The Crab Chronicles

A Dozen Years Ago

I feel compelled to write a quick post and clarify something.

Back in 1996 when Tom Cruise did Jerry Maguire - one of my all-time favorite movies - he was awfully cute. Now he is a couch-jumping Scientology-spouting wack job. I hate to see it. He's a good actor. I will not be running for president of his fan club anytime soon, however.

Our movie tonight was Alesia's choice of one of my old VDR tapes, When Harry Met Sally. In addition to being able to sing every word to every song and knowing most of the lines, the movie brought back a lot of bittersweet memories.

WHMS was released in 1989. It became like a personal theme song for me, the whole film. I had jeans and turtlenecks like Meg Ryan. I had curly hair. [Well, mine was reddish brown and natural, not a blonde perm, but still...] I had a man I loved, who only thought of me as a friend. Yep, for about 8 years, we were close friends and that's all. I kept thinking if I was patient, he would suddenly become mature and realize happiness was right in front of him. Sadly, he never matured. Finally, in 1996, I came clean about my feelings, and he said he could only think of me as a friend. It was winter 1996. I was devastated.

We learned a few months later that my father had cancer, and that then overshadowed everything else.

The year 1996 was horrible. I parted ways with the man I thought of as the love of my life, the man I devoted myself to for 8 years. My father died. A close friend at work quit and I learned she had been telling lies about me to my boss for several years.

This work "friend" had been feeding misinformation to my supervising attorney for years, because she wanted me fired so she could take my job. The attorney suggested to me on several occasions that I should check myself into a mental health facility. I thought that was really bizarre, but then she was a bizarre person. Then I found out about my friend's betrayal.

The only good thing about 1996 - which I didn't know about until years later - was that it was the year my son was born. So in the midst of terrible grief and pain, a small ray of light was born on the other side of the world.

"When God closes a door, somewhere he opens a window."

From a perspective of a dozen years, I see a lot more now. The pain of 1996 gradually subsided, with the help of a good therapist.

The man I loved is actually still my friend.

My father's spirit lives on in me, and I see him in the faces of my children, every day, even though they are adopted.

The friend who betrayed me? She actually contacted me right before I brought Alesia home and wanted to be friends again. I couldn't do it. I know the Lord says to forgive, and I did that, but I couldn't forget.

I never realized my life was a soap opera until just now. LOL

Pondering Friday

Since we had the big dinner out last night for my birthday, I am looking forward to doing as little as possible this Friday, which is the actual day. I may go to the movie. That's really it.

Usually, when I tell people I was born on the 4th of July, I get one of several reactions:

"Oh, you're a firecracker baby!"

"Everyone celebrates your birthday!"

"How nice, you never have to work on your birthday!"

Sometimes older folks will sing the portion of Yankee Doodle Dandy that goes "... born on the fourth of July!" and cackle with delight at being so clever.

There was a movie with Tom Cruise about fifteen years ago called Born on the Fourth of July, about a young man wounded in the Vietnam War. I remember seeing it and thinking Tom Cruise did a good job, but it was really not a great film.

Ironically, Tom Cruise was born one day before me, on July 3, 1962. He has brown hair. He has an adopted son and daughter. So do I. I used to do some acting. There, the similarities end. I digress.

Growing up, I always celebrated with a cake with a flag on it, and there were often little flags decorating the birthday area. One year, everyone in the neighborhood was outside setting off fireworks, and the neighbor next door stuck a lit roman candle in my hand and told me to have fun. I was 8 years old and terrified. I stood there holding it, frozen with fright. Since then, watching fireworks or doing much with fireworks has not been a happy thing for me.

July 4th is actually is a rotten day to have a birthday. Everyone makes plans to be with family and friends. It's tough to have a party on the day, or even nearby, because people are always out of town. FOr many years, I tried to plan parties on my birthday. Even when we lived on the lake it was tough to do. 

This year, I tried to get all my close friends here in town together to go with me to Cheescake Factory last night and nobody could make it except Lesleigh. Nobody could make it July 5th. It's depressing.

I will be 46 on Friday and that number is causing me to ponder some things, none of them happy things. First, it's only 4 years away from 50, the half century mark. Just in itself, that's a scary thought.

