Ramblings of a Future Memoirist

ram·bling [ram-bling]

Adjective
1. aimlessly wandering
2. taking an irregular course, straggling
3. spread out irregularly in various directions
4. straying from one subject to another, desultory
 

des·ul·to·ry [des-uhl-tawr-ee, -tohr-ee]

Adjective
1. lacking in consistency, constancy, or visible order, disconnected; fitful
2. digressing from or unconnected with the main subject, random


Thinking through the above definitions, I would have to say my title is very apropos, but not to the extent of being desultory. If I were to pond-er anything that's desultory, I would write of my mother. And if I were to now write about her...well, THAT would indeed be desultory on my part.

I have not seen it feasible to write an autobiography that would be of any interest to anyone, since I am an unknown; meaning, I am not a familiar public figure that would warrant interest. But more and more over the past year or two, the genre of memoir has teased my muse. Perhaps it is time I take it to heart.

I would first write of my intriguing 3-month hitchhiking trip from Minnesota through the Manitoba, Ontario and Quebec provinces of Canada to Bangor Maine and then westward home through the States.

Next would be going back in time a few more years to my spur of the moment decision to travel with a new friend to Chicago, ending up stranded in Madison Wisconsin, living in a near-penthouse apartment, and becoming part of a major drug ring including behind the scenes of the largest rock festival following Woodstock.

Naturally, I could not resist telling of my notable childhood memories and sibling stories, of my beloved daughter and 2 divorces (before I finally got it right), and how this laid the groundwork for who I've become.

But one more story must be told...the one I call Another Perspective. It's the one where I delve into my changing relationship, knowledge and understanding of God throughout these various events. Yes, another perspective indeed!

Many many people have told me again and again that I simply must get my stories in writing -- that they're all very interesting to listen to and there's so much to be learned. I don't know about all that.

What I do know is this: I've pushed to have an adventurous life without regrets, and I love to write. I've also met a lot of people who always seem surprised at all I've done and everywhere I've been. And somehow, that just seems like the right combination to write...
   a memoir...
               or two...or three...or even four!   
(You know, just to have...Another Perspective.)  :~)

"U" is for Us

One of the musical groups I often heard on the radio, back in my high school days, was Herman's Hermits. I can even remember the songs they recorded that I didn't especially care for. (God forbid, I don't know how that's even possible, but I do.) 

One of their songs I liked okay -- written by Les Reed and Geoff Stephens -- was the last of their career to make it into the Top 10: There's a Kind of Hush. 

The line that always seemed to stick in my mind was, "Just the two of us and nobody else in sight." Us is sort of like braids and beads -- they're meant to go together.  

Another song that made it into the Top 10 that year, written and performed by The Turtles, and becoming the launch pad to their success, was Happy Together. Enduring the test of time, it became our song -- my husband's and mine. 

Ben Javens, Illustrator

Our favorite verse, including the chorus:

Me and you and you and me
No matter how they toss the dice, it has to be
The only one for me is you, and you for me
So happy together 

I can't see me lovin' nobody but you
For all my life
When you're with me, baby the skies'll be blue
For all my life 

Neither of us enjoys watching Hollywood love stories though -- with the exception of an occasional romantic comedy. A bit strange? We simply feel we'll end up disappointed, because every time we've tried one, the film industry has seemed to come up short of -- us.

This year will mark our 25th Anniversary. It's rather exciting to think about! And, I have to admit, I'm almost narcissistic about this one, because it's all about -- us :~)

"Q" is for Quirky?.....Quite.

Have you ever had a friend live with you where it should never have worked out, but it did, and neither of you really know how or why? In fact, no one else can figure it out either? Well, I have. And, I'm not talking about my husband ...although he could probably fit this scenario equally well.

There were actually 3 of us (including my husband) who considered renting this wonderfully large one-level home we affectionately called, The Hacienda. Entering from the portico, the front door opened into a 27'x25' room with a massive, 3-way, red brick fireplace, towering up through a custom made skylight, right in the middle of the 15-foot ceiling.

I saw right away how it could work. But the 2 of them? Well...one called it strange and the other said too weird. Apparently, they were trying to convince me that it was a bit, uh...quirky.

We looked at a number of other cute cottage-like homes, rambling ranches, and even upscale condos. None seemed to compare to The Hacienda, in both size and character.

Finally, we all agreed and moved into this exquisitely quirky house, complete with an enclosed courtyard, Swedish sauna and step-down patio opening to the 18th fairway of someone's private golf course.

I divided up the huge room, which provided for an entry foyer plus 3 living areas -- one for conversing, another for dining along side the long wall of patio windows, and the third for comfy entertainment -- all with imaginary walls. We decided quirky was good and loved it.

In the days ahead, I began to discover just why our friend could accept quirky so easily -- it's what she was. Quirky? Quite right.

