When I was young, and magic still hung heavily in the air on Christmas Eve, I sat in our candlelit living room and asked my father if he'd ever seen Santa Claus.
What he said kept me awake all night.
He told me that as a boy, he heard a mischievous rustling coming from the living room on the night before Christmas. Curious, he toddled down the hall just in time to see a tiny sliver of a man shoot him a nasty look, with the lights from the Christmas tree glinting in the man's unforgiving yellowish-gray eyes. My father stood dumbfounded as the skinny bearded man leapt from the window.
They were on the second story.
Have you had things like this happen to you? Parents, teachers, or other grown-ups weaving tales so terrifying, disturbing, or unexpected that when you look back on them as an adult, you can't imagine what they were thinking? That Christmas, I was absolutely petrified. My long-held notion of rolly-poly, jolly Santas had been, quite literally, thrown out the window. In its places was the menacing image of a malnourished man who was ticked off that he got caught intruding in a living room that wasn't his own. Did he plummet to his death? I wanted to know. My dad said maybe he did, but if so, he'd been replaced because I'd be getting presents from Santa just as I had before. I think he was trying to reassure me, but I just couldn't shake the feeling that my world was crumbling around me. Santa was suddenly skinny, irritable, unfriendly, and possibly self-harming.
Another story that comes to mind goes back to my days as an eye-patched kindergartener in Mrs. Gay's class. We'd recently read the Gingerbread Man Poem, where a gingerbread cookie dude escapes from many different people and animals who try to eat him. Mrs. Gay told us there would be cookies for us to eat at the end of the week once we'd finished whatever else was involved in the Gingerbread unit (oh, kindergarten, how I miss your simplicity). She reported mid-week that the gingerbread man which had so lovingly been baked for us had disappeared, just like in the poem, and it was up to us to find him. We spent at least two interminable afternoons searching for him, high and low, under balance beams, inside slides, under shady trees and behind fences. Granted, I was five so maybe I remember this taking longer than it really did, but oh how we walked. Our little legs carried us hopefully from one destination to the other, imagining how wonderful it would be to finally find that puckish cookie once and for all.
Are you thinking this story ends in milk and cookies? Or maybe a group field trip to the kitchen to bake our own gingerbread men? Or even an arts and crafts project wherein we made our own cookie-like confections out of paper bags and glitter?
You would be wrong on all accounts. After all of our diligent searching, hard work, and unflappable ambition, the story ends in an anticlimactic epic tragedy. On Friday, Mrs. Gay told us she'd seen the Gingerbread Man walking the halls after school the day before, and tried to catch him for us, but he escaped. He was savagely eaten by the lunch ladies without regard for our tireless efforts or the feelings of the Gingerbread man himself. She said they expressed little regret, and there was nothing more to be done. The Gingerbread Man was gone for good.
Why did she make us walk all that way? Why did she lead us to believe we could find him? She took advantage of our good hearts and angelic gullibility. Sure, in the grand scheme of things, this isn't such a big deal. But at the time, I was deeply disappointed, and frankly fearful of the merciless lunch ladies. What kind of world is this, I thought. At five, I wasn't sure I could live a life in a place where cookies were cruelly captured and eaten by women who pretended to be so friendly. Had this been a lie all along? Could I be sure of anything? Why didn't anyone ever give us any cookies?
Do you have any childhood memories that make you wonder what the adults were thinking? Please share them.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
My brother's a genius and I just blog.
I'm a failure. My second stab at 20 posts in 30 days was a catastrophe; I only posted ten entries! My computer crashed, I realized I was enrolled in classes and had a plethora of assignments due, and also was busy with several quarterlife crisis moments along the way. Time was scarce, and so was inspiration. Last time I tried a blogging blitz. my life was defined by dreams of McLatte, slave labor at the intern desk, and my absurd devotion to a particularly shameful ABC reality show. I had more to write about and definitely more time to do it. But no excuses. Let's pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off, and get back to the hard-hitting, thought-provoking material you've come to expect from Catherine the Greatest.
