I frequently have Pandora going in the background when I am working at home. I have a long list of "stations" and generally have it on shuffle. Today, it seems most of the songs are from the 80's. Earlier, The Psychedelic Furs, "Love My Way" was playing. Maybe because they wrote/performed "Pretty in Pink," it brought to mind memories of high school. And how John Hughes always seemed to nail it with his movies. Granted, some of the situations were a little out there (at least in my experience), but the basic themes/plots were pretty much spot on. I don't believe much has changed, either, for today's teens or any of those in between or those before me. I would be very much surprised if any one person can say their life didn't in some way mirror Duckie's or Andie Walsh's or Sam Baker's or John Bender's or Andrew Clark's or Watts' or... There were the painful crushes, the heartbreaking choices, the needless arguments, the wild parties (really not that wild), the laughing 'til near bursting at the silly antics of that one friend, hanging out at someone's house on a Friday or Saturday night and behind it all, the music. Some friendships fade, some move into deeper waters (such as marriage), some are kept up sporadically from afar. But, no matter what, the music will always be there. It's like a time machine, taking one back to years that seem so recently passed, yet are decades gone.
I hope some of you reading this are the friends I was lucky enough to spend so many of my high school lunch hours and weekends alongside. Raise a glass to John Hughes!!
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Pickin' Friends and Pickin' Noses
"You can pick your friends and you can pick your nose. But you can't pick your friends' noses." An internet search attributes this quote to many different people. I first heard it on Saturday Night Live. "Pick Your Friends" first aired in 1986. Wikipedia says it is a popular saying in English speaking countries. I find the phrase pretty funny, no matter how many times I hear it or repeat it. Can you imagine the absurdity of reaching over to pick that hanging booger out of your friend's nose or vice versa? Saturday Night Live did. And it is just...ewwww!
There are plenty of other things we can't pick...someone else's pants out of his/her crack, spinach out of someone else's teeth, how much tax we pay, our parents and other family. There is absurdity in all of those things, should we be given the opportunity to choose. How much tax-who wouldn't choose to pay nothing? Choosing family-how about that couple with the 7-figure income? Life just doesn't work that way. Some things just are, whether we like it or not. Picking our friends is one thing we can control. Choose well.
So, we don't get to pick our family. Pick your haircolor, pick your job, pick out where you live, but not Mom and Dad, brothers and sisters, etc. Like them or not, they are yours (I'm talking the family you are born into, not the one created with a significant other). As a kid, there were times when I wished my friends' parents were mine. You know the ones. The parents that let you drink as much soda as you wanted, eat junk food, let you stay up past bedtime when you spent the night. Other people's parents were always so much cooler (you know you had those times, too)! And when a friend would say how cool your own parents were, you gave him/her a look like, "what drug are you on?"
As adults, we can pick how much time we spend with our "born-into" family. Some people move out and never see their family again. Others move away and visit as much as possible. Still others never move out at all!
I'm one who moved away. Our visits to our families are few and far between. But we are not totally isolated from them. Facebook, e-mail, cell phones (with texting) keep us in touch. What we lack in actual time together, we make up for virtually. We see each other's children grow up through pictures and posts. We even sometimes still argue over petty differences. One nice thing about being with my family virtually: there is time to think things through before posting something that may be regretted later. Live visits, not so much. I have 3 sisters and 2 brothers. When we are all together, the competition to be heard and understood still exists! Some subjects are avoided completely (religion and politics-know what I'm saying?).
Love them, hate them, your family is all yours. I didn't pick them, but I'm keeping mine.
There are plenty of other things we can't pick...someone else's pants out of his/her crack, spinach out of someone else's teeth, how much tax we pay, our parents and other family. There is absurdity in all of those things, should we be given the opportunity to choose. How much tax-who wouldn't choose to pay nothing? Choosing family-how about that couple with the 7-figure income? Life just doesn't work that way. Some things just are, whether we like it or not. Picking our friends is one thing we can control. Choose well.
So, we don't get to pick our family. Pick your haircolor, pick your job, pick out where you live, but not Mom and Dad, brothers and sisters, etc. Like them or not, they are yours (I'm talking the family you are born into, not the one created with a significant other). As a kid, there were times when I wished my friends' parents were mine. You know the ones. The parents that let you drink as much soda as you wanted, eat junk food, let you stay up past bedtime when you spent the night. Other people's parents were always so much cooler (you know you had those times, too)! And when a friend would say how cool your own parents were, you gave him/her a look like, "what drug are you on?"