Also, I am going through early menopause. Friday was a horrible day because I kept having mini hot flashes all day. So that reminds me that I will never have biological children. I will never grow a child in my body and give birth to it. Most of the time that's not something I get upset about. Every once in a while, though, I will feel this stabbing pain of regret, this pang of longing to raise a child from infancy. It usually goes away very quickly. It's something that will always be a bit sad to me, though. As much as I love my kids, I wish God had also let me have the experience of giving birth, of raising a child that was a biological part of myself and someone I loved.

We have a lot of family antiques in my house, and sometimes I wonder if I should give them away to my cousins with biological children. My kids never even met their great grandparents. For instance, should I give my grandmother's jewelry to her biological descendants? Would that be the right thing to do? Or would it upset my daughter, cause her to think she was less worthy than my cousins' kids, just because she doesn't share my biology? When I am gone, will there be fighting because I didn't pass along the family heirlooms to the biological descendants? Do any of my cousins' children even care? Should I just give it all away now? I don't know. It's a painful thing to contemplate.

So I have some regrets. There are a lot of things I look back on and wish I had done differently. Looking back is a waste of energy, though. You cannot change the past.

I try to look forward, to plan for the future, and try and make it the best it can be for my little family. Mother accuses me of being a bit of a control freak, like my dad. I am, and I know it. I wish I could be more laid back, but then I would be afraid something would get by me.

When I was in paralegal school here in Atlanta I had two roommates who were from Louisiana. They would sit on the apartment balcony for hours, drinking beer and looking at the woods. I envied them that ability to be relaxed and laid back. I could do that for maybe 15 minutes, max, and then I had to go DO something. Cut my toenails, balance my checkbook, read a magazine, but SOMETHING.

"Old age ain't for sissies." I don't know who said that, but it's very true. Going into it depresses me.

I just hope I never spend hours sitting in a chair, looking out at trees, getting drunk, and doing nothing. Even having a little pity party for myself is doing SOMETHING.

Thanks for coming to my little party.

Postcards from An American Family

I jumped up this morning, ate a banana and grabbed a mug of tea and headed outside to water. I started filling up the watering can and trudging around to the flowers. It was unexpectedly cool. As I looked around I saw that the wind picked up, the skies were overcast, and I thought, this is probably a waste of time, since it’s going to rain. Better water anyway, just in case. Did it rain? Nope, not a drop!

The children and I went to a little Methodist church near the house, for the first time. We liked it. The head pastor is female, but she isn’t soft spoken and reticent – she’s dynamic. Among many other laudable things, she talked about how important it is to understand the old testament before you can really appreciate the new testament, and said she learned Hebrew just so she could understand it better. The music was excellent – all but one song was patriotic. I had such a good time singing America the Beautiful at the end of the service, when it was over an old lady in front of me turned around and said “Choir practice is on Wednesday night!” I laughed.

They have a traditional service and a contemporary one at 5:30. I am thinking we can try the contemporary service next week. I bet the kids would enjoy it more.

So I am hopeful this might be a good place for us, but I will reserve final judgment until we have visited there for several months. It takes time to really get into the dynamics of a church. I also need to make sure it will be a place we can ALL be happy.

We had to run errands this afternoon, and we stopped at Little Odessa, the Ukrainian food store. Alesia got some Russian candy and Michael got one of the German kinder eggs he loves. He also pointed out a white chocolate candy bar he likes and I bought it, but it will be saved for his birthday. He wasn't thrilled with that.

I think I have everything for the children’s birthdays in July. It’s going to be hectic, getting everything done. Alesia wants to go rollerskating again, and Michael’s activity is bowling. Mike will be leaving for camp ON Alesia’s actual birthday, July 9^th, so we will celebrate her birthday on July 8^th.

After lunch of pierogi’s from the store, and homemade tuna salad for Granny, we went to work writing postcards. We got 8 done. I hope the kids like them. You still have time to do some and send to Laura, who will box them up and send them to the kids in Kazakhstan, who are at “camp.”  Here’s the link again: http://antarespostcards.blogspot.com

Some of Alesia’s most painful memories are from “camp” in Russia. Do not think about American camps. They are luxury resorts compared to the camps the orphanage kids attend. Alesia had some very embarrassing and scary moments there. The buildings were just shacks, and the kids had to use outhouses, and at night a communal bucket. One night she spilled the overfull bucket full of pee and was shamed and laughed at the next day by all the children. I think Michael’s camp experiences were better, but it wasn’t exactly a resort. There were huge mosquitos that bit the kids constantly.

