“If I lose my magic, that means I’ve lost absolutely everything.”

“If I lose my magic, that means I’ve lost absolutely everything.”
~Kiki
Kiki’s Delivery Service

Day 8: Some place you have been, Part 3

When we first knew we were going to go to Japan, I asked a couple of my friends who had been there to advise me on what we needed to see. One of my derby friends, who is also a major otaku suggested that Andrea and I would have to see the Studio Ghibli Museum.

For those of you who are not familiar with Studio Ghibli, you must go watch/rent/buy “My Neighbor Totoro.”  Like, right now. Go on. I’ll wait here until you come back.

I actually kind of blame (thank) Studio Ghibli for my daughter’s obsession with Japan. Which then also means I have to blame (thank) Pixar’s John Lasseter. See, Lasseter has always admired the work of  Hayao Miyazaki, the animation director who is a major force in animation in Japan. When Lasseter came to the helm of Pixar, he convinced Disney to release Miyazaki’s work to a greater audience. It was a preview for Kiki’s Delivery Service that appeared at the beginning of one of Andrea’s videos that made us watch it. And then Spirited Away. And Totoro. And Ponyo. And Castle in the Sky. She was enamored. So a stop at the museum was absolutely a necessity.

The movie that started it all for us. Thanks a lot, John Lasseter.

The greatest challenge was that the Studio Ghibli Museum is very popular. So much so that you need to get tickets well in advance. As soon as we had the trip scheduled, I went online and ordered them through the broker here in the US. At the time, I only purchased tickets for Andrea and myself because we knew Jason would be working.

We were scheduled to go on the morning on March 11. As luck would have it, Jason’s show didn’t have a matinee that day, so he was actually available until his call at 5:00. We tried going to the convenience store by the hotel to purchase an additional ticket, but they were sold out. He decided that he would at least go along with us for the ride out there.

Following the signs to the museum

The Ghibli Museum is about an hour outside of Tokyo proper by way of train. Located in Mitaka, it’s fairly easy to get to, it just takes some time and a couple of transfers. We made it to the museum, and when the nice young man was directing us inside, he pointed out that there were three of us and only two tickets. I explained that I had purchased the tickets months prior, and Jason had unexpectedly had a free day so he was just going to wait in the park for us. He asked us to wait while he spoke to a manager. When he returned, he noted that the convenience store a couple of blocks away had a ticket available for the 4 pm admission. If Jason went and purchased that ticket and brought it back, he would change the time for him so we could all go in together.

I wish I knew this guy's name so we could have thanked him adequately.

I wish that I had gotten the young man’s name, because he saved us a great deal of potential fear and heartache that day. If he hadn’t figured out how to get Jason in, there’s a good chance we would have been separated from each other when the quake hit. We owe him a debt of gratitude. I did send a letter with this picture to the folks at the museum and asked them to thank him for us, but I never heard anything back. I wish we could let him know just how much we appreciated his helpfulness, and that it went so far beyond just letting a dad enjoy a museum with his family.

I didn’t get a lot of pictures inside the museum because there were signs indicating that photography wasn’t allowed. But even the explanation of why they don’t allow photographs shows the imagination involved:

The Ghibli Museum is a portal to a storybook world. As the main character in a story, we ask that you experience the Museum space with your own eyes and senses, instead of through a camera’s viewfinder. We ask that you make what you experienced in the Museum the special memory that you take home with you.

I did purchase the guidebook, because it was so magical I did not want to forget it. If you ever have a chance to go to Japan, the one stop I will tell everyone they must see is the Studio Ghibli Museum, especially if you are a Miyazaki fan. I really believe he has the heart of a child, and he fashioned the museum to appeal to children and the child in all of us. From the stained glass windows, to the magic zoetropes, to the full sized Cat Bus (!), it made me cry with joy several times over with its sheer beauty and creativity. Thankfully, although I was not able to take pictures, there’s enough on the interwebs to still allow me to share.

As a sculpture alone, it was pretty amazing. When it became a zoetrope through spinning and adding strobes, it was so beautiful it made me tear up. We know that making me cry is like the proverbial fish in a barrel, but still....

Full-sized Cat Bus? Yes, please.

One of the cool things about the museum is they have a theatre that shows shorts that are created by Miyazaki solely for the museum. When you enter, you receive an animation cell that serves as your ticket to the theatre. They stamp it when you see the show, and these films can only be seen at the museum. The film showing the day we went was Mr. Dough and the Egg Princess. At first I worried that we wouldn’t get it because it was in Japanese, but there was little dialogue to the piece anyway. The story was relayed primarily through images rather than words, so it wasn’t an issue at all.

The theatre inside Ghibli

Our tickets to the theatre- and proof we were in Tokyo on March 11, 2011.

The roof of the museum is home to another life size replica, this time of one of the robot soldiers from Castle in the Sky. Photography was allowed there, and we were able to get a family portrait with him. There was also a garden and a rune stone that made the whole place seem otherworldly. From the roof you could look down at the candy colored building below.

This would have been our Christmas card photo. If we were, you know, actually organized enough to do that sort of thing.

One of my other favorite things in the museum didn’t become my favorite until after we had left and I was reading the book that gave more information and included an English translation. It detailed a number of the permanent exhibits, including one that explores the creative process that is used to develop the movies. In addition to having a room that contained books of the actual storyboards for each film, they replicated the workshop where the animators and writers created their work. In the exhibit, I remember noticing these odd little green creatures. They looked like they were made of stone and they were hidden among the stacks of papers, sitting beneath chairs, and cowering in corners. I wasn’t sure what they were until I read the guidebook, which explained that they were the physical manifestation of writer’s block.

Who is the mysterious Ghibli-Blee? A creature that appears in Studio Ghibli. Usually cannot be seen. They are attracted to the cold sweat of those whose work is not making progress. When they get on your shoulders, you are assaulted by severe headaches, stiff shoulders, backaches, and a heavy sense of gloom.