As adults, we can pick how much time we spend with our "born-into" family. Some people move out and never see their family again. Others move away and visit as much as possible. Still others never move out at all!
I'm one who moved away. Our visits to our families are few and far between. But we are not totally isolated from them. Facebook, e-mail, cell phones (with texting) keep us in touch. What we lack in actual time together, we make up for virtually. We see each other's children grow up through pictures and posts. We even sometimes still argue over petty differences. One nice thing about being with my family virtually: there is time to think things through before posting something that may be regretted later. Live visits, not so much. I have 3 sisters and 2 brothers. When we are all together, the competition to be heard and understood still exists! Some subjects are avoided completely (religion and politics-know what I'm saying?).
Love them, hate them, your family is all yours. I didn't pick them, but I'm keeping mine.
Cabbages and Onions
Cabbages and onions. Those two vegetables forever remind me of my Grandpa Clevenger. Not so much the sight of them, but the smell. His barn smelled of cabbages and onions with a hint of apples. He sold vegetables and some fruit out of his barn that opened up into the road. Even after he had left the property and before it was sold (and I think torn down), the barn smelled of cabbages and onions. He had been working out of that barn for so long, the scent was a permanent part of the wood and atmosphere. What wonderful memories those two vegetables invoke.
I loved my Grandpa. He was 81 when I was born. He was bald, skinny, had incredibly blue eyes and smelled of soil and country air. He always seemed to be smiling about something. My favorite thing was to jump up and sit in his lap. By the time I was six or seven, he couldn't handle that anymore. It saddened me, but I learned to be content with just sitting next to him or following him around.
He had a very small farmette, probably about an acre. The patch of ground in which he raised his vegetables was nothing more than a really big garden, but he knew how to get the most produce out of that area. There was also a small apple orchard and a permanent spot for rhubarb, a spot for corn and another spot with blackberry vines. In one corner of the property, my Dad's Mom had a flower garden. It was not tended in my memory-she passed away when I was about 2 years old. There were so many places to explore and hide.
Visiting Grandpa was my only real exposure to rural life as a child. I grew up in a city. The first time I ever saw a cow was at the zoo. Yes, even though I am Kansas born and bred, I did not grow up on a farm! Grandpa's place was on the southern edge of a small Nebraska town. The town was about a quarter mile long and maybe 3 or 4 blocks wide. The grocery store was an old building with a wide wood-planked floor and had the same kind of feel as Grandpa's barn. So many decades of living leaving its mark forever.
Grandpa was moved out of there when I was about 13 or 14. I am certain my memories of the place are skewed by youth, but the memories of Grandpa and my Dad's family are real enough. After he passed away, at the age of 99 years and 8 months, I realized I had so many questions to ask him; so much I wanted to know about him. Some of my questions have been answered through genealogical research. Those answers have only led to more questions. One day, when it is my time to go, I will be able to jump up into his lap again and have forever to get to know the man I call Grandpa.
I loved my Grandpa. He was 81 when I was born. He was bald, skinny, had incredibly blue eyes and smelled of soil and country air. He always seemed to be smiling about something. My favorite thing was to jump up and sit in his lap. By the time I was six or seven, he couldn't handle that anymore. It saddened me, but I learned to be content with just sitting next to him or following him around.
He had a very small farmette, probably about an acre. The patch of ground in which he raised his vegetables was nothing more than a really big garden, but he knew how to get the most produce out of that area. There was also a small apple orchard and a permanent spot for rhubarb, a spot for corn and another spot with blackberry vines. In one corner of the property, my Dad's Mom had a flower garden. It was not tended in my memory-she passed away when I was about 2 years old. There were so many places to explore and hide.
Visiting Grandpa was my only real exposure to rural life as a child. I grew up in a city. The first time I ever saw a cow was at the zoo. Yes, even though I am Kansas born and bred, I did not grow up on a farm! Grandpa's place was on the southern edge of a small Nebraska town. The town was about a quarter mile long and maybe 3 or 4 blocks wide. The grocery store was an old building with a wide wood-planked floor and had the same kind of feel as Grandpa's barn. So many decades of living leaving its mark forever.
Grandpa was moved out of there when I was about 13 or 14. I am certain my memories of the place are skewed by youth, but the memories of Grandpa and my Dad's family are real enough. After he passed away, at the age of 99 years and 8 months, I realized I had so many questions to ask him; so much I wanted to know about him. Some of my questions have been answered through genealogical research. Those answers have only led to more questions. One day, when it is my time to go, I will be able to jump up into his lap again and have forever to get to know the man I call Grandpa.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)