The Soundtrack, Part II

We moved from the Lenexa house to an apartment in the same school district, so although my school didn't change, my neighborhood and friends did. I still had the David Cassidy obsession that was stronger than the Donny Osmond one for some reason, and I remember looking forward to "The Partridge Family" on TV on Fridays when my mom would let us eat in the living room so we could watch at seven. "The Brady Bunch" was on right before or after, but I wasn't as interested in that show except for the brief desire to be Peter's girlfriend. The Brady Bunch singing was too hokey for me even in the 4th grade.

Fourth grade was the year we moved again near the end of the year to a bigger house and a new school district in Merriam, Kansas. I was shy and didn't like being the "new girl" in school, so I didn't talk to many people until I met my soon to be best friend in the whole world, Jodie. I thought she was so cool. Her mom sewed ruffles at the bottom of her jeans and decorated them with cool patches. She lived near me, so we rode bikes together and spent weekends either at her house or mine for sleepovers, staying up very late and watching music shows on TV, listening to the radio, and playing games like Life and Masterpiece that I didn't have. She loved Donny Osmond too, and we listened to the first album after his voice changed with "The Twelfth of Never" on it. I can still embarrass my kids by singing that song.

Jodie and I found another obsession. We watched "The Sonny and Cher Comedy Hour" (I'm not sure if that is the correct full title), and we thought that Cher was the coolest person on earth. We grew our hair and fingernails long, and Jodie had the limp wrist gestures and the licking of the lips exactly right. All we wanted were Cher albums and 45s. There were other songs by other artists we liked too, after we heard them on the radio or saw them on TV, but to have a Cher album would be the best.

My first purchase of a 45 record was Neil Diamond's "Cherry Cherry." Jodie and I had listened to it one night at her house. We were on the floor of her room in our sleeping bags and listening to the radio; we laughed so hard at the lyrics, but I think it was because it was probably about 2 in the morning, and we were ten. I rode my bike to the TG&Y (a precursor of a Wal- or K-mart type store) with the correct change in my pocket. I think that 45s were about 50 cents in 1974, and I had figured in the tax and was ready. I knew I wasn't supposed to ride my bike that far from home, but I had to have "Cherry Cherry." The TG&Y was about 5 miles from our house, if memory serves, and I knew the way because we rode in the car there all the time. I flawlessly and without incident rode there, bought the record, put it inside my shirt, climbed back on my Huffy and rode home. I made the mistake of telling my little sister, Teresa, what I'd done and although I swore her to secrecy, she told Mom and I was grounded from my bike for a week. It was worth it for Neil.

The Soundtrack, Part 1

So I had this idea that I should remember, connect, and write about all of the songs, popular or embarrassing, that would make up the soundtrack of my life. This is hard to do, especially since I had no idea that I listened to music so much, even when I was a little kid. My first memory of singing a song that was on the radio (of course no MTV, mp3's, or even cassette tapes then; I am 49), was when I was in Kindergarten and my best friend, Dwayne, was in first grade. He lived next door and had what I thought was the biggest swing-set in the world. He and I would swing and sing. I remember singing so loud and watching the trees move closer as I rose higher. We sang "Purple People Eater" most of the time, but a tiny flash of memory hits me when I think of Dwayne and the song "A World of Our Own" by the Seekers (I think) plays in my head. A good song to swing to.

My family moved quite a bit throughout my childhood; I think my sister, Teresa, and I counted 17 or 18 times before college. The next music memory is in another town. We moved from Garnett, Kansas, where Dwayne and I played and sang, to Lenexa, where we would stay for about three years. In that time, I remember listening to music. Having three teenage siblings in 1969 meant there would be music. I listened to 45's on a small record player in the room I shared with my two sisters, the older one probably wishing she could just get away from the two little kids who pestered her, and, coincidentally, played her records. Three 45's come to mind and I think I might still have one of them. Teresa and I played Tommy Roe's "Sweet Pea" over and over while we acted it out with stuffed animals. We also liked The Stones' "Honky Tonk Woman" and The Carpenters' "Rainy Days and Mondays." An eclectic mix for sure. At seven I had no idea what these people were singing about, but I liked the music.

Those 45's were not the only music exposure at the house in Lenexa. My best friend in the neighborhood was Sherri (I am not even sure how she spelled her name); she was a year or two older, and she introduced me to The Osmonds, Bobby Sherman, and The Partridge Family. My life was changed forever. I dreamed of meeting Donny, Bobby, and David while I listened to them sing only to me, and the thousands of other little girls who had the same dreams.

My Poetry Blog

I thought I'd post a link to my poetry blog; makes it easy for readers to go back and forth.

The List

I have been making a mental list of things I should do before the 50th anniversary of my birth in 2012. I decided that I should commit them to writing, so here goes.

1. Learn Greek enough so that I can join the family conversations during our annual trips to Cyprus.
2. Select an instrument and begin learning or take lessons.
3. Take singing lessons.
4. Write a complete collection of poetry and send to publishers.
5. Have breast reduction surgery.
6. Write a book with my friend, Melinda.
7. Begin classes for my PhD.
8. Plant garlic (in October, to be harvested in summer 2012).
9. Redecorate one of the bathrooms; change counters in kitchen.
10. Buy more clothes.

I will add to the list as I think of things. It's not really a "bucket list," but just a few things that need to be done before the big 50.