If you’ve ever had a case of writer’s block, you can relate. Iwas amazed at the accuracy of the description. To see it in physical form was reassuring in some ways, because it made you realize that even amazingly talented artists still struggle with the green goblins. Which gives hope to a shlub like me.

We could have spent the whole day there, but when Jason needed to leave to get back for his work call we decided to go as well. Lucky for us, because had we not left when we did, tomorrow’s post would have ended much differently.

Despite the way the day ended, I will never forget the feelings that the morning brought out in me. The sense of wonder, the belief in magic and mystery, and a shared love for the art of a master that transcended cultural boundaries and language barriers. Have you ever found yourself experiencing something magical that took you by surprise? Allow yourself to see the world with childlike wonder, and see how it brings you closer to a oneness with yourself and those around you. Too often we allow our grown-up selves to lose sight of the wonder and magic that is around us in the interest of being serious and adult. But Kiki is right. If we lose our magic, we lose everything. Find your magic.

“Fly the Great Big Sky, See the Great Big Sea”

Fly the great big sky
See the great big sea
Kick through continents
Busting boundaries

“Roam”
Cosmic Thing
The B-52s

Day 8: Some place you have been, Part 2

The trip to Tokyo began with a flight. A very long flight. Like 12 freaking hours long flight.

I don’t get car sick, and amusement park rides don’t bother me in the least. For some reason, riding in planes makes me ill. It’s the same motion sickness I get from watching movies or tv shows where people can’t seem to hold the camera steady. Thank god for Transderm

This is not an advertisement or paid endorsement for Transderm, although if they wanted to pay me I certainly wouldn’t turn it down.

This stuff rocks! I made it through the entire flight without evening feeling like I needed to toss my cookies.

No idea where we are, but somewhere high above the earth.

After our hour long bus ride from the airport to the hotel, there really wasn’t a whole lot of time or energy to do anything that first night. We explored a little bit of the area surrounding the hotel, but I didn’t take many pictures right away. I way more than made up for it though.

One of the streets by our hotel in Akasaka

Our first full day we got acquainted with the area around where we were staying and where Jason was working. He had some time to show us around in the morning, so we hopped over to Shinjuku to go to the observation deck at the top of the Tokyo Government Center. Shinjuku Station is the busiest train station in the world. Needless to say, we ALL held hands to make sure we didn’t get separated. It was crazy. The view from the top of the Government Center was amazing

View of Tokyo from the 48th floor.

All of Tokyo is laid out before you, with Mount Fuji silently keeping watch in the distance. Then we went to a department store called Tokyo Hands in Shibuya. I don’t remember how many floors, but if you want anything, you’ll find it there. That’s where we picked up Hiro.

Meet Hiro. Andrea accidentally left her regularly scheduled stuffed companion at home on this trip, but it gave us an excuse to find her a new friend. She named the lamb Hiro after a character from "Fruits Basket."

Jason’s show was being produced at the Tokyo International Forum, so we trekked over there to drop Jason off for work. The building is beautiful; it looks like an upside down ship, made entirely of glass. While we were there we ate from the street vendors outside. Andrea was disappointed there wasn’t a crepe cart, because she’d heard they were all over Tokyo (and they are, they just weren’t that day) but she got over it pretty quick when she ate some pretty amazing curry.

Tokyo International Forum

Loading in "Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat."

With Jason off to work, Andrea and I started our first adventures at wandering. We started by walking around in the gardens by the Forum. We thought we were in the Imperial Gardens, but later a consultation of the map showed that we were just west of them at Hibiya Park. Tokyo in March is a lovely time of year, especially as compared to Minnesota. It’s starting to get warm, and the cherry blossoms were just starting to bud. A great day to explore.

Crane up close and personal

Hibiya Park

No idea what the sign says, but it looked cool.

After wandering the park for a while, we decided to expand our adventure. We hopped on the train and made our way to Ginza to find the Sony building. The guide book said that they often had samples you could try, but the floor with the PlayStation equipment was being remodeled, so it wasn’t as cool as we had hoped.

What was cool was the intersection right outside the Sony building. The picture doesn’t give you the full experience of this street, and I honestly didn’t notice it until we were in the middle of it. Then I realized that ALLOFTHESEPEOPLE were walking every which way.

The photo doesn't do it justice. The swarm of people traveling in every direction was mind blowing.

Sukiyabashi Crossing.  This intersection tripped me out. I didn’t notice until we were halfway across the street that there were about 15 different directions of crosswalks. All the vehicle traffic stops and people come from every direction, going every direction. It was pretty insane.

You would think it would have been a major clusterfuck, but it was so orderly. Everyone had a place to go and walked in the designated walk to get where they were going. I hadn’t realized until I was in the middle of the street that all the pedestrians had been held at their corners while the traffic was crossing. It was like a traffic jam of pedestrians, only without the honking and cursing. And it wasn’t jammed, just really, really busy.

That was one of the cool things about Tokyo. Everything was very orderly. I think that’s part of the appeal for Andrea. She likes having clear rules and boundaries, and Tokyo had that in abundance. People did not jaywalk or go against lights. Everyone was super polite and helpful, even if they didn’t speak English. The streets and sidewalks were super clean. Almost disturbingly clean, but it was so cool. The weird part is that I never saw (or at least I never noticed) people cleaning up, like maintenance folks or street cleaners. The weirder part is that it was really hard to find a trash can. I can remember a time when I had something to throw away, and I just kept it in my pocket because I couldn’t find any place to discard it.

Even the sewer covers are pretty

Tokyo even smelled different, and in a good way. Despite being half a world away, I didn’t feel like as much of a stranger as I thought I would. A testament to the human condition, I suppose.

What’s the most amazing place you have been? Have you been anywhere that just took your breath away or was surprising in a way you didn’t expect?