Anyway, if you can send the kids a postcard with a couple of sentences on it, it will cheer them, I know.

We had an early dinner at The Cheesecake Factory in Perimeter Mall. I hadn’t been there in years. When I was at my last job, just across the street, we used to go there for celebratory lunches. The food is good, but I wouldn’t say it fabulous. The cheesecake is decadent and delicious. It was fun to go there, for a celebration of all the July birthdays in my house – everyone but Granny is a July baby. Lesleigh joined us, and her birthday is in July, too.

Our movie tonight was The World’s Fastest Indian, a little movie starring Anthony Hopkins, about an elderly New Zealand man who broke land speed records in the 1960’s on a motorcycle built in 1920. It’s a character study, and it’s a wonderful little film. Here’s more: http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0412080/

I didn’t get everything done this weekend – my room is still dusty, bills aren’t paid, and the kitchen sink is full of dirty dishes. To heck with it all. I had fun with the kids and some good conversations with my mother. That’s what matters.

Below is a pretty decent photo of both kids showing off their new haircuts. The painting was done by my uncle Lewis when he was in college.

Short Haired Folks

I did something I rarely do on Saturdays. I got up early. Well, 7:30 – early for me. I hustled around and got the children and mother up and we had eggs and sausage for breakfast, then headed out to get haircuts for the kids.

Fantastic Sam’s is not my favorite place for haircuts, but they are cheap, and I am trying to conserve money. I will skimp on haircuts, but not on things I think are educational. I just ordered some rather expensive educational books, and I feel like that’s a better use of my limited money.

Michael’s hair is quite short now. That’s good. I was getting tired of the nightly battle to get a comb through it after his shower. Now it’s at a length short enough so that we likely won’t have to get it cut again this summer.

Alesia’s hair is also shorter, by about 3 inches, which she wanted. It now takes her less time to straighten it. She demonstrated that as soon as we got home.

We picked up Elena at noon, and headed out to Goodwill, one of my favorite shopping experiences. We found 2 hardback books, 4 paperbacks, a picture frame, a belt for Alesia, a DVD of a recent movie,shoes for Alesia, and a used VCR [ours is dead] for $35.  I know you’re saying, why the heck is Dee buying a VCR?! Well, I happen to own about 50 VCR tapes and I would like to continue to watch them as long as possible.

In 1981 I stayed up all night and watched the coverage of the wedding of Princess Diana and Prince Charles, and taped it. I also have tapes of my father, tapes of family reunions, etc. Call me an anachronism, but I need a VCR.

We had lunch at Folks. When I was a kid, Shoney’s was the same sort of place – good American food, reasonable prices. The kids ate well. Elena and Alesia actually ordered fried okra.

I took the kids to the Fernbank Museum [www.fernbankmuseum.org], to the IMAX movie Grand Canyon Adventure. I love IMAX movies, but they are somewhat discombobulating. We were about 5 minutes late, and we walked in and I instantly felt like I was going to fall, even though I was standing still. The screen is so HUGE [3 stories] that it feels like you are there. The film was awesome. It felt like I had been hang gliding in the Grand Canyon, a truly awesome natural experience. Now I don’t have to go there.

I will never again travel to a place where there are no clean bathrooms with real toilets. I don’t camp. I don’t hike. I also can’t tinkle au natural and avoid pee on my shoes, so that should explain my reluctance to experience the great outdoors. Well, bugs also factor in. Bugs love to bite me.

One really nice and unexpected aspect of the movie was that it spent a few minutes talking about John Wesley Powell, the man who first went down the entire length of the Colorado River, in the late 19^th century. He had lost one of his arms in the Civil War.  He mapped the river and was a very distinguished explorer and scientist. [Here’s a link to learn more, if you’re interested: www.powellmuseum.org/MajorPowell.html]

When we got out of the movie, it was raining lightly. By the time I got to the car, I was soaked. We drove home in torrential rains. I hate driving in that stuff so I prayed a lot. Several traffic lights were out. We get home, and there has been NO RAIN! It’s only about 6 miles from the house as the crow flies. Aaaargh!

In case you think my blog has no objectivity whatsoever [snicker snicker] I want to report this remark made by my mother today. I was telling her about a sassy retort Alesia made to me this afternoon, which wasn’t disrespectful so much as it was funny, and Mother quipped:

“When you were that age you, were a LOT more mouthy.”

