In Michigan, it took a blizzard of epic proportions to keep kids out of school. I clearly remember my dad fishtailing his way up the giant hill to Junior High cheerfully blasting NPR and giving me a hearty “Have a great day, Sweetheart!” at the top of his lungs while I considered the repercussions of flipping him, and the school system, the bird.
When we did have snowstorms of epic proportions, school would be canceled one or two days at the max. If we got the second day, I can still recall the pure joy burning through my veins - TWO DAYS in a ROW!!! Later, when I could drive, my diesel Rabbit would be unplugged from the power source that enabled it to start on cold days and my friends would pile in. Donuts in the high school parking lot (the kind that don’t make you fat), specifically looking for icy roads so we could spin out - it’s no wonder I still remember how to drive in terrible conditions. Is it possible my parents actually let me drive in that stuff? They were probably so fed up with me, they would have let me drive the Rabbit across West Bay just to get me out of their hair. The ice was so thick I could have anyway. Not that I ever tried it.
It is true that every 4th vehicle in my hometown of Traverse City, Michigan was either a snowplow, sand truck or a very large 4 x 4 truck with two pieces of triangular metal welded to the front - the makeshift redneck snowplow. Therefore, it was rare that that the buses couldn’t get anywhere on the days it snowed very hard. The entire population of hearty corn-fed Michiganders banded together in an ice-fueled festival of “CLEAR THE ROADS!” and got out there, shoveling, snowblowing, welding metal to their cars, and making sure their precious kiddies never missed a day of edu-macation. I’m sure I’m making this up but I wouldn’t be surprised if Grand Traverse County voted unanimously to outfit all school buses with chains during the winter months of September through May.
I’m not going to launch into a tirade about Virginia, or Henrico County, or the lack of snowplows and budgets. It’s rare we get snow like this so okay, I get it, but that doesn’t help the insanity that sets in. I have to ask: why is it that the first time in nearly a year, I have a paid contract job and my kids are suddenly home, crazy from cabin fever, and crawling all over me like ants on syrup? I get that every single solitary freakin’ back road in the entire county has to be cleared before the buses can run because if a single child can’t be bussed in to school, then dammit, no kids will suffer the misery of education!
I think even the kids are starting to miss school. And that’s saying a lot.
Last week was “my” week with the kids. No school Monday through Wednesday. Lily went half day on Thursday; anytime there is a half-day Arden’s preschool is cancelled. Based on the threat of bad weather, schools closed again on Friday. Yep. The threat. Not only does forecasting bad weather send everyone streaming into stores for milk and bread (and according to Nicole and Dan, Rainbow Cookies from Ukrops), it sends the schools into a frenzy of OMG OMG OMG we need to preemptively close schools.
I know. Safety first. But can we mix in a healthy dose of reality? The rest of the Virginia universe drove around, to work and to Ukrops for more Rainbow Cookies - all week long. Most were miserable and stressed out, going either 104 mph in their Suburbans and Lexus SUVs. The rest drove 3 mph and randomly stopped in the middle of the roads. Oh and by the way? Did you know that snowplows don’t have to follow basic traffic rules, like stopping for red lights? Yeah, we were almost creamed by one yesterday. I even saw a snowplow in a ditch in the middle of 64 over the weekend - that had to be embarrassing.
We had another wicked snowstorm this weekend. I’d venture a guess and say it was worse than the one we had last weekend. If my calculations are correct, this will mean the kids will be out of school for the next week entirely. And there may be some freezing rain mid-week, the threat of which may cause them to cancel school for a third week in a row. Did I mention the paid contract due at the end of this month? Did I mention the ants in syrup reference previously?
Yesterday the fighting and nitpicking reached a fever pitch. I clearly recall saying, “I’m going to lock you both in a dark room with soundproofing and feed you through a slot in the door if you don’t knock it off.” I also lost it entirely when Arden was screaming and crying because she was “cold”. She was “cold” because I’d let her use my bathtub as a pool and she’d stayed in for nearly 90 minutes. Why would Arden be cold? She was running around the house buck naked refusing a towel and screaming at me that she was cold. It was refusal of towels that caused a psychotic break in me. We both survived the cold incident, but just barely.
I have meetings this week that will be canceled. I’ve already abused my regular babysitter with favors; time to start hitting up the neighbors or just standing on the side of the road with a billboard advertising Two Sometimes Well Behaved Children In Need of Entertainment.
