Deuces

Were you just playing a John Mellencamp song...? My inquiry was earnest, though filled with the confused stupor that follows an awakening from a deep, mid-afternoon nap.  Equally confused, he replied "... I don't know anything by John Mellencamp..." In a sedated, yet certain response I added ""Jack and Diane"... I thought you were playing that song..." He stood quietly for a moment, curious, as I held a focused gaze, hands in my lap, staring at my fingers, gracefully interwoven.   It's the look he dubs the "1000 mile stare". And I slowly came to.  Came to realize my father wasn't playing a John Mellencamp song, and Lloyd wasn't either.   I shouldn't have been surprised-  neither of the two men had ever played John Mellencamp before, so why would they now? But in some lost space where fatigue and sleep meet, I had heard my father playing guitar and heard his voice- clear as day- singing the ...

Maria reprimanded me for lack of blogs... and it isn't because I don't have much to say...it is, perhaps, because I have too much to say.   Too many things in a year gone by too quickly... too slowly... too painfully in the growing department, too full in the raising of a daughter department.  Too many things I once wanted to share that I now hold too close.... privately, quietly, with great uncertainty.  But I had, for certain, one of the best days of the year last Friday. That... I want to share.   Each December my brother, Corbin, along with all local fire department and police personnel get gratis entry into our favorite amusement park.   It's a time to be kids, to visit the endless craft vendors in Ghost Town, toddle through Camp Snoopy and take a ride on Montezuma's Revenge- the roller coaster I first rode with Corbin nearly 30 years ago when we went with our parents for the Halloween 'Knott's Scary Farm' adventure.     ...

I am grateful for these morning minutes to blog and journal and tidy the home I love so much. I am grateful for my healthy family.  I don't come from money or inheritance or even good luck, but I am grateful I come from hard work and hard-learned lessons and good health.  I am grateful that today my mom is well and my husband and daughter have everything they need.  I am grateful for my friends. Oh, Lord, what would I do without the women who make me laugh until I cry, the ladies with whom I talk at length and with brutal honesty with about our kids, our jobs, men and what we dream about, hope for, plan for, what ails us and what fails us? I am grateful for history- 24 years of friendship.  This girl I sat next to in chorus at Imperial Jr. High.  Our teacher, Mr. Beckman, wore a toupee that waved wildly with each baritone crescendo in class as he waved his wand. Is it called a wand when referring to music? ...

Corbin, I don't know what it is but I can't stop missing you.   And you won't know it because you don't read my blog (in fact, I don't think anyone in our family reads my blog, assuming they even know it exists...)   But Corbin I want you to know you've been a great older brother.   We don't have that much in common, actually, aside from the humor that causes us to be boisterous and loud and try to dominate conversations with others (especially one another).   We both always think we are right.   You are more apt to apologize than I am (but to be fair that's because you can be quite cutting at times, the way an older brother can be, where I would never dream of causing you hurt).   You are more of an introvert to my extroverted tendencies despite my unavoidable need to withdraw when I feel swallowed whole by the world around me.     You don't like when I withdraw, oftentimes trying to pull ...

Sayler's warm, sweaty hand was draped over my neck.   We lie, uncomfortably, our foreheads connected, the way athletes show camaraderie during prayer before a big game...   I was attempting to ease her back into sleep.   I was immobilized, worried if I moved prematurely I would stir the little girl who was caught somewhere between slumber and full-out Energizer Bunny mode.   (Because there's nothing in-between for toddlers).   I had only my thoughts to keep me company,   and my thoughts drifted to one of the numerous nicknames, "C-Note", I have acquired in these last few adult years.   And thinking about a "C-Note" made me think of a gift I gave to my father.     I was just a young girl- no older than 8 or 9- when I had won enough tickets from games played at Bullwinkle's to acquire a prize behind the brightly-lit display.   There were so many wonderful things...   Ite...

When I was a kid, there was no one that snored more loudly than my father.   And much like the sound of a bear snorting as he slumbered in the woods, it was slightly frightening, quasi-ominous and seemed to forebode that no one in proximity would sleep well. I didn't think I could ever know another who caused so much restlessness... And then I met my husband. Pushing him to his side and huffing "you're snoring again!" is not an unusual occurrence at Caza Birch. He's a good sport, ol' Lloydy is... oftentimes taking heed immediately or suffering the ongoing painful rib nudges I throw his way as the night carries on .  But just when I didn't think I could ever know yet another who could cause so much restlessness... I birthed my daughter. Houston, we got another snorer. And I will miss their snoring.. Just kidding. I won't. But I will miss some other things, surely, as "they" depart in 2-days time for England. ...

"Anna Begins" makes me smile. It's one of the songs my brother, Corbin, used to randomly sing with his guitar while we sat around doing nothing.  Frankly, his version was better than the original And there are other songs that remind me of doing nothing other than sitting around when we had time to sit around.   Before we were graced with awesome children, long work days, houses, spouses, DIY projects that take us to Home Depot on the weekends and text conversations that go a little something like.... This isn't a long-winded blog.  It's just a virtual hug to my brother, Corbin, who I love dearly.

