Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Friday, May 3, 2013
Missing You Already
I wouldn't have made it in time. A lovely man is gone. This is how I'll remember him - full of love for all of us.
Saturday, January 12, 2013
Quick Takes
I'm keeping M. company while he watches the Packers, sipping a (second) gin and tonic, and trolling the internet to no avail. I WANT to post here - I have the time and the inclination, I just don't have that spark of an idea. My mind is racing through topics and rejecting them - too boring, too short, too introspective, needs photos. What to write? I'll settle for some random quick takes, I suppose.
1. M.'s mom's maiden name is Triplett. I'm pretty sure it means that he was destined to marry a triplet. Just glad I'm that girl. Not the least of which because he just brought me my second G&T with a fresh lime - not everyone would be that considerate ;-).
2. I used to vacation every summer at Cape Cod, and now all of those memories seem to be permanently Instagram'd. Every picture that comes to my mind has the same filters I see popping up in everyone's photos online. Maybe because Instagram was created to make our photos look old, or maybe because I have Instragram envy, not sure which. Because I do not own a smart phone, I cannot use Instragram. But I see it all there in my head, with the same soft faded look. Sparkly diamonds of sunlight dancing on the water. Salty seaweed drying on the sand (I HATED the seaweed!). Sandy paths lined with thorny beach plum bushes. Creaky wooden floors in cottages with greying shingle siding. Outdoor showers, ice cream sundaes, dining al fresco at Thompson's Clam Bar surrounded by squawking seagulls. It's all Instagram'd, baby. And I love it. I wonder which memories of my kids will be the cherished ones they hold forever, that make them smile when they are 30 years older and hundreds of miles away.
3. Not all the memories are super fabulous, of course. I do remember I had a teeny tiny shoplifting incident there once, where my grandmother (I THINK it was my grandmother) caught me after a shopping trip with some purloined candy and made me go back in and return it (Oh! That makes me think of the penny candy shops in Chatham! It was a treat we looked forward to all year! I didn't steal from one of THOSE shops, just a regular old drug store. As if that makes it any better). And also there was the traumatizing trip to see ET on the big screen. An even that will forever live in infamy in my family. Picture three little girls in a movie theatre, screaming their heads off out of terror. That movie was NOT touching, it was awful, and I am so permanently scarred from the experience that nothing will ever convince me otherwise.
Those memories aren't so Instagrammy.
4. I just mistakenly thought that Pitbull's name was Bulldog. Ha? Eh.
5. I think the cat and I are finally starting to get along, nearly 13 years after I adopted her. M. and I picked her out together two months in to our relationship, and she has shown a clear M. preference since then. She sleeps on him, yowls if he's outside, and frequently takes joy in tripping me or attacking me as I try to climb into bed at night. But lately she has taken to settling down between us in the bed (versus curling up next to M. on the outside of the bed), and she has abated in her attacks on me. I hope this doesn't mean she's going to die soon.
I should do seven of these. That's the deal, usually, "Seven Quick Takes." But I need to shower, and take advantage of a free Showtime preview weekend on TV, and maybe have a third G&T. So 5 is all you get, for whatever they were worth. Here's hoping I have some better bloggy inspiration soon!
1. M.'s mom's maiden name is Triplett. I'm pretty sure it means that he was destined to marry a triplet. Just glad I'm that girl. Not the least of which because he just brought me my second G&T with a fresh lime - not everyone would be that considerate ;-).
2. I used to vacation every summer at Cape Cod, and now all of those memories seem to be permanently Instagram'd. Every picture that comes to my mind has the same filters I see popping up in everyone's photos online. Maybe because Instagram was created to make our photos look old, or maybe because I have Instragram envy, not sure which. Because I do not own a smart phone, I cannot use Instragram. But I see it all there in my head, with the same soft faded look. Sparkly diamonds of sunlight dancing on the water. Salty seaweed drying on the sand (I HATED the seaweed!). Sandy paths lined with thorny beach plum bushes. Creaky wooden floors in cottages with greying shingle siding. Outdoor showers, ice cream sundaes, dining al fresco at Thompson's Clam Bar surrounded by squawking seagulls. It's all Instagram'd, baby. And I love it. I wonder which memories of my kids will be the cherished ones they hold forever, that make them smile when they are 30 years older and hundreds of miles away.