To those parents like me - hanging onto their sanity by their fingernails - I salute you. And I actually feel a tiny bit of guilt for the joy I felt when schools closed. My poor mother. If it makes you feel any better, mom, I’m paying it back in spades now.
I’m too cheap to pay for wireless while I sit here in Chicago, waiting for my connecting flight to Richmond. Speaking of wireless, I’ve gotten used to it being free at RIC – so I am always a combination of surprised/annoyed when the majority of airports want you to pay for it. Why it should be free when nothing else is (including checked baggage), I don’t know.
I feel like I did when I left Vegas after the Maya’s Mom meetup. Bleary. Sleep-deprived. Happy I went. Relieved that it’s over (the anxiety part). Glad to head home. This trip, I also leave with a feeling of homesickness. Even though my home is officially Richmond now, Northern Michigan will always be home to me.
Thursday was a whirlwind. I had to get up at 4.15 in the morning, and didn’t go to bed until 1 AM. Driving in my unfabulous Toyota Yaris rental, I nearly caused an accident trying to take pictures as I drove. I also experienced something I hadn’t in quite a while: an onslaught of memories over which I had no control. They were equally random, funny, sad, and nostalgic. A parking lot where I broke up with someone. Another parking lot where someone dumped me. Clinch Park and beach, where a seagull pooped on a friend’s shoulder. The Bardon’s Wonder Freeze. A crumbling, decrepit and ultimately sad-looking building my parents used to own, containing the parking lot I first drove on my own from – at 16.
I had lunch with Tricia at a great spot overlooking a marina and the West Bay. We did a lot of hugging and screaming (she may have also meowed a bit too).
As it was with most of my friends from high school, time didn’t seem to matter with Tricia. Sure, we had a lot of catching up to do, but there was no awkwardness or sense of not knowing each other. We picked up where we left off back in 1990. As we crisscrossed our pasts, filled with various exclamation points and non sequiturs, we both realized that in terms of our friendship very little time had passed. Tricia has changed and so have I – we’re both what I would call “responsible adults and mothers”, we don’t wear black (all the time), and our childhood pets have died. Other than that, sense of humors are still intact as well as the ability to be goofy and laugh at ourselves.
After lunch with Tricia, she gave me a tour of her place of gainful employment. She waved happily at all the elderly (she runs the financial end of a continuing care facility so nice I couldn’t wait to get Alzheimer’s and end up there), introduced me to her coworkers, and told me how to get to Julie’s house.
I hadn’t seen Julie since I graduated, and now she’s a PhD (pronounced “PHUD”) working at Munson. It was a trip to see her grown up. She immediately whipped out a photo album and proceeded to humiliate me with all the pictures I had burned sometime after college. Two things you should know about Julie: she remembers everything, and she keeps everything. Fair warning. I loved her townhouse, and was shocked to feel fresh air. What is that? People can leave their windows open – in August! Seems like a lot still don’t have a/c – don’t need it very often. When I heard from Mike that Richmond was in a heat wave, I giggled. I will also giggle when it’s January and 60-ish in Virginia and Julie is buried to her neck in snow. It just reinforced to me that we need to make enough money to buy a summer home in TC and winter in anywhere other than Michigan.
I didn’t have to force her at gunpoint into my car for a tour down memory lane, which was nice. She was very patient with me as I pelted her with questions and tooled around on the Peninsula. The weather was absolutely gorgeous – mid 70’s, low humidity, clear and bright. Out near Old Mission Lighthouse even the water felt welcoming, rare for Northern Michigan, even in August. I went camera crazy. Julie put together a playlist on her iPod of, and I quote, “Bad 80’s Music”, which set the mood nicely.
Since so many people had warned me about the changes on the peninsula, I wasn’t that shocked. I was even pleasantly surprised that so many areas out there have not been touched – much. Some of the cherry orchards and spectacular views remain the same.
The house my parents built when we first moved to Traverse City looks like holy hell. It never looked like much from the street to begin with. It’s set back from the road, and all of the windows are on the back of the house. From the front, it looks like a tiny ranch. No one has kept up the wood, and it’s a combination of rotting and fading depending on what part of the house you look at. It was frankly depressing. The only thing that reminded me of the better years was the stone chimney. The people were home so I couldn’t really pull up the driveway and start snapping pictures.
