Old Friends

I just came across a blog that was all about how this gal is re-reading all the Babysitters Club books in chronological order. In chronological order of the publication date because it's impossible to read them in order according to the dates in the books. They start in seventh grade but then enter a time warp in which they never leave eighth grade. I think they do actually graduate from middle school when the series ends but I've never made it that far.

This blog that I found makes me think of a fews things, like:

1. I am always doing stuff like this, re-reading books from my childhood. Why didn't I ever write about it? July 2005 I read a Judy Blume book a day for the entire month. Sounds ripe for blogging about, but I didn't. I guess I'm just good at blogging about all the things I wish I would have blogged about.

2. Ann M. Martin, bless her, came out with a Babysitters Club prequel. I don't care about what those girls were doing before they joined the Babysitters Club. In fact, I know what they were doing; they were babysitting. They were babysitting all the time! They turned it into a business. I want to know about what happened after the Babysitters Club broke up because Kristy, Claudia, Stacy and Mary Anne all started high school and got concerned with other things. I can imagine Kristy and Mary Anne really fighting to keep the club together but Claudia and Stacy wanting to go to cool high school parties and drink and smoke cigarettes. Jessi and Mallory might as well be dead to them. They are in seventh grade and all the other members are in high school. Claudia and Stacy definitely smoke cigarettes. I bet they still smoke cigarettes (I think they would be about 36). That is if Stacy isn't dead--she does have diabetes. Oh, and Dawn! Dawn will definitely because a burn-out with dreadlocks. She's a total hippie!

3. So thinking of "Where Are They Now, Babysitters Club" just makes me think of "Ramona Quimby, Age 28" and how I really need to know what she is up to these days as well.

The Road is My Home

A few days ago I was following a UPS truck and they pulled over in front of Vernon Elementary school hitting the branches of a cherry tree in full bloom, causing the petals of the blossoms to fly through the air and to the ground, like confetti. It was the most beautiful thing I saw that day.

Today I've noticed the lilacs are blooming and was able to stop and smell some of them. Lilacs are my favorite flowers. We had trees of white, light purple, and dark purple in our backyard at Lafayette. We also had an apple tree, a pear tree, walnut trees, and grapes. There was a wood stove in the living room and a bowl of walnuts in their shells, shell cracker right by the bowl, was always placed next to it. In the backyard there was also a hole in the ground that was covered by a lid that would come open if you stepped on the handle. The lid was heavy and rusted. That hole scared me. It was where my dad put the dog poop he'd clean up before mowing the lawn. When I was seven our brittany spaniel had puppies and half of the litter died from Parvo. It was really sad, and after that I imagined that the hole had dead puppies in it and that we were always throwing poop on them.

When I was younger it seemed like grown-ups were always getting these odd obsessions or interests. I guess I did it when I was younger as well--when I was ten and eleven I really liked suns and then I really liked cows. Even though I stopped caring people were still buying me birthday cards with cows on them or t-shirts with a holstein print. My mom got into buying these tiny British cottages that she kept in a mirrored, lit, corner case in our dining room. My dad went through phases of being really interested in old coins. He had about 30 vintage fishing lures framed. My uncle would always come visit toting a catalogue with the latest gun or knife that he wanted to buy. He'd show me the picture, as if it meant anything to me, and tell me all the specs. He still does this really. Their interests always seemed odd to me, but I supposed my obsession with holsteins was pretty ridiculous. I feel like now I'm getting my first adult obsession--vintage travel trailers. I really want one. I spent over and hour researching them today. I don't even have a driveway to keep it in. I'm not sure what the draw is. I definitely have romantic notions of cross country road trips pulling something like that 1965 Terry trailer I have pictured, of living simply and owning little. I know my Terry trailer would sit untouched most of the time, and I would probably be too lazy to do whatever small amount of upkeep it required. Maybe when I grow up a little bit more--when I have a driveway. When I have more things to call my own I can buy something that lets me pretend that all I need is its 13 feet of living space. My life in a tin canned.

The Old Stuff

I started a blog in fall of 2004. It was required for a fiction class that I was taking. We were required to write in it everyday. So there is a lot of stuff there--some good, some bad. I continued to write in it sporadically over the next couple years then I just stopped pretending to care.

Here is a the address:

http://hoardingitforhome.blogspot.com/

It's the name of a Mates of State song.

I got a letter from Billy today. I've been hating everyone and everything lately and it was a real treat to get. He discussed the new Nicole Holofcener movie and how we should see it. He also asked if I liked country music. There was a period in my life when I liked Garth Brooks. I think I was fourteen. I like old country. It reminds me of my Grandma Oldham. She died, suddenly, when I was 20. When I came home for the funeral I remember playing the "O Brother, Where Art Thou" soundtrack and crying. She played the fiddle and the mandolin. Whenever I hear either of those instruments I think of her.

Warning: the old blog, like this blog is riddled with typos. I hate proofreading.

I actually had a live journal account during this period in my life--when I was "off the map" as Billy put it. Dating a horrible guy and dealing with the death of my grandma. I don't remember the address, only that it had the word "pfiffig" in it, which means clever in German. I was also taking German at LA Vallley College at this time in my life.

LA

In LA I realize that I am capable of liking people and things. In LA the sun was shining and it was warm but breezy. I did a headstand in the front lawn of the observatory, making sure my legs were straight and my toes pointed. A hummer limo pulled up and a wedding party got out. Bride, groom, bridesmaids all there taking photos in the front lawn. In all the pictures we took of ourselves I have a double chin. My face doesn't look like my face, but instead like the face of someone who looks sort of like me, someone my friends would see and say, "That girl kind of looks like Kaite."

The day before our flight to LA I ritualize everything, everything I do is loaded with significance. This might be the last time I _____________. Hug Maebie, eat this food, kiss, hug, shit, shower, the last time I see my friends or talk to my family. When I am done teaching class I want to hug each one of the kids really hard but I don't. I wake up at four in the morning and my head buzzes with anxiety. I wish there was an off button, that I had an off button. On the plane I sit next to a man that is headed to LA on business. He's a psychologist. He's the one that makes defendants in court cases into humans. He interviews them and gives the reports to the judge so that they can be seen as a whole person, and not as whatever horrible crime they committed. We agreed on a lot of things: Meth is bad, Fire on the Mountain is good. He has a daughter that is older than me and he spoke at length about how much he disliked her boyfriend and told me to dump mine if he didn't get his act together in the next four years.

The day we are leaving LA I wake up feeling sick, like I'v inhaled too much smoke from the fire we made the night before. Breathing feels toxic and my head feels light and full of holes. I am doing the dishes, being a good house guest, when Sadie walks into the kitchen wearing bright pink pajama pants, a Devo t-shirt, hair-piled on top of her head and says, "Stop doing those," and then, "Um, the fire is still going."

"Like still smoking, " I ask.

"No, like flames. I'm in trouble."

I saw her spray the fire with water from the hose. I jumped up and moved away because it sent a plume of smoke into the air with force and determination.

Once the fire was out we ate chilaquiles then we drove all around the city saying goodbye to people. It didn't feel ceremonious though. I wasn't dwelling on the possibility of each thing being the last thing. Maybe because I was too tired from lack of sleep and rich food and smoke inhalation to really care, maybe I wanted it to be the last thing. I wanted to finally find the off switch.