Author Archives: Christene

I Remember

So there is this other thing going on on Facebook that I am totally late for. I have to say, I am very bad at keeping up with trends. Everyone is posting updates asking for their first memories from other people. Basically, what is your first/best/favorite memory of me? I am asking that on here, plus, because I am late, I will post all the ones I missed, or may have missed. I would totally repost this to Facebook, except it would have to be broken up into several bits, and we all know how people love having their feed clogged by my multiple postings. So, despite that probably half of these people don’t read my blog, here is my list of memories of other people.

Tanya: I remember coming to class once, and you were sitting in my chair talking to Ari. I stood there quietly, patiently, waiting for you to leave. You turned, noticed me, and just shrugged. Twenty plus years later… hello.

Stephanie: You were in my English class in middle school. You knew everyone else I knew, and you still do. You were my bridesmaid.

Arianna: You sat behind me in homeroom in middle school. I didn’t know that years later I would still be going to your family Christmas party and driving four hundred miles to help you move. I also remember the trip to San Francisco together six years ago. You sat beside me feeding me powdered donuts so I wouldn’t fall asleep at the wheel. I was driving Stephanie’s car.

Cam: I met you at Maury’s house. You were there, I was confused, but little did I know you were more confused than me. We have had an interesting relationship. You, too, were my bridesmaid. And I was your maid of honor.

S: You quoted Coleridge to me, and taught me Catch 22. I graded your papers when you were too tired, and gave all of your students very good grades.

B: You and your sister taught me how to build a coy pond. I wasn’t listening, but was fascinated by the pretty pictures.

Arick: You proposed to me in the midnight line to Harry Potter. I was pregnant with your daughter.

Casey: You were about to move in with my best friend. I was skeptical about your abilities, but really I was jealous that you were taking her away from me. Now we are planning a lunch to discuss our short stories, and we get along just fine. It only took over a decade.

Sean: We were walking across a parking lot and you found a Hello Kitty charm, picked it up and gave it to me. Twelve years later I still have it. It is on my black purse. I don’t wear it often, but when I do, I think of you.

M: You told me I reminded you of Lady Macbeth. I liked that, and hope I still do. We sat at the Coffee Bean for over three hours talking and laughing.

Allie: We worked a shift together at the mall many years ago. I thought you were strange, you thought I was strange, and now we spend special events together.

Hannah: I met you in theory class. We didn’t really talk, but then in Victorian Lit we became friends, and have kept it up.

Mary: I met you at a party, and you said we would be friends. I didn’t fight you on it. So far so good.

Julian: I remember you sitting in your apartment, listening to Rush and trying to finish your dissertation while I was in the kitchen trying to reorganize your Ikea utensils. And then if I remember correctly you baked me a chocolate cake that night. I think. That part is a little fuzzy.

Trish: I met you in my first year of college. You taught me to smoke during finals week behind Royce Hall, and I nearly choked my first time. You would sit with me at Northern Lights and watch me hand write my papers before typing them up because you thought it was inspirational.

George: In high school we would sing B-52 songs at lunch, and you would take pictures of me that I would later get developed at Thrifty’s. I still have a couple of them.

Jason: I don’t know why, but one of my memories of you is at your house as your mom was teaching me how to wash dishes properly, telling me that unless I wear gloves I will ruin my soft hands. I think I still have one of the skirts she sewed for me.

David: I remember when you and Jason broke up for the first time and you were in quite a state. I came over and you turned your garden hose on me. I can’t for the life of me remember what we argued about, but I remember getting wet. I think it was years before I went to your house again. It’s good to know we are still friends fifteen years later.

Ian: I met you at Tanya’s wedding. You and Jason made a very cute couple, and you were the only one who got me to dance.

Aaron: My favorite memory of you is my most recent when we met for drinks in Emmeryville last time I drove up north. Those little sausage things we ordered were delicious!

James: I remember the first time you introduced me to your family as your girlfriend because you were too scared to tell anyone you were into men. I have been attending your family functions for thirteen years as your girlfriend. I think they are expecting us to get married soon.

Henry: That time I told you your coffee was heavenly and I didn’t care that you were gay. I told you I wanted to marry you for your coffee and that James would totally understand. I am sorry, I was drunk on amazing French pressed caffeine. I guess we could just be friends.

Ashlyn: We were out in a parking lot, talking. It was the first time we really talked, outside of socially mandated niceties, and it was good.

I am probably leaving a bunch of people out. I am sorry, but I can’t possibly mention every person I know. However, if you *really* want me to tell you one of my first/best memories of you, then email me, and I will do so.

Continued

Because I need to laugh right now. And I don’t think you understand *how much* I need to laugh right now. Really folks, this needs to happen. So, in keeping with this, and considering it is still relatively the New Year because I haven’t gone back to work yet, here are some resolutions of things I need to stop doing this year.

The word “amazing” needs to stop. I realize not everything is amazing, and I really feel I am detracting from those things that are by overusing the word. Like that cup of coffee I got at the gas station the other day. Yes, I really needed coffee, and while I may have, at the time, felt it was amazing because I was going through caffeine withdrawal, I also must realize that in all probability the gas station coffee was not “amazing.” It may have been good, it might have even been really good, but more than likely it was so-so, and fulfilled my caffeine junkie needs.

