I have really neglected old Dogwood Girl this week. I guess getting ready to go to the beach and trying to get all my workouts in, while doing laundry, and being a singlish mom (what i call myself when Todd has a busy shoot week) has put DG on the back burner. Sad, because i had lots of ideas and thoughts i wanted to get down.
Anyway, this photo doesn’t take much explanation, but it is a significant milestone.
Anyone who is a parent can identify with the horrible feeling of trying to watch young kids around water. It is kind of like constantly having lost your keys or purse. You feel slightly naked or vulnerable, and you have a little panicky feeling scanning the area to keep tabs on both children.
Or maybe that’s just me.
So, when we are at the Lake, the kids have to wear their life jackets whenever they are near the water, on the dock, in the boat, etc. But this past 4th of July weekend, the water was low enough for both kids to stand on the bottom near the seawall. (Our lake level, unlike many in GA, has not been affected by the drought.) That means that, with their life jackets on, and their feet on the bottom, Todd and I could SIT ON THE DOCK AND WATCH THEM SWIM.
This may not seem like much, but you try to relax and drink a beer, while standing in lake water with two kids arms clinging tightly around your neck. Normally, one of us has to be in the water to drag their butts back when they start flowing downriver.
It was like glimpsing a bright, sunny, relaxing future. My future. With children who can stand up on their own.
On another note, this is also one of very few pictures where both kids are a) looking at the camera and b) smiling, rather than trying to beat the shit out of each other.
Okay, maybe this photo did require some explanation.
This kind of cracks me up. What a wild ride! Tiller and my favorite father-in-law in the front car, with Rollie pulling up the rear (that’s where you get the most Gs, you know?)
Kind of sad that I missed my kids’ first roller coaster ride, but I did have to be around for my little nephew to come into the world.
This one almost needs no description. I guess I took this photo (thank god for little blessings) and I am not sure how it came about, but dear lord it makes me laugh just to look at it. I still talk to Owen, Brett, Camille and Jason. No clue what happened to randy. Anyone?
Added plus to this photo is that someone brought a checkerboard pillow case. Awesome.
Awesomest part is that my parents actually kissed me goodbye and put me into a car with these people for a week. . . .
Spring Break, 1990.
Guess I should go ahead and add a link to the whole Spring Break set, for those that care.
Must go email Owen and find out if any of these shirts still exist. Or the pillowcase. Either would be awesome.
I begin posting pictures that make fun of myself, too. Luckily, I am still taking others down with me. Spring Break. I think this was maybe 1991? I was definitely in college. We stayed in the biggest dump. All i remember is that it was fun. I think the fact that one of us is reading Anne Rice is very telling. C. had on the requisite Jane’s tee. Camille, why are you wearing shades in the room? Why am I wearing long sleeves on Spring break? Why am I so skinny? The look that Mike and Matt are giving one another is pretty much how I remember them always looking together – Goofy and funny. The beast makes an appearance yet again. Maybe the Beast will become the new PBR, but i doubt it. If it does, you saw it on Dogwood first.
Last weekend, we were supposed to go down to the lake with the Creekers, but lives and families and jobs got in the way, and Evan and I were the only ones who could go. So, we had a lovely weekend with him and his fiance (whom I like despite the fact that she is a Gator) and some non-creekers, Mike and Kim.
We drank a good amount of beer, played some Scrabble, did a lot of swimming, and ate pretty damn well. OOoooh, and we made homemade ice cream, which was just plain bitchin’. Had forgotten how good (and bad, very very bad) it is.
Anyway, this is my fave, because I just don’t have many pics of us Creekers together growing up (no digital cameras at that time, which come to think of it, is probably a VERY good thing). There were some other good ones, too, like everyone watching a molting dragonfly at sunset, or Evan and the P-Man on the inner tube.
