Posted on

memories never die

This post lives on! HOORAY!!

I’m telling you, peeps, that is now my favorite post on this blog — because of the comments that YOU all wrote. So funny and so precious. Sweet Lord. I just keep rereading all your answers.

But …. some of you have outted yourself as underoo-wearing superkids and NOW:

I WANT PICTURES!!!

Cullen. ASM. Other kiddie superheroes. Let the Kodak moments begin. Tell me in the comments if you’ve put them up on your blog.

Give it up. Come ON. You’re all adorable, I’m sure.

Posted on

I hate disclaimers

But I’m writing one about the post below.

Basically, I’ve been working on this post off and on for — oh, SO long. And this is literally all I have so far. It’s the very bare beginning of something. I cannot say when — or if — I’ll ever have it finished. The memories clump in some secret corner of my brain, hard to find, harder still to penetrate. I’m posting what little there is of it now in hopes of finding more courage and more impetus to finish. But it feels like ripping myself open to write it. I know this won’t mean for you what it means for me, but that’s okay. All I know is there are people out there in this blogosphere who make me want to push, be more brave. They may be reading this right now and they know who they are. So here’s the beginning.

Okay, taking a breath …..

Posted on

the old barn (the beginning)

I never saw the man who tried to kill my family and me.

I only heard him — his low voice, his rumbling laughter, his crazy cries. It’s many years past that now, and I am alive and mostly well, but sometimes, in my head, I can still hear him, and I am in that summer and I am in that place and I am that 7-year-old girl again.

We were in Pennsylvania, visiting grandma and grandpa. Their house was white with red shutters and wood floors and a huge spread of grass on the side. As we drove up to the house for the first time, I gazed, confounded, at the large crimson shutters framing the windows. High secret doors, they seemed to me, or magical doors, even. Our house certainly didn’t have magical doors. Questions buzzed in my head: Where did they lead? And who were they for? And how did you reach them? I wondered and wondered, the whole time I was there, never figuring it out, never even asking, thinking perhaps these were questions that should not be asked. Just in case they really weren’t high and secret doors. And if they weren’t, I didn’t really want to know, anyway.

The house’s wood floors mystified me, too. Slick and gleaming, they could endure hours of sock-footed sliding, but then suddenly creak and groan like an arthritic old man rising from a chair. They were capricious; moody, almost. I never knew how they might respond to my presence. We just had carpet at our house and carpet was predictable.

While the shutters and floors were mysteries to me, it was the grass that mesmerized me most. I never knew people could have that much grass. It rolled and curved before me, a vast army of perfect emerald blades, with faraway edges I couldn’t even see. What kind of people had grass like that? Where did it come from? What made it so green? Our house didn’t have grass like that; it had a yard full of those white rocks with sparkly flecks that sometimes caught the sunlight, but mostly sat there looking stupid and hurting my feet when I walked barefoot which I wasn’t supposed to do. Maybe it meant grandma and grandpa were somehow very special, all that perfect grass. Sparkly white rocks were not special, I knew that. In one blink, I fell in love with that grass and my poor dented feet itched to sink deep into the dark greenness and disappear.

In the middle of the dark green stood two trees, sturdy and tall. I didn’t know what kind they were and I still don’t. I didn’t care. It mattered only that hanging between them was a perfect wooden swing, swaying and beckoning to me. My siblings had no interest in the swing, an apathy I could not fathom, but that simply meant I never had to share or wait my turn. I knew it would be empty when I raced out the door to play and my heart would pound with anticipation. We had a relationship, this swing and I, an understanding. It knew what I needed and freely gave it. It wasn’t just a swing to me. It was solace. It was my friend. Oh, I spent endless hours with my friend, pumping and pumping my pale legs skyward as high as I could go, soaring past this branch, that branch, til the earth held no part of me anymore. My hair was long that summer and blindingly blonde and it rippled behind me in wild golden ribbons. I loved that feeling of the wind tearing at it; feeling that with every upswing I was winning, outrunning something huge. And then, at the apex, the fall, the collapsing, hair flicking at my face, stomach crashing and giddy inside me. I was delirious. And free. I sang little songs. I chatted with God. I gazed at the high secret doors. And the swing held me; I was safe.

And I didn’t think about the school bus. And I didn’t obsess about the school bus.

My school bus.

