clickmom

Mrs. Brandt

My second grade teacher was Mrs. Brandt. Here are a few other things I remember about Mrs. Brandt. She was always so incredibly nice to us kids. Mrs. Brandt never raised her voice and always had infinite patience. Once during a heat wave Mrs. Brandt brought witch hazel and cotton balls to school. When us kids were sweltering in our not air conditioned classroom Mrs. Brandt would swipe our heads and cool us off. I wasn't used to having a teacher who was so warm and caring. Back then a NYC school teacher had to meet different standards. One of the the requirements was that taechers play a musical instrument. Mrs. Brandt played the piano. But the thing was that she only had 9 1/2 fingers. And all I wanted to do when I was a kid was see Mrs. Brandt's 1/2 finger work the piano keys and see how it was doing it. But Mrs. Brandt played to us kids in the school's auditorium and us kids were seated in the theater area and we couldn't see Mrs. Brandt's hands no matter how hard we tried. Then one day Mrs. Brandt told us that she lost her 1/2 finger in an accident when she was a young girl. Mrs. Brandt said that when she woke up from the operation the first thing she asked the doctor was if she would still be able to play piano and that he had told her YES and Mrs. Brandt knew everything would be just fine. I thought Mrs. Brandt, even as a kid, was just amazing.

It was back to school night for Josh tonight and I got to hear Josh's teacher talk for an hour. I am very excited because I think she might be a Mrs. Brandt.

I say he says

The way I remember it: I begged my folks not to make me go to college straight from HS because I told them I wasn't mature enough or something. I just knew I wasn't "ready." They made me go. I partied hard (understatement) for a year and came home (after partying all summer to make up for some previous F's) with a GPA that was something like .01 above failing out and told them I had proved my point (immature) and I wasn't going back to school. It was the very first time I had ever stood up for myself to my parents (or probably any else for that matter).

The way dad recalls it: He and my mom "dragged me home by my hair" because I was so out of control.

PPPFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTT!!
Hahahahahahahahhahahaha!!

Time sure does funny things to an old guys memory!

P.S. A year later I went back to school, all grown up and "ready". I aced all my classes (except the semester I had mono) and eventually I even got a master's degree.

little purse

Those tiny little purses with long straps that a girl could wear across her chest all day long and hardly even notice it was there came into style right about the time self conscious me entered junior high school. I had a great group of girlfriends back then and we did girl stuff like crimp our hair on the same day, wear skirts on the same day and all buy the same style of frye boots and we all wore our tiny little purses when we had our very embarrassing periods. The purses were perfect for stashing feminine protection. Those handy pad carrying purses saved us from the shame of declaring to the world that we had indeed become women. Yup, I grew up in the dark ages before junior high school girls walked around in skin tight clothes and half naked. The junior high girls in my time still looked like girls, not Jessica Rabbits.

On one of our final days of junior high school we were sitting around in a group with some of the nicer boys on our class and reminiscing about the past two years we had spent together as a class. We were all relaxed and opening up and the boys told us that they had noticed how we girls did our certain things together and also they told us they could tell when we had our periods. We were astonished, we had never openly snuck a pad out of the classroom, we had our purses! And then the boys told us they knew we had our periods when we wore our little purses. We didn't fool anyone.

Today I find myself still carrying that little tiny purse. This 2008 purse is just as comfortable to wear and ignore all day long as the actual real purse I carried in 1978, the only difference is that the 1978 purse was real and the 2008 is figurative. The 2008 purse, my symbolic purse, envelopes my depression. Right now I carry it with me at all times. Sometimes, because my purse is so small and discreet I forget that my purse and it's contents are here lying right on my side, but only for a minute or two because my purse and what it inside of it doesn't leave my side, this depression toting purse, is my constant companion. When I am laughing at the hilarity of my kids, I can feel the purse pressing on my side, when I pretend to smile at the check out girl, I feel the strap of my purse laying against my neck, and when I spend the day hiding from the water and the sun and the fun I know my purse is extra heavy that day and I wait because I hope that the next day will find my purse filled with feathers instead.

klepto me too

I fought back the tears the whole 2+ hour drive to Matt's camp this morning. This past week I felt like a caged tiger just pacing the cage waiting for an opportunity to burst out an unattended door. I wanted my kids back. Waiting was rough. When I slid into the truck this morning I had the feelng that once I got my babies back I would be me again (still not exactly feeling like myself) I felt like I was about to get a crucial part of myself, of who I am back.

The missing part of me might not have taken shower since he last saw the rest of me two weeks ago at visiting day.