My husband came home one night recently and said, "there's this song that reminds me of you and Sayler"... and I thought that was a thoughtful sentiment.  Because there are so many songs that remind me of people, and I will often tell them. Just like how a million songs remind me of Ariel, including this  Katy Perry song  which takes me back to the day the album dropped.  Ariel and I cleaning my storage unit...  Her and I, doing the Charleston with the radio turned way up... and all other ill-fitting and old-fashioned dance moves reminiscent of Gatsby days there along the concrete driveway...  We dance a little lame sometimes. It's how people know we're related. But the last time I remember someone saying a song reminded them of me was when Lizzy said Drops of Jupiter  reminded her of me (and, in turn, I think of her every time I hear it). That was over a decade ago. and when Brian and I dated in the yesteryear and he said Nirvana's...

I probably shouldn't have called my father "Daddy" for as many years as I did. But I did. And it never occurred to me not to- that it wasn't very adult-like. In some alternate universe where time does not pass, however, you are still my daddy. In that universe I am young. Much younger. I have not forgotten you. But I am not sad, Not as often. Whereas I once tried to forget the heartache of losing the first man I ever loved, I now welcome those amazing memories. The calloused hands that showed years of hard labor. The laugh that made your eyes close and your head fall back. The way you would waltz into a house party to retrieve me if I hadn't called to let you know I would be home late.  Yikes.  Embarrassing. The way you avoided sitting on couches and chairs and preferred to sit on the floor.  Literally- you could not be seen on anything plush.  Hard kitchen chairs or a floor only. The w...

In the days of my loss, A divide went un-mended. A memory, now tarnished, A good that soon ended. Once two: quite the same, Before it all changed, A bouquet: once perfect and beautifully arranged. The ties now are severed, An affinity: marred; One unsaid "I'm Sorry": a slow-healing scar. Life's thirst: quenched: despite One wish-well left dry, To make right: The thing: that drifted awry. Familiarity: Lost? I hope, yes? No... I hope not... Waited: So patiently, for words to be said- To strengthen fond memories, Left weak by one thread.

I should know Santee, but I don't. For a few months, a decade ago, I worked in Santee. I opened a Mimi's there. I parked my car in the lot there 6 days a week. Those 6 days a week I exited the freeway in the whereabouts, likely listening to Britney Spears en route, clutching the steering wheel of my gold 97' Chevy Cavalier. I should know the name of that freeway exit, but I don't. I have a poor memory for so many things. And the other day as I drove through San Diego county, headed toward Grossmont College I saw a sign that read "Santee". And it was then that I realized I have no clue how to navigate to that Mimi's Cafe if I wanted to... Just for memory's sake. Just to pop in and have an omelette, or a latte, or remind myself what those few months were like. And they were good months. I had great, great colleagues back then and I had youth and no crow's feet and I had several work aprons and they were all cute and I ha...

Ms. Rine, I have looked for you online. Most of my closest friends know I am quite the online sleuth, capable of tracking down all ghosts of boyfriends and crushes past. But I can't find you. It was many years ago. Many, many years ago in a first grade classroom we met. You were my teacher and I loved you. And it's true I had a deep fondness for just about all of my elementary school teachers, but you did and you do hold a very special place in my heart. I was only 6 years old, but I remember you well. I remember the Snicker bar you gave me once after I helped you erase the chalkboards after school.  You always let me help you erase the chalkboard. And I remember you gave me my very first lunchbox. I had always wanted a lunch box, but they were a bit of a luxury in my house and I hadn't had one before or anytime after that metal Kermit the Frog pail. And it wasn't a brand new lunch box. I remember it was used and I somehow put it together in my...

Daughter, When I look at your hair I marvel at the big, bountiful curls that adorn your head. You'll never know how much I love your hair.  As a kid I always, always, always desperately wanted big 80's hair and every attempt to tease my straight mane left me sad and tangled. Somehow, I survived the hair famine of 88' and live to tell about it.  Perhaps because of the more recent trends of straight, flat-ironed hair I can hold my flat hair-head high, wave my hot ironed locks to and fro and look proud. But still, Despite big hair being a bit "out" I still wish I had it.  It must have been in 2nd grade when the force became strong within. The other day as we sat at story time I watched you with your big, beautiful hair looking intently at the teacher reading the short story.  I wondered then if you would always love story time and if you would always have wild, enviable hair. In 2nd grade I had Mrs. Martin.  (It could have been "Miss" or ...

I went to Etiwanda High School. Sometimes I forget I was once a student there. In fact, as odd as it may seem I don't have many memories of my 4 years in high school.  It's as though the memories, one by one, started to vanish. The people from high school that were once my friends are now my adult friends and so it is even difficult to remember them, as they were, back then. Sometimes my adult, long-standing friends help me remember moments, events, people, classes and things that had long since been absorbed in my mind and replaced with more current events. But the only person that would remind me I went to Etiwanda High School for 2 summers would have been my dad, and he is now gone. As I made my way through a long windy road to work today I suddenly remembered the long, windy road to Etiwanda many early mornings. My dad drove me.  Every day.  5 days a week for... perhaps 6-8 weeks. I'm not sure I ever said, "Thanks, Dad." Not that he minded. ...

