The Unreliability of Memory

My super-fantastic husband has been systematically cleaning out our boiler room over the past several weeks (hey, there's floor! and a workbench! and I can get to the oil tank without gouging out my abdomen on the weight bar!), and yesterday he found one of my old photo albums.

It has pictures in it from the end of my senior year of high school, graduation, the summer before college, and the weekend I arrived at Ohio Wesleyan. You know that funky slide into nostalgia you get when you look at stuff from 24 years ago? I'm kind of wallowing in it right now.

It's odd. I don't really consider myself a sentimental person. I told him to toss some ugly homemade ornaments from my childhood, including a particularly unfortunately clay design I made:

Me: Throw it away. It's ugly. 

Him: Nooo! It looks like poop!

But wow, do these photos have me missing the good old days. And that makes me resentful, because if there's anything I hate almost as much as close-minded absolutism, it's being a cliché. But after a childhood of being shy and introverted and picked on, my senior year of high school was pretty awesome. I'm very happy in the life I'm living now, so it's not like I'm wishing for change. I just miss some of the best parts of those times.

It's also interesting how faulty memory is, both good and bad. In mine, I'm always overweight. I lost 25 or so pounds that senior year of high school, and I weighed 117 when I left for college. I *know* intellectually how fantastic that is. But I don't remember it that way. I remember poochy belly and flabby inner thighs and jiggliness where you don't want it. But then I see this:

I look pretty good! If you ignore the 80s waistbands and hair. But OMG, the hair. I remember the curls from senior prom as being not the way I wanted them, but not awful. Um, yeah, they were awful. Very frizzy. I got what was supposed to be a spiral perm right before I went to college. I wanted it just like my friend Sue's, and I event went to her hairdresser. But I guess the wife usually did Sue's, I don't know. The husband cut and cut and cut and permed and cut some more. It was like a Brillo pad. Literally. Wiry and rough and tight and horribly, horribly short. I remember it as being bad...and still, it was worse.

I'm not posting those pictures. Some things should just remain off the Internet.

One side effect of nostalgia is a reminder of how grateful I am to all the kids in the Ichabod Crane Central High School classes of 1988 and 1989. They welcomed me into their classes and social circles, invited me to parties and *didn't* follow up by saying they didn't want to be friends with me anymore. Without them, I never would have gained the confidence and self-esteem that got me through college and gave me the ability to have the friendships I do now.

And maybe even more importantly, the passion to write romance novels.

Dryer Wars 2007

The following is a true story, told by the participants. No facts have been changed to protect the innocent. There were no innocents in this war.

The Dryer: It happened slowly, as these things always do. Conditions down here deteriorated, and those in power were oblivious.

The Owner: All I knew was that my clothes were taking longer and longer to dry. First it was three cycles, then it was four. The dryer is old. I thought we needed a new one.

The Dryer: That infuriated me. I did my job for nine years, toiling away, and all she ever did was load me up again. Sure, the lint filter got cleaned before every restart. But it wasn't enough. It's never enough.

The Owner: A couple of years ago a sock got stuck in the fan, and we took apart the bottom of the dryer to pull it out. It was really full of lint then, so I knew that might be the problem now. But I couldn't find the ratchet set.

The Dryer: There are always excuses by those in power for not attending to those laboring under them. I was tired of it. I wasn't going to take it anymore, not with a lame token.

The Owner: Things were getting worse. I found the ratchet set and cleaned out the completely clogged exit duct, and all the lint loose in the bottom of the dryer. It didn't help. The next load took an entire day to dry. War had been declared. I got out my Consumer Reports articles and ratings on dryers.

The Dryer: Do you know how heartbreaking it is to have hope dashed so completely? It was like putting a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. I took a calculated risk in complete rebellion, but what else could I do?

