Distance
The dream I wrote about the other day has been in the back of my mind ever since. It was such a quick, fleeting dream, arguably insignificant (I’m not convinced that dreams always have some deeper meaning; sometimes they’re just an amalgamation of stuff that’s been in your brain during the day) – and yet it has stuck with me.
I’ve been thinking about my dad and I’m not sure why. I still feel fairly detached from his death. I got emotional in the immediate aftermath, of course – okay, let’s be honest, I was a wreck – however, if I’m honest a lot of that was the equivalent of sympathetic weight gain. I saw how my mom was hurting and sympathized. I saw how other people were hurting – Ray, Crystal, Dominique, Chelsea, the list goes on – and sympathized. I saw the overflowing crowd at the funeral and was overcome with emotion.
And since I’ve always had a knack (whether I like it or not) for being able to put myself in others’ shoes and see things from their perspective, I could understand how so many people thought of my dad as such a great person. A true friend, someone reliable, someone they could talk to. His personality helped; he was the type of person who could talk to anyone. Whereas my mom and I hate approaching strangers, it came naturally to him. He seemed to know everyone in Augusta.
I could see all that. And yet I wondered (rhetorically)… how could their experience of him as a person be so different from mine?
How many times have you heard, when someone is found to have done something horrible – “We just can’t believe it, he/she was such a nice person.” That always rang hollow to me and I couldn’t understand how people could be so convinced by surface presentation. It seemed natural to me that the person who is found out for committing some horrible crime was always a “nice person” – because that’s part of how abusers manipulate, the insidious way they turn others against you even if those others mean well.
What everyone told me at the funeral was, “He loved you more than anything else in the world.” I lost track of the number of people who said some variation of that. I would nod and say thank you for coming or whatever; but I was thinking, funny how they all thought that, ’cause he sure had an odd way of showing it. Even the chaplain who did the service said something like, “He made some changes once [Amber] came into his life.” Changes? Not nearly enough, I thought bitterly. One time I told Crystal that the two of them had a better ‘father/daughter’ relationship than he and I did, and she told me to stop, don’t say that, it’s not true. I stopped because I could tell it was upsetting her – not because it was untrue.
Other people remember him for how much he loved me, how he was always there for them as a friend, the things he did to help people out, the way everyone always got a second chance (aside from his children from his first marriage – not that anyone knew about them). My memories are different. But I can see where all his friends are coming from. Memories and perspective… they’re funny like that.
The hospice chaplain who talked to me at the airport before I got on a plane to Chicago asked if I had any unfinished business with my dad, if there was anything I needed to say to him. I was silent for a moment and then said no. She said sometimes there are things we can’t say or business we can’t finish until after the person is gone – and that’s okay.
Yet in some ways I do miss him. I never thought I would say that. Maybe I can say it only because he’s gone – now I can appreciate the good that other people saw, with some distance.
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Class consciousness: all I can do is write my own story
Instead of constantly writing from a place of “what if” and “what does it mean” and trying to find the right words when talking about class and privilege (yes, the two are different and distinct), I thought I’d write down some memories that shaped my class consciousness, as you might call it. Some of the comments on this post by Hugo Schwyzer inspired me to go ahead w/ this. And, yeah, I agree: if your parents can pay your way for seven years of college and grad school, that’s not “comfortable,” that’s rich. And I say this as someone who has problems w/ the word “rich” and the reductive way in which it’s often applied. But it bugs me when people try to act like they’re not as well-off as they really are. I guess it’s all a matter of perspective. Here are the notes I wrote down when reading the comment thread there:
What does it mean to be rich
When you *are* rich, do you try to deny it to “fit in” or “get cred”
And is your perspective skewed?Or is everyone’s perspective skewed w/ their own experience at the center? (other than the VERY poor and VERY wealthy)
Back to why I was so uncomfortable at the financial planner’s officeWas I poor? Working class? Middle class?
I’ve come to identify as working class bc all the descriptions I’ve read, that one seems to “fit” best with the way it feltBut idk
“As for teaching, I have to admit that the maxim “If you do what you love, the money will follow” is intensely dangerous and irresponsible if not qualified with supplemental information.”