“I’m turning Japanese, I think I’m turning Japanese”

Everyone around me is a total stranger
Everyone avoids me like a cyclone Ranger
Everyone…

That’s why I’m turning Japanese
I think I’m turning Japanese
I really think so

“Turning Japanese”
New Clear Days
The Vapors

Day 8: Some place you have been, Part 1

I am going to apologize in advance, because a number of my regular readers have already heard about this adventure. But I do have some new folks who have joined in recently (hello and welcome!) so I’m not going to feel overly guilty about it.

I didn’t do a whole lot of traveling in my younger years, other than arm chair. My mom did take me on two vacations- we went to South Dakota when I was in third grade. We visited the standard toursity spots-Mount Rushmore, the Corn Palace, the Badlands, Rapid City, Deadwood, etc.

Me at Badlands - trying not to freak out at the drop off.

In front of our cabin at Cedar Pass Lodge

Riding a giant tortoise at Reptile Gardens. Pretty sure they don't allow kids to do that anymore.

The summer between 8^th grade and high school we went on a bus tour toFlorida, which included stops in Nashville, Chattanooga, Cape Canaveral, and Orlando. Iowa Coaches Tours represent, yo!

A picture of a Torii at Epcot. Who knew some 25 odd years later, I'd be seeing real ones?

My first actual plane ride was when I went to DC for my internship, which was just one of many firsts. First time away from home, first time in a real city, first time getting mugged, first time wandering the halls of power in the Nation’s Capitol; so many adventures for the little corn-fed Iowa girl!

My husband has helped me more than make up for my lack of travels during my youth. Between visits to grad schools and traveling for his work, I’ve been more places than I could ever have imagined. Okay, that’s not true, because (in the words of Han Solo) I can imagine quite a lot. Maybe truer to say more than I imagined I would actually be able to travel. Not to say I don’t have a major case of wanderlust; it’s just that finances and time generally prevent indulging in it as often as I’d like.

This past year was a major travel year, the topping of which was a trip to Tokyo, Japan. One of the shows that Jason worked on was scheduled to go on tour of a number of Asian venues, but it was abbreviated to about a month long stay in Tokyo. He was there for three weeks and we joined him for the final week of the show.

Before I delve in, I need to explain a little here. Mainly around the fact that in addition to being a once-in-a-lifetime trip this was, for our daughter, a dream vacation. You know how everyone has that one place where they always want to go? I know you know. Everyone has one. For me, it’s Australia. For my Grandma, it was Ireland. My mom’s was Bermuda. I have a friend who has dreamed of visiting Paris. Andrea’s obsession with Japan began when she was in first grade. She even had a Japanese themed birthday party when she turned 9.

Andrea's cake was the Japanese flag. Made with the cake pan from her EasyBake Oven. I'm a friggin' genius!

I'm sure the girls would have preferred Chuck E. Cheese, but they seemed to enjoy it.

This opportunity was beyond perfect. But it gets better! Not only were we going to be going to Japan, we were going to be in Japanthe week of her birthday. And not just any birthday, but her 13^th birthday. Which also happens to be her Golden Birthday. This is going to be a pretty hard birthday to top.

Needless to say, we are so screwed for her Sweet Sixteen. But I digress.

This was the first time I had traveled to a foreign country. Okay, again technically not correct. We did go to Canada for a conference once, but that was pre-9/11, so it’s not like I even needed a passport. And I personally think it’s hard to get super excited about visiting a culture that is so close to your own. No offense, Canadians, but my stint in Texas felt more like a foreign country than my trip to Toronto.

I have to admit I was nervous. I usually deal pretty well with change and can adapt to circumstances, but I had no clue of what I was going into. I was going to a country where English is not the first language. Would I be able to understand or convey my questions? Knowing my propensity for getting lost, how was I going to manage getting myself and my daughter around a city that was completely unknown to me, without the option of a GPS? Since Jason was working, most of our trip was going to involve Andrea and I being on our own for sightseeing. And the damn TomTom that I got for my birthday did not have Tokyo as a map option. Bastards. The time change- how would I deal with jet lag, having never experienced it before? And on top of everything, how was I going to help my daughter, who has Asperger’s, deal with all of the changes in routine and place and comfort zone? Yes, she was super excited about this trip, but even with things that she looks forward to, we need to be aware of the possibility of overstimulation, the anxiety that changes in schedule bring, and the lack of control over her environment. The potential for major meltdowns was always in the back of my mind, and trying to plan for how to deal with it was a significant consideration.

Knowing what I know now, I could not have even imagined what all we would have to deal with it, and what a complete and totally awesome superstar my child would be in managing everything that was thrown at us. It really was a dream vacation, which was surprising since it had the potential to be a nightmare. On day three of our trip, the inconceivable happened- we were in Tokyo for the earthquake of March 11, 2011. The one that measured 9.0 on the Richter scale, and caused devastating tsunamis up and down the northern coast. The one that caused a major meltdown at the Fukushima nuclear plant. The one that shifted the Earth’s axis by 4-10 inches and moved Japan 8 feet closer toCalifornia. We were incredibly unscathed, despite everything. Yes, there were some inconveniences and we had to make a number of changes in plans but overall we were very, very lucky.

It's actually not as bad as it looks.

I’ll take a couple more entries to delve into further detail, because everything about the trip was so amazing. And despite the anxiety we felt at the time, we all want to go back at some point. Andrea is already making plans to go there for an exchange program in high school, and wants to move there permanently after college.

So hold on to your butts. This is going be an adventure!

“I don’t have pet peeves”

“I don’t have pet peeves. I have major psychotic fucking hatreds. And it makes the world a lot easier to sort out.”

George Carlin
George Carlin: You Are All Diseased

 Day 7: Your pet peeves

I will gladly admit that most of my pet peeves are pretty petty. Which is probably why they are called pet peeves, and not psychotic hatreds. In some ways, I think of pet peeves as being kind of like annoying little critters. Something small, fuzzy, and distracting that really gets in the way of everyday enjoyment of life.