THREE THINGS YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND BUT YOU REALLY DON'T.
My older brother James is a physics major doing graduate solar research at Penn State. He understands everything about science, machines and technology. I feel that he was born with this knowledge. He definitely didn't it get it from my parents, and his teachers were generally too busy collecting squirrels for pets (that really happened) or making their students write letters to other students on boats (that also really happend). He just knows everything. More than once I have called him with a question like "How do microwaves work?" or "How are electrical fires started underground? Where is the electricity in relation to the sewer system and subways in a big city?" And he always knows! How does he have such extensive knowledge about everything from kitchen appliances to sanitation systems?! My brother is so smart! He's always been a patient teacher with me, but I think he knows that my liberal-arts word-oriented brain will never be receptive to his techy, nerdy lessons. So here's a list of things, many of which he has thoroughly explained to me multiple times, that I still do not understand.
3. Aviation. I should probably go to the library and check out a book on the Wright brothers, because it is unfathomable to me that someone said, "Hey, let's take a giant weighty machine and propel it through the air." And sure, I have come across the word "aerodynamics" before, but don't lie, you don't really understand how planes work either. And don't tell me to go to howstuffworks.com. I've been there. I can read and understand it, but there is still a voice in the back of my head whispering, "This is pretend." Hundreds of people pile into a large metal object and soar through the air. WHAT?!
2. Space. One day I am going to write an opinion piece about all of the conflicting emotions I have about NASA. The fact that $18 billion dollars a year goes into that program astonishes me, and frankly I feel that the folks over at NASA could be screwing us all over and no one would be the wiser. Huh, Pluto's not a planet? Erm okay. What's that? Water on Mars? Maybe so! They could tell us Whitey Bulger was found on the moon, and who are we to say, "That's not possible"?
Remember when the Columbia shuttle exploded because of the damaged tile? NASA knew the piece broke off, but didn't really look into it, despite the persistent pleas of a chief engineer who was on his game. Also, it was Martin Luther King weekend, so people were out of the office, and didn't feel like investigating the matter. How do you send a SPACESHIP out into the solar system, and then just put your feet up and take a three-day weekend? I wrote about this topic before, but my indignant rage has not subsided in the least. Also while we're talking about Space... that "picture" of the Milky Way... is not really pictures of the Milky Way. Didn't you ever stop to think how they could possibly photograph a galaxy we're allegedly a part of? They're just pictures of other spiral-armed galaxies that science nerds imagine the Milky Way could be like. How deceptive. I feel cheated. Next time I see an astronomer, I am giving them the wickedest wedgie.
1. The Internet. James has tried to explain this to me forever, but I still don't get it, and don't lie, you don't either. Tell me, when you send an e-mail, where does it go? How can governments block sites in certain countries? When you get a virus that paralyzes your entire computer by releasing hundreds of "trojans," what is that? The Internoodle is one of life's greatest mysteries, but unlike space, I am grateful for it on a daily basis. I imagine all of its processes to be similar to what happened in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, when Mike TV puts his candy bar in the machine, and it breaks into tiny pieces, and is put back together again. If this is not how the Noodle works, then don't tell me because I don't want to hear it. In my tiny brain, the Internet is sort of a cross between Humpty Dumpty and chocolate. On a related note, fax machines are ridiculously far beyond my comprehension. How does the phone send an image?!? On another related note: phones...so much easier to understand when there were actual wires and cables. Alexander Graham Bell would have a stroke if we told him about cell towers.
What don't you understand? You can say it; I am clearly in no position to judge.
THREE THINGS YOU THINK YOU UNDERSTAND BUT YOU REALLY DON'T.