Yes, this quote has ALWAYS bothered me
It has always reeked of so much privilege it’s painfully obviousMy own experience mirrors this, somewhat
http://hugoschwyzer.net/2009/02/12/the-thoughts-of-six-hundred-pounders-professional-feminism-class-privilege-and-the-responsibility-to-teach-wisely-and-well/#comment-498164 (except UGA was actually a *good* school, not second-rate; I felt the quality of my education there was excellent)
So, memories:
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Latest happenings and thoughts
I know I’ve alluded to it before, but lately I’m seriously wondering if I’ve reached my tipping point w/ social media. It’s true that I’ve been really busy in the past week, but come on, everybody’s busy, that’s not much of an explanation. Like I mentioned in a podcast a while back (would link but our site is down at the moment), I wonder if it’s finally gotten to the point where there’s just too much to keep up with. I haven’t been spending as much time on Twitter, and certainly not attempting to read everybody’s tweets. I haven’t checked Bloglines in days and have given up trying to read all my feeds – and I don’t even subscribe to an insane number of feeds, and certainly not the kind of blogs that post 20+ times a day! Then I end up reblogging shit on Tumblr and half the time I don’t know why, other than it’s a convenient way to help me wake up in the morning or unwind at night without using too many brain cells. I’ve been meaning to write Jenny and Niki an email for weeks now – and of course trying to find time to blog. It all seems so ridiculous, but more and more everything for me seems to be moving to quick little updates of 140 characters or less, no time to sit and write anything of substantial length.
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The famous dressing
Been meaning to blog this for over a month. I don’t feel like formatting it so I’m just going to dump it in here. This is the recipe for the famous Luis dressing, which was my dad’s recipe which he originally got from his friend Mike and adapted to make it his own. It is, hands-down, no contest, THE BEST dressing ever, and I will hear no protests to the contrary. And, as it goes w/ any devoted cook, this isn’t a hard and fast recipe with exact measurements. You really have to use your eyes and your judgment. This is the framework.
Celery (approx. 3 stalks) – cooked
Onion (approx. 3/4) – cooked
Whole wheat bread – 6-7 slices
French bread – 2 loaves – let sit out overnight to get harder
eggs – 2 or 3 (probably 2; if 3, consistency will be more like a cake; use 3 if making a bigger batch, too)
Craisins
1 red apple (peeled)
Pepperidge Farm stuffing mix (approx. 1/2 bag)
Butter (several small pieces) – cut a small slice off and then cut it into thirds both ways
Salt, pepper, onion powder, garlic powder, celery salt, basil, oregano, pinch of sage – for all the spices (except the sage), use more than you think you’ll need
Paprika on top after spread in baking dish
Put all the ingredients in the biggest container you have, in the sink. Periodically add water from the faucet as you mush it all together with your hands. Initially you’ll think there’s no way everything will fit in your biggest container, but once you’re adding water and mushing it up, it will fit. Your hands will get stuff all over them; you can’t be shy about it. Don’t try to use a spoon or any other ridiculous thing, it won’t work.
Bake at 350 30-45 mins.
Fork needs to come out not gushy
Use two 2-qt. baking dishes for this standard amt.
In 2007, Rusty had his first opportunity to experience making the dressing. Here are some pictures:
My mom and I made it again this Thanksgiving as an homage to my dad. I’ve made it myself for years and will continue to do so. Adding Craisins was my idea, actually. They used to use regular raisins. And my aunt and uncle in upstate New York add almonds. It’s infinitely adaptable!
Places to live, and weekend wrap-up
Back to work today. While I was glad to be able to go to Augusta and spend time with my mom, I’m happy to be back home.