Julie and I headed back to downtown TC and had dinner at Bubba’s. Mine was great; Julie’s dinner resulted in wicked food poisoning. The best part was seeing Julie calmly and kindly deal with what seemed like a wave of elderly people, tugging at their ears or in some cases, removing their hearing aids to tell her something was not right, or to apologize for not coming in more regularly, or ask her if she can do a tune-up right there on the spot in the middle of a crowded bar/restaurant. She just patted them and told them to call her secretary for an appointment.
Tricia and I stayed up WAY too late Thursday night talking, but we were both up early on Friday, ready for our trip to Sleeping Bear Sand Dunes. Her son was so excited to go he apparently couldn’t sleep.
Empire is one of my favorite spots. I love the “downtown”, if you can call the 2 blocks a downtown. There are a couple of restaurants, a couple of shops, what used to be an IGA store and a post office. I don’t credit Paul Linden with a lot, but I do credit him with introducing me to many areas of northern Michigan I never would have seen had he not dragged me around with him one summer.
We first hit the dune climb. Sam loved it, and kept wanting us to go up further into the dunes. Tricia and I huffed and groaned to the top of the dunes, then took a bunch of pictures. I told Sam the best part of the dune climb was the running down part, and he didn’t disappoint, kicking up a big sand storm and managing not to fall until the very end. Then we hit the Pierce Stocking scenic road, took more touristy pictures, and nearly passed out from the stench of the outhouses near an overlook point.
After starving Tricia for the morning while she chauffeured me around, we met up with my friend Christina and her two beautiful daughters and husband for lunch in Empire. We had a world famous burger (and it was pretty good – worth blowing my Weight Watchers points over) and hit the ice cream store for dessert. Even though it was brief, it was great meeting Christina and the rest of the Koenigs. Funny that she lives in the Detroit metro area, yet I ended up meeting her in Empire because her vacation coincided with my 20 year reunion.
One of the high points of my trip was going back to North Bar, although we always called it Christmas Cove when I was growing up. Back in the day, it was a sort of hidden beach, not known to “fudgies” or tourists and the perfect spot for a bunch of high schoolers to build bonfires, party and escape. It’s almost a perfectly enclosed section of water. On one side of the dunes, there is the open water. On the other, a sheltered and peaceful place to throw beer bottles and cigarette butts. All joking aside, it is incredibly beautiful.
Now, North Bar has a paved road leading right up to it, a walking trail, and signs pointing to it from the main road. Needless to say, the beach was more crowded than I’ve ever seen it, but still fairly empty by Traverse City standards. Sam immediately went into the water and as is par for the course with him, made friends immediately. Tricia and I sat on a Sam’s towel and did some more catching up. I would have been content to stay there all day but it was getting late and we had dinner plans.
What happens when you get a group of women together? Usually some form of drama. The events leading up to Friday night were typical (arguing about where to meet, what time to meet, who should be there, who shouldn’t), but once Friday night arrived, we all got over ourselves and had a good time. Niki suggested the Holiday Inn because they have a great deck. 20 years ago, the Holiday Inn was cheesy. Guess what? It still is! This horrific band was playing at volume 11, and 5-6 cougars were circling the dance floor looking for reunion meet. Or possibly something younger. Either way, between the Loverboy covers and the bad shoes and hair, it wasn’t really conducive to reconnecting. We made the best of it and stayed for a couple of hours. Nicole and Rene showed up, as well as Michael and his wife Michelle (love her!). Then it was the usual suspects – Allison, Emily, Julie, Tricia, and of course me.
Val was working at Toy Harbor until 9 so we decided to leave the Cougar Den and head to Right Brain Brewery. Unfortunately, Right Brain Brewery was packed to the gills so we got the fabulous idea to buy some brews and head to West End beach. Val met up with us there and presented an extra large bottle of Jagermeister. Poor Val – she hadn’t eaten, everyone except me and Julie were doing shots interspersed with beers. I was drinking Diet Squirt and having the time of my life on that beach. It was beautiful, with a big moon shining in the sky, and not a soul around except for the five of us.