My older brother James is a physics major doing graduate solar research at Penn State. He understands everything about science, machines and technology. I feel that he was born with this knowledge. He definitely didn't it get it from my parents, and his teachers were generally too busy collecting squirrels for pets (that really happened) or making their students write letters to other students on boats (that also really happend). He just knows everything. More than once I have called him with a question like "How do microwaves work?" or "How are electrical fires started underground? Where is the electricity in relation to the sewer system and subways in a big city?" And he always knows! How does he have such extensive knowledge about everything from kitchen appliances to sanitation systems?! My brother is so smart! He's always been a patient teacher with me, but I think he knows that my liberal-arts word-oriented brain will never be receptive to his techy, nerdy lessons. So here's a list of things, many of which he has thoroughly explained to me multiple times, that I still do not understand.
3. Aviation. I should probably go to the library and check out a book on the Wright brothers, because it is unfathomable to me that someone said, "Hey, let's take a giant weighty machine and propel it through the air." And sure, I have come across the word "aerodynamics" before, but don't lie, you don't really understand how planes work either. And don't tell me to go to howstuffworks.com. I've been there. I can read and understand it, but there is still a voice in the back of my head whispering, "This is pretend." Hundreds of people pile into a large metal object and soar through the air. WHAT?!
2. Space. One day I am going to write an opinion piece about all of the conflicting emotions I have about NASA. The fact that $18 billion dollars a year goes into that program astonishes me, and frankly I feel that the folks over at NASA could be screwing us all over and no one would be the wiser. Huh, Pluto's not a planet? Erm okay. What's that? Water on Mars? Maybe so! They could tell us Whitey Bulger was found on the moon, and who are we to say, "That's not possible"?
Remember when the Columbia shuttle exploded because of the damaged tile? NASA knew the piece broke off, but didn't really look into it, despite the persistent pleas of a chief engineer who was on his game. Also, it was Martin Luther King weekend, so people were out of the office, and didn't feel like investigating the matter. How do you send a SPACESHIP out into the solar system, and then just put your feet up and take a three-day weekend? I wrote about this topic before, but my indignant rage has not subsided in the least. Also while we're talking about Space... that "picture" of the Milky Way... is not really pictures of the Milky Way. Didn't you ever stop to think how they could possibly photograph a galaxy we're allegedly a part of? They're just pictures of other spiral-armed galaxies that science nerds imagine the Milky Way could be like. How deceptive. I feel cheated. Next time I see an astronomer, I am giving them the wickedest wedgie.
1. The Internet. James has tried to explain this to me forever, but I still don't get it, and don't lie, you don't either. Tell me, when you send an e-mail, where does it go? How can governments block sites in certain countries? When you get a virus that paralyzes your entire computer by releasing hundreds of "trojans," what is that? The Internoodle is one of life's greatest mysteries, but unlike space, I am grateful for it on a daily basis. I imagine all of its processes to be similar to what happened in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, when Mike TV puts his candy bar in the machine, and it breaks into tiny pieces, and is put back together again. If this is not how the Noodle works, then don't tell me because I don't want to hear it. In my tiny brain, the Internet is sort of a cross between Humpty Dumpty and chocolate. On a related note, fax machines are ridiculously far beyond my comprehension. How does the phone send an image?!? On another related note: phones...so much easier to understand when there were actual wires and cables. Alexander Graham Bell would have a stroke if we told him about cell towers.
What don't you understand? You can say it; I am clearly in no position to judge.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Is it fate or the gingersnap?
I, like everyone, have my quirks. One of these involves a family tradition passed down from my maternal Scottish ancestors. Perhaps you've heard of making wishes on lost eyes lashes, or birthday candles. My family? We make wishes on gingersnaps.
It's okay if you need to read that twice. Go ahead, I'll wait.
Let me explain how this works. You select a cookie, hold it in the palm of one hand, and use your elbow to break it, making a wish while you do so. If the gingersnap breaks into three pieces, your wish is granted! Don't do this with Oreos, or Girl Scout cookies, or anything else. Only gingersnaps provide the robust texture that make cracking it into three pieces such a satisfying challenge.
I have been known to eat entire boxes of gingersnaps in a day waiting for my cookie to crumble just right. My mother taught this tradition to me, and I've taught it to my friends here at school. My explanations are often met with alarm, but also curiosity, as everyone puts their fate in the hands of Nabisco. It is strangely exhilarating.
