Category Archives: Memories

Family, Friends, Memories

Memories that rolled with the dice

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Last night, I met Rick at Equal Grounds to play a couple of games. We often do this on a Wednesday night. Since we both had other plans for tonight, he suggested we get together yesterday instead.

This time, he asked me to look over the games there at the shop and select three for him to choose from. (Normally, he gives me three options and I make the final choice.) So I recommended Scrabble, Monopoly (which we had played last Wednesday), and Yahtzee. To my surprise and delight, Rick chose the third game. This was great because I’m actually a big fan of Yahtzee, though I actually prefer the related game from my childhood, Kismet.

The two games are similar enough that playing with Rick last night reminded me of the numerous times my sister, my parents, and I sat with my grandfather at his dining room table playing Kismet. (That is, when the grown-ups weren’t playing Euchre.) It particularly reminded me of the one game when I somehow managed to roll three or four different Kismets. (Of course, that memory was probably particularly triggered by my first game with Rick, wherein I rolled two Yahtzees within the first five or ten minutes of the game. I consider myself lucky he consented to play a second an third game with me after that.)

I found these particular memories warming because it’s one of the rare pleasant memories I have of spending time at my grandfather’s house (at least after my grandmother passed away). To be honest, my sister and I were often bored during our weekly visits, as it was far more common for my parents and my grandfather to play cards, leaving the two of us to either do homework or find something on television to watch once we had finished with the Sunday comics (the other exciting gem of every visit to Grandpa’s house). So the bulk of these visits were often endured rather than enjoyed, making the times when we played Kismet a fun change of pace.

It’s been several years since my grandfather passed away, and I find myself now wondering what ever became of his Kismet game. In retrospect, I almost wish I would’ve had the insight to ask my parents if they could set it aside for me when they and my aunts and uncles went through Grandpa’s belongings. But alas, I didn’t think of it now.

However, today I did confirm that Kismet is still for sale, and I expect to pick up my own set in the near future. The memories from last night just makes it all the more tempting. I wonder if I’ll ever get Rick to indulge me in a couple games sometime.

Family, Memories, Pets

A Memory: Trixie

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While going through my computer, I found a file in which I wrote about my old dog, Trixie. According to the comptuer, I originally created the file back on 27 December 2005. I don’t remember why I wrote it, but I decided I liked it well enough to publish it here.

I can’t remember exactly how old I was when my sister and I used to play with Trixie at my grandparents’ trailer. All I know for sure is that it was back when my paternal grandmother was alive, back when Trixie was still her dog rather than ours. I had to be either in preschool or the first couple years of elementary school. My family would go to visit her and my grandfather every week. Each visit would require that one of the adults take my sister and me down to the pen where they kept Trixie.

She was an adorably plain dog. To this day, I don’t think I could even begin to guess at the breeds that made up her muttly heritage. She was about the size of a Pomeranian, with brown and white fur and a curly tail. Her lower jaw stuck out just enough so that her four front-most lower teeth were visible when she closed her mouth. Under other circumstances, this would have made her look constantly ferocious. But to me, it just made her all that more adorable.

Being small children, we loved to play with Trixie. Often, we would pester my grandfather (often, with the help of our grandmother, who loved nothing more than to see her grandchildren having fun) to let us let the dog loose. Then she would run around with us and we’d have a great time.

On some occasions, we’d even convince the adults (again, usually with Grandma helping us to persuade the others) to let us bring Trixie into the trailer with us for a half hour or so. On these occasions, we got to play our favorite game. My sister and I would lie on our stomachs and bury our faces in our arms. Trixie would run around us excitedly, trying to get at our faces and lick us. We’d laugh and giggle.

Every now and then, Trixie would start to wander off. My sister or I would immediately raise our heads up and call to her with a little chant. “Trixie, Trixie, try and kiss me.” At hearing this, the dog would become excited again and the game would start all over, making both my sister and I squeal with laughter. Grandma would watch all of this with a smile on her face. Grandpa wasn’t always as impressed, but she managed to keep him from getting too upset.