The other thing I will gladly (okay, maybe not gladly- more like somewhat reluctantly) admit is that it is the tiny stuff that will bring me to psychotic fucking hatreds. The big stuff I can handle. It’s the nitpicky shit that wears on my every last nerve that pushes me over the edge. Death? Manageable. Floods, earthquakes, and natural disasters? I can cope. An apostrophe where it doesn’t belong? OH MY GOD I AM GOING TO LOSE MY SHIT AND BURY YOU IN A HOLE WHERE NO ONE WILL FIND YOU!

Ahem.

Okay, let’s begin, shall we?

Grammar Nazi infractions

This is where the majority of my psychosis begins. I’m not even a super mega Grammar Nazi, but the following list contains items that drive me up an ever loving wall:

Unnecessary apostrophes- You know what I mean.

Every time I see something like this, I think "Iced Latte's what?"

Superfluous quotation marks- I’m not kidding when I say that when we’ve asked for writing samples, and I get someone who “litters” their writing “sample” with all of the “extra” quotation marks to “highlight” something in their sentence, they get moved to the rejection pile. Either you really have no idea how to use quotation marks, or you’re even more sarcastic than I am.

It's like getting two for the price of one!

Their/there/they’re confusion

It really should say 12-65. Twenty is a pretty low cut off, imho.

It’s/its confusion

Alot- thank you to Allie Brosh for making this somewhat more bearable

And kind of keeping with that theme . . .

AP style

I know it’s the standard, but I’m a big fan of the Oxford comma. It adds clarity, and really, what’s wrong with a little less ambiguity? I like this cartoon, because it really drives it home:

Because really, everyone knew Kennedy and Stalin were strippers.

When someone misspells Wookiee

I know this is super petty, but it’s like my ultimate test of whether someone really is a big fan of Star Wars or just a poser. If you can’t remember the extra e in Wookiee, you have totally lost me.

Cold Wookiee is unhappy that you spelled his name wrong

People who say Of-Ten

I realize that it can technically be pronounced either way, but hearing the t pronounced is like the proverbial fingernails on a chalkboard to me. You don’t pronounce the b in subtle. The r in February. The k in knife. Just. Don’t.

It happened at 7:00 a.m. in the morning

OMG. This will completely make me lose my shit. I don’t know why this particular redundancy drives up the wall, but it just works my nerves. The sad part is that they do it ALLTHETIME on NCIS, which is one of my favorite shows. The worst part is that really, it’s not even necessary because they’re in the military, so there shouldn’t be any confusion over whether seven o’clock is a.m. or p.m. If it’s seven a.m., it’s 0700. If it’s seven p.m., it’s 1900. Ugh. Whenever we’re watching the show and they say something about a crime occurring at 8:00 p.m. this evening, Jason and Andrea will both look over at me because they think it’s funny to watch my face contort as that little blood vessel by my eye begins to throb.

Smack him, Gibbs!

Getting lost

My darling husband gave me a GPS for my birthday last year because he knew it would be a good investment. It has probably paid for itself 100 times over in gas money. Not because it eliminates my ability to get lost, but it reduces the amount of time I spend aimlessly driving around trying to find my way. I have zero sense of direction. I wish I was kidding when I say I can get lost in a cul de sac, but that’s not hyperbole. I’ve actually done it. And it annoys the piss out of me.

Sez you.

Micromanagers

I’m lucky that my current employer doesn’t do this, but I’ve worked places where I’ve had to deal with this particular brand of hell. Look, here’s the deal: if you trust me to do my job, let me do it. If you don’t, don’t give me the assignment. Either way, don’t tell me to do something, and then stand over my shoulder and tell me how you would do it, or the eighteen different ways I’m doing it wrong. Gah!

Passive-aggression

Which really ties back to the micromanager thing, if you think about it. I tend to be more of a straight shooter. I’ll tell you what I think, because I’m a Sag and we’re honest and blunt to a fault. I sometimes try to temper it to prevent hurt feelings, but for the most part you know where you stand with me. Because I am pretty forward, I really, really hate people who can’t say what they really want and do this crap to try and tell me how they feel without really telling me how they feel. Just cut to the chase. I don’t have time for this crap.

Drama Llamas

Another tie-in. Most Drama Llamas tend to be passive-aggressive, and passive-aggressive folks have Drama Llama tendencies. This is another thing for which I do not have the time or wherewithal. I’m old and cranky; I don’t have the time or the energy to deal with other people acting like they’re still in junior high. If you stir crap up just because you’re feeling too safe or things are going too well, I am most likely going to drop you as a friend. Seriously. I’ve done it and I will do it again. I’ve been in therapy for too many years trying to get healthy, and if being around you is going to harsh my mellow, I’m going to take great lengths to avoid spending time with you.

You are not my friend

Earworms

This one is kind of subjective, because some earworms I don’t mind. It’s the really annoying ones that get permanently jammed in my brain on heavy rotation that drive me absolutely bonkers. I do have an antidote of sorts that, for the most part, works pretty well. For reasons I can’t explain, if I have a particularly bad case of earworms, if I start singing If I had a Million Dollars by Barenaked Ladies, I can usually clear it out pretty fast. But if they can’t be subdued by BNL, I’m screwed.

I wish I had a good solution to deal with them. Sometimes I remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, this really isn’t important. If I can deal with death and destruction, surely I should be able to find a way to deal with grammar issues or annoying people without climbing a pine tree and screaming, “Cock-a-doodle-doo, fuck you!” What are the little annoyances that drive you crazy? And if you have found a way to counteract the craziness they raise, what’s your secret? Seriously, I got nothing.

Ready for a Craptastic Shuffle Mix?

Day 6: Put your iPod on Shuffle; First 10 Songs

I will be the first to admit, I do not have the greatest taste in music. I lean heavily in the area of pop, which I know isn’t cool. But you know what? I don’t care. I love these songs, and you can be a hipster and make fun of me all you want.