This is really my only superstition. Every time I eat gingersnaps, I have to make at least once wish, and more than once, I have credited a certain happy event to a three-part fortuitous fragmentation. My grandmother broke an elbow making wishes on ginger snaps. We don't mess around.
Please tell me some of your awkward family traditions in the comments to make me feel better about my own.
It's okay if you need to read that twice. Go ahead, I'll wait.
Let me explain how this works. You select a cookie, hold it in the palm of one hand, and use your elbow to break it, making a wish while you do so. If the gingersnap breaks into three pieces, your wish is granted! Don't do this with Oreos, or Girl Scout cookies, or anything else. Only gingersnaps provide the robust texture that make cracking it into three pieces such a satisfying challenge.
I have been known to eat entire boxes of gingersnaps in a day waiting for my cookie to crumble just right. My mother taught this tradition to me, and I've taught it to my friends here at school. My explanations are often met with alarm, but also curiosity, as everyone puts their fate in the hands of Nabisco. It is strangely exhilarating.
This is really my only superstition. Every time I eat gingersnaps, I have to make at least once wish, and more than once, I have credited a certain happy event to a three-part fortuitous fragmentation. My grandmother broke an elbow making wishes on ginger snaps. We don't mess around.
Please tell me some of your awkward family traditions in the comments to make me feel better about my own.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Christmas quote 2008 award
Last year, my dad took the cake by declaring "the emptiness of life" upon opening a present on Christmas morning. He wins the blue ribbon again in 2008, but this time around, with lighter fare.
We were about to play Scattegories, and I was trying to select a good pen from the pile .
-------------
Me: Can I try this out before I commit to it?
Dad: That's called living in sin.
-------------
He's a quick one.
Anyway, I hope you all are having a restful holiday season. Enjoy the leftovers and buy yourself some noisemakers for New Year's. And champagne, we mustn't forget the champagne.
We were about to play Scattegories, and I was trying to select a good pen from the pile .
-------------
Me: Can I try this out before I commit to it?
Dad: That's called living in sin.
-------------
He's a quick one.
Anyway, I hope you all are having a restful holiday season. Enjoy the leftovers and buy yourself some noisemakers for New Year's. And champagne, we mustn't forget the champagne.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Pass the gravy and a copy of your 'Do Not Resuscitate' form.
I'm a dedicated reader of the New York Times health section, and lately I've noticed a bombardment of stories about end-of-life care. They even have a whole blog called "The New Old Age" about caring for elderly parents. What to do with Mom when she can't live alone. How to make sense of Dad's Alzheimer's. How to help your parents move into an old folks home when they can't sell their house in a collapsed real estate market.
But this takes the cake. Today's Boston Globe features a story about a blogging movement called Engage with Grace that encourages people to talk with their families about their what to do when their number's up. At Thanksgiving.
I don't mean to diminish the importance of this, because I think their message is certainly a good one. We should have these conversations. And it makes sense to have them when everyone is around, and there are plenty of witnesses. The death of a loved one is obviously a miserable subject, and it can be helpful to negotiate a person's wishes with several people around, who can help each other from getting too emotional. It's also important to do it before you think you need to, lest someone dies unexpectedly.
But really, guys? At Thanksgiving?
"Hi, James. How is everything at Penn State? And in the event that you are unable to speak or decide for yourself, would you prefer to die at home or in a hospital? Are you gonna have the pumpkin or apple pie?"
I think my family holidays are awkward enough, thanks. My bigger concern is with the media's obsession with these kinds of stories. Mostly leaning toward the "taking care of your parents" side of things So many sad stories to tell, but why so many right now? On one side we have the media squeezing every last saccharine drop of human interest fluff out of the Obama family (national crisis, anyone?), and everyone else is busy writing about whether euthanising your mother is appropriate.