This photo has quite a history. It was taken on Spring Break in 1990. It has so much going for it – people who normally wouldn’t have been photographed together, late 80s frames, the Dead Milkmen shirt, what appears to be Cheese Whiz in the foreground, and the requisite can of the beast. (Note to friends of the family who will understand – cheapskate Cecil just bought two cases of the Beast for the lakehouse. i am not kidding.) Did I mention that J. is smoking? Peals of high-pitched cackles are ringing throughout my house as a i write this.
There are only two copies in existence – Held by two different people for posterity; they shall remain anonymous to protect their identities. The photo has remained in archival storage, protected from dust, sun, and fingerprints. Until now, thanks to the power of these here internets, where it can be displayed for all to see*.
The photo has been in the middle of a blackmail battle for going on 18 years now. But i have decided that i can’t live in the shadows anymore, that i must bury the hatchet, and raise my head high, and admit that, yes, there is in existence a surely-frightening photograph of myself and one other unlucky lady, naked and flailing, ready to show the world just how drunk and ridiculous one can get. If that photo comes to light, so be it. However, methinks that someone has been bluffing about it’s existence for nigh on 18 years now. I’m too tired to hide anymore. If it is there, let it come to light.
The gauntlet has been thrown.
*Only about five people in the world care about this photo’s existence, or find it in any way funny at all. This post is for them. The rest of you just tune in next time.
Spent the weekend in NYC with Camille. For those of you who know me, you know about me being the Goatman. See the link for info on the real Goat Man. I never actually saw the Goat Man myself, but my Grandma Palmer always told Pop, when he came in the kitchen door with muddy shoes, or filthy from working in the yard, “Hoooooooooo-Weeeeeeee! You look like the Goat Man!” My family has always referred to someone dressed like crap or dirty or smelly as the Goat Man. (Possibly from dumpster diving with their Grandfather? Not that I would know anything about that.) Pop is the Goatman. I am Goatman Junior.
It is funny how families have inside jokes that become part of their own language, and I often forget that not everyone knows what it is to be The Goat Man. Just like only a select few know what is to have a hair “shark” or “whermp,” “accordion stomach,” or for a dog to have “salmon.” Wet paper is anathema to us. As are Band-Aids stuck to the side of a pool. Suffice it to say that we as a family are all quirkily insane (insanely quirky?) But I digress – Camille and I decided that we would call this trip Goat Man Takes New York.
While I tend to avoid the mob scene at all costs, it was pretty fun to just give in to all the touristy Christmas stuff happening up there, and I have to admit it gave me a little of the Christmas spirit. I had never been to NY during Christmas before, and they do not mess around. They even decorate the scaffolding on buildings under construction. I wonder how anyone with kids manages to keep the Santa secret, because at any given time, you can be walking the city sidewalks in a throng of Santas. The usual street musicians play Christmas carols (my favorite was the steel drum version), and I have never seen so many tourists wearing Christmas sweaters, Santa Claus hats, and bells around their necks in my life. I did wonder how more of them didn’t get splatted by taxis, because I don’t think one single person within a mile radius of Rockefeller Center was doing anything but looking up. The whole scene is fun, and pretty contagious. That being said, I was completely annoyed by the mass material consumption. I am not a shopping lover by nature, and it baffled me how throngs of people wanted to do nothing but buy!buy!buy! when they could be enjoying all the city has to offer. By Sunday morning, I was ready to shove into oncoming traffic the next threesome of midwesterners who pulled up short in front of me right in the middle sidewalk (wearing Christmas vests and Uggs, no less).
On Friday, we checked into the Intercontinental, then headed over for the Empire State Building. The view is great, and the I am glad I did it, but I will probably never subject myself to it again. I felt just a little too much like cattle. Here is my video from the line. (What can I say? I got bored. I had to mock with mooing. It had to be done.)