The Owner: Plans are no good if you don't implement them. The articles I read said you should clean your ductwork once a year. We hadn't done it since we moved in. Nearly nine years ago. I'd taken measurements weeks before, but Christmas and work and school stuff kept interfering. It was going to be a big job. I even bought all the materials earlier in the week, but didn't break down and take care of things until the end.

This morning I pulled out the dryer, cleaned out the rigid, flat duct that goes behind it, completely replaced the old ductwork, and replaced the vent that goes to the outside, with a new louvered cap over it. It wasn't easy. Just cleaning the floor under the dryer took forever. But in the end, it was worth it, to end the war.

The Dryer: I dried the next two loads in one cycle. The third one, too, the big one of towels. War can be ugly, but sometimes it's necessary, to wake people up to their stupidity. I'm just glad no one was killed in this one.

The Owner: I can't wait to see my electric bill next month.

It's a Friday with No Soccer on Saturday!

Sleeping in FTW! \o/

I don't remember if I said this yet, but Trish Milburn, who was a guest blogger last month, made the second round of the American Title contest at Romantic Times.



Cool! I stole the code from MaryF for that image. I don't think the link works, though, so go here to vote.

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Speaking of MaryF, she sold to Samhain! That's two books in, like, two weeks. Go congratulate her!

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And the news just keeps coming! Misty Simon, Vicky Burkholder, and debut author Vicki Smith have sold an anthology about domesticated shapeshifters to Draumr Publishing. I didn't put this announcement first because they haven't announced it themselves yet, and they might make me take it off the blog if it's too prominent. I can't help myself, though, I'm so happy for and proud of them.

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I have the bestest friend in all the world. For a lot of reasons, of course. I am blessed with many very close friends, and several of them "get" me, but none to the level of completeness that she does.

But today, she's my bestest friend because of this. My birthday present! Does she rock, or what? I'm so excited I'm bouncing with squee.

I'd like to announce some news for her, but I can't yet. Hopefully soon.

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Okay, now to important stuff. Supernatural.

No, wait. Let's get the really important stuff out of the way first.

The WGA strike continues, and there are some fabulous articles out there with explanations and opinions I think everyone should read. My favorites are here and here, and of course, always United Hollywood with constant updates, links to videos (both funny and informative) and other articles and rebuttals for stupidity like the quote about flushing the toilet.

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Okay, now to Supernatural.

It's pretty clear that this is my very favorite show, and as such, I have hated reading/hearing criticism of it. I want everyone to love everything about it because if they don't, they might stop watching and then it would be taken off the air (ratings are dropping every week, people!). I believe I have gotten past that knee-jerk desperation and can tolerate reasonable discussion about both the good and bad aspects of the show now. Just a long as no one attacks the creators, writers, actors, crew, or even The CW, m'kay? Thx.

So. "Fresh Blood." Once again they got creative with an established supernatural element, and I loved it. One of the few fan bloggers I still read said she didn't like that they acted like they had no choice but to kill Lucy, because they know there are options (there was Lenore, of course--I think that was her name). But just because there are some people who can overcome the hunger doesn't mean she would be able to. She's a junkie, and vampirism is a far more overwhelming hunger than simple narcotic addiction. She'd already killed two people and almost two more, including Dean. If there was a halfway house they could send her to, great. But they can't afford the luxury of holing up somewhere and trying to teach someone something they themselves can't understand. Besides the job they do, they have people after them. Lots of them. Minus one.

We thought when Sam cut off Gordon's head he'd have to have cut his hands on that wire, too, and Gordon's blood was spurting all over. I kind of wish they'd addressed it, like had Dean say "thank God you didn't cut yourself" or something like that.

I have two nitpicks. The first is akin to the situation in "Croatoan" where they had nothing to go on, so "oh, let's call Bobby." At the time, it was out of character and simply convenient writing so they had a reason to find out the phones were dead. This time, it was Dean telling Bela where they were. In what UNIVERSE would Dean do that? He hates her! Sure, he'll save her life and take her money, but he wouldn't chat with her, wouldn't give a known mercenary who'd sell them out at the clink of a coin his location when they are wanted by so many people.