3. Not all the memories are super fabulous, of course. I do remember I had a teeny tiny shoplifting incident there once, where my grandmother (I THINK it was my grandmother) caught me after a shopping trip with some purloined candy and made me go back in and return it (Oh! That makes me think of the penny candy shops in Chatham! It was a treat we looked forward to all year! I didn't steal from one of THOSE shops, just a regular old drug store. As if that makes it any better). And also there was the traumatizing trip to see ET on the big screen. An even that will forever live in infamy in my family. Picture three little girls in a movie theatre, screaming their heads off out of terror. That movie was NOT touching, it was awful, and I am so permanently scarred from the experience that nothing will ever convince me otherwise.
Those memories aren't so Instagrammy.
4. I just mistakenly thought that Pitbull's name was Bulldog. Ha? Eh.
5. I think the cat and I are finally starting to get along, nearly 13 years after I adopted her. M. and I picked her out together two months in to our relationship, and she has shown a clear M. preference since then. She sleeps on him, yowls if he's outside, and frequently takes joy in tripping me or attacking me as I try to climb into bed at night. But lately she has taken to settling down between us in the bed (versus curling up next to M. on the outside of the bed), and she has abated in her attacks on me. I hope this doesn't mean she's going to die soon.
I should do seven of these. That's the deal, usually, "Seven Quick Takes." But I need to shower, and take advantage of a free Showtime preview weekend on TV, and maybe have a third G&T. So 5 is all you get, for whatever they were worth. Here's hoping I have some better bloggy inspiration soon!
Sunday, August 26, 2012
A First and a Last
Friday marked Finn's very last day of daycare. I didn't get choked up the way I thought I might - perhaps because I'll still be coming back every day to bring Lucy. And Finn - well, all he could think about was how excited he is to start Kindergarten - I had to prompt him several times to "SAY GOODBYE" and "LOOK, THESE PEOPLE HAVE CARED FOR YOU FOR THREE+ YEARS, COULD YOU PLEASE JUST GIVE SOMEONE A HUG?!" But I wasn't really upset - his excitement for Monday is gratifying, especially when I saw one little girl start sobbing at the prospect of lining up in front of the classroom door to go inside the school during Friday's Open House. Even though her mom was RIGHT THERE, and had no intention of leaving. I think several kids are going to have a tough Monday, but I'm pretty confident that my little guy is going to bound right into the school. It helps that Finn's teacher is one of the two that ran his earlier JumpStart program, so he already knows her pretty well. Also, his favorite little friend from JumpStart has been placed in the same class, so he already has at least one friend.
I do think that once Finn truly realizes that he won't be seeing the handful of really good daycare friends he's made over the years every day, he will get a little sad. But that aspect of Kindergarten hasn't really sunk in yet.
How about a little "before and after?" Not the hardwood floor photos I owe you (I have them! They will be posted!), but photos of Finn:
On his very first day of daycare, December 18, 2006:
And here he is on his very last day of daycare, August 24, 2012:
I do think that once Finn truly realizes that he won't be seeing the handful of really good daycare friends he's made over the years every day, he will get a little sad. But that aspect of Kindergarten hasn't really sunk in yet.
How about a little "before and after?" Not the hardwood floor photos I owe you (I have them! They will be posted!), but photos of Finn:
On his very first day of daycare, December 18, 2006:
And here he is on his very last day of daycare, August 24, 2012:
I will restrain myself from gushing about those eyes! Those cute cheeks! Can you believe that little teeny baby grew into this energetic, fun, funny, smart boy?!? Of course, that's what's SUPPOSED to happen, I KNOW that. Well done, nature. You've done a great job so far with this whole "growing up" thing.
So those pictures mark a "first" and "last" for Finn (and you can bet that the traditional "first day of school" photo will be shared here, too, once it has been captured). Now here is a photo of a "first" for Lucy:
Her first dance class!:
Sorry for the not-so-great pictures - Lucy was NOT in the mood to pose prior to heading out to her lesson. And I couldn't get any photos of her during class, as parents aren't allowed in the studio - we all sit out in the lobby and watch what is going on in the studio via a video monitor.
Lucy's class covers both ballet and tap. Is it ridiculous to buy tap shoes for a three-year-old? Maybe. But my heart is not-so-secretly thrilled that Lu is developing a love of dance - I took lessons for about 10 years LONG, long ago, and have fond memories of jetes and changemonts and pirouettes and shuffle-ball-changes... (and I'm sure I just spelled most of that wrong). Anyway, you get the picture. I think she looks adorable, and I am glad that we finally have a chance to concentrate on doing something that LUCY wants to do. Usually she just gets signed up for whatever activity Finn wants to do or, even worse, she just schleps around with us and watches Finn do an activity on his own.