I fought back the tears all the way home because to be honest the part of me that came home from camp was downright pungent. My missing piece also managed to neglect his hair again, and somewhere he decided that he might as well not shave for the entire camp experience. Yummy! And to think, just 24 hours ago I wondered if my piece would let me hug him as much as I wanted to! Hahahaha, the joke is on the part of me that showers!

My missing piece hasn't stopped crying since he left camp either. Since me, the unmissing, took a thorough shower this morning before departure I knew it had to be for a different reason. I assumed it was because camp was so incredibly excellent that my missing piece was sorry to see it end. He said that was correct. Except my missing piece couldn't shake the tears, didn't want to eat (okay, he does have a little head cold) and couldn't muster the enthusiasm to think of anything he wanted to do. Hmmmm

After my missing piece showered I sat him down for another big dread lock comb out. During the comb out, when I had to give him a break so he could sob for a minute, I figured that this was more of a broken heart scenario than an "I love my camp!" break down so I asked him if he had a girlfriend at camp. He said he did. And he had this girlfriend the whole time, well except for the last week because his 17 year old (YES! 17!!) girlfriend got to go on this trip because she was not a camper but a CIT and she got caught shop lifting on a trip for CITs and then her parents took her home and wouldn't let her come back. So I asked him if aside from being a kleptomaniac if she was a nice person and he said she was. And also that she wrote to him from home.

So let's review: 15 year old Matt has a 17 year old girlfriend.

.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Sorry, I passed out on the key board there.

Okay, where were we, Matt's 17 year old girlfriend shop lifts.
.
Oy Vey.

But Matt she is a quality person.
Who shop lifts.
On a camp trip.

The good news is that Matt's 17 year old klepto girlfriend lives 2 hours away.
.
The bad news could be that she might have a drivers license.

I am so not ready for this.

But here is a confession; When I was 16 my parents sent me on a teen tour. I hated it. The one thing that got you immediately kicked off the tour was shop lifting (and having sex but the 7 little boys on that tour with me (the virgin) were not an option). So I shop lifted my way across the United States in hopes of getting sent home. I never got caught even I slipped something into my pocket while talking to the sales lady. I must be a more talented thief than Matt's girlfriend. Hopefully she'll outgrow it too.

to my daddy

Here is something you do not know about my dad. He is not my biological dad. Technically he is my step dad. Here is how he came to be my step dad. When I was three it became clear to my mom that she had to kick my no-good biological father out. He wouldn't stop sleeping with his assistant. It might have been worse than that, because scumcle told me once that he had other additional suspicions, but they have not been confirmed by mom, who does not speak of the past.

So my mom was single for a year, and scraping by with much help ($) from the grandparents when grandpa sat mom down and told her she had to get on with her life and he sent mom and her girlfriend on a vacation to Puerto Rico. During that vacation mom's friend got too much sun or something and did not want to go down for dinner one night, so mom went down to dinner all by herself. When mom sauntered into the nicest restaurant in the hotel unescorted the maitre d asked her if she would like to see if his friend who was hosting a party would invite mom to their table. Mom said that was fine, and the friend throwing the party was dad. Back then dad was a big shot around the hotel. Now, when I was a kid and dad told me this story he said he took one look at mom and knew he was the looking at the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. As an adult I heard the truth which was way less romantic, and went something like, dad's friend liked mom but mom didn't like him but kept hanging out with dad's group and eventually dad and mom got together.

But once they came home and started dating mom fell for dad fast and hard. At the time I was 4 and lil sis was 2, so mom figured it was all going to be too good to be true and early on after one of their dates she brought dad home so he could see the package deal that mom, with two little kids, was. Mom figured she would rather scare him off sooner rather than later and avoid the whole broken heart thing. Now, here comes the part where you get to fall in love with dad too. Mom and dad come back to our apartment, they send the baby sitter home and mom leads dad over to the bedroom where lil sis and I are fast asleep and she opens the door for him to see us. He says nothing for the longest time and mom can't tell what dad is thinking, but then she sees a tear run down his cheek and she asks him what he is thinking and dad says that he can't imagine how any man could walk away from us.

I know, I know. I'm crying so hard I can hardly see the key board through the tears and I know how it turns out!

Anyway, mom and dad fall in love fall in love, birthdays get really good around our apartment because dad is in the board of directors of a stuffed animal company! He was like a knight in shining armor coming to rescue the three of us. He was nice and kind and fun and full of love for all of us. Also, even as a kid I recognized how happy mom was because this guy was in her life. Before dad ever proposed to mom I proposed to him. I'll never forget taking him aside, taking his hands, and asking him to marry mom. I don't remember what he said but it was reassuring and I remember him giving me a big smile right back. I knew he was going to ask her and I couldn't have been happier.