The school bus that, earlier that year, had crashed down a hill one afternoon while lumbering us all to the safety of our homes. That’s what it was supposed to be doing, anyway, but a boy in the back of the bus had cried out — something, I don’t remember what — and the driver, distracted, took the turn too tight, and we’d plunged down a steep hill.

Many times that year, my first grade year, I had heard kids screaming, playing on the playground, carefree. It was background noise, really. The usual soundtrack to grade school life. But not that day. Not this. The sound of the kids on that bus with me was high and loud, so loud. Apart from the sudden, sweeping wails of “Mommmmmy!!!” no one even sounded human. They were wild beasts screeching all around me, each one louder than the next. The bus joined the bedlam, too, cracking, moaning, roaring. My ears were bursting from too much sound. We flopped like rag dolls against the seats, the floor, the ceiling; we yowled like animals against the sudden shift of the earth. Everyone, it seemed, but me. Throughout it all, I couldn’t make a sound. Even then, in that moment, I was still the shyest girl in school, unable to utter a sound, make my presence known, lodge a protest to the silent invisible God who watched us breaking. My mouth was open, I remember. I know that. Even now, I can hear my loud jagged breaths. But I was just a kid. I didn’t know that there was such a thing as waking horror that can rob voice and thought and sound. I tumbled loose and heaving with the rest of them, but inside me, something froze. The muscles needed to push out the faintest sound were frozen. There was so much shrieking, for so long — so long — and I wanted to shriek, too, thrust the terror out of my body. My mouth was open, ready for it, even, but I just panted and wheezed instead.

Tears rolled. Soundless. I was terrified and I was mute.

Posted on

demon blog?

I couldn’t access it all day. ALL DAY, I tell ya!

Say it with me, Joey: “The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you! The power of Christ compels you!!”

LOOOOK! IT WORKED!

Um, am I going to hell?

Posted on

youyou

DAMmit! I had this whole post complete with photos ready to go. Then something, somewhere, someHOW will not let me upload ’em!

So now, I got nothin’. Plus, you know me. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FIX IT, OF COURSE!!

Eh. I’m too tired.

Soooo ….. um … doodoodoodoot ….. eh …

All riighty. I just made up a meme for Y’ALL to do. Or a youyou, if you prefer. (Or not. Bleh. Look, I’m tired, okay?)

Anyhoo, it’s short, but I want details, people. Answer in comments section, please.

Oh, let’s call it “Obsessions 5 to 10.”

Answer these questions, thinking back to when you were anywhere from 5 to 10 years old:

1) Toy you were most obsessed with:

2) Activity you were most obsessed with:

3) Item you were most obsessed with getting for Christmas:

4) Food obsession:

5) Book or story obsession:

6) Candy obsession:

7) TV show obsession:

I’m waiting … with popcorn and Goobers in hand.

Posted on

“a kind of annoying and nosy meme, but whatever, I’m bored”

That was Sheila’s name for it anyway. I liked it, so I kept it.

Are you in a relationship? Cut to the chase, eh, Memey? Um, yess, I’m married.

Do you hate more than 3 people? Um, noo. But let’s just say in my life I have determined at least 3 people to be very, very bad people. I wouldn’t call it “hate.” More like, “please, please, you really need to stay very far away from me.”

How many houses have you lived in? Several.

What is your favorite candy bar? I like, um, these Ritter Sport thingies which are not so much candy bars as fancy-wrapped sin. Yummy, creamy sin.

What are your favorite shoes? I like my old black Converse All Stars. I would wear them every day, if I could.

Have you ever tripped someone? Stupid question. I’m tripping you right now in my head just for asking it.

Do you own a Britney Spears CD? No.

Have you ever thrown up in public? Oh, YES. Two years ago. Korean Airlines, flying home from Thailand. I’d been up for about 45 hours straight, which just might have been a contributing factor. Sitting between My Beloved and a little Korean man who spoke no English. I remember I had the aptly named Korean Surprise for lunch and it really seemed okay at the time. Until …… about an hour later, when I started to sweat and swallow a lot and panic because I didn’t think I could make it to the bathroom, but, dammit, I was gonna try because NO WAY was I going to use that airplane barf bag. So I squeezed past snoozing Korean guy, all the while mumbling, “Sorry, sorry, sorry” — which I don’t know if he even understood — sprinted up the aisle, pretty much plowed over a little old lady, also on her way to the bathroom — I was now a sick, crazed monster and it was every Feeble-o for herself, as far as I was concerned. I would make up with Jesus later. Outta my way, gammie! Miraculously, I found an unoccupied lav where I proceeded to be very VERY Surprised for a very VERY long time. Half an hour after that, same scenario, minus plowing over the old lady. Half an hour after THAT, I moved to get up, little Korean guy threw me this look of “Do not even TRY, sweaty gross white girl.” So I started blubbing, of course — those really hot, messy, stinging tears. Barf bag shame was right around the corner and I knew it. I was mere seconds away from shoving my clammy little face into a tiny plastic bag and puking my brains out right there in Seat17B, at 33,000 feet. No way around it now. I grabbed the barf bag, yanked it open, sobbed, hurled, tried to be dainty, failed UTTERLY, and then just sat there, not knowing what to do with this warm, mushy, horrible bag of Korean Surprise-Surprise.