I thought for a moment. I recalled myself as being quite grownup and delightful at the age of 16. Time, however, distorts everything, of course.

“I do not remember that. I’ll tell you this much, though – Michael is on his way to getting there. He just doesn’t have enough vocabulary yet to really be smart mouthed.”

I have looked at Michael’s haircut all day and thought wow, I see now the man within the boy. I can see him as a grown man. He is going to be really handsome.

Dinner was salmon, baked in the oven. I love grilled salmon, but the kids don’t. I doused the fish pretty well with onion powder, seasoning salt, and pepper. I then covered it liberally with mayonnaise. Yep, mayo. That, plus some dabs of butter and a sprinkle of lemon juice, and that was yummy, I’m here to testify. Thirty minutes in the over at 350. It’s a great recipe for any kind of fish, and so, so easy. 

That plus some pasta with butter and garlic, and fresh sliced tomatoes, and you have a feast, my friend.

Our movie tonight was “Flawless” [http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0780516/] a thriller with Michael Caine and Demi Moore, about a theft of diamonds from a huge London company. It was very clever and interesting. I really enjoyed it, except for one thing. The sound quality was bad – I often couldn’t hear the softly mumbled lines of the actors. Of course, I mis-hear things all the time. I don’t know if I need to get my hearing checked or just enjoy it as long as possible..

[Oh, and Jane, don’t feel bad about laughing about my remark about Michael not cutting his fingers off with the hatchet. It would be impossible, which I thought was sort of humorous, because I have a dark sense of humor. I’ll let you know if he slices off a toe – that would shut my big mouth, huh?!]

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A Hatchet Job

I knew when I was writing yesterday's post that I was leaving out important Daddy-isms, and Mother reminded me of one last night.

If that ain't good, grits ain't groceries!

That usually came out when he was eating something particularly delicious. Often, it was somethnig he cooked for himself, or I should probably say grilled, since that was what he mostly cooked.

I have been longing lately for more fish. The kids like it, I like every kind of fish and seafood, and we used to eat it 2-3 times a week. We only stopped because I saw a report on TV about how imported fish aren't inspected, and are sometimes bred in filthy ponds and have all sorts of diseases. Yuck! So we stopped buying tilapia and shrimp and salmon and all that great stuff.

We recently found a place close to the house called Southern Seafood. It's a fish market; that's all they sell. Everyone in there is a tiny Chinese person, and only the people behind the counter speak English. The seafood is awesome - it doesn't taste like it's full of chemicals, like the stuff from the grocery stores.

Mike and I went in there the other night and bought 2 lbs. of beautiful, big shrimp, scallops, and salmon for grilling. We had the shrimp just sautéed in butter and garlic and lemon, the other night. Last night, I cooked the scallops. I sauteed onions and some slivers of green pepper [from our garden!] with lots of fresh ground pepper, in olive oil and a little bacon fat. I then threw in the scallops and seared them on high heat, turning constantly. Next I added in heavy cream with fresh garlic, basil, and a little butter - yummy! Even Mike tried one and said he liked it. Thanks be to God we aren't on a low fat diet. LOL

Our movie last night was the biogrphical film about Muhammad Ali, starring Will Smith. When I was a kid I idolized Ali. I wanted to be a boxer. I didn't know much about him personally, but I knew he was a phenomenal boxer. My boxing obsession meant I would box in the garage where my brother had weights and other exercise equipment. I think we even had a speed bag. The day I hung up my gloves was the day I fell down an bruised my hip, a deep bruise that had me in pain for days. I decided then I was not going to be the world's first female boxing champ.

The children didn't know anything about Ali. I had to stop the film and explain a lot of things - Sam Cooke, segregation, black muslims, boxing licenses, etc. It was very educational for them. We didn't finish the film, but we will tonight. My biggest quarrel with it is that we don't really see the man as a person, in unguarded moments. It's too much about surfaces, events, and some clever banter. It's not telling me anything about Ali's heart. Too bad, too, because Will Smith is excellent.