Eventually, Grandma succumbed to the cancer that had been trying to claim her life ever since I knew her. Just before she went into the hospital the final time, she asked my sister and me to take care of Trixie for her. That’s how that adorable little dog with the constantly bared teeth eventually came to be my dog. We had her until my second year in college. And while I never plaid the “try and kiss me” game with her after Grandma died, I loved her that entire time. Some days, I still miss her.

Health, Introspection, Memories, Personal Development

Not sure when this changed for me.

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Char decided to have a sidewalk sale1 outside of Psychic’s Thyme today. I ended up spending the first half of my time there sitting outside and helping keep an eye on the merchandise. I would’ve helped with customers, but all but two or three of them ended up paying inside the store because they wanted to see what was for sale there, too. It was a fun time, however. And I got lots of sun and fresh air.

I also realized something about myself. I like being outdoors. I like the idea of getting a tan. This is totally bizarre, because it’s something I completely disliked while growing up. My sister would often go outdoors in the afternoon during summer vacation and spend a couple of hours lying in the old lounge chair my parents owned. I thought she was nuts and found the idea of just lying out in the sun insane.

Of course, it was probably the act of lying around that struck me as inside as the fact that such immobility was being enacted out doors. I was a rather hyper kid, even through my teenage years. Unless I was reading (and even that required frequent breaks unless it was a book I absolutely loved) or on the computer, I had to be on the move. No grass could grow under my feet and no moss would ever get the chance to grow on me.

Yet, as I get older I’m finding myself more inclined to be less active. This is especially true if I’m doing it someplace where I get sunlight and fresh air. So I suspect I’ll be looking at my weekly schedule to figure out when and where I can pencil in some more outdoor tanning time. And I figure it’ll be napping time, too. But that’s okay.

1 No actual sidewalks were sold at this sale. Isn’t that strange? I mean, you sell books at a book sale, right?

Daily Life, Emotions, Introspection, Love, Memories, Music, Personal Development

Musical flashback

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While driving to Applebee’s tonight, Aerosmith’s song, I Don’t Want to Miss a Thing, came on the radio. There are many songs that are deeply connected to memories of people and events in my life, and this is one such song. In fact, it’s probably one of the most strongly connected songs I can think of.

Tonight, this song took me back to my relationship with my first boyfriend. At the time Chris (not his real name) and I were dating, this song was relatively new and seeing a lot of airtime across the nation. And every time I heard it, I became more deeply convinced that it was the perfect song to describe how I felt about our relationship. In fact, I think I pointed this out to Chris at the time.

Thinking about the relationship now, I can still understand why I felt this way. Chris and I seldom saw each other (we probably spent barely over a week total together throughout the six months we were “involved”), and it was perfectly reasonable for me to want to make as much of that precious rare time as I could. On more than one occasion, I ended up taking a sick or personal day off work just so I could have those eight more hours with him.

Of course, there were other reasons for feeling like this, too. The relationship wasn’t healthy, and I knew it. And that made me want to cling to it even tighter, holding it together out of my own desparation. Aerosmith’s song spoke to me powerfully and romantically about that desparation I was feeling. In many ways, I used that song to validate my sense of desperation.

As I listened to that song this evening and allowed these memories and thoughts to play through my mind, I began to ask myself many questions. The first question was whether there was any pain associated with this song or the memories that it evoked. There wasn’t, and I have to admit that I’m a little surprised by that. Certainly, there’s a certain morose feel to the whole thing as I think of mistakes made and lessons learned. And there’s the memory of the pain that used to be there. There’s the knowledge that years ago, hearing this song would’ve driven me to tears almost instantly. But not this evening. This evening, there was merely a sense of familiarity and a knowledge of what has passed. And while I find it somewhat strange, I also find it rather comforting.

Of course, I also asked myself how I felt about the message of the song today. If I were with someone, would this song still reflect how I would feel about a new relationship? And I think that for the most part, I can say that it doesn’t. Because now, my love relationships aren’t about desperation, they’re about something else.