I have been wanting to write this for a while now. For, like , a long long long while. But I ran into three problems, Amber. The first: I couldn't find words to express how much you mean to me. Two: I knew that once we went public with our relationship people would say, Amber and Cambria? When did they become such good friends? Three: Once people knew how incredibly awesome you were, they would try to steal you from me. I mean, who wouldn't? But I am making a go of it anyway because, frankly, you deserve it. True, we werent of BFF's in high school. But, we would steal glances from across the hall and perhaps our psyches were telling us we were meant to be together. It wasn't until later years when we reconnected and sparks flew. I knew immediately you were the person I wanted to spend the rest of my friendship life with. If I had to put it plainly, In human speak, You are truly amazing. You are the kind of friend that doesn't forget ...

Sometimes I miss yesterday. Sometimes I miss being naive, not knowing what I know, not relating everything to something else. Sometimes I miss people. I miss who they were, naive, not knowing what they know. I miss when we weren't political, or knew that religion could divide us more than unite us. Sometimes I miss the me that didn't know what it felt like to have my heart broken. I miss her because she didn't question people, or the certainty of the future. I miss the days when all things seemed possible but I didn't think about the possibilties because, like, huh?  I didn't have time for, like, thinking about possibilities and I didn't have to worry anyway. I miss that insecure feeling I would get when I forgot my pager at home and totally swore I was missing the most important page of my life and couldn't wait to be reunited with my pager. I miss not worrying about the effects of not wearing sunscreen. I miss the summers w...

What were the things you thought? Those white lies and fallacies you unwittingly believed for far too long. Please share- I'm dying for your company. Like, you know... were you one of those kids that erroneously used the word "death" when what you meant to say was "deaf"?  Don't deny it... you were, weren't you? I was not. I swear. I know I wasn't because I distinctly remember feeling both joyful and annoyed when I heard a classmate use the word incorrectly, even as a young girl.  But I wasn't immune to my own brain's inaccuracies or feeling like a complete buffoon on numerous occasions. In fact, Do you know what euthanasia is?  You know, that whole assisted death business initiated by the late Dr. Kevorkian? You know what it is, don't you? You do because you are wise and intelligent and awesome. But I remember I was the only student in my English 1B class at Chaffey College who didn't know what it was. I sat there, fron...

Do you know what saddle shoes are? These.  These are saddle shoes. Can you imagine me in saddle shoes? Do try. It's quite funny. My mom always loved saddle shoes. I always hated them. ALWAYS. But, for many years as a kid, I wore saddle shoes. I remember they had a really hard toe area, and I once catapulted off a set of jungle-gym rings and body slammed some kid to the ground while wearing those dreadful shoes.  It was a very Kung-Fu like maneuver and it was totally on purpose. I don't always remember everything about my childhood, but there are glimpses of people, events... things. And I remember the first time I finally told my mother I didn't want a new pair of saddle shoes to replace the former saddle shoes. Her response? "Okay, honey.  You don't have to get them.  We'll get you something else.... I always loved saddle shoes... I think they're so pretty......." I literally remember, in that moment at the shoe store, thinking ...

My grandmother wore jelly shoes. Do you remember them? They were sold in small markets and pharmacies of yore. Places like Denco, Gemco and... whatever else existed before Rite Aid and Walgreens and ended in "Co". They were sold in different colors and often displayed on turning racks by the cash registers. To Google the images for jelly shoes was enough to make my heart stop. When their image appeared, I saw my grandmother. I saw her feet, squeezed in to the plastic shoes that were made to fit long, lithe, Cinderella feet.  I don't remember if I ever owned my own pair, but I am certain I must have wanted my own, just like grandmas, simply because the memory of them is so vivid I cannot imagine why I would remember them so well unless they were on my wish list. Perhaps right below pink and white L.A. gear. (There was little I wanted "above" L.A. Gear, so this is why they would have been somewhere below...) I remember many small details a...

Dear dad- I am thinking of you... right now... as I listen to my baby girl coo in her swing beside me. Sometimes when I feel my mind wander and a thought of you crosses my mind, I quickly try to make it go away for fear my eyes will show the disappointment of you no longer being here. I fear losing my breath, and fear having others notice that I am not paying attention to a word they are saying. But in this moment, I remember. 11 years ago today I sat in a hospital. I waited for you to come out of a coma. I was certain it would happen at any time. I had no fear. I did not let the sadness of others around me get in the way of me knowing you would be alright. Better than alright. The way you had always been. I knew you would laugh at everyone for worrying, and then you would tell us how the doctors had it all wrong and wanted you to stay another night, But "No", you would tell them.  "I'm leaving today."  And they wouldn't argue...