We have tall bamboo in our backyard , for privacy, and it was planted by a former owner. It screens us from the neighbors really well, but I HATE the stuff. It pops up little trees all over the yard, all the time. We have to kick them down to prevent a forest back there. Maybe this is where Mike got his first English phrase "I'm gonna kick him up!" which we still laugh about. So one of Michael's birthday gifts is a hatchet. It's a nice one, with a leather hood over the blade that snaps in place. I will try to teach him proper respect for it and to not run around like a maniac. I think he will be OK. I won't have to worry about him cutting off any of his own fingers. He likes cutting. He got outside with me last night and had great fun with some new garden clippers, helping me deadhead our three large rose bushes.

We got a lot of thunder last night and it looked like it would rain but it didn't. Mother said we got a shower there today, though. We need rain, bad. I might have to get out in the yard and do a rain dance. That always works.

Learning Every Day

I had a bacon and cheese omelette for breakfast this morning. Before you gasp in horror know this: I've never, ever had high cholesterol. Never. That's not to say I seek out vast quantities of cholesterol-laden goodies, nope, but I do eat bacon or something like that once in a while. Won't do it again anytime soon, however. The bacon gave me indigestion.

However, I did get enough protein to carry me right through lunch. I spent most of the lunch hour at Home Depot. I was delighted to walk into the Garden Dept. and find an associate who was quite friendly and went out of her way to be helpful. We are trying to get more such associates into the stores and improve customer service. I found 4 beautiful begonias for .99 each. Yep, the plants are about 6' tall, too, and appear hearty. So that's a good deal, I think. I got some other stuff, too, of course.

We have a semicircular flower bed out front which, despite the best efforts of Lesleigh, my master gardener cousin, is only doing half well. That is to say, half the bed is thriving, and the other half isn't. I've fertilized, soaked it down [during the times I'm allowed to water with the hose], added mulch, and done everything I know to do, but the bed continues to look lopsided. Hopefully the hearty begonias will remedy at least how it looks. Part of the bareness issue is that I got mad and jerked a lantana out of the soil a couple of months ago, thinking it was dead. Then some of the other "dead" lantanas suddenly and amazingly got green and grew the beautiful little flower clusters I so love, and lordy did I feel stupid.

Of course, 10 years ago I could not have told you the name of a single thing in my gardens, except perhaps geraniums and marigolds. I did know what was fashionable to wear, and all the top 10 songs on the radio. Times change.

Mother and I both noticed yesterday that Alesia's demeanor was more sunny and she was more calm in her interactions with us. She even spontaneously gave me a hug last night after dinner, a hitherto unknown occurrence. I will never, ever, underestimate the power of a good therapist again. This lady is an answer to prayers.

The good thing about the big breakfast is that I am eating a light lunch. I've got a salad with romaine, lots of shredded carrots, cucumber slices, and a hard boiled egg. For "dessert" I'm having a small container of cranberry grape juice. It's a vast improvement over how I usually eat. If I get hungry later I have some South Beach protein bars to tide me over.

Of course, it helps that outside it's 90 degrees. Just shopping in the garden dept. at Home Depot had me sweating like a whore in church. I don't know how else to explain it colorfully. That's a saying from Dad - although he didn't say it when I was a kid, only after I grew up. 

He also used to say "I've got to pee like a racehorse." I grew up wondering what exactly was so special about how a racehorse pees. Dad was never around racehorses. I used to watch the Kentucky Derby coverage every year in hopes the TV cameras would show a peeing racehorse but they never did...

Dad never just said anything mundane - he was the original Drama King.

He also used to say "That's harder than Chinese arithmetic." I didn't realize until I grew up that that made no sense, since numbers are the same everywhere.

He also liked to say "You spend money like it's going out of style!" Yep, the better to tick you off, Mr. Banker.

Not eating chocolate is, as Dad would say, harder than Chinese arithmetic. I crave it every day.

Years ago, I tried Overeaters Anonymous. I went to meetings faithfully for several weeks. I stopped after two particularly horrifying meetings. In one, an anorexic woman talked about being a food addict. I wanted to throw her in the car and get her to the emergency room. I couldn't look at her, she was so bony and emaciated. In the next meeting, a hugely fat man sat and ranted during the entire hour about how he KNEW his wife was cheating on him, and how he wanted to get revenge. I thought to myself buddy, I don't blame your wife, but just kick her out of the doublewide and hush up already. So I didn't return to that. If I want to listen to a bunch of other people sit around complaining all the time I'll just tune in to Survivor.