The underlying premise of the song is about a relationship that would consume my whole life, an that’s not what I’m lookin fo at all. Certainly, I want a lover I can share my life with, and I’d prefer to spend the rest of my life with him. And there are certainly those moments I will want to get lost in, but only for a time. Because there are other things in my life that are equally important. And I do not wish to give up those things completely just so I can make sure I “don’t miss a thing” with my lover. That just isn’t healthy.

It’s strange to think of the thought processes a song can initiate. Of course, I also find it interesting that this all started on the same day that I had a dream about Chris (sadly, I don’t remember any details) while napping.

Family, Friends, Going Out, Memories, Movies

The magic of drive-in theaters

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Saturday night, a group of friends went to the Silver Lake Drive-In. We ended up watching Spiderman 3 and Ghost Rider, both of which were excellent movies. I ended up sitting in Belinda’s car watching the shows with her. The experience that night brought back a few memories.

Of course, any trip to a drive-in theater always brings back childhood memories. My parents, being frugal people, never took my sister or I to the movie theater. However, they were perfectly happy to take my sister and I to the drive-in theater a couple times each summer. Each time we’d go, they’d bundle the two of us into our pajamas before taking us out to the small drive-in (I was amazed when I learned that some places had more than one screen and offered a selection of movies to watch). I don’t remember many of the movies we saw, the only two that stick out vividly are The Fox and the Hound (which I cried at because of the ending) and Herbie Goes Bananas. I also remember that the one time we went, the second movie they showed was Canonball Run. I particularly my mother mentioning the next day that she was glad that my sister fell asleep during that movie. (We often fell asleep during the second movie, which is why we were always bundled in our pajamas.)

Back then, going to the Drive-In was a special treat. We didn’t go often, but Mom and Dad always made sure we saw at least one movie each summer. They would usually tell my sister and me a couple days in advance, and we’d look forward to the “big night” from that moment on. I suppose that’s why going to a drive-in is still a magical event to me over two decades later. There’s a certain sense to the experience that I doubt even seeing a movie at an I-Max theater could compare to in my mind.

The other memory that Saturday night brought back to me was the last time I went to a drive-in. That was during college. A group of us went to see Pocahontas with our friends Dennis and Mary and their three small children. There was a second movie we saw that night, but I forget what it was. I do remember that neither James nor I were impressed with it and spent most of the movie whispering snide comments about it between ourselves.

That was the night that I learned that some of the larger drive-in theaters have more than one screen, a fact that totally surprised me. I also remember my surprise at discovering that some drive-in theaters also broadcast the sound for their movies using a very small range FM radio transmitter. During my childhood, the theater we went to only had the small speakers that you hung on the edge of your car window.

That was also the first time that I didn’t stay in the car. Dennis backed his mini van up into the spot so that the rear of the van was facing the screen. We then all climbed out and opened the back doors on the van. Some sat in the back of the van while the rest of us lined up in front in our lawn chairs. It was a different experience for me, and quite a pleasant one.

Saturday night, we stayed in our cars (though one of the girls did go sit outside in a chair). We hadn’t brought chairs or blankets (well, the others hadn’t brought blankets, but I had one). As it was quite chilly this weekend, we decided to stay in the cars for the most part. However, a great many people did choose to go sit or lay out on the lawn in front of all of the cars. We particularly admired the family who had the foresight to bring not only sleeping bags, but bean bags to lay on and a tarp to put down and keep everything else dry with.

It was a truly magical evening, and I look forward to repeating it again. Who knows, with any luck, I might get a chance to share the experience with someone special before the summer is out.

Friends, Going Out, Health, Introspection, Memories, Personal Development

The beauty of late night strolls

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Tonight, I held the first weekly meditation at Genesee Valley Park. After doing it, I realized that we should’ve moved these meditations outside last summer, too. It added a certain pleasantness to the whole experience. It certainly helped that I added the actual sensations of the outdoors to the imagery I was using.

And of course, the fresh air was good for me. I’ve been getting a lot of that with all of these trips to the park. I’ve made it one of my goals to get there at least twice a week, and spend at least an hour and a half each week walking there. I figure that this will not only give me a chance to rejuvenate my body with clean air, but it’ll also get my blood pumping and release a few endorphins in the process.