          "Every man had his own quirks and twists." 
                                                      ~ Harriet Beecher Stowe 

This may be so. But having a few, and being one, are slightly different concepts. I'm talking about far more than just a peculiarity of behavior, you know...an idiosyncrasy. What I'm talking about are consistent, yet unpredictable and unexpected, uniquely strange, oddly funny, somewhat cute and always present...character traits! 

In today's terms, I believe it's called: random. But the 3 of us decided the best word at the time, was...quirky. 

And that became her very endearing nickname: Quirky.

Big Chief, he loves squaw

Here's the unexpected part. Quirky decided that each of us had to have a nickname because she had one. For my husband, she chose Big Chief.

It was partially taken from a childhood nickname his dad had tagged him with, so others would be aware to watch what they said when he came into the room...Hi there, Chief Big Ears! 

She labeled me as The Deepster. If a person was willing, I could lead them down enticingly unfamiliar yet intriguing paths of thought, into the wee hours, without blinking an eye. It became a sort of trademark of mine. 

Nearly 9 years later, and that nickname grew into my inspiration for the title of this blog  -- all from those months at The Hacienda. I probably should add, one of her favorite movies back then was The Wizard of Oz, and I hadn't even thought of that when I went and picked out the picture for this post! Now that's quirky.

Well, there you have it. Three unlikely characters -- Quirky, Big Chief, and The Deepster -- living in an equally quirky, yet magnificent house. We don't know how or why, but it worked. How awesomely cool is that!

                                    Quirky?........Quite. 

"M" is for Moose-face!

Note: Okay...this is a re-post, as some followers might have noticed. I have tweaked it ever so slightly to post it in the A to Z challenge, because I believe it's worth revisiting. I trust you'll enjoy it as much as I.

My husband and I had this happen in the first year of our marriage... about 25 years ago. I could swear he called me -- right out of the blue -- a moose-face. 

When I exclaimed, "What d'ya mean, I'm a moose-face!!" he couldn't figure out why I (that's right, I was supposed to be the culprit now) -- why I suddenly brought up the word moose-face.

"Moose-face?" he retorted, "Why'd you call me a moose-face!"

Quickly and vehemently I replied, "I didn't call you a moose-face! You're the one who called *me* one!!"

He yelled, "When did I ever call YOU a moose-face?!!"

Shocked at his question, I shouted back at him, "Just now!"

In disbelief he cried out, "I was only repeating what YOU said!"

It soon was like the old Abbott and Costello routine Who's on first? -- only with mega-volume, in a car parked next to a public park, and quite late at night.

But, in only a matter of another minute or two, we had completely stopped arguing and had begun to laugh sooo hard we were both crying -- trying desperately to catch our breaths. To this day, when that word pops up in conversation, we end up nearly ROFLOAO, even as do our friends who've heard us tell the story many times.

We never did figure out what word he actually said that night. It didn't seem to matter anymore. Funny how it often works out that way. And, we still cannot -- for the life of us -- recall what we were even arguing about in the first place. Does it matter?

It's nice, though, to remind myself of these things, because humor is good for the soul. It somehow relieves pressure and makes life a lot more worth living :~)

"A merry heart doeth good like a medicine..."  ~Proverbs 17:22a

"B" is for...The Bittersweet Backfire of Itsy Bitsy

Kindergarten has very Bittersweet memories for me. With a heartfelt smile, I can still recall my first at-school friend, Sheila. I even remember where she lived, although I was never at her house. Sheila and I really liked doing one particular song together, especially with the cute little hand gestures:

   The Itsy Bitsy spider went up the water spout.
   Down came the rain, and washed the spider out.
   Up came the sun, and dried up all the rain,
   And the Itsy Bitsy spider went up the spout again.

When all of us had finished our task for the day from our workbooks, Sheila and I would often be the first ones to grab the crayons and coloring books, pull up our chairs to one of the tables in the main room, and work at showing off our artistic abilities.

In the free-play room next door, there was a vast array of toys to pick from for indoor physical play. Because I much preferred the outdoor playground, I spent very little time there. Besides, the most dreaded of all kindergarten activities happened in that second room -- nap time.

We each had a fringed rag rug, rolled up and tucked away in its own little niche along one wall of that playroom. When nap time was announced, we soon learned it meant to quietly put all toys away and take our rugs out of their cubbies. Then we were to carry the drooping fringed mass over to our predetermined napping spot and roll it out. I always placed mine next to Sheila's.

First, we'd have storytime while sitting cross-legged on our colorful rugs. Then, when the book closed, we were to lie down and close our eyes -- and keep them closed until the teacher came back into the room. She usually went through our workbooks at her desk in the other room while we napped. For assurance, she would always appoint one child as monitor of the sleepy-time room.

Oh...to be Monitor! When you were the monitor, you got to sit on the storybook chair and watch to see if anyone opened their eyes or moved off their mat. When the teacher came back, she would always ask you for a report. Then you had to decide whether to tattle or not.

Finally it was my turn -- I was picked to sit on the honored chair. I got up from my soft rug next to Sheila, and even moved the chair slightly towards her. There she lay -- quietly, eyes closed, on her own little red, blue and gray rag rug. Wasn't she going to peek at me? I always peek at her when she monitors, I thought. But she didn't open her eyes.