I am, however, looking forward to the day when “home” means a house that we actually own, instead of an apartment that we rent. If you know me you know that for the longest time I was not at all worked up about the idea of home-ownership. In fact, I wanted nothing at all to do with it. I watched as people I knew bought houses just because it seemed like “the thing to do” and I just shook my head. Maybe it has to do with growing up with Realtor parents (well, from the late 80s on, anyway) but I think too many people get all excited about the idea of owning a home and don’t really stop and think about it. But, 3-5 years ago lenders were making loans to people who had no business qualifying and people were buying even though they weren’t really “settled.” That’s one of the biggest reasons I didn’t want to buy – I didn’t know whether I’d be staying in one city for any length of time! I didn’t want to tie myself down (mental pictures). Plus I wouldn’t be able to afford paying for all the stuff you have to pay for yourself when there’s no apartment maintenance man to call.
Now granted, sometimes the maintenance man is drunk, belligerent, and potentially violent, as happened at one apartment in Athens – the one where sewage was coming up in our sink. Sometimes the maintenance man is a nice guy but he just doesn’t have the skills to fix a particular problem. Sometimes the landlord is crazy. I am aware of all this.
But for me it was not worth it to just run off and buy a house. I always figured when the time was right, I’d know. Gotta trust my intuition. And now? I know! The time is right. I’ve enjoyed living in our loft in Decatur but it’s time to get out of there. The neighbors with their bizarre noises coming from the apartment above us; the weird smells in the hall; the people stomping through the hall at all hours; the yappy damn dogs; the Phantom Pooper; the dripping AC unit; starting off this morning with a clogged toilet and freaking out over getting germs on my hands when I couldn’t un-invert the plunger without touching it; all of this stuff, I’m over it.
And yes I know many or all of these things can happen when you own your home, depending on where you live. But that’s not my point. As I told Rusty this morning, it would be nice to live somewhere where everything works right.
Two exceptions: the ex and I never had problems (that I remember, anyway!) in our last apartment in Athens, where we lived for two years; and I loved my apartment in Texas. I was the first person who had ever lived there. It was one of the only things I liked about living in Texas!
I miss that green sofa. It was too heavy, though; I got rid of it because I was sick of nearly breaking my back every time I tried to move it anywhere. But now I kind of regret that.
Actually, how did I forget? My first apartment in Atlanta was great, too! I really enjoyed that apartment, but it wasn’t practical for me to stay after the second year – and it was probably good that I moved when I did, because it had been taken over by a new management company and was going downhill.
Maybe I just feel more annoyed now because I’m so ready to move. I don’t know. Things at our place just seem sub-par to me lately.
Anyway – after the first of the year, we will revisit the mortgage lender – assuming she still has her job, which I really hope she does, because we like her – do the pre-approval thing (we already got a pre-qualification letter back in September) and start actually going in houses with our Realtor and getting ready to make an offer. Our lease is up at the end of March so we’ll be out of the apartment by then at the latest, and hopefully a few weeks prior.
But enough about that. I want to document this process and my feelings on the matter, but when I blog too much about apartments and houses and stuff, I start to annoy myself. Yes, I know, old-school blogging FTW; but I start to get annoyed because I feel like I sound like those people who love to pontificate about real estate and how they’re going to get a deal and flip a house and blah blah blah, and think they’re big experts, but really they don’t know anything and they just sound like idiots.
So moving on.
This weekend my mom and I went to the cemetery to visit my dad’s grave. I hadn’t been since the funeral. My mom wanted to go because she wanted to see the headstone the VA put up, but she hadn’t been yet – I think she was waiting to go with me for moral support. We didn’t stay long. I think being there was a little much for my mom. I didn’t think I would get emotional but I did tear up a little – but I wonder if that was mainly out of sympathy for my mom? I don’t know. Anyway, we just stood there under an umbrella (it was raining lightly) for a few minutes, staring at the grave. We agreed that the headstone looked good; it’s very small, just a basic stone at ground level with his name, date of birth, date of death, and military rank. It’s smaller than most of the other headstones near it. My mom said, “Well, Dick, we’re just stopping by to say hello” and she got a little choked up. We stood there for a few more minutes, then she said “Well we don’t have to stay anymore” and then we left.