After meditation, I went to dinner at Red Robin. When I got out of the restaurant, it was almost dark out, with just a few minutes left of dusk. Part of me didn’t want to come home. Part of me wanted to find someplace to go and enjoy more of the great outdoors. If I knew of someplace I could go where I would’ve felt completely safe, I would’ve done exactly that, too.

When I came out of the restaurant and had these moods, I found myself thinking about the many nights that I and various friends would walk down to the Susquehanna River and spend some time walking along the riverbank. We’d spend a great deal of time talking and just enjoying the experience. The memory made me realize just how much I miss that sort of thing.

There’s something about walking with a good friend or two after dark, speaking in semi-soft tones as you stroll along. It’s a setting that allows you to share deep, intimate thoughts and even be a bit more vulnerable. In fact, it doesn’t just allow it, it practically encourages it. And I could see myself doing that here along the canal if only someone like James or Tim was here.

Who knows, perhaps I will eventually find someone here I can share that kind of experience with.

Going Out, Introspection, Memories, Personal Development

Thinking back and looking ahead

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Today, I got looking through old diary entries from the time when I moved up here to Rochester. As I read through them, it amazed me to notice how things have progressed since then. Things simply didn’t work out the way I expected them to. But that’s okay, because I like the way things turned out better than I would’ve had they gone the way I’d originally planned.

I think one of the things that truly amuses me is the fact that I mentioned in two separate entries how close the mall was to my townhouse. I was quite excited about that fact when I moved in. That’s understandable, as the closest mall to me back when I lived with my parents was more than thirty minutes away by car.

Today, I rarely go to the mall. (And when I do, I will often make the trip out to the Eastview Mall instead.) In reality, I’m just not a big shopper, and I realized that hanging out at the mall and people watching (one of my original goals) just wasn’t my style. I’d much rather interact with people rather than watch them. So now, I’m finding myself preferring the coffee shops and other venues where conversation is more likely to pop up.

Of course, I still like that all the other stores that cropped up around the mall are still there. Being ten minutes from Best Buy, Borders, Target, and Wal-Mart is still a plus. But those are conveniences, whereas the closeness of a mall was a novelty that quickly wore off.

Shortly after I moved, I also started making plans to volunteer at Lollypop Farms. I’ve officially given that up. I quit going regularly back before Christmas and just decided that while I enjoyed working with the cats and chatting with the staff and volunteers as we worked side by side, I’d rather sleep in after doing things on Saturday nights. And any other shift would similarly interfere with other activities I’ve gotten into since coming to the area.

I also tried three classes through the Rush-Henrietta school district’s continuing education program the first nine months I was here. I enjoyed every last one of them, but they weren’t quite what I expected. I had joined to meet people, and I did exactly that. But I also found that most of them were older people. As I was and am trying to meet people in my own age bracket, I decided to give that a halt.

However, I will note that I’m toying with the idea of teaching a class. The blogging class I took through them was discontinued after the first quarter they tried it. This was because the instructor for the class took a new job and was no longer able to teach the class. I’ve considered talking to the continuing education office about teaching my own class of that sort. But I haven’t committed yet.

While I didn’t mention it in any of the diary entries back then, I would also note that I had originally checked out COAP. Back then, I decided not to join. Most of the events they described at the time were outings and trips, and I just couldn’t see myself getting involved when I didn’t know anyone. And yet, now, I’m becoming an increasingly active member in COAP. I’ve attended the last three game nights, and I’m off to a dinner this evening and eagerly anticipating the increased number activities that Woody says tend to start in the summer.

Learning about game night from Rob contributed greatly to my decision to reconsider my position on COAP. I wasn’t prepared to go to Toronto with a bunch of strangers. But I could definitely see myself sitting around playing board games (actually, we have yet to play one) and card games with them. It was a setting that I could be relatively comfortable in, and it’s proved quite rewarding.