Summer Vacation

I have never really liked summer. I always looked forward to time off school when I was a student and then later when I was a high school teacher. That lovely first day of summer vacation after the teaching year was quite nice. Now that I am no longer a public school teacher with set vacation time, I really don't like summer. I don't like the heat, and I don't like the pressure of having to do something that hasn't been planned for me. Now that I have teenagers, I hate that if they are lazy and do nothing with their summer, then it is my fault. I should encourage and do things with them and I should somehow make them do things so that others will not see that they are lazy and don't want to do anything. They are not the same, my kids, but they each have to be prodded when they are faced with a lot of free time.

We have trips planned, to Kansas and Cyprus, to visit family. We are going to spend two days in Amsterdam, too, on the way to Cyprus. That might be fun. Andreas has found a hotel and is planning the trip.

As I said, I don't like the heat; especially now that I am overweight, I don't like the clothes for summer and I hate how I look. I love traveling, but with the heat, people who I don't see often throughout the year see me only in my ugly summer clothes that show way too much skin and they are not excessively short or skimpy. Any amount of skin is too much I think.

And now summer vacation starts after Friday. The girls will be out of school. I'm working at UOP so I still have things to do. They, on the other hand, have a sea of free time at which they are now gazing out upon.

Summer Solstice

The solstice begins tomorrow a little after one. I love the word solstice for its sibilance, much like the word sibilance. The soft hissing sensation on the tongue makes the summer solstice sound so nice. In truth it is usually hot, and I don't like hot weather any more. I used to, but now, I guess because I am old or getting older or whatever I should say so no one will have a reply, now I don't like hot weather at all.

Going to Stonehenge in England for the solstice would be a great trip. I could put it on my list of things to do before I turn 50 at the end of this, my 50th year. But alas, that one won't fit into my time frame; it will come after my birthday as it always does, and I cannot go to England today in time to be there for sunrise tomorrow. Just can't happen.

So I better get to the list and find things to do during my 50th year before I have to write 50 on forms or check the box for 50 and over. Shudder. No sibilance there.

The Mammogram - Not for the Squeamish

The receptionist said she had to update my information. Among the questions was "Do you have a choice of religion?" to which I answered, "No." Odd question in the radiology department; do many people die in the x-ray room in need of last rites or something? I answered questions about work and home and names and dates and then waited for my annual mammogram like the dutiful woman that I am. Everyone is overtly nice and obviously courteous; they want to make their mammography patients feel at ease before they squeeze their breasts in a vise. I went through the door and down the corridor, and Mary, the technician, if that is the correct title, asked me more questions about menopause and menstruation, giving birth and breast cancer history. I never remember the date of my last period. You'd think after putting up with it for 37 years, I'd know when it occurs.

I went into the dressing room, removed my shirt and bra (under which I was not to have put on any deodorant because in addition to the pain, I should stink too), and donned the periwinkle blue robe with white trim, open in the front. Mary called for me to go on in, and I walked toward the "machine" in the middle of the small, dark room. It appeared to rise up higher as I walked in, eventually looming over me with its plates open. Mary reminded me that she had also done my last mammogram. I nodded and smiled. I remembered her from last year; she continued talking during the exam to keep my mind on things other than my breast flattening more than I thought possible as I thought that the last squeeze might really be the last one; no, one more. This time was the same. She told me about her pregnancy with her twins and how they were in some kind of breech position which meant that they were kicking each other in the head. She had had a Cesarean of course, but the babies had been healthy and of decent weight. She said that her now adult children were in transition now, preventing her and her husband from buying a condo in Hollywood, Florida, where she grew up and where she would like to retire. I stood listening with my most sensitive appendage held in the grip of a machine from which I would not know how to extricate myself if Mary happened to faint or have a heart attack in the middle of my mammogram.

Three pictures of each breast; the first is not so bad. The second felt as if my nipple was ripping slowly from my body, and although I had said that I claimed no religion, I distinctly (and probably louder than I thought) took a deity's name in vain. I apologized; Mary was nonplussed and said, "curse away, it will be over soon." The third position was a relief from the second in that the lightning bolts of pain had stopped. The entire procedure takes maybe ten minutes. And yes, they feel like really long minutes.

Now it's done, and I can wait another year to go back where Mary (if she hasn't moved to Florida by then) will talk to me again about the onset of menses or whether I've gone through menopause yet. She will tell me that I am brave and that the pictures look fine, and I'll smile as I walk out, my boobs still throbbing a little.

On the 49th Anniversary of my Birth

Today is my 49th birthday, and today I start living my 50th year on this planet. I'm fortunate to be healthy and relatively happy with numerous people to be thankful for in my life, which poses a philosophical problem as I do not thank any deity for my life or the people in it since I do not believe in one. I am grateful for many things, but I am still bitter about quite a bit too, so with the sappy sentimentality come the caveats that things could and sometimes should be better. I am not one for positive affirmations or Norman Vincent Peale quotes; I am more contemplative in my search for truth, preferring Keats or Byron or Dickinson to contemporary self-help writers and gurus. I suppose I have created my life, although I really think that life just happens and takes a person along its path and we really cannot choose, as I think Frost knew deep in his heart after so much heartache. His regret of the path he took is so misunderstood; the path not taken, the one that everyone else took, would have made an easier life for him, but he chose the other one because of his temperament and his abilities. These things determine where we are drawn and sometimes quartered (Apologies for the pun).