You can get a sense in some of those pictures of how the hardwood floors turned out, but I will be back with a proper before and after post once we are done with Phase II of the project (did I mention there is a Phase II?), in which new tile is being installed on the kitchen floor. Which SHOULD be this week (I fervently hope, as currently my pantry is spread out over several chairs in the dining room, which doesn't exactly facilitate quick meal preparation. Not to mention the thick layer of dust coating all surfaces everywhere).
But first, I need to get myself to bed so I can be well rested for the parental heartbreak I am about to experience tomorrow. KINDERGARTEN - THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE, RIGHT?
Friday, April 13, 2012
Essays and Memories
What I'm about to do here is a smidge embarrassing. I'm about to post an essay I wrote almost 18 years ago - as is, with no changes to the wording (despite several urges to "tinker").
When I was in Florida a few weeks ago, my grandmother passed along to me a pile of papers she had been saving for years. They were hard copies of three different essays I wrote as part of my college applications. I don't have electronic copies of these - I wrote them back in the day of the "family computer", floppy discs, and shared (barely functional) e-mail accounts. I'm not even sure what word processing program I used to write them - not Word, that's for sure. I had always been a little proud of the essay that got me in to my eventual college of choice, The College of William and Mary, and was a little sad that I didn't have it anymore. So these brown-stained papers Mimi found came home with me, against my base nature of throwing out anything and everything that isn't nailed down in an effort to prevent clutter.
Though once I get these puppies on the computer, all bets are off.
Anyway, this essay is NOT the essay that helped get me in to W&M. Maybe I'll post that one another time. This essay - well, I have no idea where I submitted it, and no idea if I was offered admission to wherever it was sent. But I want to copy it down here, today, because it's about my lovely Aunt Donna.
The sterile hall stretched before me, endless and lonely. I was finding it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. My hands were clenched at my sides, with little half moons imprinted on my palms. My back was ramrod straight. I became more and more apprehensive as I grew closer to room 224. "Maybe this was a bad idea," I though to myself. But I continued to move forward and, stopping at the door, knocked softly on the cool metal. Years passed before I heard the weak, "Come in." I opened the door and stepped inside.
Under most circumstances, I am comfortable in a hospital. As a little girl, I would accompany my father on his daily rounds at the New England Deaconess Hospital. But this was a different hospital, and I was here to visit a family member, not a nameless patient under my father's care. My aunt had been admitted to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute to have a cancer-ridden lung removed. Though she has battled cancer through much of her young life, this was the first time I had ever seen her ill.
Lying in the huge hospital bed that looked as if it would swallow her, I could barely recognize Donna. The pale skin, the frail body and raspy breathing - it all had to belong to someone else. Where was the aunt who seemed more like the older sister I had always wanted, the aunt I had known and loved my whole life?
I discovered she was right before me, doing her best to make me feel at ease. She talked to me as if nothing had changed, and indeed, nothing had. Underneath the starched hospital sheets, the thin cotton gown, and the small chest that moved unevenly whenever she took a breath, the heart of my aunt kept the same rhythm it always had. Donna is stronger than anyone else I know. She has a will to live that most of us can only observe, and it has helped her survive through five battles with cancer. Never once has she given up, never once has she said, "it's just not worth it anymore." When I look at my aunt and all she has accomplished with her life - a happy marriage, a job she enjoys (ed. note. - I should have included FRIENDS on this list - she had so many friends!) - I feel as though there is nothing I cannot face. She has taught me to face danger with a little fear and a lot of courage. Most of all, she has taught me that it is alright to feel afraid as long as I make the right choice, the choice to live.
I survived my hospital visit that day, and so did Donna. And I know that if our roles had been reversed, and I was the one lying in the hospital bed, I would survive that as well. I would think of the strength I see in my aunt, and I would make it through each day.
April 13, 2012, would have been Donna's 48th birthday. Or maybe 47th? I'm sad that I don't know for sure. She lost her war with cancer during my sophmore year of college, a couple of years after I wrote this essay.
I still miss her. I wish she could know my husband, my children. I wish she was here.