Although we didn’t make a big deal about it, a few of us apparently were mean to others during high school. We made amends as best we could, considering none of us can remember what the arguments were even about. I think Emily bore the brunt of it but she was pretty good-natured about it. Then I remembered how socially incestuous TC is – we sat there figuring out how many of us had dated each other’s boyfriends. It was quite a few.
Suddenly, I heard Val shout, “Good night for skinny dippin’!” I turned to the water to see Val, buck naked, jumping into the lake. Allison and Emily followed suit (or no suit). I decided I probably would never have this chance again, and probably shouldn’t take it anyway, considering both the state of my body and my age, but I stripped down to my bra and underwear, called it a bikini, and jumped in.
Even in August, that water is COLD.
I still can’t put my finger on it. I don’t know why that night was one of the best – at least in the Top 10 Best Nights of All Time. I think it was a combination of relief that so many years had passed, yet we still felt comfortable enough to be real, the beauty of the area we were in, and the knowledge that this probably will not happen again. It was as if for one night, those of us with kids forgot we had them, and acted like we were 18 again. Since no one was around to witness it and therefore laugh, we all just had a great time.
I also really loved that Tricia got a break. Sam was at a friend’s house for the night, I was the designated driver, and we had no curfew. I forced her to eat some Taco Bell (nothing like the Bell when drinking!), I ate some because I was starving, and we headed back to Williamsburg where Tricia lives. I think we finally went to bed around 3 AM.
Saturday morning we futzed around and had breakfast at the Bayview. I realized then how proud I was of Tricia. Her story isn’t mine to tell, but she’s making it on her own as a single mom with very little support from anyone. Not only is she making it, but she’s doing a great job raising Sam. She’s a fabulous mom. Sam is the same age as Lily, and I can’t even imagine how hard it is, doing what she does on a daily basis. One gift I brought back with me from Traverse City was perspective. I gripe and moan about money, about things that I “need”, about how tired I am, how much I work. Then I spent some time with Tricia, and I felt like a little spoiled brat. No one spells her at the end of the day, or takes care of Sam so she can jet off for the weekend with girlfriends. When bills need to be paid, she does it on her own – sacrificing a lot of her own wants and needs so that Sam has what HE needs.
Val has a similar story. Julie is on her own too, though instead of a child she has what could possibly be the biggest cat I’ve ever seen in my life. I wonder why so many of my friends are still single, and decided that it is because most of the male population up there, in our age bracket, kind of sucks. I also had to remind myself that I wasn’t a total loser for basically being a stay-at-home mom with this weird job I do that will eventually, hopefully, possibly, make money one day. Nothing can make you feel lazy and spoiled like being a SAHM around a bunch of brilliant and talented hard-working women.
Hopefully I talked Tricia into driving down here for Spring Break with Sam and her 110 pound mutt Oscar. I’d like to be able to take care of her like she did for me (those early morning Chai beverages were stellar!). And I like to be able to give her a little break from her life as well.
She wanted to hit me for mimicking her accent by the end of the weekend, but it was so darn kee-yoot that I could not help myself. By the end of day 3, I sounded like I was from Northern Michigan again and there you have it. You can take me out of Northern Michigan but you can’t take the cheeky “Oooh, yahs!” out of me.
Another thing that kept happening: everyone kept saying, “Oh my GAWD, you’re seewwwww TAN!” or, “What’s up with dat TAN??” It was a little annoying. Apparently everyone in Michigan is pasty white and I stood out like a sore thumb (Michigan pun intended). I finally just played along and said that I love tanning, have a tanning bed in my living room as the focal point, and spend my days sipping martinis, tanning, and getting my hair and nails done. I’m livin’ the dream, peoples. Livin’ the dream.
Saturday afternoon I headed over to see Pat (I mean Patrick) and his wife Jessica and newish baby, Henry. I was pretty nervous, especially after my GPS crapped out on me halfway there and I had to call and act like a dork because I had no idea how to get to his house. I haven’t seen Pat since he and Francis visited me in Ann Arbor in 1993, and let it be said that none of us were fully functional that evening. Since then, Pat’s written and published a book, is working on another one, gotten married, raised a nice Westie named Stubing, and had a baby. Pat used to date Allison. I always loved Pat. He let me be a third wheel without being too annoyed by it, and he made me laugh at lot. I had also forgotten how quiet Pat could be, so mostly I spent the two hours in their fabulous house babbling like an idiot and trying to hug on Henry as much as possible. I’m sure when their front door closed and I was speeding away in my Yaris, they both breathed a sigh of relief and said, “Thank God Chatty Cathy has gone back to where she came from.” I really liked Jessica and wished she lived close by – she’s the type of person I’d love to hang out with and annoy with my incessant nervous chatter.