But I also think it was a matter of me just not being ready until this past February. As I look back over the past twenty months, I realize that I’ve gone through a lot of growth and healing which have greatly boosted my self-confidence. This in turn has helped me learn to be more open to and even desire increased socialization. And I was able to see how much I needed it. So things changed, and now I’m ready to take those extra steps that I was only ready to talk about back when I moved here. In some ways, I guess you could say that moving here began a transitional period in my life that is only now drawing to a close. And as it does, I’m finding myself with a stronger foundation to reap the benefits of those changes.

Daily Life, Deep Thoughts, Emotions, Going Out, Introspection, Memories, Personal Development, Writing

Day in Review

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I lost my cell phone this morning. When I got to the customer site, I went to take it off my belt, only to find the belt clip was empty. I couldn’t do anything about it, so I prayed that I somehow left it at home (not really a possibility, given the belt clip was with me) and went in to work. After work, I decided to run right home to check. My neighbor came out the front door as I got out of my car. It turns out that I had lucked out. Apparently, I knocked the silly thing off while dusting the snow off my car this morning. My neighbor had come home at lunch and found it. So I thanked him profusely and hopped back into my car to head for Equal Grounds.

I almost went to Jitters here in Henrietta instead. As of yesterday, the POC started having our weekly Meet and Greets there, and I found it an incredibly enjoyable place. However, I decided I wanted the slightly more cozy atmosphere of my old haunt, so I made the drive to the South Wedge. While there, I wrote some erotica and the next chapter of Journey.

While there, a couple other patrons watched Hide and Seek. I glanced up from time to time to watch the giant screen (it was less than four feet from me) for a few seconds, but I mainly focused on the writing. From what I saw, it was a pretty bizarre movie, and I never expected the ending.

The new chapter in Journey is about my longest relationship. It was a strange one to write. I’m finding that as the events I’m writing about get closer and closer to the modern day, it’s a little harder to write. Of course, part of that is because the issues Ihave to write about are things I’m still working on in some sense. This became apparent as I wrote the last few paragraphs of this chapter. I realized that the end of that relationship was about realizing what I deserved and demanding it. That’s something I’m still working on right now, and the need to continue insisting on the kind of love, affection, and attention I both want and deserve is a lesson that’s getting driven home right now.

Memories, Politics

Remembering my own “letter writing” days

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In my previous post, I encouraged people who supported the Breast Cancer Patient Protection Act to contact their Congressmen directly. That got me to thinking about my own experiences of contacting my Congressman. To be honest, I can’t say as I blame people who choose not to do that, given my experiences.

Back in 2001, I subscribed to the ACLU’s political action mailing list. Every so often (not quite once a week), I’d receive a note from them talking about some legislation that had come up and encouraged me to contact my representatives to voice my opinion. They even offered a service on their website where I could put in where I lived, and they would prepare a boilerplate message that I could edit (I usually didn’t) and then submit to them. Their site would then email or fax it to the appropriate representatives based on my home address. It was all quite handy, and allowed me to do something without putting a lot of effort into it. (What can I say? I’m lazy.)

For the most part, I’d never hear another thing about it. Well, at least that was the case with my one Senator and the House member that represented my district. However, my other senator (or more likely, someone in his office) always made a point of sending me back a reply letter. That particular senator was none other than the recently ousted Rick Santorum.

Anyone who knows anything about Rick Santorum (and if you don’t know anything about him, you must live even further under the rock than I do) shouldn’t be surprised that the letter was invariably a nicely phrased missive to say, “Thanks for writing, but I’m going to do the exact opposite of what you want.” This isn’t entirely surprising, as it’s a hazard of being a liberally minded individual who has the misfortune of being “represented” by a conservative — and insane, as more recent events have shown — senator. However, the experience was rather demoralizing for me. After receiving the third or fourth such letter, I began to wonder why I bothered even writing my senator. After all, it was clear that my little letters weren’t going to change his mind. So I eventually gave up. And I haven’t written a letter to any representative since.