I need to stop judging other women by how they dress. And I don’t mean in that “oh, she is so skanky” kind of way. Because I only judge other women on how scantly they are dressed if they are standing outside shivering ridiculously. For the love of God, it is cold outside, put a hat on. What I mean, is I need to stop judging fashion sense. I realize that just because your purse does not match your shoes does not make you a horrible person. And just because you haven’t yet come to the conclusion that those stripes aren’t working for you doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.

Just like not everything is “amazing,” not everything is “terrifying.” Some things are disconcerting, perhaps upsetting, mildly scary, but seriously, unless there is a giant spider crawling up my thighs, I am not truly terrified. I should begin reserving this word for proper usage lest it loses its potency.

I need to stop collecting cats. Yes, they are unbelievably cute, cuddly, furry little things. I have five of them, and they are currently conspiring to kick me out of my bed at night. A sixth or seventh will either lead to mutiny, or a kitty riot. Both of which may sound adorable, but from my perspective, are both rather inconvenient to say the least . The very next time someone says they have a cat that needs a home, I will look the other way. No, I don’t want to see your delightful pictures, keep your cats to yourself!

It may be January, but it is far from winter. I need to stop dressing for a ski trip in near 80 degree weather. I may appear season appropriate, but there is never an appropriate time to saunter around like I am in a sauna… fully dressed. The other day I had to peel my clothes off and fight off the sudden urge to lay naked on the bathroom floor. The only thing that stopped me was the fact that my bathroom is about three feet by three feet, and laying on the floor would involve entirely too much contortionist-like behavior.

And lastly, I must stop using my kids as an excuse to go the candy store. While they may enjoy the candy, it is not beneficial for them, and certainly not for me. If I want candy, I will go to the grocery store like normal people and withstand the judgement that comes with purchasing five pounds of jelly bellies at the counter. Yes, they are all for me. Stop staring.

I am sure I am leaving several things out. As I think of them I will either add them to this list, or create a new one. Or five.

 

Levels of Life

I just finished Levels of Life, and I can’t remember a book making me cry this much. It was beautifully constructed, orchestrated through the chapters to the end that intermingled all that was before, much like life, but without an actual end.

This book does not concern itself with endings, but rather with the process of life, and the ordeal that is death. The coming to terms part that is ever so hard to endure. The finale that all of us have to go through, but not in ourselves, in those we love, is here displayed in the raw.  As the story unfolds, so does the quiet devastation of loss. Yet, in the end it is not death that is encapsulated, but rather life. Watching someone you love die, and then continuing to live.

There are moments which appear to indicate some kind of progress. When the tears – the daily, unavoidable tears – stop. When concentration returns, and a book can be read as before. When foyer-terror departs. When possessions can be disposed of (Orfeo had things worked out differently, would have given that red frock to charity). And beyond this? What are you waiting for, looking for? The time when life turns back from opera into realist fiction. When that bridge you still drive under regularly becomes just another bridge again. When you retrospectively annul the results of that examination which some friends passed and others failed. When the temptation of suicide finally disappears – if it ever does. When cheerfulness has become more fragile, and present pleasure no match for past joy. When grief becomes “just” the memory of grief – if it ever does. When the world reverts to being “just” the world, and life feels once more as if it is taking place on the flat, on the level. 

These may sound like clear markers, boxes awaiting a tick. But among any success there is much failure, much recidivism. Sometimes, you want to go on loving the pain. And then, beyond this, yet another question sharply outlines itself on the cloud: is “success” at grief, at mourning, at sorrow, an achievement, or merely a new given condition? Because the notion of free will seems irrelevant here; the attribution of purpose and virtue – the idea of grief-work rewarded – feels misplaced. Perhaps, this time, the analogy with illness holds. Studies of cancer patients show that attitudes of mind have very little effect on clinical outcome. We may say we are fighting cancer, but cancer is merely fighting us; we may think we have beaten it, when it has only gone away to regroup. It is all just the universe doing its stuff, and we are the stuff it is being done to. And so, perhaps, with grief. We imagine we have battled against it, been purposeful, overcome sorrow, scrubbed the rust from our soul, when all that has happened is that grief has moved elsewhere, shifted its interest. We did not make the clouds come in the first place, and have no power to disperse them. All that has happened is that from somewhere – or nowhere – an unexpected breeze has sprung up, and we are in movement again. But where are we being taken? To Essex? The German Ocean? Or, if that wind is a northerly, then, perhaps, with luck, to France. 

I understand that large parts of this passage make little sense out of context, but surely the meaning is intact, and if anything, provides enough of an incentive to read the rest, if only to decipher the meaning of the last lines, or the references to living “on the level” and Orfeo.

There are many levels of life, and as it continues, so do many of these levels get peeled away. They were intermingled with others that no longer exist, and each one lies closer to the core, where muted melancholy meets understanding. Not of anything great, but the simply kind of understanding that breeds acceptance, any maybe peace. At the very least, a will to move forward.