Julie let me get ready at her house for the big reunion, and Tricia met up with us there. The reunion was held in a local brewery owned by one of our classmates. It was a great idea and nice of him to rent out the place for 4 hours to us, but it wasn’t really conducive to “reunioning”. I heard there were about 280 people there, and in a small area with music blasting, it was nearly impossible to move, let alone converse. After the magic that was Friday night, Saturday was kind of a letdown. I tried to focus on the positive and hunted down a few people I wanted to see, like Amy and Rick Epps. I still didn’t get a chance to see some other people, but after 2+ hours I had a splitting headache and a very great need to escape.
The usual suspects met up at another local restaurant called Blue Tractor, and we had dinner. Tricia was paying a babysitter, so we didn’t stay for very long. Julie and I celebrated 20 years of missed birthdays with a large hunk of chocolate cake, then we headed out.
Sunday I got up early and picked up Allison. We were having breakfast with Philip and his wife Mary. When I first got to TC I was really nervous about it and didn’t want to go. I just felt like I was going to be judged, but I’m not sure why I felt that way. Philip is really not judgmental and from what I’d heard about Mary, neither is she.
I’m so glad I went, because we met at a great place called Patisserie Amie (to quote Allison, “When the hell did Traverse City get hip, and why wasn’t it like this when we lived here?!?”). As soon as we sat down I relaxed and enjoyed the entire experience. It could have been weird having breakfast across the table from your high school boyfriend and first love, especially when his beautiful wife is there too, but it wasn’t. I came away from breakfast thinking that if I lived in TC, they were still two people I’d like to hang out with.
The rest of my last day was spent cruising around to all the places I hadn’t been, most notably the State Hospital. When I first moved to TC, the hospital was still open. I remember it closing – they literally kicked a ton of certifiable people into the streets. They had no place to go. The residents were not happy with the influx of “street people”. And can you imagine being a street person in Michigan, during the winter? Not conducive to sleeping in parks!
Anyway, the State Hospital fell into disrepair. That’s probably an understatement. It looked like something out of a movie – beautiful architecture, crumbling bricks, broken windows, ghost stories, and lots of trees. I will let the pictures I took tell the story but it was so inspiring to see how much work has been done to bring it back into useful space, while preserving the roots. And hopefully getting rid of the ghosts. Some of those buildings still give me a very creepy feeling.
To thank Tricia for putting up with me, I took her and Sammy out to dinner at Stella. It was as fabulous as the hype. She got all weepy on me but it really was a pleasure being able to do something nice for her. We stayed up too late again, and I spent the next half hour weeping nostalgically and trying to get organized for my early morning flight.
True to form, Tricia got up at 5 and said goodbye to me.
A couple of observations from the plane: part of my nostalgia was also sadness. Much as I bitched about it, I wish I could raise my own kids in the Midwest. The people there are different. They are direct, unpretentious, and friendly. I had to retrain myself not to recoil when strangers talked to me in restaurants or on the street, because I’m not used to that level of friendliness. I’m not going to bash Richmond – it’s not about that – but there are some major cultural differences between Michigan and Richmond. Some of them I like, some I really wish I could change. In terms of the values and how people are to each other, I much prefer the Midwest to where I live now. I realized how Southern Fried I’ve become when I showed up for the reunion completely overdressed. Did I forget we were in Traverse City? More than half showed up in jeans. Truthfully, I am more a jeans person than a cocktail dress person – but I’ve had to adapt to my setting here.
Secondly, I desperately miss the water. I miss the smaller town, too. As I came home from the airport, I realized it was the first time in 5 days I’d been on a highway. There are no true highways in Traverse City. It drove me crazy because the traffic is horrid, but it was also really nice. Everything is close, and familiar. Every place you go, there is water. Rivers, lakes, inlets, people canoeing and kayaking, swimming, you name it. Since I left, Traverse City has become a place full of active people and is full of hiking and biking trails. Thankfully we have the James River so I can pretend it’s actually part of the Great Lakes.