1- Time and Tide- Basia
This song will always have a very soft spot in my heart. It was the curtain call song for the performances of Einstein and the Polar Bear when I was in college. I can honestly say that it is one of the best shows I have ever been involved in. Great cast, great script, great show. The greatest thing I took away from that show, however, was my husband. Jason and I played husband and wife in that show, and I developed the biggest crush on him during the run of the show. We started dating after the show closed, and here we are 17 years later. This song served as our first dance at our wedding reception, and I still feel very warm and fuzzy whenever it pops up on shuffle.

2- Monty Got a Raw Deal- R.E.M.
I don’t really have a specific memory tied to this song. I have a lot of R.E.M. in my iPod. A lot. Like, probably ever CD of theirs we have. I went to a concert a few years ago, mainly because Jason’s a pretty big fan, and fell. In. Love. Seriously, best concert I’ve ever seen. So sad that they broke up. I came too late to the party.

3- Tangled Up in Blue- Indigo Girls
I fell in love with Indigo Girls back with Closer to Fine. I like this live album because it reminds me of the two times I’ve seen them live. And gives me fond memories of some of the friends I had that shared my affinity for their music and would sometimes sing harmony with me when we listened to them in the car. You know who you are.

4- I Don’t Sleep I Dream- R.E.M.
See? It’s funny that this is the song that popped up from this album, because two songs on this disc were the inspiration for my derby name and number. Although this isn’t Crush With Eyeliner or *69, it’s still a pretty good song.

5- Ready for a Miracle- Leap of Faith Soundtrack
This song is one of two reasons I bought this soundtrack. I like the movie, but the music really sold it.

6- Minnie the Moocher- Cab Calloway
Hellz yeah! I love, love, love big band sounding music. I always thought this would be an awesome song to sing at a talent show or karaoke or something just to get the audience involved in the “hide-ee, hide-ee, hide-ee, hi!” scat section.

7- Come What May- Moulin Rouge Soundtrack
Both soundtracks for this movie are amazing. I love me some Baz Luhrman, and this song is so romantic and sad.

8- Theme From Two Steps Onward- R.E.M.
Yup, more R.E.M.

9- Puttin on the Ritz- Taco
I wish I could hate this song. It’s so cheesy, so 80s sounding, such a bastardization of the original. And yet, there is something about it that I just love. It makes me want to strap on a pair of tap shoes and have at it.

10- Half a World Away – R.E.M.
This is from one of my favorite albums of theirs. I love Out of Time. And how can you not love a pop song that employs a harpsichord? Seriously.

I don’t really have any words of wisdom or insights on this one. Other than don’t be afraid to be who you are, even if it means liking crappy music. Sure, the hipsters may make fun of you, but so what? Their loss, I say. Love your life and do what makes you happy, whether it’s “cool” or not.

“Two a.m. and I’m still awake writing a song”

Two a.m. and I’m still awake writing a song
If I get it all down on paper it’s no longer inside of me
Threatening the life it belongs to

And I feel like I’m naked in front of the crowd
And these words are my diary screaming out loud
And I know that you’ll use them however you want to

“Breathe (2 am)”
Wreck of a Day
Anna Nalick

Day 5: What Song Inspires You

I love music, so narrowing down to one song was almost an impossible feat. If you said what was my favorite song, I’d never be able to do it. I have a top ten, and they fluctuate position depending on the day. In the end, the song that inspires me was really easy because it was the song that really reignited my love for writing and made me realize I had to do more than just think or dream about it.

The first time I heard Breathe (2 am) I was driving in my car, and it was one of two occasions when I had to pull the car over because a song made me cry so hard I couldn’t see to drive. It was a poignant song for the first two verses, but verse three was when it really hit me. Like a freight train.

To understand why it struck a chord, one needs to understand that, for most of my life I’ve been a closet writer. I may have occasionally said that I wanted to be a writer some day, but I never really considered myself to be a legitimate writer. That was a title reserved for those who have the privilege of being published. Or somehow get paid for writing. Which wasn’t me. At least not directly. I may have had some opportunities to write articles or newsletters or letters for my job, but writing wasn’t my primary role. Therefore, I was not actually a writer.

Throughout my life, I have been drawn to positions, volunteer and otherwise, that allowed me to use what I didn’t realize was a genuine skill. Sure, I wanted to write the Great American Novel, but who didn’t? I didn’t realize until I was in grad school that the ability to put thoughts together on a page with some modicum of coherency was not something the average person either a) did well, or b) actually enjoyed doing. When I discovered that classmates admired or were jealous of my ability to throw down 12-15 page papers at a moment’s notice and get high grades, I realized that maybe there was something to my secret passion. Not that I did anything about it, other than recognize that maybe, just maybe, I may have some skills.

I managed to use my skills in perfunctory ways, but secretly, I had notebooks full of characters, scenarios, conversations, and the like that were all waiting for me to put them into the structure of a story. What was hard was that these things would pop into my head and haunt me, bothering and torturing me until I allowed myself to be the conduit to give them life. I did not use this responsibility wisely, however. Usually I would write just enough to stop the madness, but I wouldn’t go any further. It was not until I heard that song that I realized that I was not the only one who had ever felt that way. In those six lines, Anna Nalick reached into my soul and showed me that I wasn’t crazy, either for having an idea threaten to drive me insane, or for being fearful of how someone else would use or interpret that idea once it was beyond the confines of my grey matter.

When this song came out, and was played on such a rapid rotation that I heard it just about every hour, I took it as a sign from the Universe that I was supposed to take this as a hint. It’s been a long and imperfect road. This blog is one way I’ve tried to be more consistent with my writing. I also participated in NaNoWriMo last month, although I didn’t complete the task. Just the fact that I participated means I’m breaking down some resistance, and I definitely put down much more than I would have had I not joined the fun.

During this journey I’ve discovered that I do still have some pretty significant creative blocks, but this process has allowed me to identify them and work to eliminate them. It’s not easy, but I am hopeful. Now that I know what material the wall is made of, it will be somewhat easier to tear it down. If I may indulge in an analogy, if I am trying to break down a wall made of concrete, I’m not going to use the same tools as I would if I was dismantling a wall made of steel.