Today, I sit here thinking about that. I find myself wondering if it’s time to give it another try. After all, I’m now in a different state, and I could stand to get a little more involved in such things. Though if I do decide to do it again, I think I may actually try writing my letters for myself. One of the things I struggled with over my experiences with Senator Santorum was that I didn’t feel I could complain too much about his obvious boilerplate response that practically ignored my concerns when I didn’t even take the time to express those concerns in my own word. So that’s something I feel I must address if I ever give the letter-writing process another try.

Family, Friends, Gender and Sexuality, Humor, Memories

The mark Darcy left

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I think everyone has those people who came into their lives for the briefest of moments, yet touched them in a profound way despite how temporary their presense may have been. Darcy was one such person for me. I spoke with her a total of three times in my entire life, and I doubt I’ll ever see her again. And yet, the first night we met, she left an impression I doubt I will ever forget.

That night took place several years ago. It was the night that I agreed to go out to a movie with my older brother — the first and only time I ever went someplace with him since I became an adult. Terry wanted to go see a movie, but didn’t have his license due to legal issues at the time. As such, he needed someone to go with him. Being the generous, if foolish, person I am, I agreed to go with him when he asked me. Both before and after the movie, we decided to hang out at the bar in Ruby Tuesday’s, which was located in the same mall as the cinema complex we went to.

When we returned to the bar after the movie, I was seething. The entire outting had been a real eye opener to just what kind of person — and let me just say that I’m being polite in using that word — my brother was. At one point, I was sure he was going to get himself thrown out of the theater during the movie. (I had decided I was going to sit there pretending I didn’t know him if that happened.) But I allowed him to convince me to return to the bar with him. By that time, Darcy was working behind the bar alone. Things had slowed down enough that Darcy had a lot of idle time, and she and Terry got talking.

Darcy was a sweet girl, a few years older than me at most. She was on the short side with long, blonde hair, but a real spitfire. She was the type of person that could say some incredibly cutting things, yet smile the entire time. I suspect that many of her customers were too drunk to realize she had actually said something biting until after the fact. Her personality struck me as admirable, and entirely conducive to the line of work she was in. And I have to admit that I was enjoying the process of watching her spar with my brother, who was too dumb to recognize all the jabs she got in despite the fact that he was perfectly sober at the time.

The incident that truly earned her my admiration, however, was when the topic turned to that of gay people. I forget what exactly came on the television to spark the conversation, but Terry made some sort of nasty remark on the topic. As I felt my heart sink and my stomach lurch, Darcy turns to Terry and asks him in a friendly, yet pointed manner, “What? Do you have something against gay people?” As soon as she asked the question, she gave me a quick wink. I’m not sure how she had managed to pick me out, but it was clear that like many other people in my life, she had immediately known I was gay. (Fortunately, my brother was clueless, and still is to the best of my knowledge.)

Terry stammered a bit and tried to make excuses. Of course, the first thing he did was played the typical male double standard, pointing out he had no problem with two women being “like that” — and even found it somewhat alluring. However, he pointed out that he just didn’t want any gay guys to hit on him, because that would not be okay.

Darcy’s reaction was incredible in that she didn’t pause, take a breath, or even blink. As soon as Terry said what he did, she just looked at him, smiled, and said in an even if somewhat patronizing voice, “Oh, hon, don’t flatter yourself.” And before either Terry or I had time to register what she said, she was off to serve another customer at the other end of the bar. I just about fell off my bar stool. (And for the record, I was sober, too!) Terry could only respond with a hurt and shocked “Hey!”

I was just totally amazed at how easily, gracefully, and politely Darcy had shot him down. Every time I find myself in a similar situation, I find myself thinking of her response that night. I can only hope I handle things half as well.

I went back two weeks later just to thank Darcy. I also left her a very big tip on my second trip, as an expression of my gratitude. We had a nice conversation, and she was shocked to discover that Terry was my brother. She couldn’t believe we came from the same family.

I only returned one more time after the night I went in to thank Darcy. I’m not the bar type, and even hanging out with such a great gal as Darcy was sufficient reason for me to keep returning. As a result, she disappeared from my life as quickly as she entered it. But that brief encounter is something I still like telling people about several years later. I think I always will.