WordSisters

Category: Family

  • What I Overheard the Gnomes Saying

    What I Overheard the Gnomes Saying

    Start of the Race.
    Start of the Race.

    Amazing Race, a reality television game show is the only television show that our family watches on a regular basis, so it wasn’t that much of a stretch when Crystel requested an Amazing Race scavenger hunt for her 12th birthday party.

    A garden gnome was the children’s passport and the first clue stated how important their gnome was:

    Before the Amazing Race is over Shin Bee and Antonio will forget their Gnome in a restaurant incurring a 1/2 hour time penalty.
    Before the Amazing Race is over Shin Bee and Antonio will forget their Gnome in a restaurant incurring a 1/2 hour time penalty.

    Find a gnome. The gnome must be with you today, always. One of you must hold it, carry it, and have it on your person at all times. Both of you are responsible to tenderly attend to your gnome until you are on the mat at the finish line. If you are ever without your gnome it is a ½ hour penalty. This penalty will be served before you can step on the finishing mat.

    Crystel using Peachie the gnome for support. She is about to get her feathers plucked.
    Crystel using Peachie the gnome for support. She is about to get her feathers plucked at Bella’s Salon.

    A ruckus in the corner of the living room draws my attention. Two gnome brothers are about to go at it. One has a hoe he menacingly swings above his head.

    “I had it worse than you,” he hollers.

    “No, you didn’t,” the other argues. “Look at my hat. I’ve had this HAT ever since the19th-century.” The gnome starts to sob. “I remember … when the

    Zipporah and Natty finishing a challenge. At this point, Gnomio, being held by Natty, still has his conical hat.
    Zipporah and Natty finishing a challenge at Richfield Veterans Memorial Park. At this point, Gnomio, being held by Natty, still has his conical hat.

    German children … called me Gartenzwerge (garden dwarf).”

    He is overcome with grief and drops his water pitcher. The black jug lands at his feet spilling its contents. “What is it with children these days?” He sits down, not caring that his pants are getting wet. He rests his head in his arms, lets loose with his tears.

    Crystel and Allie completing the 'take a selfie with a dog' challenge. Peachie safe in Allies left hand.
    Crystel and Allie completing the ‘take a selfie with a dog’ challenge. Peachie safe in Allie’s left hand.

    “Yeah, but, yeah but …” the gnome with the hoe says, “At least YOU were found. My children caretakers couldn’t even find me. I would have stayed in the crook of the tree aaaallllllll day if it wasn’t for their

    mother. Darn electronics!” He peers down at the hole in his brother’s conical hat. “Maybe he’s right maybe he does have it worse. I can see right down to his feet. I knew he never had any guts.” He touches his head. “At least I still have my point.”

    Gnomio overlooking the make a homemade pizza and drink challenge. He's shaking his head. "This isn't going to turn out," he says. 2 cups of flour for the drink was used instead of 2 tbs.
    Gnomio overlooking the make a homemade pizza and drink challenge. He turns his back to whisper,  “This isn’t going to go well. 2 cups of flour for the drink was used instead of 2 tbs.”

    The gnome lowers his hoe, sits next to his brother on the grass and places his arm gently around him. “Children have lost their ability to see.” He pauses, then goes on, “And, to read, for gosh sakes. The clue clearly showed where to look for me.” After a moment, he starts to chuckle, “Did you see those two girls running all over Donaldson Park? At the playground, in the soccer field?” He bowls over with laughter. “They weren’t even close to where I was.” The gnome finally realizes that he is the only one

    Lighting fire with a flint. Crystel and Allie will do as there ancestors before them did ... steal fire from a competitor. Though they can't read a clue well they can think outside the box.
    Lighting fire with a flint. Crystel and Allie will do as there ancestors before them did … steal fire from a competitor. Though they can’t read a clue very well they can think outside the box.

    laughing but he can’t help himself. He raises his eyebrows. “Oh, my,” he exclaims. “That is quite a hole. Forget about going to the repair shop for that.” He grabs his tummy, shakes with glee.

    Only when it is quiet do the gnomes think to inquire where their older brother is. Maybe they are thankful he isn’t around. Lately he has insisted that they listen to his sermons from the mushroom platform that he has created. His daily pontificating drives the brothers crazy.

    Zipporah choosing her route at the Ghostly Gangplank at MOA. This was a first for her. All a part of the Amazing Race.
    Zipporah choosing her route at the Ghostly Gangplank at MOA. This was a first for her. All a part of the Amazing Race.