I guess I can't catch my break. I'm already worried about never being able to find a job, buy a house, get credit, or pay off my student loan debt. This Thanksgiving, I was hoping to enjoy my day off, overeat, overdrink, and oh, I don't know. Maybe laugh. But no. You know what? I am being told to think about my death and the deaths of everyone around me. Let's just invite a lawyer along and make sure everyone's will is in order. I want to make sure that if I meet an untimely death that Kermit gets a good home, and someone makes sure to tell Celine how much I love her.
I guess I can't catch my break. I'm already worried about never being able to find a job, buy a house, get credit, or pay off my student loan debt. This Thanksgiving, I was hoping to enjoy my day off, overeat, overdrink, and oh, I don't know. Maybe laugh. But no. You know what? I am being told to think about my death and the deaths of everyone around me. Let's just invite a lawyer along and make sure everyone's will is in order. I want to make sure that if I meet an untimely death that Kermit gets a good home, and someone makes sure to tell Celine how much I love her.
Photo courtesy of Connie.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Love, Mom
Last week, my loyal reader (so what if there's only one?) Meaghen sent me a web site she thought I'd enjoy and suggested I send in a submission. It is called Postcards From Yo Momma, and I must say it is my favorite new voyeuristic/Found Magazine-esque site that I've come across lately. People send in e-mails/voicemails/texts from their mothers, and we get to read them. The site generally keeps a healthy mix of endearing, hilarious, and relatable maternal correspondences. My fan base (Hi, Meaghen) also happens to be a big fan of my own mother, affectionately known as Joanne, who has been known to pen a colorful missive in her time. Today, I bring you one of her more lively notes, written this morning while she was at home making soup and tending to the men who were coldheartedly cutting down some of my favorite childhood trees.
(It should be noted that in our Jon and Kate Plus 8 fanaticism, we have taken to signing e-mails with the names of the various children.) We're okay, I swear. Here it is:
Hello, wish you were here. Here is what's going on:
The Men in Trees are branching off in many directions
Right now they ain't high in my affections
The soup''s aboil
And still they toil
Despite my spirited objections
--Anonymous
I can't believe they are only charging 500 clams for all this. Things will look very different when you get home!
Guess what's playing in the background? That's right my intuitive little gemstone - Dancing with the Stars!!!! Surprise!!!
I have to work on the soup a little bit. Can't disappoint Lester. But I shall return!
All six yiddo "I gotta pee!" Gosselins
And here is one of my favorite recent entries from Postcards from Yo Mamma. I guess it's memorable to me because it sounds like something that could easily come from the warped brain of my own dear matriarch (love you!):
I believe we have a situation going on. Roy was outside over by the fence. That new Pomeranian was barking and Roy was crying a little bit. I think he likes her! We’ve got a Roymeo and Juliet thing perhaps. She (?) had her paws up on the deck, like a balcony, calling out to him. But they are the Capulets and we are the Montagues. She’s not getting her claws into our Roy! Cheeky thing. It’s good he’s going away for the weekend so he can forget about her.
Edit: I'M HALF WAY TO MY 20 POSTS IN 30 DAYS GOAL. Huzzah!
(It should be noted that in our Jon and Kate Plus 8 fanaticism, we have taken to signing e-mails with the names of the various children.) We're okay, I swear. Here it is:
Hello, wish you were here. Here is what's going on:
The Men in Trees are branching off in many directions
Right now they ain't high in my affections
The soup''s aboil
And still they toil
Despite my spirited objections
--Anonymous
I can't believe they are only charging 500 clams for all this. Things will look very different when you get home!
Guess what's playing in the background? That's right my intuitive little gemstone - Dancing with the Stars!!!! Surprise!!!
I have to work on the soup a little bit. Can't disappoint Lester. But I shall return!
All six yiddo "I gotta pee!" Gosselins
And here is one of my favorite recent entries from Postcards from Yo Mamma. I guess it's memorable to me because it sounds like something that could easily come from the warped brain of my own dear matriarch (love you!):
I believe we have a situation going on. Roy was outside over by the fence. That new Pomeranian was barking and Roy was crying a little bit. I think he likes her! We’ve got a Roymeo and Juliet thing perhaps. She (?) had her paws up on the deck, like a balcony, calling out to him. But they are the Capulets and we are the Montagues. She’s not getting her claws into our Roy! Cheeky thing. It’s good he’s going away for the weekend so he can forget about her.