I have never underestimated the power of music and the arts to open us up to all the possibilities that our lives hold for us. What has served as an inspiration for you? Where can you find hope and strength in your personal journey?

“Giddy up pa oom pa pa oom pa pa mow mow”

Giddy up pa oom pa pa oom pa pa mow mow
Giddy up pa oom pa pa oom pa pa mow mow
Hi yo Silver, away!

Elvira
Fancy Free
The Oak Ridge Boys

 

Day 4: Your Parents
Part 4: Grandma

In some ways, it seems unfair to do an entry about Grandma, seeing as how I have done a couple already. However, since I’ve already sung her accolades and talked about how much she meant to me, I thought I’d use this one to mention one of my favorite things about her: her ability to make me laugh.

 

I was talking about her to one of my coworkers today, and she said, “Your grandma was spunky.” That is the perfect adjective to use for grandma. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind or be herself, even when it wasn’t convenient or went against what others thought she should do, say, or act. She taught me the simple joy in enjoying life and finding humor in any situation. Even when circumstances were dire, she wasn’t above using gallows humor to try and lighten the mood. That doesn’t mean that she didn’t take things seriously. She just knew that life was serious enough, and if you could find the humor in the situation and make others laugh, the world would be a better place.

 

Grandma had a spontaneity that was unmatched, and could lead to humorous situations. While my mom was mostly embarrassed by the spectacle that Grandma created, I found it entertaining and often just rolled with it. One time we were heading to a nearby town to do some shopping. As we pulled into the parking lot of Kmart, the radio was playing “Elvira” and we were singing along. And we didn’t stop singing once the car was off. Grandma continued to sing the chorus into the store, and then during our shopping excursion would randomly pop up a “Giddy up, pa oom pa pa oom pa pa mow mow!” I would laugh hysterically or join along, while my mom would wander off a few aisles away so as not to be associated with the crazies.

 

Everyone needs some spunk in their lives. Someone who shows us how to celebrate life. Someone who gives us the courage to be ourselves, and has the ability to make us smile. Who makes you smile? Celebrate those people who make you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts. The world is too serious, and it’s easy to get wrapped up in sadness and drama. Find your champion of humor and help them make the world smile.

“Father of mine, tell me what do you see”

Father of mine
tell me what do you see
when you look back on your wasted life
and you don’t see me

“Father of Mine”
So Much for the Afterglow
Everclear

Day 4: Your Parents
Part 3: My father AKA The Sperm Donor

The pictures shown on this entry are the sum total of all of the photos I have of my father. My mom and Michael got married once they discovered she was pregnant and divorced before I was a year old. For many years, I never saw my father. There were some custody and child support issues that I didn’t learn about until I was much older. The first time I actually met my father was when I was a freshman in college.

Me and Michael

I was in a musical and he and his wife came to see it. Afterwards, she came up to me and said, “Your father is a chickenshit, so he sent me over here. He’s here and wants to know if you would like to meet him.” How can you say no to an invitation like that, amirite? That began an attempt to get to know each other that lasted for about three years.

In some ways, I think he never really had a chance. Not because mom and Grandma spoke badly about him. On the contrary, they were somewhat vague and noncommittal about why he left and where he was. I know a number of people who trash their ex to and in front of their kids. It’s sad, because I think it sets a horrible precedent that makes both parties look bad, but when you have a lot of anger and bitterness I understand how it can be hard to speak about your ex without tainting them. Mom and Grandma both made a major effort to “be the better person” and not trash Michael. I learned later that they figured eventually I would meet him and get to know him and come to my own conclusions. And for that, I thank them. It’s a lesson I think a lot of divorced parents should take to heart.

One of two family photos

The problem with meeting him was my own expectations of what a father should be. In his absence, I had built in my mind the ideal father. What I wanted a father to be like. What a dad would look like. When you go into any situation with unrealistically high expectations, no one can possibly meet them. The problem wasn’t just that Michael fell short of my expectations. He fell FAR short of my expectations. We did not have the same goals, values, respect for education or the arts. . . the list goes on and on. It became quickly apparent that the only thing we shared was DNA, and that is not enough to build a relationship.

That’s not to say we didn’t try. Attempts were made, both on my side and his. But three years in, we shared a Christmas that drove home the message that we didn’t know each other at all. At the time I was in my early twenties and living on my own. I had a see-through phone that showed all the wiring and parts. It wasn’t a decorating scheme, I just thought the phone looked cool. I also had an apartment and did not own a tv. This was not because I couldn’t afford one. I deliberately didn’t have one. It was a lifestyle choice that afforded me additional time for other activities and hobbies. I also was not a big fan of sweaters. They made me hot and sweaty and were scratchy. Why this is important will be revealed shortly.

That year for Christmas, I was joining them for a family get-together. The first clue that all was not right was when I found myself wandering the mall trying to figure out what the hell to buy him. Correction- I knew what I could buy him that he would like, but I was morally opposed to them, so that was not an option. I ended up just buying one of those sausage and cheese gift baskets because I had no idea what he would like. Then came the exchange. For Christmas he gave me a see-through TV to match my phone. And a pink sweater.

At a summer family reunion

Now I know there are some that will jump on me and say, “It’s the thought that counts!” But first of all, that’s bullshit. There was no thought in either present, either from him or from me, which I will take full responsibility for. But secondly, and maybe this is just me, but if it’s a choice between getting a present that is well thought out and chosen for me versus some random crap that it bought because you couldn’t think of anything but felt obligated to get me something, I’d rather get nothing. Honestly, I had a friend yesterday give me a set of Star Wars themed Pringles cans, and they mean more to me than that gift from my father because they were chosen out of love for me and a knowledge that I was sincerely enjoy it. Take that for what it’s worth, but I’d rather have something cheap and meaningful, or nothing at all, than have something just to have something.