I’m positive there is a ton I’m forgetting, but in answer to the question: Yes, I’m really glad I went back. I hope I can bring my family next time.
Wanna see all the pictures? Here they are.
My Uncle Richard sent this email out recently and it’s extremely funny (if you’re from Michigan). Actually, it’s funny period because you can LAUGH at those of us from Michigan.
Subject: Detroit Barbie
Mattel recently announced the release of limited-edition Barbie Dolls for the Greater Detroit market:
“Birmingham Barbie”
This princess Barbie is sold only at The Galleria. She comes with an assortment of Kate Spade Handbags, a Lexus SUV, a long-haired foreign dog named Honey and a cookie-cutter house. Available with or without tummy tuck and face lift. Workaholic Ken sold only in conjunction with the augmented version.
“Canton/Farmington Hills Barbie”
The modern day homemaker Barbie is available with Ford Windstar Minivan and matching gym outfit. She gets lost easily and has no full-time occupation.
Traffic jamming cell phone sold separately.
“Westland or Taylor Barbie”
This recently paroled Barbie comes with a 9mm handgun, a Ray Lewis knife, a Chevy with dark tinted windows, and a Meth Lab Kit. This model is only
available after dark and must be paid for in cash (preferably small, untraceable bills) ....unless you are a cop, then we don’t know what you are talking about.
“West Bloomfield or Bloomfield Hills Barbie”
This yuppie Barbie comes with your choice of BMW convertible or Hummer H2. Included are her own Starbucks cup, credit card and country club membership. Also
available for this set are Shallow Ken and Private School Skipper. You won’t be able to afford any of them.
“Waterford Barbie”
This pale model comes dressed in her own Wrangler jeans two sizes too small, a NASCAR t-shirt and tweety bird tattoo on her shoulder. She has a six-pack of Bud
light and a Hank Williams Jr. CD set. She can spit over 5 feet and kick mullet-haired Ken’s butt when she is drunk. Purchase her pickup truck separately and get a confederate flag
bumper sticker absolutely free.
“Royal Oak Barbie”
This collagen injected, rhino plastic Barbie wears a leopard print outfit and drinks cosmopolitans while entertaining friends. Percocet prescription available
as well as warehouse conversion condo.
“Downriver Barbie”
This tobacco-chewing, brassy-haired Barbie has a pair of her own high-heeled sandals with one broken heel from the time she chased beer-gutted Ken out of Butler Barbie’s house. Her ensemble includes low-rise acid-washed jeans, fake fingernails, and a see-through halter-top. Also available with a mobile home.
“Ferndale Barbie”
This doll is made of actual tofu. She has long straight brown hair, arch-less feet, hairy armpits, no makeup and Birkenstocks with white socks. She prefers that you call her
Willow . She does not want or need a Ken doll, but if you purchase two Point Breeze Barbies and the optional Subaru wagon, you get a rainbow flag bumper sticker for free.
“8 Mile Barbie”
This Barbie now comes with a stroller and infant doll. Optional accessories include a GED and bus pass. Gangsta Ken and his 1979 Caddy were available, but are now very difficult to find since the addition of the infant.
“Novi Barbie”
She’s perfect in every way. We don’t know where Ken is because he’s always out a-‘huntin’.
“Woodward Avenue Barbie/Ken”
This versatile doll can be easily converted from Barbie to Ken by simply adding or subtracting the multiple snap-on parts.
Although I’ve barely had a moment to breathe over the past month, I’ve had a few seconds of pure clarity about how ridiculous I was back in high school and college, in particular about my weight.
As I mentioned in an earlier post, my high school boyfriend and I have been writing sporadically. It’s been oddly cathartic, although there wasn’t any bad blood between us (or, not much). He’s happily married and busy trying to help his mom grow her business back in Traverse City. We are both very different people than we were, and that isn’t surprising considering we started dating in 1988. That would be 18 YEARS AGO. Gasp. I’m old. But I digress. Apparently he had lost most, if not all, photographs and mementos from his growing up years, and asked me if I had any left. I had unfortunately burned 98% of my high school and college photographs in a manic attempt to pretend like those years never happened, so all that was left of him was one tattered picture on the deck of Tricia Holmes’ deck right before prom. Val is standing next to me, post-makeup-ruination after bursting into tears at my house prior to the photograph because her vintage velvet dress had ripped right on the butt. My mom sewed her back up and we continued on to dinner. What’s really ironic about the picture is that Val’s “date” (I believe he later came out of the closet) was the son of a man who bought my dad’s business 4 years later in TC, and consequently ran it into the ground before paying him off. I think that might have been Family Company Sale #2 of 3. Third time was the charm, apparently. That’s the dark side of business ownership (so is the mysterious vanishing $5000), but that’s another blog post entirely. Anyway, it’s just weird how small Traverse City was, and how everyone was intertwined with everyone else. And it’s no wonder I have a panic attack every time I think about going back there.