The other is a silly one. Sam looked ridiculous feeling around in the dark. It was way too exaggerated and flaily. He's got more control than that, even when he's terrified. Puh-leez.

That said...this ep had so much greatness. The hotel room they were in, clearly one not in use that they were squatting in again. I love that they found a way to not say "as you know, since we broke out of prison and Henrickson is still after us, as well as who knows how many hunters, plus that Jesus-freak guy, so we have to lay really low, go where we can't be tracked." We had them squatting in the house last week, and in this obvious storage unit in a hotel this week. Very cool.

Sam starting out with the same argument about Dean's recklessness and avoidance, which is annoying some people but wasn't annoying me, I don't care if it's the same old argument, that's how people are, that's how life is, and I just love watching them do it. But he took it somewhere new, went ahead and opened himself up, made himself vulnerable. And Dean stepped up. For once, he did what his brother asked, not just what he thought was best or what Sam wanted because he wouldn't listen anymore. It was great, especially with the scene at the end, played perfectly straight without hidden nuance and deflection and stuff. Just "you're right, you're my brother, and I'll be yours again."

*sigh*

Sam's hair is freakin' awesome. Season one it was College!Sam hair, kind of dorky and childish. Season two it was adolescent hair. It was testing itself, seeing what it liked, maybe be longish here and stick out there. Better, but not great. This year, OMG, as Sam has matured, so has his hair. It's awesome. I want to...okay, wait, I gotta stop there. My husband reads this blog occasionally.

Sterling K. Brown has been the best recurring guest star on this show, and I shall miss him mightily. RIP, Gordon.

I'd post some of the great lines from the ep, but I'd mess them up. Maybe after I watch again. Which I definitely will, eventually. I'm saving them for when everything else goes dark due to the strike.

Have a good weekend, everyone!

Old Friends

I posted on Friday about the dreams I'd been having, and that reminded me of some old friends, and that put me in a nostalgic mood, and that made me want to blather on about my past. It might be boring. You've been warned.

My first best friend was David, the son of my mother's best friend, and I have no idea how his last name was spelled. Hey, I was nine the last time I saw him. It sounds like Ploo, and is probably Pleau. I dunno. I think I mentioned in an earlier post that he was Steve Austin, the Six-Million-Dollar Man, and I was Jamie Summers, the Bionic Woman, and my brother was Oscar Goldman, our handler. That's the main memory I have, of us playing that all the time.

After David was Tammy Moran. Her mother called me a few years ago, when she saw my mother's obituary. She's apparently teaching music in California, exactly what she wanted to do. We were close friends from age 7 (she was a year younger) to high school. But she was two grades behind me and we weren't in the same school after elementary, and she had her school friends and I had mine, and then I moved to NY.

In junior high and high school it was Jeanne Graham, Linda Rivera, Dawn Fournier, and occasionally Laurie Minihan. Linda and Dawn keep in touch with me. I don't know why. I was never a very good friend to any of them. We were all outcasts, and my mother had tried to teach me that we're known by the company we keep, and I hated being an outcast and knowing that hanging with them wouldn't help. My strongest memories of them are times I was an ass.

Something you didn't know about me that probably makes you like me less.

Linda and Dawn are married, Linda has kids, Dawn is trying. I haven't seen or heard from Laurie since I moved away from Agawam, and Google has nothing on her. Unless I'm just spelling her name wrong.

Betsy Hernandez was probably my closest friend in high school, at least in our junior year (she moved to town our sophomore year). She's my sister-in-law now, and we keep in touch about as well as I do with the rest of them. Which is, barely.

Bethany Sudbury was my next-door-neighbor for a while. She was a few years younger than me, but if it weren't for her, I might never have played outside. I always preferred books to sunshine. Beth contacted me a few years ago via my blog, asked how to get published, and then never responded to me again.

