If so, how much?
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
Blog Relaunch
I've been kicking around the idea of returning to blogging (regularly) for several weeks now. And, like I've experienced during other periods of indecision, I feel the universe is nudging me in a certain direction. While pondering how I might relaunch The Lint Trap, I came across Time magazine's Best Blogs of 2009 and became giddily excited about all the creative possibilities. A few days later, while coworkers were mocking my aversion to pulling socks too tightly (ahhhh... like fingernails on a chalkboard for me!), one suggested I start a blog to catalog all of my weird quirks. Finally getting up the courage to log into Blogger and spruce up the old site, someone referred to blogging as my "little hobby." This person didn't mean it and apologized immediately, but that comment aroused in me a great determination to prove that this is a worthwhile endeavor.
This blog won't change drastically. I will keep most of the old posts on here (though I couldn't resist deleting the most sophomoric). I will continue to write about my life and the things that interest me. But I hope that with some slight adjustments, the experience will change in a big way for readers. You see, I'm not that interesting. My day to day life is not compelling. That's the reason I kept giving up on blogging. There are far better writers, thinkers, artists, adventurers, you name it. But all of you are interesting. What makes you tick; how you're similar to me; how you're different; what experiences and insights you offer; how I might learn from you. I'll be asking for a lot more feedback and encouraging conversation through comments, and I hope everyone will take me up on this offer. It's the interaction that gives a blog life. Otherwise, it's no better than my third-grade diary.
Soooooo, the Princess of Dryer Lint is back! And so is the crazy blog buffet I affectionately call The Lint Trap.
This blog won't change drastically. I will keep most of the old posts on here (though I couldn't resist deleting the most sophomoric). I will continue to write about my life and the things that interest me. But I hope that with some slight adjustments, the experience will change in a big way for readers. You see, I'm not that interesting. My day to day life is not compelling. That's the reason I kept giving up on blogging. There are far better writers, thinkers, artists, adventurers, you name it. But all of you are interesting. What makes you tick; how you're similar to me; how you're different; what experiences and insights you offer; how I might learn from you. I'll be asking for a lot more feedback and encouraging conversation through comments, and I hope everyone will take me up on this offer. It's the interaction that gives a blog life. Otherwise, it's no better than my third-grade diary.
Soooooo, the Princess of Dryer Lint is back! And so is the crazy blog buffet I affectionately call The Lint Trap.
Wednesday, July 09, 2008
In Memoriam
My grandmother passed away unexpectedly on May 29th. Amid all the excitement of photographer interviews, cake tasting, and invitation designing, the last month has been somber and surreal.
Days shy of her 84th birthday, Grandma was active and fiercely independent. She worked nearly full-time as a volunteer for the local hospital and major league baseball team, walked to the mall and grocery store when the weather was nice, and took cruise vacations and road trips to visit family and see new places whenever she had the opportunity. She was loving, giving, and adventurous. She was also a woman who lived her own way and spoke her own mind—and made no apologies for it. And that was something everyone she befriended came to love about her.
Thinking of Grandma, many things come to mind: Baseball. Her perfectly styled hair. The Sweet Tomatoes and Fresh Choice coupons she always clipped for me. Retro furniture. Jigsaw puzzles. Her impeccable handwriting and ridiculously prompt thank-you cards. Crystal napkin rings. The smell of burnt chocolate at her house (she lived near a chocolate factory). And the Christmas Eve celebrations we had at her place for many, many years. She’d make us a fabulous dinner, one of us would sneak a treat into her stocking, we’d open gifts (which always included savings bonds, socks, and See’s candy), and just spend the evening talking and laughing and having some of the best of times.
And, of course, I remember the dating pressure...
Ever since I broke up with my high school boyfriend, Grandma would ask about my love life and offer unsolicited advice and opinions. “Why doesn’t Michael come around anymore?” “You let a good one go.” “Aren’t there any available young men at that church of yours?” She once tried to set me up on a blind date with a twentysomething she met at an Oakland A’s game. And one Valentine’s Day while I was away at college, she tucked a newspaper clipping about online dating services into my card.
It drove me nuts. I even schemed with a coworker about him posing as a new boyfriend at Thanksgiving dinner and acting so terribly my grandmother might lay off the dating encouragement for a while. Hehehe. (We never did it.) But I knew she meant well. Grandma wanted to see me happy. And the source of her life’s happiness was family—her husband, her sons, her daughter-in-law, her four grandkids, her siblings, and her sister-in-law-turned-best friend. She wanted these things for me, too.
I took Grandma out to lunch earlier this year and, knowing Paul and I were headed in the direction of marriage, I asked her questions about the love of her life. She told me stories I had never before heard—about meeting my grandfather (who passed away when I was 12); how as witnesses to a friend’s Reno wedding, they ended up eloping themselves; how they announced it at her sister’s wedding reception; how she was one of two girls in her senior class to marry before graduation. I listened, amused—but not surprised—by the image of my grandmother as a rebellious teenager. As she recalled the memories, her eyes lit up and she laughed heartily, and I wondered why I hadn’t engaged her in these types of conversations before.
Preparing for the memorial service, my mom, dad, and sisters looked through Grandma’s albums, gathering the best photos for a display. Her love story played out in scrapbooks—handwritten notes, anniversary cards, event programs, and photos pasted onto yellowed pages. News of her young nuptials made the local papers, and she’d saved the clippings. And I saw the only “wedding” photo she owned: The newlyweds captured descending a staircase with their marriage license in hand.
I made myself a copy of that photo, and it’s been sitting on my desk ever since. I miss Grandma terribly, and I am overcome with sadness when I think about how she won’t be at my wedding. My mother told me that the day Grandma went into the hospital, despite being very ill, she kept asking about the wedding. She wanted to know about the colors and who was in the wedding party and everything. It seems she sensed she wouldn’t get to experience it herself. Wouldn’t ever see me, or any of her grandchildren, get married. Wouldn’t ever meet her great grandchildren.
The last time I saw Grandma was at my engagement party. I suppose that is appropriate. After years of dating inquiry, my status was very clear: I was in love with a wonderful man who made me happy, and I was going to spend the rest of my life with him. And it was clear that day that my grandmother was so very happy for me.
Friday, March 14, 2008
Suzie McNeil
I stumbled across a rocker chick named Suzie McNeil this week. I guess she was a finalist on that INXS reality show a couple years ago. I don't know. I haven't watched TV in a long time. But she is seriously awesome. I just purchased her album "Broken & Beautiful" on iTunes and I am loving it!
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