Also this weekend, I convinced my mom to start a blog. If she ever posts anything, I’ll link to it. It all started because there was a cover story in the Metro Spirit about the Surrey Tavern, which opened in 1978. Well it just so happens, it’s in the same location as a couple other bars where my mom worked in the late 70s. She said she’d never been to the Surrey Tavern, but she worked at Augustino’s and the Man of War, one of which was in the same location and the other was next door (and at one point they took down a wall and the two were combined). The article mentioned both those places briefly but seemed to get the chronology wrong; I showed it to my mom and she verified that it wasn’t right. The person who wrote the story is probably my age and just going off of conflicting things different people told her; but my mom has pictures from when she worked there, labeled with the dates on the back (yet another reason why it’s so important to label pictures!!), so she can say for sure. She worked at the Man of War when she was pregnant with me. I told her she should write in to the Metro Spirit with her corrections, and she said she would. Then we got to talking and I told her I thought she should start a blog and write about all the interesting/weird/funny things that happened while she was a bartender in the 70s and 80s. She could even scan some of the pictures and write about them. She got excited about that, so we went and got her set up with a blog on wordpress.com. Hopefully the motivation will stick and she’ll actually post something!
Guess I better stop for now. I’ve been writing this post off and on all day, since I’ve been so busy. Later I might write more about Augusta’s thrilling 70s nightlife! ;)
Local TV fame
When I was in Augusta last weekend, my mom dug out a tape from the 80s where she’d recorded some things of familial significance. I hadn’t watched it in years, but when I saw it, I knew immediately that this stuff would have to go on YouTube.
First up is my 30 seconds of fame on local television in 1986 (or it might have been 1987; I can’t remember for sure). My parents knew the guy who owned this piano shop and he asked us to be in a commercial. I remember we did several takes. I also remember complaining to my mom that I was too old to say “Mommy” and “Daddy,” and she explained to me that actors and actresses often play characters who are younger. That satisfied me.
Next is an Augusta local news segment from the mid 80s. My parents are in the B-roll of Maxwell’s for a few seconds toward the very end, around the 1:04 mark. It’s funny for a number of obvious reasons (80s hair, 80s attire, etc.) but also because it shows just how little local news has changed in the past 20 years.
Finally, my dad’s winning chicken recipe. Wait, let me explain: In the 80s, “Midday on 12″ was a program that came on at noon on Channel 12 in Augusta. They had a segment called “Lookin’ at Cookin’” where viewers could submit recipes, and a winner was chosen each month. My dad’s honey-baked chicken recipe was the winner one month in 1984. He won a set of really cheap pots that we ended up giving away to someone.
Aside: I love these two ladies’ Southern accents!
I also want to give a plug for Affordable Video Solutions on W. Peachtree. Originally we were going to digitize the video at home, because Rusty has one of those converter boxes to connect the VCR to his computer. But our VCR tried to eat the tape. So we took it to AVS and they fixed the tape (it wasn’t actually damaged; they just had to wind it back into the housing) and converted it to DVD. They were very friendly and fast, and the price for the conversion was $29.95. I definitely recommend them if you need anything like that.
ETA: Ha, the chicken recipe video is already the top hit on Google for "midday on 12" augusta.
Protected: Memorial
I can understand…
…why people believe in God.
Conceptually, I’ve always been able to understand why. Who was it who said that thing about how if God didn’t exist, humans would create Him? Something like that. Anyway, that’s always made sense to me. I think we all want to feel some sort of comfort that we’re not totally alone in the universe and that there is some kind of purpose (even if the truth is actually the opposite). Because if we’re all alone, reality can seem too scary to handle.
But during the last few weeks with my dad’s rapidly declining health and finally his death, I’ve come to understand on a much more real, personal, visceral level why people find comfort in what I’ll nebulously refer to as faith.
A caveat, too: “faith” is one of those words I generally dislike, because so often it’s used as a buzzword, devoid of any real meaning. Other words/phrases along those same lines are “values” and “tradition” and “way of life.”
Anyway, as I was saying…
Over the past few weeks, I have allowed myself to feel comforted by expressions of religious faith that seemed heartfelt and nonjudgmental. And why not? We all need to find some comfort wherever we can. I still do not consider myself a religious person, nor am I comfortable with the appellation “spiritual” (though I flirted with it when I was a teenager) – but I do know that during hard times, comfort and support is important, and there’s no need to split hairs over what form it takes.