I moved my senior year to North Chatham, NY, and went to Ichabod Crane Central High School. Everything changed. No one remembered the shy, introverted kid. It was a small school, the jocks and the brains were the same kids, and they hung out with the goths after school. My best friend there, Sue Schreijack Pulver, remains in the area. She grew up there and still belongs to the rescue squad. We lost touch, too, and I think it's my fault. She stopped writing back when I wrote to her, and I'm guessing I said something in a phone conversation that she took badly. I don't know what else would cause her to stop.

My senior year I had lots of guy friends, too. David and Mark and Chris and Geo--oh, especially sweet Geo--and Dan and Sean. Makes me long for our reunion, except many of them were juniors. We lost touch through college. I ran into one guy about 9 years ago, when I was pregnant with Number Two. He chased me down outside of Staples. He was the manager of the Encore book store, which closed soon after so I never saw him again. I assume he was relocated. We weren't that close so it was flattering that he remembered me, and came after me. He'd been in the military right after graduation, though, and I wrote to him for a while because he was really homesick. I wonder if I still have those letters somewhere...

Summer jobs seemed to lend themselves to intense, short-lived friendships. I mentioned that I hung out with Vince and Peter that summer of '89. Ninety saw me in Michigan, working at a nature center and living with four other people in an old farmhouse. I never clicked with Kahle or Heather that much. I don't think they cared for me. But Rob and I had great religious debates, and he and his brother Dave were sweet guys. But they were older and didn't stay in touch, either.

There's a trend here, you might have noticed. I haven't stayed in touch with anyone. None of my friends from college...roommates...friends...I did trade e-mails with Eric Schutzbank, who was a very sweet, very understanding pledge the year I met Jim. He'd asked me to the pledge formal but I was about to have my first date with Jim and thought he'd ask me, so I turned Eric down. He never held it against me. :) He's a married attorney now, and seems happy.

There was Victoria, with her contraband cat who'd only eat when we were in the bathroom, but would always eat when we were in the bathroom. I made a mistake with her. I'd asked her to be one of my bridesmaids, but the church was really tiny and Jim didn't have enough guys to be groomsmen, so I "took it back." Idiot. She didn't come to the wedding and I never heard from her again. There are way too many Victoria Andersons for me to easily find her online.

Shawna Wamsley was my suitemate for two years. I heard her "crying" one night and thought her boyfriend was being an ass to her. But he was just playing the fart game, I found out the next day. (Farting and trying to shove her under the covers with it.) She had gorgeous strawberry hair that I still envy. They apparently got married but her news item on OWU's web site is twelve years old.

Okay, now I want to go pull out photo albums and yearbooks and wallow in nostalgia all afternoon. I betcha anything I dream in the "past" again.

My Top Ten Supernatural Moments in 2006

10. The motion-detecting screaming gravestone on my front step opened and screamed for no reason on Halloween.

Hm. I think that's my only supernatural moment in 2006. And even then, it was going off because of cars driving by.

Okay, I'll do My Top Ten Supernatural Moments, instead. Remember, I didn't watch any of the show until this fall, so even if these moments are original to 2005, they're my moments in 2006.

10. The brother fight in Sam's apartment in "Pilot." That's the moment when I was hooked on the show. In the dark, with Sam not knowing who his intruder was, he anticipated Dean's every move (and vice versa) and even got the upper hand at the end.

9. My discovery of "Ode to a Bitchface" on YouTube. A delightful, very well-timed montage that caused me to add a video to my favorites for the very first time, and also to purchase "Mardy Bum" by the Arctic Monkeys.

8. The entire episode "Faith." Sam's determination not to let his brother die was the most touching thing in the first season.

7. Every moment Sam got throttled by whatever supernatural baddie they were trying to kill, until Dean rescued him.

6. Every moment Dean comforted Sam when he was in pain from his visions, whether it was the headaches or the heartache.

5. "Planes crash!"
"And apparently, clowns kill!"