    They found their brother sitting under the mushroom talking softly to his pet bluebird.

    “They called me Gnomie,” he says unhappily to his pet.

    “Cheer, cheer, cheerful, charmer,” the bird says in a melodious, gurgling whistle.

    “That wasn’t the worst of it,” he was telling the bluebird. “They abandoned me in a restaurant. All they could think of was money, money, money, winning, winning, winning.”

    Antonio and Shin Bee high fiving it when they learn that Crystel and Allie took the time penalty for not finishing their sushi at Masu Shushi & Robata at the MOA. However, they will forget Gnomie at the restaurant incurring their own time penalty.
    Antonio and Shin Bee high fiving it when they learn that Crystel and Allie took the time penalty for not finishing their sushi at Masu Shushi & Robata at the MOA. However, they will forget Gnomie at the restaurant incurring their own time penalty.

    The two brothers crawl under the gold chanterelle mushroom and join their brother. Apricot scent is in the air.

    “My two girls called me Gnomio,” the one with the hole in his hat says shrugging his shoulders. He had a lot bigger problems to think about.

    “I was Peachie,” says the one with a hoe. He reaches up to take a nibble out of the tender mushroom stem. “Mmmmm,” he says.

    “Stop it,” says Gnomie. He bats at his brother. “The altar will fall.” He measures his brothers with his eyes. “I think we can all agree that it wasn’t a good day to be a gnome.”

    All three solemnly nod their heads.

    Children’s laughter is heard in the background, oblivious to the gnomes sorrow.

    What surprised me the most about Crystel’s Amazing Race is how similar it was to the reality show. Clues misread or not read, shouts of unfairness, competitors talking their way to the front of the line, and a gnome (passport) forgotten in the heat of the race….. but most importantly the day was a whole loft of fun for competitors, drivers, video and camera crew.

  • Why Get Married?

    Why Get Married?

    P8100024-1-2reducedJody and I are asked that question. Maybe we were asked that because we were married 12 years ago in our backyard. And that person thought that celebration was perfectly fine so why do it again?

    The question made me stop and think. Why was getting married on August 10, 2014 important to me?

    A myriad of reasons.

    The most significant is that getting married made me feel legitimate.

    Regardless of your political leanings my not being able to be married as a same sex couple and having the same lawful standing as my heterosexual neighbors is as close as I can get to how illegal immigrants in our country must feel.

    You always stay a little hidden. A little under the radar. Don’t make waves. Someone might not like your relationship, your family and you will be discriminated against.

    Discrimination is undeniable.

    P8100031-1reducedToday I feel seen. I feel valid. I feel rightful. I have a partner. And her name is Jody.

    This blog isn’t a political rant. Jody and I aren’t activists. We’ve quietly lived our lives as a couple on our cul-de-sac, with the same ups and downs, the same challenges as all couples. We have two children. We worry about them as you do yours.

    Often we’ve had our children’s friends and parents over to our house to show how normal we are. Antonio was in Scouts and I was a den leader; Crystel in Scouts and Jody a troop leader. Antonio in soccer. Crystel in dance. All of us active in Tae Kwon Do.

    Being a Police Reserve Officer I always hoped that ‘badge’ carried a little bit of weight when we were being sized up as a different kind of family.

    P8100034-1reducedI hoped people saw us as safe even though we were a same sex family.

    Jody and I never thought that same sex marriage would be legal in our lifetime. And, I’m not sure that either of us cared. We were going to do what was right for us and protect ourselves by having a will, power of attorney, assigned beneficiaries, second parent adoption, and the same last name.

    12 years ago, August 10, 2002 flowers had opened to their utmost bloom and spread their green leaves their widest. Bees darted for nectar, dragonflies with iridescent wings dropped to the swimming pool for a quick drink. Butterflies watched from the fringes of the yard.

    P8100020-1reducedMy wedding dress was sky blue, sleeveless, floor length, with a swoop back. It brought out the blue in my eyes and matched my toenails. Jody’s dress had the same design, and was champagne.

    P8100021-1reducedMy niece, Jenny, was our flower girl, laying rose petals along the pool where we walked to the gazebo for the ceremony. Barefoot, we felt the softness of the roses.

    Aunt Jo, my mother’s sister, an ordained minister, performed the Holy Union ceremony.