You can just barely make out the lake behind us, but that does make me very nostalgic. I don’t miss much about Michigan, but I sure as hell miss, and sometimes physically ache, for all that water and space, and the smell of it all.
So I dug around through a lot of piles of stuff, included about 2,000 pages of journal notes looking for some things to send. I used to shove photos or letters or notes into my journal when I didn’t know where else to put it. Going back through those pages and pages of mental puking made me alternate between laughter and tears. Some of it’s really, really funny. The situations I put myself in, the people I spent my time with, the places I lived, the fights, the romance . . . it’s all just so . . . .DRAMATIC. And so unnecessary.
The parts that made me feel like crying were the literally hundreds of pages spent obsessing over my body, and later, obsessing over my eating disorder, and still later, obsessing over all the therapy and work it was taking to get me over it all. There is a clear and definitive line between being just a teenager and a teenager with the beginnings of a serious problem. Because I was such a fanatical writer back then, I recorded it all, and there is an actual entry that shows me moving from worrying about my weight to losing my mind over it. Snap. Somewhere in the 18 hours between entries, I lost my grip on what was really important. I can place the blame on Keith, but that wouldn’t be entirely fair. He was a big part of it, but he never refused to feed me or stuck his finger down my throat.
When Tricia’s mom snapped the prom picture, I remember clearly feeling like I was Fudgie the Whale. I might have weighed 98 pounds. Maybe. That’s how messed up I was. Even before I burned all my pictures, there weren’t that many, because I didn’t allow myself to be photographed unless forced. As I poked through old photo albums, I saw one of myself in college that I had forgotten about, and one of myself in Charlotte that Susan snapped, right after her first baby was born. In all of those time periods, I was fat in my head. Now I look at them and I can’t believe that I was ever that pretty, or that thin. Most ironically, in 10 years, I may look at that recent and unfortunate picture my dad snapped of my ass as I leaned over to put Arden into the Moon Bounce, and grieve for the days when my ass was THAT SMALL.
My point to myself is that I wasted so much time - not just hours, but years, starving, barfing, running, lifting weights, climbing rocks, hiking frantically, starving, barfing, worrying, obsessing, justifying, overeating, not giving a shit, hating myself for not giving a shsit, and starting all over again. I can’t get those days back and that just bums me out. I can’t get the years back and I certainly can’t get that ass back, either. Someone I know who shall remain nameless recently (and very bitterly) commented that I have no right to worry about my weight, because compared to her, I “had no issues”. That’s probably true, but that also really illustrates how non-eating-disordered people just do not get what it’s all about at all This same person who said this to me - while she’s not skinny - is in my eyes attractive. I have a lot of friends with non-model bodies, but instead of focusing on their flaws, I see how beautiful they are. Jennifer has a 500 watt smile and gorgeous hair. Sara has fantastic eyes and great lips. Giselle always makes me want to know where she buys her clothes. Susan makes me wish I had her eyelashes and hands. I don’t judge other people, and I don’t compare myself to them, either. It’s all about what I THINK I should look like, not what I am compared to others.
That comment really pissed me off, because it negated my feelings. Maybe she was right to say that to me. However, I wasn’t going around saying “Woe is me, I’m a huge heifer. ” Instead, I was griping about my dad taking pictures of me when I wasn’t “ready”. Like that unfortunate butt shot. I just wish that I could find the natural beauty in myself as easily as I do with others. It’s something I’ll probably be working on for the rest of my life. For now, I go back to Philip’s (my prom date) hilarious comment when he saw the prom picture after so many years. He said, “I remember my cummerbund kept falling down and your dad told me not to worry about it because in a few years, my gut would be holding it up. He was right.”