Poke, poke. POKE.

“Honey, honey, what do I do? WHAT DO I DO??”

“Well, you don’t KEEP it, I know that.”

“But, um ….. oh, no. NO! Do I have to get a flight attendant??”

“Uh, probably. Just press the button. They’ll pick it up.”

Easy for you to say, Pukeless Wonder. SO horrible. SO embarrassing. Pushed the button. Beautiful Korean flight attendant magically appeared.

“Yes?”

“Um, well, I have this, uh …. um …. well, sorry. Sorry. Sorry.”

I passed it to her, lofting it over little Korean guy’s head. He cracked an eye open, gazed at the warm bag of mush passing over his head and, I tell you this now: That One Eye hated me with a white hot hate. It stared at me, then slowly closed again. Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.

My face was sweaty, burning. I wanted to die. The flight attendant took the bag. She took the bag! She TOOK it because it’s her job to TAKE PEOPLE’S PUKE AWAY AT 33,000 FEET! Sweet Lord! She had these long, delicate, manicured fingers that held the bag as lightly as they possibly could. I remember that — her fingers trying hard to look casual, trying hard to look like they weren’t holding barf between their perfect, delicate tips. I gave her my best pukey smile. And I remember The Look on her face in response. The pulled smile, the tight jaw, the glaring eyes. Oh, she hated me. With both eyes, she hated me. She hates me to this day, I’m sure. I do not blame her.

Name something that’s always on your mind? Whether little Korean guy actually hated me with both eyes? Oh, I don’t know, Memey. Check out my recent whiny post, mmkay?

What is your favorite music genre? I don’t know. I’m multigenre-al.

What is your sign? Leo.

What time were you born? Early morning.

Do you like beer? I don’t hate it.

Have you ever made a prank call? Sure.

What is the most embarrassing CD you own? Embarrassing to whom?

Are you sarcastic? You don’t even know me, do you, Memey?

What are your favorite colors? I like red.

How many watches do you own? I don’t wear a watch. I’m livin’ on the edge, baby.

Summer or winter? Winter, please. Where it’s 70 degrees instead of 100. I think summer only exists to teach us long-suffering and to give dermatologists a job.

Spring or fall? Fall, thank you. Fall, fall, ALL THE TIME!

What is your favorite color to wear? Well, I wear a lot of black. Um, easier to say I don’t like to wear beige or grey. Not good colors on me.

Pepsi or Sprite? Blech and blech.

What color is your cell phone? Hm. What is this “cell phone” you speak of?

Where is your second home? Well, I’m hoping it’s not a refrigerator box in the canyon.

Have you ever slapped someone? Umm …. yes, I think. And if I haven’t, I really need to get ON that.

Have you ever had a cavity? No.

How many lamps are in your bedroom? Two.

How many video games do you own? Hm. What are these “video games” you speak of?

What was your first pet? Chew-Chew, a beagle we owned for about a week until it had had quite enough of my brother and bit him real good. So long, Chew-Chew! I’ll always love you for that!

Have you ever had braces? No. A retainer I once threw out with my sack lunch in junior high.

Do looks matter? Well, they don’t NOT matter. You know what I mean. Oh, leave me alone.

Do you use chapstick? Sure.

Name 3 teachers from your high school: No.

American Eagle or Abercrombie? Well, I don’t like Abercrombie, so let’s go with the Eagle one.

Are you too forgiving? YES!! It is a terrible flaw. Hahahahahahahaha!!

Do you own something from Hot Topic? Um, I have no idea. If I do, I know it’s not a watch.

What is your favorite breakfast? Bacon, eggs, pancakes, the whole “I’m a burly farmer” fare.

