A Memory from 1975

I recently had a weird dream and among other things, I remembered a conversation I had with my dad when I was nine years old.

Which is amazing in and of itself since I can't remember what I did nine days ago.

I think the conversation was prompted by watching an episode of The Jeffersons.  The show had a pair of minor characters, an interracial couple - the wife was black and the husband white.

My father opined these characters were completely unrealistic because "No smart white man would be with a 'black'".  However, he noted, some white women would be with a black man - "Why do you think women do that?," he asked me, apparently already knowing the correct answer.

I ventured that, Maybe because women are treated differently so they know being treated differently is wrong and black people are treated different?  So they just see people more like people and not different people?

Listen - I was only nine.  Being insightful and articulate were not yet my strong suits.

He replied, "Well that's just stupid."

So which part of his opinion was the cake, and which the icing?

Wisteria

I'm quite lucky because I have a green thumb.  Don't know why, really.  A gift from from my grandma, since my mom can kill an air plant.

Put it in my hands and it will grow thick and satisfied.  Grandma used to say, "Sweet, if -you- stick a broomstick in the ground?, it'd grow.  You got the gift."  Which is saying something because she could grow anything.

 A shot of the wisteria here at Chez Lyn:

Not a very good picture, but a beautiful and happy plant.

I love wisteria because it reminds me of home.  I lived with my grandma for what I consider most of the important years of my life while my parents were elsewhere.  We'd spend time down in Anahuac, at my great-grandparent's home, during the summers.  Anahuac is only about 3 to 5 miles square and back in the day, about 500 in population.  When my grandma married my grandpa and moved to Po-Dunk (pop. 50,000) a lot of her friends snubbed her for "going all town".

Grandma grew up in my great-grandparent's two-room house with no plumbing or running water alongside her 6 brothers and sisters.                                                                                                                        
 The yard included the outhouse, the pig sty, henhouse, tool shed and the smokehouse.

After returning from WWII, my great uncles convinced Mama and Papa to let them install indoor plumbing - although Papa was offended at the idea of 'crapping in my own house.'

I never knew him, all I knew was he was in the Kaiser's Calvary, and deserted to come here with Mama.  He had few skills and worked as a carpenter.  Once for a few years many many babies died, I don't know why;  Papa made little coffins for the 'poor folk', Mama sewed a bit of lining for the coffins.

The outhouse was pulled down but the smokehouse stayed, that was Papa's. Grandma once told me that she remembered at the end of the work week Papa'd bring home his few dollars (sometimes fourteen!) to Mama, but he'd hold back some nickels to buy a couple of cans of beer, which he'd drink in the smokehouse.

By the time I started exploring it (or 'splorin' as I guess I used to say) you could hardly open the door of the smokehouse, it was so decrepit.  The butchering tools and body hooks hung quiet and rusted, glad their days were done.  There was a small window, its panes long gone but the opening thick with purple blooms and lazy gold bees, the poorest man's stained glass.

When my grandma finally decided it was time to pull it down (back in the 80s) she found dozens of decades-old beer cans hidden under the floorboards.

The smokehouse itself was so rotted there really was nothing left of it - the only thing holding it up by then were the fifty-year-old wisterias.

So that's why I like wisteria.

Found on the Interwebs, A Series of Tubes

A new offering from those Krazy Kids who brought you Yo, Is This Racist?, a new site called Yo, Should I Dump This Asshole?  There's at least one gem on each page.  Considering I have not had the sex since the Bush Administration(s), and am terminally single, it's nice to know that at least I'm not dating some asshole I need to dump.

Here's Nicholas Sparks' latest:

 What a hack.

A cool site that works a little like RueLaLa, which offers limited-time sales on designer goods, Fab.com.  An eclectic mix with an emphasis on post-modern design.  Post modern is not my aesthetic, but I appreciate it and it's a nice mental design fix to peruse this site.

Jane Lynch on Maddow's show, you've probably seen it but just in case.

Nikola Tesla, via The Oatmeal (a local Seattle dude).

I might have posted this before, and you may have already seen it, but Kristen Bell's appearance on Ellen was awesome.  For one thing, she has the same "on the verge of tears" thing I have, and, she loves sloths. I don't know Kristen Bell from any other celeb (who is she, actually?), but I like her now:




Finally, here is your Aww What a Sweet Card of The Day:

ANNND, 

Mason jars remind me of my grandma, and cooking gumbo, and sharing with friends.