But I have lots of happy memories of her, and that helps. Seeing her tanned and happy after a semester in Hawaii, her excitement when she got engaged, her wonderful wedding day, that Red Sox game where she admired Tim Wakefield's "physique" (fine, butt). I even remember that day, 29 years ago, when she sat with my sisters and I outside our little condo in North Andover, and waited with us to greet our new baby brother on his first day home from the hospital.
So excuse the cheesy, written-so-you'll-think-I-have-depth-and-accept-me-to-your-university, words above. Just something I wanted to post today, to help me remember Donna on her birthday.
When I was in Florida a few weeks ago, my grandmother passed along to me a pile of papers she had been saving for years. They were hard copies of three different essays I wrote as part of my college applications. I don't have electronic copies of these - I wrote them back in the day of the "family computer", floppy discs, and shared (barely functional) e-mail accounts. I'm not even sure what word processing program I used to write them - not Word, that's for sure. I had always been a little proud of the essay that got me in to my eventual college of choice, The College of William and Mary, and was a little sad that I didn't have it anymore. So these brown-stained papers Mimi found came home with me, against my base nature of throwing out anything and everything that isn't nailed down in an effort to prevent clutter.
Though once I get these puppies on the computer, all bets are off.
Anyway, this essay is NOT the essay that helped get me in to W&M. Maybe I'll post that one another time. This essay - well, I have no idea where I submitted it, and no idea if I was offered admission to wherever it was sent. But I want to copy it down here, today, because it's about my lovely Aunt Donna.
The sterile hall stretched before me, endless and lonely. I was finding it difficult to put one foot in front of the other. My hands were clenched at my sides, with little half moons imprinted on my palms. My back was ramrod straight. I became more and more apprehensive as I grew closer to room 224. "Maybe this was a bad idea," I though to myself. But I continued to move forward and, stopping at the door, knocked softly on the cool metal. Years passed before I heard the weak, "Come in." I opened the door and stepped inside.
Under most circumstances, I am comfortable in a hospital. As a little girl, I would accompany my father on his daily rounds at the New England Deaconess Hospital. But this was a different hospital, and I was here to visit a family member, not a nameless patient under my father's care. My aunt had been admitted to the Dana-Farber Cancer Institute to have a cancer-ridden lung removed. Though she has battled cancer through much of her young life, this was the first time I had ever seen her ill.
Lying in the huge hospital bed that looked as if it would swallow her, I could barely recognize Donna. The pale skin, the frail body and raspy breathing - it all had to belong to someone else. Where was the aunt who seemed more like the older sister I had always wanted, the aunt I had known and loved my whole life?
I discovered she was right before me, doing her best to make me feel at ease. She talked to me as if nothing had changed, and indeed, nothing had. Underneath the starched hospital sheets, the thin cotton gown, and the small chest that moved unevenly whenever she took a breath, the heart of my aunt kept the same rhythm it always had. Donna is stronger than anyone else I know. She has a will to live that most of us can only observe, and it has helped her survive through five battles with cancer. Never once has she given up, never once has she said, "it's just not worth it anymore." When I look at my aunt and all she has accomplished with her life - a happy marriage, a job she enjoys (ed. note. - I should have included FRIENDS on this list - she had so many friends!) - I feel as though there is nothing I cannot face. She has taught me to face danger with a little fear and a lot of courage. Most of all, she has taught me that it is alright to feel afraid as long as I make the right choice, the choice to live.
I survived my hospital visit that day, and so did Donna. And I know that if our roles had been reversed, and I was the one lying in the hospital bed, I would survive that as well. I would think of the strength I see in my aunt, and I would make it through each day.
April 13, 2012, would have been Donna's 48th birthday. Or maybe 47th? I'm sad that I don't know for sure. She lost her war with cancer during my sophmore year of college, a couple of years after I wrote this essay.
I still miss her. I wish she could know my husband, my children. I wish she was here.
But I have lots of happy memories of her, and that helps. Seeing her tanned and happy after a semester in Hawaii, her excitement when she got engaged, her wonderful wedding day, that Red Sox game where she admired Tim Wakefield's "physique" (fine, butt). I even remember that day, 29 years ago, when she sat with my sisters and I outside our little condo in North Andover, and waited with us to greet our new baby brother on his first day home from the hospital.
So excuse the cheesy, written-so-you'll-think-I-have-depth-and-accept-me-to-your-university, words above. Just something I wanted to post today, to help me remember Donna on her birthday.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
And The Answer Is...