Leaving the party that night, I cried all the way home. I had realized that although there was a blood tie, there was nothing else to link me together with this stranger who called himself my father. When I got home Grandma consoled me. She said that she was sorry I had to learn that way what he was like, but she knew it was a lesson I had to learn on my own. Thankfully, I was able to fall back on the knowledge that family is not and should not be defined by our DNA. Family is who we love. Period. We make our own families by surrounding ourselves with people who care about us and love us for our faults as well as our strengths. Blood does not make family. Love makes family.

Needless to say, I don’t have contact with my father today. It’s sad in some ways, but I’m better for it. And I remember thanking mom for divorcing him when I was little. I’m sure that sounds strange but having seen what I did, I would be a very different person today had I grown up in that house versus that one was raised in. No, my childhood wasn’t perfect. And yes, part of the reason I had such high expectations of a father figure was because I fantasized about some ideal life that can never exist. Despite everything, I am thankful for what I had, because I know it could have been much harder.

I have to be honest- I started writing this almost two weeks ago and still haven’t figured out an appropriate way to end it. I usually try to finish each entry with some word of wisdom or encouragement, but I struggle with what is appropriate in this circumstance. I don’t recommend estrangement, but from experience I recognize that sometimes it’s the healthiest option. I guess the best way to end is to decide for yourself what makes a family, and embrace your family with all your heart, whether they are drawn to you by blood, the legal system, shared interests, or love. We only have one shot at life, and we deserve the best life we can have. Sometimes that means making hard and painful choices, but you have to trust that you know what’s best for you. Don’t let someone else’s mistakes dictate how you master your own destiny. Love those who love you, and don’t worry about the rest. You are worth more than that.

“You never thought of anyone else, you just saw your pain”

I watched you die
I heard you cry
Every night in your sleep
I was so young
You should have known better than to lean on me
You never thought of anyone else
You just saw your pain
And now I cry in the middle of the night
For the same damn thing

“Because of You”
Breakaway
Kelly Clarkson

Day 4: Your Parentts
Part 2: Mom

Apparently my 30 day blog challenge will be more like 90-120, not because I’ve added questions so much as I’m taking so damn long to write the entries.

Mom and me

You’d think after decades of therapy it would have been easier to talk about my mom, and yet I still struggled to write this. We had a mixed bag of relationship issues, and not all of them are easy to figure out. In the end, I have made peace with her and know that she did the best that she could with what she had. The biggest challenge was writing about it.

In many ways, mom and I were more like sisters than mother-daughter. She was a teenage mother, and in many ways not ready at all for the rigors of parenthood.

Mom at 18- me, three days old

When her marriage fell apart, she moved in with my grandparents and we stayed there until I went off to college. Grandma was more my mother than mom, and in a lot of ways mom was jealous of our relationship; she was jealous of me for the attention Grandma gave me, and jealous of Grandma for the closeness of the bond she and I shared.

That jealousy continued through adulthood and often manifested itself in competitiveness, to the point that she would deliberately do things to upstage big successes and events in my life. I graduated from high school? She graduated from college that same week. Moved out and went to college? She moved out and got her own apartment. Moved across the country for an internship? She went into treatment for an eating disorder she hadn’t developed until I left. I was getting married? She bought a home and moved the weekend before, and needed our help to move her stuff. In some ways I think that’s why I tend to fear success- I’m always waiting for the one-upmanship that would result so I don’t actually get enjoy my moment.

At "our" graduation party.

Mom did try to balance things out by trying to be a mom to me, but that often ended in confusion when she would lose interest in doing the mundane daily things. One incident I remember vividly was when I was in fifth grade. Grandma had always been the one to get up and take me to school and mom decided she wanted to do that. It went on for about a week, and then one morning she did not want to wake up. She wasn’t a morning person (a genetic trait that has been passed down), but she wasn’t drugged up or hung over or anything like that. She just wouldn’t get up. I ended up having Pa take me to school because I was going to be late otherwise, but I was super stressed about it because mom had a way of making me feel majorly guilty when she didn’t get what she wanted. To the point that around 10 am I asked to go down to the office to call her. I tried to explain that she hadn’t gotten up and I needed to let her know that I was safe at school and that Pa took me. The school secretary seemed to think I thought my mom was dead because she wouldn’t wake up. She couldn’t understand why I was so upset about having been dropped off at school. How could I explain that if I didn’t call and apologize, mom was going to yell at me and make me feel like shit for three days because I wasn’t letting her be my mom?

That’s not to say everything was horrible. We did take a couple of vacations together, which were memorable. Because of her obsession with Harrison Ford and her complete inability to do anything alone, I did get hooked on Star Wars, one of the few interests that we shared. But her taste in music differed from mine, favorite books were not the type of genre I enjoy as a general rule, and we just didn’t have that much in common.

On our vacation in South Dakota. Getting the old time photo at Deadwood.

I wish that I could say our relationship improved when she was dying from cancer, but it didn’t. She didn’t do the typical Invasion of the Body Snatchers thing and completely change her view of life, and I didn’t do the ohmigod-you’re-dying-let’s-be-best-friends-and-live-every-minute thing. We just carried on as we always had. In some ways, I guess that’s a good thing. If things had changed, I think I would have been worried that the only reason we were getting along was because she was dying and that if things were different we would still be strangers. If nothing else, we both have the knowledge that we lived authentically, even in the face of grim circumstances.

Me and mom circa 1995.

Please don’t misunderstand me- I did love my mom. And I know that, given the circumstances, she did the best that she could. But at the same time, I need to recognize that what she did had an impact on me. When I first heard this song it touched me because I saw a lot of my mom and me in it. For a while I even thought that I had gotten to a place where I was strong enough to say that I don’t relate to it anymore. I thought I had moved past the blaming and understood that while she may have had an impact on my past, I know that I have control of my future and don’t have to follow the same old scripts. As I have written this blog, however, I am beginning to see that I still have some work to do before I can rid myself of the demons that plague our relationship. I see that I still do blame her for some things, and I need to move on.