4. The moment Dean admits to Sam that his brother and father are all he has left, and he hates that they don't care if they die on their quest to kill the demon. What he's not saying is that their not caring if they die is making him feel like he doesn't matter to them. They don't wake up to it until he's dying and they have no recourse--except for one of them to sacrifice himself.

3. Sam calling "Dad!" and then yelling, desperately, "Dean!" after the crash.

2. Dean admitting to Sam that he knows their father died in his place and how can Sam possibly make him feel better about that, and that one single tear falls (and also, Dean smashing the trunk of the Impala with a crowbar after Sam tells him he's not all right).

1. The best "moment" is a series of moments in the "fall finale" on December 7:

Sam's been infected by the demon virus.
The others want to kill him, the way they've killed the other psychotic infectives.
Dean won't let them.
Sam firmly and stoically says to give him his gun, he'll do it himself.
Dean gives the Impala to strangers and sends them on their way, ignoring Sam's pleading with him to go.
Sam breaks down when he realizes his brother is going to sacrifice himself.
It gets worse when Dean says he's tired, he can't take this burden anymore.

It culminates, of course, in the later moments at the very end of the show when Dean is about to reveal the secret and they go to black.

I look forward to many, many more moments in 2007 and beyond.

Grandparents

I was reflecting on grandparent/grandchildren relationships today.

My kids have a great relationship with my husband's parents. They're friends. When my kids go over there, they hang out and do things with Nana and Papa. They show them their dance routines and curl up with them on the couch to talk about school and their friends and the movie they saw last week. They are less close to my father and stepmother only because of distance. They only get to see them once a year. But even then, it's an easy, open relationship. They were both very close to my mother before she died, mainly because my mother, also living far away, cultivated that closeness.

Our lifestyles feed that relationship now. I've had difficulty finding babysitters, so it's usually Nana and Papa who take that role. Number Two's elementary school is having Grandparents Day on Friday, with two hours of events. Number One had a grandparent luncheon that brought 400 parents and grandparents to the middle school last month, and next week are having a special grandparents concert. Since they do dance and soccer, there are also regular events for the g-ps to watch.

It was really different when I was a kid, and I don't know if it's generational or just my particular grandparents.

We had dinner at my father's folks on Sundays. When I call those grandparents to mind, I think of them as old people sitting in easy chairs in their apartment. That wasn't the ONLY way I saw them, of course. They took me to the library, I remember, and there are pictures of us outside. But we didn't do a lot of direct interaction. The adults played cards while the kids read the funnies and watched TV or played games in the bedroom.

My mother's mother died when I was seven, and her father and stepmother lived out of state so we didn't see them often, either. They were larger than life, especially my grandfather (who lives less than two hours away, yet I have to go to a wedding in Cape Cod to see him), and again, the kids played elsewhere while the adults visited. I heard stories and adored them, but can't say I was ever close to them.

The grandparent who had the biggest impact on my life was Nanny. She was my mother's maternal grandmother and died just after I graduated from college. There was a time when my brother and I hated her. I'm not really sure why. Maybe it was because my mother dropped us there sometimes when she had a date, and I had unknown resentments for that (it never bothered me that she dated). It could have just been being a stupid kid who didn't like the way her apartment smelled or the wig she wore (her hair was thinning but a lot prettier than that hideous rug), or the way she sang the words to a song after the singer on the radio did. I appreciated her a lot more when I got older. She was wise and tough and funny and sweet and so independent, her entire life.

In fact, she's the only person whose presence I ever felt after they died. One night I was driving from PA to MA alone, and all of a sudden I felt her in the car with me and burst into tears. I sobbed for about ten minutes, and then it was over. I am certain she was checking up on me. It happened three more times, and then she must have been satisfied, or moved on, or whatever. Even with that, though, I was not close to her like my kids are to their grandparents.

I like that they have a richer, more fulfilling relationship, and I hope it lasts for a really long time.