Edit: I'M HALF WAY TO MY 20 POSTS IN 30 DAYS GOAL. Huzzah!
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Let your heart be light
It's Christmas morning and the family is gathered in the living room. I am Santa, proudly wearing the hat and passing out everyone's presents. Part of my father's gift from me was a couple of six packs of specialty winter-brew beers.
Because we like to keep it classy up in here.
As I bring the large bag over to him, the clinking of the glass bottles is clearly audible.
Dad: Oh, jeez. Clink, clink! Can't imagine what's in there.
Catherine: Well, Dad... you only have a couple of real interests, and we pretty much have to cater to those.
(beat)
Dad: Oh...the emptiness of life...
These types of off-hand comments define our family holiday experiences. We all burst out laughing, even though at the time the comment seemed sincere. We just don't ask. He mentioned later in the morning that I would be repeating the same phrase all in good time. Further proving our affection and tendencies for all things sinister, a couple of Thanksgivings ago, someone mentioned that Raffi died, a musical staple of the kid's childhood and the adults' parenthood. Dinner came to a complete halt, people began screaming belligerently, voices cracking with emotion. Raffi couldn't die! We had to pause the meal to fact-check on Google. (You'll be glad to know that Raffi is still with us.)
This most recent Thanksgiving, we were playing Apples to Apples. The adjective was "awkward" and Cassidy submitted "The Challenger Explosion" as an answer. It was so out of place with all of the other answers, and so strangely hilarious, since it was sort of the opposite of awkward and really just tragic, but nevertheless, it was the winning submission. The next game we played was in two teams. What did we name those teams? The Challenger and Columbia. Click the links if you don't remember, and either rejoice or be horrified by my family's sick sense of humor and insensitivity. These are the holidays at my house.
I hope you all have a lovely holiday, and enjoy the presence (and presents) of whomever you spend it with. I've just come back from my trip to Louisiana, so please wait with bated with breath for those entries. I'll try to be a better blogger, as I've got three weeks on my hands with absolutely nothing to do.
Because we like to keep it classy up in here.
As I bring the large bag over to him, the clinking of the glass bottles is clearly audible.
Dad: Oh, jeez. Clink, clink! Can't imagine what's in there.
Catherine: Well, Dad... you only have a couple of real interests, and we pretty much have to cater to those.
(beat)
Dad: Oh...the emptiness of life...
These types of off-hand comments define our family holiday experiences. We all burst out laughing, even though at the time the comment seemed sincere. We just don't ask. He mentioned later in the morning that I would be repeating the same phrase all in good time. Further proving our affection and tendencies for all things sinister, a couple of Thanksgivings ago, someone mentioned that Raffi died, a musical staple of the kid's childhood and the adults' parenthood. Dinner came to a complete halt, people began screaming belligerently, voices cracking with emotion. Raffi couldn't die! We had to pause the meal to fact-check on Google. (You'll be glad to know that Raffi is still with us.)
This most recent Thanksgiving, we were playing Apples to Apples. The adjective was "awkward" and Cassidy submitted "The Challenger Explosion" as an answer. It was so out of place with all of the other answers, and so strangely hilarious, since it was sort of the opposite of awkward and really just tragic, but nevertheless, it was the winning submission. The next game we played was in two teams. What did we name those teams? The Challenger and Columbia. Click the links if you don't remember, and either rejoice or be horrified by my family's sick sense of humor and insensitivity. These are the holidays at my house.
I hope you all have a lovely holiday, and enjoy the presence (and presents) of whomever you spend it with. I've just come back from my trip to Louisiana, so please wait with bated with breath for those entries. I'll try to be a better blogger, as I've got three weeks on my hands with absolutely nothing to do.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)