I am feeling a lot better. I am not sticking to the diet perfectly. Last night I had 4 Pirouline cookies. However, I was pretty good all day. The positives are already apparent. I am moving better, I have more energy, and my feet don't hurt constantly. That's progress in my world. However, I still have a long way to go. I'm trying.

Another saying of Dad's pops into my head a lot these days: People who don't make mistakes don't learn anything.

I try to learn something every day - either about how to grow a better garden, how to be a better Mom or daughter, how to cook better, how to eat better, etc. This helps me to not despair. I highly recommend lifelong learning, or as Dad liked to say when he heard something surprising, "Well, you learn something new every day!"

Garfield, Hancock, and Me

Well, yesterday's post was a departure, for sure. I wasn't talking about the kids or the house. Every once in a while I am going to probably do that here, just ramble on for a bit about non-domestic things, maybe even tell a story or two. I need the mental break.

In case you're wondering, the kids and Mother are fine.

Mother had a hard day yesterday because she had to buy groceries in the morning and then get Michael to the dentist by noon. Getting in and out of the car with severe arthritis is tough.

Michael had a hard day because he was rudely awakened just after 8 yesterday and told to get crackin' and get ready to go Krogering. He wasn't allowed to nap. He has been staying up until midnight, reading. Now, I put him to bed well before that but in the summer I'm not going to fuss at him for reading in his room. It's been so hard just to get him to ready ANYTHING. Remember, English is still a foreign language and he's forgotten his Russian. So he's between languages, which is a scary place to be.

Of course, he isn't reading War and Peace. He's reading Garfield. Like W&P, it's a big book, with a lot of words. Garfield, however, has a lot of cartoons. Last night, a breakthrough. Mike asked me to pronounce the word "lasagna." I pronounced it and reminded him we eat it sometimes. It's a funny looking word, though, so I totally understand his bewilderment. Usually he just skips words he doesn't know.

Our movie last night was Hitch, the Will Smith film from a few years ago where he plays a dating consultant. It's really a smart, touching film. I know some of the language and situations are not entirely understandable to Michael, but I think Alesia gets them. She loves the movie, too. We own it.

Michael is absolutely dying to see this year's Will Smith summer movie, Hancock, [http://www.hancock-movie.com/] about a superhero who looks like a homeless person. I wonder why Mike is so intrigued. Now, he LOVES Will Smith. Will is ultra ultra cool. He's smart. He's attractive but not a pretty boy. He usually plays the good guy. We have seen a lot of Will Smith movies this summer.

I think perhaps there's another reason why Michael is dying to see Hancock. In all the previews Will's character looks like a homeless man - unshaven, dirty clothes. Michael lived on the streets with his birthmother, until he was 8 years old. He slept on concrete floors, without even a blanket. He ate things like uncooked pasta and maybe a piece of bruised fruit - when there was any food available. He never wore anything but ragged clothes. He had no place that was home. Now here is Will, Mr. Ultra Cool, looking homeless and yet having superpowers. [Yeah, I know you're saying Dee's getting too analytical, but I really think there's something to it, maybe on a subconscious level.]

Alesia had her second therapy session this morning. I am learning a lot about what makes her tick. It's fascinating and scary. I wish this therapist would write a book, and it could be shared with all parents who adopt an older child who has spent some time living with a dysfunctional birthmother. Without revealing anything confidential, I will just say that what happens to us in early childhood shapes us forever, for good or ill. It echoes through the years in all our actions.

In moments when I'm on the elevator or in the car, and my mind is free to ruminate, I often think about how we are influenced by our childhoods. Some of us are molded positively, and some of us have to overcome terrible situations. Alesia's early childhood was bad, but Michael's was worse. How on earth they can be sane, smart, loving people is just amazing to me. It's proof to me that there is a God - because I love two of his miracles.

Using Mama's Voice

I spent the morning on the phone with different Home Depot stores in New Jersey, part of a work project. I always get a teeny bit nervous calling the stores, because we try very hard not to disturb them. Nobody likes corporate calling, and expecially not corporate LEGAL - a word that generally nobody wants to hear. On about the second call this morning, I realized I was unconsciously doing The Voice.

When I was a kid I used to get so annoyed at my mother because she would call people up she didn't know that well, like ladies on the church committees, or the wife of Dad's boss, or someone in the neighborhood, and she used The Voice. It's a very southern voice. Think Ladybird Johnson. Bruce and I used to roll our eyes and make gagging noises when we heard it. However, now that I have grown up, I find myself channeling Mother and employing The Voice, for crucial calls.