Camille and I kept a running list of the New York jobs that seemed to suck the most. I personally detest any job where a person is forced to hawk their wares, or anything that involves a song and dance. With that in mind, the guy in the above video has a crappy job. The guys who dance on the piano at FAO Schwartz have a crappy job. But the crappiest job EVER has to be the poor bastards who get to MC the Barbie Catwalk at FAO Schwartz. My absolute worst nightmare. On the other hand, employees get to hang out in the Leaky Cauldron and around a life-size Iorek, so it is not all bad.
Friday night, we had burgers at some Irish(ish) pub and then had beers with Harris and Anne. They live in Brooklyn and get big props for coming in to meet us despite Anne being a little under the weather and Harris leaving the next day for Tokyo. (For those who know Reese, he’s started blogging again – ShiftyEye, we hardly knew ye! – and is documenting his time in Tokyo. Anne is also supposed to be contributing to their blog, but she has yet to appear. Hopefully, she will rectify this soon.)
After they left, we walked around to look at Christmas decorations and enjoy our buzz, strolling along, taking in the Santas galore, and seeing the Rockefeller tree at night. Walked all over to find a place to get another beer, then had one more at the hotel. Got to bed at a reasonable one-ish.
Woke up the next day with a bit of a sinus headache, but headed out to find a bagel and coffee. I love the food choices in the city. I guess I could have called my trip Goat Man Eats New York. Although i am surprised how little I ate while i was there. There is so much to do I just kind of forget to eat.
Saturday was fun. Lots of walking around, and we saw Grease at the Brooks Atkinson Theater. I am not a big fan of musicals, but if there was one I would want to see, this was it. It was good, but not great, although I was really impressed at how much work must go into each production, and i thought the sets and props were way cool. Camille had been planning and looking forward to it for months, so her excitement was contagious. Afterwards, we went to Rockefeller Center for the NBC Studio tour (more feeling like a cow in a cattle chute) and I was pleasantly surprised at how much I enjoyed the tour. Seeing the studios themselves (for Conan and SNL) was pretty eye-opening about how much they trick the audience into thinking they are seeing things that they aren’t. No, there were no famous people there. I was v. impressed with my knowledge of production, though, when the snooty Canadian hipsters didn’t know what Silver Cup was, and I did. Take that, Canadians! My man’s in the biz!
After that we cooled our heels in the room, then changed and headed out to meet my friend Jonathon in . . . the E. Village, i think? (I don’t really know my way around NY that well.) Camille and I decided to do the subway, since we hadn’t used it yet for the trip. Glad we did, as the walk was awesome after getting off and we saw more on foot and subway than we would have in a cab. (Plus, I just love the subway. There is such a sense of accomplishment for me in finding my way around a different city.) We started at Grand Central (which was right by our hotel) and made sure to check out the weird echo in the basement of the station next to the oyster bar. Harris, I’ll be honest – I thought you were fucking with us about that. It was v. cool.
Went to meet Jonathon and his roommate Chris, at Euzkadi. Very cool place, laid back, with great servers. It had perfect lighting. Camille had a salad and it was tasty. I had beer. There is nothing better than drinking beer in a nice warm bar while the snow is coming down. We stayed there for a while, then went back to J. and C.’s apartment (very nice and huge!) for more beer. It was a perfect end to a v. long day – My feet were thanking me for sitting on a couch, drinking beer, and talking music. Oh, yeah, and Chris’ dog, Norman Bates, was cute as all get-out. I mean, I say that about all dogs, but this one was beautiful.
We caught a cab back to the hotel a little after one. It took a while to catch the cab, and we were being pelted with sleet, but it really doesn’t hurt that much if you drink enough beforehand.
Drank the perfect amount on Saturday, because Camille and I both felt great on Sunday. We headed out into the bitter, windy cold and rain. It had been coming down all night, and the sidewalks were icy and there were huge, ice cold puddles at every crosswalk. Of course, I stepped right in the first one i got to, and couldn’t feel my toes for the rest of the day, but our flight was at 3 pm and decided against buying a new pair of shoes for one morning of walking around. We walked the stores on 5th Avenue and Madison Ave. We stopped in St. Patrick’s during the 11 a.m. service, which was really beautiful. We made fun of people. We decided to go all out and hit the FAO Schwartz, which was crowded but funny.