I will do my best to take some presentable photos of my kids this weekend, and post them for my deprived family. I had high hopes for the daycare Christmas party, at which Santa made an appearance. Last year I got pictures of each child sitting with Santa, and while Lucy WAS crying, it was only a little bit, and still made for a cute picture. This year, she can't stop shouting "Sa-ta" (Santa, obvs.) excitedly everytime she sees a likeness of the Man in Red, so I thought her clear enjoyment of the season would make for an even better picture. Alas, our track record with posed photos held, and though I dressed both kids up in adorable Christmas-colored ensembles, Lucy apparently refused to get near Old Saint Nick. And by "refused," I mean "screamed in horror." Apparently she likes her Santas to be of the non-living variety. Finn apparently did great, per usual, but I haven't seen a picture yet.
In the meantime, I shall follow up on my quiz from yesterday:
1) My relatives were part of the Underground Railroad - TRUE. And I think I'm NOT misrepresenting anything here, but please keep in mind that this is information I learned prior to college/grad school drinking, two pregnancies and motherhood, thus all memories from that time are susceptible to fuzziness. The Jenkins family of Andover, MA was known to be part of the Underground Railroad, helping escaped slaves hide on their way to Canada. Harriet Beecher Stowe even stayed at the Jenkins house not long after writing Uncle Tom's Cabin. All this is true, I just couldn't find a family tree online to verify that the William Jenkins that did all of this is actually an antecedent of my grandfather. But I am about 87% sure that is true. Andover was not that big a town at the time, so the likelihood of many Jenkinses is low. Also, William's house was on 89 Jenkins Road, and I know my family had a homestead on Jenkins Road (which we no longer have), so it all SEEMS to match up, despite my doubt in my synaptic connections.
2) I hitchhiked in the Pyrenees mountains - also TRUE. I was thirteen, and the story also involves a mountain-side fire, lots of blisters, getting picked up by what I hope was an entomologist who was wearing a belt of vials with bugs in them, and cramming way more people than I thought possible into a small white VW Bug(ha! a bug - never saw the joke in that before). I was with my sisters and our host family daughter Paloma, and we were supposed to be taking "a shortcut" to get back to her parents' car once our mountain picnic had ended. Oh, and I spoke very little actual Spanish. I won't go into more detail, but it was a very, very interesting experience.
3) I had my first car accident the day I got my driver's license - FALSE. It was the day AFTER I got my driver's license. And all I have to say about that is that parking lots are scary. In particular, the parking lot behind the CVS in Andover is far too small for the number of spaces and rows they have crammed in there. Also, I was clearly lacking in the part of my driving education that involved teaching me to check the front corner of the car when backing out of a space, rather than just staring fixedly out the back window of the car as I was doing. Also, lucky for me, there was an actual person inside the car that I hit, as he was apparently just waiting for his wife to pick up a few things in the store. So I got to do the "exchange of information" in my nervous, fumbly, 16-year-old way, except that I didn't even know if I HAD any car insurance, and certainly didn't have an insurance card. I had to call my mom (my memory tells me I did this on the way home, but that can't be possible because I didn't have a cell phone then, you know, BACK IN THE DAY) and ask if she had put me on the car insurance yet. Luckily, she had, though nothing ever came of the accident (seriously, it was a TINY dent. And the car was not nice to begin with).
4) I've met two justices of the Supreme Court - TRUE. On separate occasions. I met Justice Kennedy when I was in grad school - I'd won a scholarship, and the foundation that gave it out held a reception for us IN the Supreme Court, and Justice Kennedy shook my hand and gave me a medal. I met Justice Souter when I was a tween or young teen, I can't remember exactly how old I was. My sisters and I had traveled down to D.C. for some sight seeing with my grandparents, and while there, my great-aunt, who has lots of GOP connections and is involved in New Hampshire state politics, arranged for us to meet her friend Justice Souter in his chambers. My super-shy self imagined asking him his opinion on abortion (knowing that he was a conservative jugdge) but didn't actually say anything. I just let my sisters do the talking, per usual. I'd like to kick that girl, the girl I was then (and still sometimes - often? - feel like). OK, maybe flaunting dubious Democratic stances (and by dubious I mean that there is no way I was informed enough to really decide if I was a Democrat or not at the age of 12 or so, and yet I had decided I WAS. I still am one, though I am hopefully a little better informed, and so I am not calling Democratic stances THEMSELVES dubious) was not a good plan anyway, and thus better off left unexecuted. But think of the questions I COULD have asked! Like "Have you ever changed your mind on a decision after the fact?" or "What is your favorite part of your job?" or "What case stands out most in your memory?" Had I been enterprising, I could have turned this into a seriously good project for History class, or Social Studies, or whatever the hell I was taking then. I was not enterprising, though.