So next week I'll be starting Bar review, I hope to continue regular posting but hard to say as I don't yet know how much of a pumpkin I will have to turn into for the next two months.

The Bar exam is July 24-25-26, send Good Thoughts.

A Chosen Family

I had a very nice dinner last night, the host a friend I have not seen in several years.  One house, four jobs and two kids ago to be exact.  He and his lovely wife are building their chosen family.

We know each other from my last ad job before law school.  Our creative director was easily the worst CD I have ever worked for.  And as I roughly count now, that's a grand total of about 20 CDs.

Although I should be, I am not ashamed to say I hated that man with the heat of a thousand suns.

He took all credit and no blame.  Only worked on the choice assignments, all the dreck to the rest of the team.  Micro-managed.  Did not understand the difference between art direction and design.  Every piece of golden creative he touched turned to lead.  His monumental lack of talent, arrogance, and appalling treatment of others drained any final love I had for my chosen profession.

We discussed him briefly last night at dinner, mainly to reaffirm that Yes, he was indeed a toad.

A poisonous, poisonous toad.

However.  Had it not been for that soul-sucking job, I would not have many of the wonderful friends I have today - namely Burns, Autumn, Jeannine (Everyone's Favorite Lesbian), Tim, Mister Rick... and in turn the friends I have made through those good folks, like Heather.

So I am grateful for that job, because it helped me build my chosen family too.

Family, the Official Ones, and a Bit of Baseball

My Mom gave me a gift certificate for Ancestry.com.  I've been looking up friends' ancestry left and right, and ordering all kinds a cool copies of records for folks.

Kendall is from Ireland (did the red hair and name give it away?); Chippy is Old-School Brit; Marie is Czechoslavakian.... and Me?  

I am - wait for it - Bohemian.  Bohemian!  Does this shock anyone?  No, no it does not.  I am so thrilled I can dismiss any responsibility for my actions to: Dude, I am a BOHEMIAN.  I have no modern-day morality.  Now if I can work in paganism I AM GOLDEN.

That said, my father's family is a different story.  My Dad never speaks of his father, and as well he wouldn't.  My grandfather was a cruel, abusive drunk who beat his wife and eventually his kids.

I met him once when I was little.  He gave me a fifty-cent piece. 

When off from working the railroad, he played minor league baseball, a catcher.  He never made it to The Show.  Not because of lack of talent but because he couldn't stay sober.  And that's saying something for back in The Day, when no one cared if you were a sot.  Often he was so drunk during games he could barely get out of the crouch - but in the heat of the game, no one got past him at home plate, no pop up was missed.  He was hands down one of the best minor league players in Texas.  

I wonder who he would have been, had he been able to put down the bottle.

If anyone, maybe a man who did not beat his son, my father.

Texas, Our Texas

First off, I want to be careful here because the only person I want to truly mock on this blog is me. But I just returned from a weekend at home in Po-Dunk for my brother's wedding and there were some pretty funny moments with my Texan brethren.
....

Apparently silverware has its own nickname in Texas: "snackin' irons".

I heard the words, "ain't", "yonder" and "vittles" often enough to last a lifetime. Also just so you know, if it is farther than yonder, it's "way down yonder".

Related to, but different from, the plural of "ya'll", which is "all ya'll".
....

My Mom is almost completely deaf - she only has about 20% of her hearing in one ear. These leads to her often misunderstanding what is said to her.

Dad to Mom: Did I tell you the story of Howard meeting his wife?
Mom: What?? When did that happen? That's awful - was that before or after they got married?
Dad: ?
Mom: Oh, I thought you said 'beating'.

Me to Mom: Mom, do you want a glass of wine?
Mom: No, I have some in my purse.
....

My Dad always drops one really excellent gem, and I often time it to see how long I am home before he does.
Picking me up at the airport, Dad jumps out of the car and hugs me. "Wow, you look great! You're not fat again!" Timing: two minutes.
....

I saw my Uncle Bobby and Aunt Reba Lee (yes). We have the same exchange every time I see them.

Aunt Reba: So what have you been doing?
Me: Well I'm an attorney now, working on environmental policy issues in DC. I get sound science in front of congressmen so they can make informed decisions on the application of statutes, like the Endangered Species Act, for example.
Aunt Reba: So no man? Well honey you're not getting any younger.

Here's what I fantasize about:
Aunt Reba: So what have you been doing?
Me: Well my novel is on the New York Times best seller list, I discovered the cure for cancer, and I single-handedly end the drug wars in Mexico.
Aunt Reba: So no man? Well honey you're not getting any younger.