Do you own a gun? Yes. Just a wee thing. Gift from my GIANT pops-in-law.

Have you ever thought you were in love? That is a retarded question.

When was the last time you cried? Jeez. This morning, okay??

What did you do 3 nights ago? Memey, you are overly interested in my life. Are you a dirty old man named Jim, by any chance?

When was the last time you went to Olive Garden? Like, 10 years ago.

Have you ever called your teacher mom? No!

Have you ever been in a castle? Does Sleeping Beauty’s Castle count?

What are your nicknames? Family nickname, Tray. Also called Trace, Tracers.

Do you know anyone named Bertha? Yes. And she’s a rather vexing woman. She can’t help it — she’s named BERTHA, for God’s sake!

Have you ever been to Hawaii? No.

Do you own something from Banana Republic? I own things from The Gap — it’s all part of the same megalomerate, isn’t it?

Are you thinking about somebody right now? Well, NOW I’m thinking about certain Korean people who might hate me and that Bertha dame who drives me crazy. Okay??

Have you ever called someone Boo? No, no, NO.

Do you own a diamond ring? No, my engagement ring was not a diamond.

Are you happy with your life right now? I am happy to have My Beloved. That is all that matters right now. But one must always remember thaa-a-a-t THE SUN’LL COME OUT — TO-MORROW! Betcher bottom dollar that TO-MORRRROWWW — and tomorrow and tomorrow … creeps in this petty pace from day to day ….. to the last syllable of recorded time … and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death …. bladda bladda bladda … with the strutting and the fretting and the sound and the fury …. signifying nothing.

Does anyone like you? Like? What is this “like” you speak of? No, no one likes me. Ask anyone.

What were you doing May of 1994? Teaching English to dummies.

McDonald’s or Wendy’s? Wendy’s has good fries. And those frosty thingies. Not that I’ve ever had them or anything.

Do you like yourself? Well, someone HAS to. But, no.

Favorite feature of the opposite sex? Eyes, hands, humor. Okay, that’s three. Whatevs.

Are you afraid of the dark? No. Mostly no.

Have you ever eaten paste? No. Potato bugs are tasty, though.

Do you have a webcam? Eh??

Have you ever stripped? Why, just moments ago, I stripped in my bedroom in front of the open window. I’m sure my gay neighbor was thrilled.

Diamonds or pearls? Honestly, I don’t really care.

What was the last film you saw at the cinema? My last film at the cinemahh was, um ….. oh, “Little Miss Sunshine”!! I was literally CRYING with laughter at the end of it. I so needed that film. I need to do a post about that film! It just felt like a gift to me right now.

What are your favorite TV shows? Right now, I like “Prison Break,” actually.

What did you have for breakfast? Nuttin.’

What is your middle name? It’s not Bertha. Won’t put it here, Memey. TMI. But I actually like it better than my first name. Tracey is a kinda silly name.

What is your favorite cuisine? Asian.

What foods do you dislike? Water chestnuts. What is the point? To me, they are just little white food frisbees.

What is your favorite CD at the moment? I’m obsessed with a compilation CD of the Jackson 5, actually.

What kind of car do you drive? Black.

Favorite sandwich? If you put a little avocado and some alfalfa sprouts on it, then THAT’S my favorite sammie.

What characteristics do you despise? Unwillingness to admit wrong or apologize. Number 1, hands down.

What are your favorite clothes? I like my jeans.

If you could go anywhere in the world on vacation where would you go? Right now, I’d like to go to Wales, explore my family roots kinda thing.

What color is your bathroom? We have these caramelly colored towels and a flagstone floor — so “caramel flagstone,” I guess. Yum.

Favorite brand of clothing? Oh, please. I don’t know.

Where would you want to retire to? I would like to retire to the bedroom for more crying and/or stripping!

Favorite time of day? Dusk.

Where were you born? Who cares? I’m here now, aren’t I? (And cranky, too!)

Favorite sport to watch? Football.

Are you a morning person or night owl? I am weirdly ashamed that I am a night owl.

What did you want to be when you were little? I hate you, Memey, with both eyes. I wanted to be a mom, okay?

What is your best childhood memory? When Chew-Chew bit my brother’s ear. No? Okay. Um, Christmases were pretty good.

Eye Color? Blue-grey.

Ever been toilet papering? No, silly. How wasteful. For shame.

Favorite day of the week? Sunday’s good.

Feel free to share, peeps.