Now, this was a true dilemma. Monitors were not allowed to touch any classmate -- no matter what. But I wanted to poke her so she'd look at me. So, I got to thinking...if I was just innocently swinging my feet, because they don't reach the floor, and one foot accidentally brushed her arm...

Yep. You guessed it. I did just that -- but I bumped my Itsy Bitsy partner just a little too hard. Sheila let out a ye-ouch! causing the teacher to come flying into the room, and then...I couldn't believe it! Sheila tattled! And...she dared to say that I kicked her! Can you believe it!? I felt betrayed.

My wonderfully crafted plan to get my new at-school friend to just look at me, went terribly awry -- just like the spider's plan in the song. Of course, I denied it all. Claimed I was just swinging my feet, and hadn't even realized I had touched her until she yelled out. What a Backfire! And to think it even ended our Itsy Bitsy partnership! This was definitely...

                         The Bittersweet Backfire of Itsy Bitsy.

"A" is for Time

(No, the title is not a typo.)
Working for a boss, I wondered at times why they didn't do, what I thought they should do, when I thought they should. Like, why don't they fire so-and-so? Or, why didn't they bring that up at the meeting? And, don't they see what's going on here?? I mean, I thought I was pretty darn smart.

picture-newsletter.com

Then, there are those times I have been perplexed as all get out, as to my husband's timing with his decisions. Like, why did he choose to keep quiet about that when he talked to so-and-so? Or, why won't he take the time to sit down and discuss this with me? And, doesn't he realize that such-and-such really needs to be done now? I mean, I thought I was pretty smart on how and when we should do things. 

Granted, there is always the possibility that my boss simply avoided confrontation, didn't like uncomfortable subjects at meetings, and always walked around in a general daze. And there is always the possibility that my husband just doesn't feel like confronting so-and-so, doesn't want to have a might-turn-into-a-major-talk with me, and actually likes doing things on his own timetable once in awhile.  Imagine that.

Yet, in life, timing is often crucial - and not just when deadlines are involved. Many times I have to remind myself that now may not be the best time to mention something to someone, or not the right time to do a particular thing I've been wanting to do. In much of life there is...
                   "A" time 
                         set apart 
                              for saying 
                                   and doing
                                        certain things 
                                             at certain times...

and, there is a genuinely smart reason the following was ever written. Perhaps now is the right time to pause long enough to read, and ponder, each line:
                             
To every thing there is a season, and 
          A time to every purpose under the heavens: 
A time to be born, and 
          A time to die;
A time to plant, and 
          A time to pluck up what was planted;
A time to kill, and 
          A time to heal;
A time to brake down, and 
          A time to build up;
A time to weep, and 
          A time to laugh;
A time to mourn, and 
          A time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, and 
          A time to gather stones together;
A time to embrace, and 
          A time to refrain from embracing;

A time to get, and 
          A time to lose;
A time to keep, and 
          A time to cast away;
A time to rend, and 
          A time to sew;
A time to keep silence, and 
          A time to speak;
A time to love, and 
          A time to hate;
A time of war, and 
          A time of peace.
                                         ~ ECCLESIASTES 3:1-8 

Know what? I'm feeling pretty darn smart lately :~)

Moose-face!!

To get the full effect of my story I'm about to share, first I need to direct you to the Healing Morning blog, Can I Get an Alien? Go on...click the link and enjoy the ride.

Now, here's the expanded version of the comment I made concerning the Alien...

My husband and I had this happen in the first year of our marriage...nearly 25 years ago I might add. Ours is "moose-face." It was said (or thought to have been said) aloud by my hubby in the middle of a terribly intense argument.

I could swear he called me - out of the blue - a moose-face. When I exclaimed, "What d'ya mean, I'm a moose-face!!" he couldn't figure out why I (that's right - I was supposed to be the culprit) suddenly brought up the word moose-face.

"Moose-face?" he retorted, "Why'd you call me a moose-face!"

Quickly and vehemently I replied, "I didn't call you a moose-face! You're the one who called *me* one!!"

He yelled, "When did I ever call YOU a moose-face?!!"

Shocked at his question, I shouted back at him, "Just now!"

In disbelief he cried out, "I was only repeating what YOU said!"

It soon was like the old Abbott and Costello routine Who's on first? - only with mega-volume, in a car parked next to a public park, and late at night.

But, in only a matter of another minute or two, we had completely stopped arguing and had begun to laugh sooo hard we were crying - trying desperately to catch our breaths. To this day, when that word pops up in conversation, we end up ROFLOAO, even as do our friends who've heard us tell the story many times.

We never did figure out what word he actually said that night. It didn't seem to matter. And, we still cannot - for the life of us - recall what we were arguing about in the first place. Does it matter?

It's nice, though, to be reminded of these things, because humor indeed relieves pressure and makes life a lot more worth living :~)