They got married right after my seventh birthday. Right before the wedding I asked him if I could call him dad. He was so flattered and said that I could. But we had been calling him by his name for 3 years by then so when ever we called him by his name he'd say "who?" until we made the transition. On the day of their wedding we all piled into a taxi to go to the temple for their small family only ceremony and I was so excited that I told the cab driver "My mom and dad are getting married today!" I hear the look that the cabbie shot dad could have melted steel.

So, dad, who was not allowed to adopt us by my bio-father even though bio guy had little interest in being our father, became our father by actions and not by biology or by name. And for my whole life from age 7 on dad was simply my dad. Dad did all the dad things. And I never thought of him as anything other than or less than or different than "My Dad."

When I turned 18 I changed my last name so we could have the same name. Lil sis did the same when she turned 18. Dad came to birthday parties, school conferences, and graduations, dad drove me to college, and dad walked me down the aisle. When I needed job advice I went to dad. Dad is the grandfather to my kids.

So my heart is with my dad today because he was my dad, and a fine dad too, when really, being my dad was optional. Happy fathers day dad, you are the best.

zeke

I got my new guitar today. I played House of The Rising sun on it while in the music store, because it's the only song I have totally memorized so far and it sounded excellent on my new guitar. My new guitar is a hollow body electric. It's the size of an electric, so my neck and shoulder don't go numb when I play it and I love that part especially.

I might name my new guitar zeke after my very first photography teacher. It is not that zeke played the guitar, or rather if zeke did play I never knew about it, but I had a total student crush on zeke and spent many hours in his closet of an office pouring over my contact sheets with him, just hoping that maybe he would kiss me, which he never did, but he did inspire me creatively and make me believe in my ability and fuel my passion. But mostly after a year of studying with zeke, I believed and was confident that I had a gift, so when the tenured professor who didn't particularly care for me or my work came back from his sabbatical and zeke left our school, I was able to carry on and do my best until the very last portfolio review when the tenured professor told me that he had been underestimating my photos/work/vision the past two years and then he apologized. The apology was on a cassette tape and I might still have it somewhere. I wonder where zeke is today? If only I could remember his last name I'd google him. So what do you think about zeke for a guitar name?

not a caddy girl

A friend called today and she was in a bind. She needed a car as hers was indisposed. Luckily when mom and dad went back to florida they left their brand new Caddy here in my driveway. It has (had as of this morning) a mere 100 miles on it. So I lent my friend friend my big 'ol truck and spent the day tooling around in a pimped out granny car. It made me feel self conscious. I'm not a Caddy girl.

The whole car owning/car as status symbol/cars can't bump into each other thing is always so weird to me because my family didn't actually own a car until I was about 12. I have no car sense. See, growing up in Manhattan a person doesn't hardly if ever even need a car. There are taxis and buses and subways and unless you have somewhere far away to be constantly driving to then a car is not necessary. You could live and die in NYC and never even learn to drive and still have an incredibly full and satisfying life. Then when I was about 10 my folks joined a country club in Westchester because they wanted to play golf. For a couple of years they borrowed grandma's classy/classic brown on the outside tan on the inside Mercedes Benz and then finally mom and dad got their own car. Check it out. 1977 Chevy Caprice Classic. You could lie down in the back seat and not bend your legs. It was huge. It was silver on the outside and soft red plushy something polyester on the inside-with vinyl piping. Piping would become a key component in future car selection for mom. (Hint of all things tacky to come)

This was the car I eventually learned to drive (and have parking lot accidents) in. Kind of. It was the car mom and dad let me drive once they were confident that the slimy lecherous guy (who wanted to take 17 year old me away to a fancy hotel for a weekend to "celebrate" getting my license) from the automobile club of america taught me enough of how to drive. But that kind of parental neglect and poor judgement is a story I'll save for my new-new-undead therapist.

Anyway....Once mom and dad became snow birds and started to go to Florida for the winters they decided that they needed another car and also they got a bit of the Keep Up With The Jones syndrome so their new cars had to be Lincolns at first and then they moved on to Caddies. And it always had to be the biggest ones too. Now, for those of you who have been spared the happening Senior scene down in South Florida, you'll have to take my word when I tell you that some thing happens to an old person that can make their taste in all things (except muzak) kind of ...uh....ghetto.