I often wonder what we would be like now, were she still alive. Would my being a mom change the relationship that we had with each other? Would I resent her more, because I am working hard to be the mom she couldn’t be? Or would I understand her better, knowing the challenges that we face as we become parents? Sadly, it’s something I will never know.

What are you holding on to today? What traumas or struggles from your past do you still bring with you into the present? Part of growing up is learning to let go of our childhoods, and see our parents or caregivers as the people they really are, rather than what you want or expect them to be.

I Wasn’t There That Morning, When My Father Passed Away

I wasn’t there that morning
When my father passed away
I didn’t get to tell him
All of the things I had to say

I think I caught his spirit
Later that same year
I’m sure I heard his echo
In my baby’s newborn tears

I just wish I could have told him in the living years

“The Living Years”
Living Years
Mike + the Mechanics

Day 4: Your Parents
Part 1: Pa

I was having a hard time writing about my parents, because there was so much involved on so many levels. So I decided to break them up into separate days. Today I am featuring Pa.

My family of origin consisted of my mother and my maternal grandparents. Somewhere along the line I started calling Grandpa “Pa” and the name just stuck. He was the closest thing I had to a father figure, although our relationship was often distant.

I have found myself thinking of Pa a lot lately, which is funny because he’s been dead for over 20 years. It’s not that I haven’t given him a passing thought in the past two decades, but he’s not always the foremost in my mind. Grandma was the most influential, and for much of my life Pa was just kinda there. I vaguely remember being his “little buddy” when I was younger, primarily because I was a tomboy, but once puberty hit he became emotionally distant. Mom always said it’s because once I developed boobs, Pa realized I was a girl. I can honestly say that I never heard him say “I love you.” Not to me, not to mom, not even to Grandma. I remember complaining about it to Grandma and she just explained it away by saying that he showed his love for us in other ways. Like checking the oil in the car every time I came home, or fixing things without being asked.

Pa was a quiet man. I would say a gentle giant, but I’ve discovered that that wasn’t true. He seemed tall to me when I was a kid, but his discharge papers from the Army gave his height at 5’5”. He was very shy, and didn’t like to go places where there would be big crowds. That was another way he showed his love- by taking me to the fair or carnival or attending a recital or concert, he was stepping way out of his comfort zone because he cared. One time he took me to a car show because they were going to have Darth Vader there. The place was packed, but he stayed with me the whole time and waited while I got an autograph. I had no idea at the time how difficult that was for him.

Pa was a typical man from The Greatest Generation. He survived the Great Depression, served in the Pacific Theatre in World War II, came back and built a family, and worked hard to support us. He didn’t talk much, and when he did it usually involved cussing. To this day, I can’t even think about buying a Ford vehicle because all I hear in my head is his litany of curses against “those goddamn fucking piece of shit cars.” To buy a Ford would feel like the ultimate betrayal to him.

But he did have his moments. One of my favorite memories of a conversation I had with him was when I was showing him my Star Wars storybook. It was the one that had full color pictures and narratives explaining the movie, and in the very front of the book it had pictures of all the characters and their names. He made a comment about how one of them looked and it was funny. I don’t remember what all he said, but I remember him saying R2D2 looked like a trash can, and by the time he was done with all the characters I was laughing so hard I was crying.

I also remember he had the ability to surprise you with unexpected skills. One morning I was working on a needlepoint project, and I was having a hell of a time doing a French knot. I was getting so frustrated, and Pa asked me what I was doing. I told him it was nothing, he wouldn’t understand. He pushed and I said I couldn’t do a French knot. He then proceeded to show me how to tie one, instructing me in a way that I understood and that was better than the way mom had shown me. I must have had quite a look on my face because he said, “Don’t look so shocked. I had to darn my own socks when we were poor. I learned a lot of stitching tricks.” Still waters ran very deep.

I recently discovered that they ran deeper than I ever imagined. While cleaning out some boxes in the garage, I found the package that had all of my grandmother’s love letters in them. When she was putting her things in order before she died, she had the opportunity to get rid of them, but she didn’t. Unlike my mother, who when she knew the end was near destroyed or got rid of all the journals she had kept over the years, so I figured if she kept them they were meant to be read. I’ve had the letters for over ten years and until now hadn’t had the courage to read them. For a brief moment, I thought about just throwing them away. It seemed so personal and like I was invading their privacy to even think about reading them. Thankfully my curiosity got the better of me. Reading those letters has completely changed my view of this man with whom I spent the first twenty years of my life. It feels very voyeuristic, but I am discovering a man I never knew. Seeing Pa’s 20something self on paper is both enlightening and disconcerting. This shy, gruff, unemotional man had all these fears and dreams. Fears about going to war, being transferred (again) to a new base and learning new jobs. Dreams for the future, for marriage and family, houses and jobs. And above all, this outpouring of emotion and love for the woman that would be his wife until the day he died. Passion that I would never have thought possible from a man that hardly said two words to anyone during the course of the day. I had never really thought about him in that way.

The reason I chose “The Living Years” as the song for this entry is because it came out around the time that Pa died. The last time I saw him, he was in a coma and unresponsive. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I didn’t really know what would be appropriate or what he would even be able to hear. In the end, I just said I love you. But I still don’t think it was enough.

When we are young, we very rarely see our parents as people. Or when we do, when we see them as more human than parent, it can be rather alarming or disarming. I am sad that I didn’t get a chance to really know Pa as an adult. I think part of why reading these letters makes me miss him so much after all these years is because it shows me Pa as a person. I wish I could have the opportunity to talk with him again, and learn more about who he really was, outside of just being my grandfather.

Is there anyone in your life, especially in your family, that you wish you knew more about? Do you have things you wish you had the courage to say or ask? Take the opportunity to reach out to someone you love and really see them for who they are. They might surprise you, and you don’t want to wait until it’s too late.