I have lived in the south all my life, but my accent comes in and out. I studied voice for 5 years and none of my voice teachers ever allowed me to sing an Italian aria sounding like a redneck. I had to employ a neutral, medwestern newscaster kind of voice and I became so adept at it that it bled over into my normal speaking voice. However, when I am tired, stressed, or around my older relatives, I sound like an extra in Steel Magnolias. That's how The Voice sounds - like the smiling president of The Junior League in Itty Bitty Town Georgia. Or, as we say in my family, "tee niney." [very small]

For those readers not from the south, let me explain something. There is not just one southern accent - there are hundreds. I can tell the difference between somebody from Texas and somebody from Mississippi in a heartbeat. Right here in Georgia there are dozens of accents. Somebody from Valdosta sounds different than somebody raised in the North Georgia mountains.

There are also different class distinctions inherent in our accents. Basically, there's the redneck accent and the Junior League accent. I can do both. I am part redneck on my daddy's side. That's the side that pops out whenever I hear Sweet Home Alabama on the car radio, and I have to crank it up and sing along, much to the dismay of my children. The Junior League accent always pops out when I am around a crowd of southern women. Mother was in the Junior League at one time. The accent is a defense mechanism, I fear. If we are driving and we stop in a small town to ask for directions, I employ the redneck accent. You have to always remember your audience.

I heard The Voice coming out this morning when I was on the phone to New Jersey, and I thought lord, don't let them think I'm an idiot. A lot of times, non southerners hear a southern accent and their estimation of the speaker's IQ instantly drops about 25 points. And yes, we have plenty of homegrown morons around here. However, the accent is often used by southerners who would qualify for MENSA. My mother has a southern accent that's completely inaudible to me, because, well, she's Mama. I've heard her all my life. Other people assure me she has a real southern accent, however. Most people find it charming. They should never underestimate her, though. She's the smartest person I've ever known well, and her high IQ combined with some psychic abilities makes it completely impossible for me [or most anyone else] to lie to her and not get found out.

You lie to Granny, you just better bend over, 'cause she can whup the tarnation out of you with a few well-chosen words - words that may or may not be in the dictionary.

In Hollywood, they always tell actors to shed their regional accents if they want to get work. However, Andy Griffeth has made a career out of sounding like a redneck. He sounds like an idiot and fools folks into not knowing how smart he is. Think about Andy Taylor, or Matlock. They are always underestimated by outsiders who hear the accent and jump to wrong conclusions. I always thought it was funny that on both shows, he sounded very southern and the other characters didn't.

People must like southern accents, though. Look at Bill Clinton, who got elected twice. Even President Bush has a bit of Texas twang to his speech, despite the fact he didn't live there all his life prior to being elected. Dennis Quaid is from Texas. Fred Thompson is from Tenenssee. Think about the popularity of country music artists. I always love listening to Sissy Spacek and Andie McDowell in interviews, because despite their experiences they still sound southern, and it's real. I can listen to a fake southern accent, detect it, and feel disgusted in about 30 seconds flat.

It's always fun to play with the stereotype, too. On one of my calls this morning, I used The Voice, and yet asked for the store manager who has an Italian last name, and I pronounced it flawlessly. I know the lady on the phone was thinking whoa, where's this chick from?! Too bad I couldn't pop out a few Russian phrases, just to really freak her out...

My Little Guy

My friend Apryl, who is with Antares Foundation, sent me two photos she found of Michael from July 2005. I looked at them and wanted to cry. He told us just the other day how his head was shaved when he first went to the orphanage.

Mike's on the far right. He was 9 years old and he looked about 5.

This is a photo that was made recently:

He looks like an entirely different child, huh?! [This is right before Alesia carried Coco up to bed - Coco loves being carried like this!]

I looked at the kids in the photo above and I thought, what has happened to them? Where are they now?

Michael's orphanage was one of the better ones for older children I have seen anywhere, but once the kids turn 17 or 18 and finish school, they are on their own. They usually have no family to help, no resources.