And the first place you can see this ghetto influence taking place is in the family car. Mom would call me every three years when they were getting ready to trade in the old car and get a new one (but not the Caprice because that baby was built to last!) and she'd bounce all of her color scheme idea off of me and I'd be speechless. In the beginning she could manage to straddle that line between old folks Caddy and Pimpmobile, but eventually she hoped right over into pimpville and showed up with the most outrageous car yet. It was metallic lavender with a fabric top. The top was a darker purple. And I am pretty sure there was some kind of piping (cream color maybe?) along the fabric top- because piping was what it was all about that year. But the insides of that car are what really took the cake, the insides were dark blood red leather with white piping. Goodness me, I get woozy just imagining riding around in it.

Way back then THE place to go for discount photo supplies in the city was on west 17th street in a more kind of industrial type of area. There was no parking down there because it was all loading docks and driveways. On one of my school breaks I wanted to load up on paper and film while I was home so dad drove me down. He waited outside with the caddy while I went in to purchase my stuff. When I came out and looked around for dad the first thing I saw was wide brimmed hat with a big feather in it (think - mid 1980's) and don't you know an actual pimp (at least he sure looked like one) and his 2 buddies were standing around chatting with with dear old dad admiring his car. I approached tentatively the pimp and friends said goodbye to dad and walked away. Dad turned to me and said "Nice fellows." We went home.

Next installment of South Florida Ghetto: How to decorate every room of your house with clear lucite and pastel colored formica furniture.

http://www.canadiandriver.com/articles/bv/77caprice.htm

making a contribution

Since I don't hang too much with the younger crowd any more, I don't personally know too many people who are expecting. I really loved taking all those new baby shots last summer and feel like I could really use some new baby shots right now to just kind of fill me up with that new baby wonderment. I tried accosting a couple of pregnant women at pick up at the school, (okay, I have to admit that one was covered with tatoos-such a rare sight around here- and I was all like OMG! What an awesome photo shoot that would make!) but I have to face it that I am one of those "older" mothers and those younger mothers (like I most likely did when Matt was in 1st grade) look at me like I am, well, an older mother. I am not imagining this. They all look about 20 to me!

The other night, when it is entirely possible that I was teasing Matt about his hair style and the dilemma he will likely face one day once he realizes he is getting bald, Matt declared "Ben Franklin had awesome hair!". After I got over the shock and disbelief one might feel when hearing that statement declared in such a heartfelt manner and also with such a straight face, I thought perhaps I would google image old Ben's styling hair. You know, for a post that Danelle would sure to comment on!

And, as I am sure you know you very well, one link led to another to another and so on and so on and so on until I somehow I ended up on a sight that sends volunteer photographers to hospitals to take free portraits for families who have for any reason lost a newborn baby. There were beautifully crafted photos of both the babies alone as well as the parents holding their newborn deceased babies.

When Matt was in Kindergarten a new family moved to town. The kid of the family could not behave himself and Matt made it his personal 5 year old mission to try to explain the ins and outs of good behavior to this kid. I got friendly with the mom who had lost a baby (stillborn) just before moving to our town. She had some of those cheesy hospital portraits on the multi-color pastel background of the baby and very time we visited their house, those pictures were prominently displayed on a different surface. I just knew in my heart that that mourning mom was carrying those photos around with her all evening every night. They disappeared after 4 or 5 months (witness protection program- I kid you not) and I never heard from her again.

I started this blog after photographing a young boys funeral (for the paper) and feeling unsure about it. What do you think I did? I volunteered to do these photo portraits at our local hospital. I'm not sure how it will affect me, (if they even contact me) but if there is a need for this and it will help someone in their healing process, then I'm all over it. If it is too hard I can always quit, but at least I can ease some pain for someone along the way.

mystery history

We bought this house, the one we live in, in 1997. The older couple we bought from seemed nice enough. They were cute in a cheap "everything we did to the house came from Sears in 1977" kind of way. Like any new home owner there were some odd "things" that we sometimes wondered about before and after we had purchased the house.

For example, the previous owners were very concerned about their safety. They had the house burglar alarmed. We had that (not at all) lovely silver foil tape on all the windows. Also, the previous owners installed a little tiny red light next to the front door that looked like an alarm, except it was a fake and had nothing to do with the real alarm system and the little red light never went off. There were panic buttons in most of the rooms, including right over the head board of the master bed. All the fire/smoke alarms were not just inside each bedroom doorway like you have to have if you are being inspected by the town but instead installed just inside each bedroom window. (Molatov cocktail anyone?)