In the meantime, I shall follow up on my quiz from yesterday:
1) My relatives were part of the Underground Railroad - TRUE. And I think I'm NOT misrepresenting anything here, but please keep in mind that this is information I learned prior to college/grad school drinking, two pregnancies and motherhood, thus all memories from that time are susceptible to fuzziness. The Jenkins family of Andover, MA was known to be part of the Underground Railroad, helping escaped slaves hide on their way to Canada. Harriet Beecher Stowe even stayed at the Jenkins house not long after writing Uncle Tom's Cabin. All this is true, I just couldn't find a family tree online to verify that the William Jenkins that did all of this is actually an antecedent of my grandfather. But I am about 87% sure that is true. Andover was not that big a town at the time, so the likelihood of many Jenkinses is low. Also, William's house was on 89 Jenkins Road, and I know my family had a homestead on Jenkins Road (which we no longer have), so it all SEEMS to match up, despite my doubt in my synaptic connections.
2) I hitchhiked in the Pyrenees mountains - also TRUE. I was thirteen, and the story also involves a mountain-side fire, lots of blisters, getting picked up by what I hope was an entomologist who was wearing a belt of vials with bugs in them, and cramming way more people than I thought possible into a small white VW Bug(ha! a bug - never saw the joke in that before). I was with my sisters and our host family daughter Paloma, and we were supposed to be taking "a shortcut" to get back to her parents' car once our mountain picnic had ended. Oh, and I spoke very little actual Spanish. I won't go into more detail, but it was a very, very interesting experience.
3) I had my first car accident the day I got my driver's license - FALSE. It was the day AFTER I got my driver's license. And all I have to say about that is that parking lots are scary. In particular, the parking lot behind the CVS in Andover is far too small for the number of spaces and rows they have crammed in there. Also, I was clearly lacking in the part of my driving education that involved teaching me to check the front corner of the car when backing out of a space, rather than just staring fixedly out the back window of the car as I was doing. Also, lucky for me, there was an actual person inside the car that I hit, as he was apparently just waiting for his wife to pick up a few things in the store. So I got to do the "exchange of information" in my nervous, fumbly, 16-year-old way, except that I didn't even know if I HAD any car insurance, and certainly didn't have an insurance card. I had to call my mom (my memory tells me I did this on the way home, but that can't be possible because I didn't have a cell phone then, you know, BACK IN THE DAY) and ask if she had put me on the car insurance yet. Luckily, she had, though nothing ever came of the accident (seriously, it was a TINY dent. And the car was not nice to begin with).
4) I've met two justices of the Supreme Court - TRUE. On separate occasions. I met Justice Kennedy when I was in grad school - I'd won a scholarship, and the foundation that gave it out held a reception for us IN the Supreme Court, and Justice Kennedy shook my hand and gave me a medal. I met Justice Souter when I was a tween or young teen, I can't remember exactly how old I was. My sisters and I had traveled down to D.C. for some sight seeing with my grandparents, and while there, my great-aunt, who has lots of GOP connections and is involved in New Hampshire state politics, arranged for us to meet her friend Justice Souter in his chambers. My super-shy self imagined asking him his opinion on abortion (knowing that he was a conservative jugdge) but didn't actually say anything. I just let my sisters do the talking, per usual. I'd like to kick that girl, the girl I was then (and still sometimes - often? - feel like). OK, maybe flaunting dubious Democratic stances (and by dubious I mean that there is no way I was informed enough to really decide if I was a Democrat or not at the age of 12 or so, and yet I had decided I WAS. I still am one, though I am hopefully a little better informed, and so I am not calling Democratic stances THEMSELVES dubious) was not a good plan anyway, and thus better off left unexecuted. But think of the questions I COULD have asked! Like "Have you ever changed your mind on a decision after the fact?" or "What is your favorite part of your job?" or "What case stands out most in your memory?" Had I been enterprising, I could have turned this into a seriously good project for History class, or Social Studies, or whatever the hell I was taking then. I was not enterprising, though.
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