I’m inspired by my mom’s friend P., who lost her son (who was just a month older than me) in 2006 when he was killed in a collision with a drunk driver. Prior to that he’d had a severe head injury at around age 11, and in his early 20s was diagnosed with leukemia (it had been in remission for several years at the time of his death). He had recently gotten married. I cannot even conceive of the suffering his mother has endured, and yet she remains so devoted to her faith and so warm, caring, and thoughtful of others. She spoke with my dad a few times when he was in the hospital and then when he came home for hospice, and according to my mom he was very moved by it; she thinks talking to P. really helped him. She has been a source of comfort to my mom, too; never preachy, never proselytizing, but always just there, with a kind word and a sympathetic ear (and not just a trite cliché, either).
I’m inspired by Lia of Star Light Ministries, who as far as I can tell seems to have the same approach to Christianity as P.: just being there, with love, without judgment. And based on what I know about Christianity (and I do know quite a bit, actually, having studied it in high school and college, and done plenty of reading and research on my own), it seems like this is the more authentic manifestation of Christianity, although unfortunately it’s quite rare.
I’m inspired by Denise, the American Legion chaplain who officiated my dad’s funeral service. She showed such compassion and sympathy, in a way that I really believed (rather than just going through the motions like a lot of people do), and she had only just met me! She just had a way about her that was comforting, respectful, and right.
I didn’t pray in the kitchen last Sunday with my mom, her friend M., and Denise, as they were going over what the service should include. I had been sitting at the table with them, but by that point I had gotten up and left the kitchen, and had just come back in to get something out of the fridge. They were about to say a prayer and Denise invited me to join, but I said “I’m not much of a praying person…” and just stood silently until they were finished. And it’s true, praying makes me uncomfortable and I don’t like to do it (and I certainly don’t like to “fake it”); but as for faith as a source of comfort, I get that.
My mom has never been a religious person either, but there she was, praying in the kitchen, and I could tell it was a help to her rather than her defenses going up as they usually would.
When Denise quoted Scripture at the funeral, I didn’t feel the annoyance that I typically do when people quote Scripture. Maybe that’s because most of the time it seems like people are doing it in an accusatory way, with an agenda. But the few passages she quoted were relevant and I could tell she had put some real thought into selecting appropriate ones.
And as I heard, many times, “He’s in a better place now,” or “He’s not in pain anymore,” I didn’t get annoyed. I was surprised because if you’d have asked me before all this started, I would’ve guessed those phrases would really irritated me. I guess I just didn’t have the energy to get worked up about it; I was taking comfort wherever I could get it.
I am still not a religious person, nor do I think there really is a God like the Judeo-Christian God, although there very well might be something; but I get why people are religious. I realize that in the past I have unfairly judged an entire religion by the bad apples who make themselves very visible in its name. I will try not to do that in the future.
And yeah, it might be cheesy, but there is a feeling of comfort to be had in that “Footsteps” poem. I think we all need that from time to time.
News and such
Well, I was going to put up a somewhat flippant post about the first day of the Desiree Alliance conference, saying that it was a lot like other conferences I’ve been to, only that people were taking their clothes off. In a totally non-sexual way – the conference space doesn’t have AC, and it’s really fucking hot, so, solution? Remove some of those bulky layers! Pretty awesome if you ask me.
So I was going to write a funny ha-ha post focusing on that, and looking forward to day 2 of the conference. But the other news, now, is that my dad passed away, at 8:20 p.m. tonight (Thursday, July 17). I’m catching a 9:05 a.m. flight to Atlanta tomorrow, and then a connecting flight to Augusta at 1:18 p.m. Rusty will be joining me on Saturday or Sunday. At the moment, I feel weirdly (to other people’s perceptions, anyway) calm and collected. I really only started to get emotional on the phone with my mom because she was so upset and I was sympathetic with her.
We’ll see what the next few days bring, though. I’m sure I’ll do my share of crying and riding the emotional rollercoaster. Password protected posts to come, I’m sure.