The previous owners had pushed out the back of the house because it was important for them to seat 30 for dinners. They had the longest dining room table I have ever seen. They let us know they entertained like this often. Our initial dining room (before we remodeled it) was 24 feet long and had crazy looking and oh so slippery Portugese tile for a floor. There was (and still is) a bank safe in the basement. It weighs about a ton and will most likely be in the basement until someone tears this place down and removes it with an excavator. Guess who lost the combination for it! And finally when the previous home owner was giving me one last tour of the house to show me how things worked he showed me where to hide all my cash. Huh?

Needless to say I have decided (about twelve seconds after we closed on the house) that the previous owners were actually mobsters. Cute adorable mobsters, but mobsters none the less. We (I) often joke about them and the potential bodies buried in the concrete basement floor. Or other mobster type jokes. And here is something I have never told anyone, before we renovated the house I was sure I could hear ghost voices in the kitchen.

Imagine my shock the other day when I retrieved my phone messages and there was a message from Mrs. previous owner asking me to call her. She didn't say what she wanted. Gulp. I was worried. I started to sweat. I was sure they had to come back for something. I wondered what (or who!) they could have possibly left here that they needed to come back for. I imagined them bringing in their people to dig up the basement, search the cash hiding place for stolen jewels, revealing all the laundered money they had been storing beneath the floor boards, or even setting up shop in our now purified non-crime-family-related domicile. I imagined having to shield my kids from all the illegal activity they were going to bring into my home. It is my home now dammit, I wasn't going to let them corrupt it! Let what ever it is stay buried. But I had to know what it was she wanted. I just had to cal her back.

So, I took a deep breath and called her back and she said (here it comes) she had been going through her address book and wondered how we were. I had sent her a holiday card the first few years after we moved here and it seems she really liked getting them. She asked about the kids and then she. told. me. everything. I know how cold it is in her part of Florida, how she had to take her orange tree down a few years ago because there was a fungus problem in their area but now it should be time for them to be able to plant new ones and she really does love having fresh oranges. Honeybells are in season right now. Also Mr. previous owner hasn't had the best health, he had a triple bypass surgery but just won't watch his diet. Their daughter gave them two grandkids but their son is still enjoying the swinging bachelor life... isn't it a shame how men don't feel like they need to settle down these days? Their big house seems so empty now that their kids have their own homes but Mr. previous just doesn't want to give it up. And much much more.

I'm going to send her our holiday card. I'll include a nice note.

Maybe I'll never know what happened in this house before we moved in. Me and my imagination like it better that way.

moon hugs for me

First: Spelling mistakes piss me off.

Whew- I had to get that off my chest! Secondly, I have been all over the moon these excruciating short days of winter. I see it in the morning, I see it in the evening. I am seeing (an noticing and appreciating) it all over the place. My kids think I'm all bat shit crazy when I have to stop the car and take a shot or 17 of the moon.

I mean, could you just pass this by? Don't even think about saying you could, I won't ever look at you the same. Anyway, the whole moon spotting thing makes me feel very zen. And as we all know, zen is what I need right now. The other thing that makes me feel very zen is swimming in the ocean. Yup, even though there was that incident, I still get into that salt water and feel like I am one with nature.

Today was a rough day for me because Matt was undergoing a minor surgical procedure. I am not at liberty to say what it was, I can say it was outpatient and did involve general anesthesia. (I know! Enough with surgery in this family right?) On our way into the city this morning, the sky brightened with that cloudless northeastern sky yellow and pink band of light. It was beautiful to see. And then I noticed the almost full moon still out and shining away. It was a thrill and I hoped a good omen. (Okay, there I go with the omens again.) Once we got into the city and turned west the moon was directly in front of us hanging low in the sky. I cursed myself for not having a real camera with me and desperately tried to record it with the sucking camera iphone:
Matt had his surgery and everything went smoothly. He is home and resting not so comfortably.

Then tonight the husband mentioned that mars is close to the moon. He was able to spot it for me and the kids from inside the house so I grabbed my camera and headed outside. I was too late for any light in the sky and that was a disappointment, because you can't get a good shot of the moon without it, but I used the moon glare off of some clouds, and here you can see the moon right above the tree tops, some flying saucer thing I haven't figured out yet, and mars off to the right just above the saucer.

I am feeling very tied into the family, my family, the one that I created not the one I was born into tonight, which is good because I am also trying real hard not to dwell on that not a single friend or family remembered that Matt's surgery was today and if I didn't have my family, the one I made for myself, right in here in this house I'd be the absolute most alone person on the face of the planet right now.