Michael is writing little "stories" - just paragraphs, really - about his life in Kazakhstan. Mother works with him every day for a couple of hours, tutoring him, and he has made strides already. I am wondering if the stories could be knit together for a book of some kind. He writes honestly and pretty well for an 11 year old who barely knew any English a year ago. He talks about playing with a friend and skipping school - in first grade. He writes about when he first went to the orphanage and they shaved his head. He has told us how he hid from the authorities when they tried to take him from his mother, even though she had been so horribly neglectful and abusive. If he can find his "voice" as a writer, I think it would be therapeutic for him to write all this down, before he forgets it or blocks it out.

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Alesia was better last night. She and Michael ate pizza for dinner, a rare treat, and we all watched Hello Dolly. I sang along to a lot of the music, and Alesia didn't complain.I did a dinner theater production of Hello Dolly when I was 17, and believe me I know every word to every song - we ran 8 shows a week for 5 weeks. It's a great show, though. Mother actually watched with us, which is a rare treat.

I felt the presence of my dad with us. He loved "Dolly." He and Mother saw it on Broadway with Carol Channing in the 1960's. Seeing it always makes me think of him.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I was dismayed to see that George Carlin died over the weekend.

I grew up seeing him on Laugh In, and later I heard his comedy albums and memorized some of his routines, just because they were so clever and thought-provoking. I can still do part of his routine comparing football and baseball. When he did Saturday Night Live I would stay up and watch it until the end, because he always ratcheted up the humor level on the show.

Classic Carlin: We buy houses just to hold all our STUFF. We collect more stuff over the years, and we have to buy a bigger house to hold it all. // I don't take a camera on vacation. I have a trick I use - I just look at something and REMEMBER it. // I've never understood why you can't sing at the dinner table. You can stand right next to it and sing your a** off!

Carlin was raised Catholic but turned away from the church and was openly antagonistic about it, and abotu all religion, basically. Sometimes his rants in recent years were really distasteful to me, if not downright offensive. However, I still read his books and watched him whenever I could, because he always said things that were intelligent and made me think about the world a little differently - even if they ticked me off. I will miss the occasional sighting of him on TV or in print, because his voice was unique, and it's stilled forever. 

A Visit from Tony

I got up early this morning and went out and watered everything while it was cool, when it was legal to water. We are on water restrictions and can only water 3 days a week, with a hose. We’re not getting enough rain to do the job, either, although we got a shower late this afternoon.

Alesia and Mother had a blowup this morning. Mother made her two hard boiled eggs, and Alesia complained that she suddenly didn’t like or want them. She has an aversion to egg yolks, but not all the time, which is infuriating. Mother was fed up with her behavior yesterday and today the second thing out of Alesia’s mouth was a complaint, then a muttered remark, and Mother went into orbit. I had to intervene. I sat down and talked to Alesia. I told her the constant complaining has to stop. It’s mis-directed anger. I hope the therapist can help us.

My cousin Tony came to visit. He lives in Lexington Kentucky and teaches high school. He was named for my father. Young Tony, or Tono as we used to call him, is the son of Dad’s oldest brother Lewis. Lewis was a wonderful artist and we have many paintings of his.

Tony doesn’t have kids but he is wonderful with kids, and Alesia and Michael really liked him. He drove down from Rome, Georgia, which is about 1.5 hours north. His mother lives there and he was visiting her. Lewis died a few years ago. I had not seen Tony in about 3 years. He had a few more grey hairs, but he was the same old Tony. Very funny, quick to laugh, very sweet. Alesia said she liked his smile particularly.

Mother was feeling a bit creaky, so Tony took me and the kids out to lunch. I wanted to go to a little Thai place but it was closed. We ended up at Fuddruckers, which was great because the kids went and played videogames and Tony and I had a chance to visit. Then we came home and Tony went for a bike ride [on my brother’s bike] with the kids, which pleased them enormously. He also got out in the backyard with Michael and kicked around the soccer ball.

The kids and I went to see The Love Guru this afternoon. I like Mike Myers, but the movie was just immature and silly. There were few out-loud laughs. There was a lot of crude humor, which I usually enjoy, but here it was, for long stretches, ALL the humor. I kept waiting for some kind of real plot – even Austin Powers movies have plots – but the plot of The Love Guru was just paper thin and silly.

It was a nice day, though. I like to do something every weekend where it’s just the kids and me – gives Mother a break, and I want to be with them, even if it’s just a movie.

This is not a great shot - I don't know why Alesia didn't smile - but none of the photos came out too well, alas.