    75 friends and relatives surrounded us while I told Jody, “I take you as my life companion. I pledge to share my life openly with you – to speak the truth to you in love. I promise to honor and tenderly care for you – to cherish and encourage you – through all the changes of our lives.”

    And she, in turn, said the same to me.

    155999_10204865713428150_1746575820117958063_n[1]12 years later, August 10, 2014 we did it again.

    But this time 150 friends and relatives surrounded us, our lives having grown twice as large because of our children and because we ourselves had grown.

    Crystel was our flower girl and best lady. Antonio our best man.

    Our Officiant was Minister, Judie Mattison. Butterflies and dragonflies once again danced among the attendees.

    And when “All of Me” by John Legend played and the words, Love your curves and all your edges All your perfect imperfections Give your all to me I’ll give my all to you, Jody and I held hands, rotated in the gazebo and slowly turned to face all of you- – –

    P8100136-1reducedMy mother-in-law, sisters and brother in laws, aunts and uncles, nieces and nephews, fellow writers, Tae Kwon Do peeps, school and work friends, friends from long ago, and next door neighbors.

    Then right before the ceremony ended we rotated once more and breathed in your good wishes and blessings to the music of Gloria Estefan. If I could reach, higher Just for one moment touch the sky  From that one moment In my life I’m gonna be stronger Know that I’ve tried my Very best I’d put my spirit to the test …

    and we came out of hiding.

     

     

     

  • Writing Memoir Is Risky Business

    Last fall I finished revising my memoir manuscript, BRAVADO AND A SKETCHY VISION LED ME HERE, and I shared it with several friends and family members before I started seeking a publisher. All of them were familiar with the basic premise of the book: it’s a coming-of-age-in-the-workplace story that takes place in 1979-1980. As a young woman, I was unsure about how to apply my feminist principles to my own life—What did I believe? How far was I prepared to go in pursuit of a career? How much did having a relationship and a family matter to me? If I wanted all three, how would that really work day-to-day?

    Sharing the manuscript is scary. I’m exposing my personal life. To judgment – (Your life is boring. Your experiences don’t matter.) To criticism – (The writing is amateurish. The book is poorly written.)

    Writing about my own life means I’m also writing about friends and family in my life. Real risky business. They didn’t ask to be in my book or become part of my creative project. They may resent the intrusion. Hate how I’ve characterized them. Even if I don’t intend to, my words can hurt people.

    There’s a risk that my family won’t like what I’ve written. A risk that goes beyond embarrassment or irritation about the portrayals. More like – “I don’t care for memoirs—all that emotional stuff. I’d rather read a spy novel.” OK, I can handle that. Tastes vary. Vampire novels may be great stories, but they don’t appeal to me.

    But if someone dear to me said, “I’m worried that although I love you, I might not like your writing,” that would be hard. I’d have difficulty separating my relationship from my craft, which is my passion and my life’s work.

    I’m exposing my innermost thoughts. Often they’re innermost for a reason—sometimes because they’re painful. Embarrassing. Unworthy. Or stupid. As a writer, I’ve learned that the painful and embarrassing moments are most worth exploring—they’re most likely to yield the material that others really connect with.

    The story I’m telling is only as good as my craft. As a memoirist, I use my writerly skills to shape the stories I tell. I decide which incidents, feelings and insights will create a story arc and which are extraneous details and better omitted. I use my powers of description, write dialog, and mine my memory for details. I’ve learned to check facts instead of trusting my memory (The lecture happened in February, not November as I recalled) so I can present a scene as accurately as possible. My skills or shortcomings as a writer determine the value placed on my memoir.

    Why take that risk? Some memoirists write in hopes that they can teach others. That’s not what motivates me. Instead, I hope others will recognize something about themselves – “That frustrates me, too.” They’ll enjoy a moment of reminiscence – “OMG, that happened to me!” Or they’ll realize that they’re not the only one – “Wow, I’ve thought that, too.”

    Despite the inherent risks, I examine certain periods of my life to find and share meaning. My experiences are worth writing about, not because they’re mine, but because they’re human and other people will see themselves in some of the central truths of my life, even if the particulars differ. For example, other working women have worried about pay and workplace politics. Today, some young women still wonder about how to balance a relationship with a career, just as I did. Other middle-aged women are looking back and considering their legacy.

    If you write memoir—what makes it worth the risk?

    If you read memoirs—why do they appeal to you?