Worried about the weather, we got back to the hotel in time to check out and make sure our flight was still on schedule. It was, so we grabbed and cab and headed to Laguardia. I was much less nervous about the flight home, which is v. unusual for me, as I am usually a complete nutcase about it. This is partially because I figured out on the flight up that all i really need is a Xanax and TRIVIA IN THE BACK OF EACH SEAT OF THE PLANE. Mother of God, why did they not think of this before? Best invention since pay-at-the-pump! You’re pitted against other people on the plane, so that you can say, “You’re going down, 27C!” when they are beating you. (Except you probably should only say it in your head, or Homeland Security might meet you with handcuffs at the arrival gate.)
I was despondent upon realizing we were bereft of trivia on the flight home. Things took a distinct turn for the worse when the Captain came on the loudspeaker to tell us, “We have had reports of some turbulence upon takeoff here from Laguardia. Much of this has been severe turbulence. Now, let’s put this into perspective: Severe turbulence is not going to damage the aircraft, but it will be very uncomfortable, and will require that you remain in your seat with your seatbelt fastened.” He then proceeded to attempt to convince the passengers of his prowess as a pilot by telling us about his background in the Air Force. Um, okay, so are you comparing this flight to a battle situation? Awesome. Just awesome. Thank God for prescription sedatives. Turns out it wasn’t half as bad as had been reported earlier. Which is good, because I don’t have great bladder control since having children.
We arrived back in Atlanta and I made it home and I was really glad to see the Rugrats, which is the best indicator of a relaxing weekend trip.
I miss New York, though. Great city. Wish I had more time. Didn’t get to hit one museum. I am sure Todd is shaking his head at the thought of having to go with me in the future. Not because he dislikes art, but because he dislikes how long it takes me to meander through museums. I guess I’m already planning my next trip. I think I’ll call it The Goat Man Returns.
You probably would not know it, even if you know me pretty well, but sometimes I get depressed. It’s never enough to make me unable to function (well, there was that one time after I had the baby, but that was just the hormones), but I just get down. Blah. Uninterested. Bluesy. I don’t really want to leave the house. I don’t really want to clean the house I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to do anything at all. It reminds me of when I was a kid, and it would be raining, and there was nothing to do, and I kept on driving my mom crazy, but whatever she suggested sounded like absolutely no fun to me, and the feeling was just pure frustration.
When I get this way, i think I hide it pretty well from everyone but my sister and my husband. God knows, Todd has certainly been seeing the ill effects of my recent melancholy in the sorry housekeeping I have been doing. But for the most part, I really try to overcome my down days, to find things to do to pull me out of the depression, or at least keep me busy until it passes. Which I guess means that I am not truly depressed at all, because I can still function, can still see the light at the end of the tunnel.
Well, it just seems like lately i have have been bored, depressed, whatever. Maybe it’s the holidays, maybe it’s watching both mine and Todd’s parents deal with their own aging parents, when they should be enjoying their retirements and their golden years. Maybe it is feeling helpless at not being able to make all of the people I love just have it easier, or just get a damn break once in a while.
I am still feeling a little down, but you know what helps? When one of your oldest and dearest friends calls and asks if you can drop everything and help her out by going to New York with her for the weekend. All expenses paid. Because her husband was supposed to go with her and something came up with work and now she will have to go by herself.
Um, okay. I guess so. What? Hells to the yeah, I’ll go! What depression? What boredom?
Who won the lottery?
I did. When I was born to the most awesomest, givingest Mama ever. When I started playing rec-league b-ball with Mealby “Take a Look at My Choices” Barron, and when I met the most understanding, laid-back, fun-loving, hysterical – and yet responsible – man EVER and made my smartest life move yet – Marrying his ass.
My Dad and sister and kids and cutest dog in the world? They are icing on my life cake.
