Random memories…

My dad used to coach a women’s softball team with his buddy Dennis. He also played on a men’s team during the same season, so we were at Goldman Park quite a bit. Most of the women had children, and the children formed quite a little posse of running around and debauchery. We did all we could to rule the roost of ball diamonds. This meant chasing each other at full speed for no reason to both bathrooms and screaming as loud as we could once inside to hear our little maniacal screeches echo off the stall doors. We convinced each other that ghosts lived in the concrete partitions between the bathrooms, evident by the tell-tale “ghost sketchings” that were actually just natural indentations in the wall. We stomped up dust clouds on empty fields and kicked the sides of the bases with our feet, spit to the side like real ballplayers and tried on our parents’ mitts. We brought our soccer ball and played pick-up games near the entrance, shoving the boys around getting our faces streaked with dirt. The time is marked by the scent of concession stand, the imagery of cut-off sweatpants for practice and the outfielder ladies playfully talking smack to dad and Dennis during practice. I’ll never forget how the sky looked when a storm came rolling in over Goldman, and one by one the refs would call the games and we would leave in little groups of family; wincing with each lightning-hyphen across the sky.

They made me go to speech class in 5th and 6th grade, over a span of two different school districts. I hated it. I hated being pulled out of class to attend something I didn’t understand—I could see nothing wrong with the way I talked. I’ve always had space between my top and bottom teeth from years of sucking on a pacifier as an infant, and so I strugged with s sounds, ch’s and sh’s. Like I said, I never noticed. I remember the worksheets, the woman with her little metal clicker. Every time we pronounced a word right, we would get a click. In fifth grade I had session with two other girls who struggled with their r’s. We were equally uncomfortable in that tiny room, repeating words and sounds until they sounded downright perverse. We had a little party at the end of the school year, and we could invite one of our classmates. I invited my friend Donnie, who didn’t pass judgement though I worried about it. I remember climbing the stairs with him, how excited he was to leave class and eat candy. I didn’t want to have to recite words in front of him, but luckily we had the day off to relax and celebrate how far we had come.

My sister and I had some interesting little games when we were younger. Things just for us. We both love to read, and grew up going through book after book. Sometimes we took turns reading paragraphs/sentences from our respective books to one another. We would know nothing about the other person’s book, other than the words read to us. I always enjoyed doing this, since I always liked reading aloud, and I loved when my sister shared things like that with me from her world.
Frequently, before falling asleep at night, we played Rhyme-Out. Rhyme-Out is a made up little game of rhyming words. We had a little theme song to sing at the beginning of the game, and then one person would pick a word, and say a word that rhymed. Then the other person would. We did this until we exhausted ourselves.
As kids, we kept some of our best toys at our grandmother’s house(since we were there quite a bit). We each had a baby doll and we would have our separate apartments—her apartment would be the back bedroom and mine would be the CB room. We would take turns visiting each other. That’s it. That was the extend of it. And it was, of course, wonderful. We also made up scavenger hunts throughout my grandmother’s house using little handwritten notes. One person would have to leave the scene while the person setting up the hunt would plot and scheme, tucking scrap paper between books or under the foot of the globe to be found. Grandma’s yard went all the way around her house, with two sets of gates, and we would chase each other around and around this way, trying to knot the rusted chain in a way that prevented the other person from getting through.

I thought about writing on my Thursday night spent bartending, but I’m not going to. My heart leaves bread crumbs under the moon, and my mind will follow. I have some thoughts beyond replaying my evening.

I’m kind of beside myself right now. It could be the combination of music and weather, the way they are matching up and mending together like one hand clasping another. What is keeping me here, tethered to a desk? A routine that tells me to be here at this hour, and stay here until this hour, with perhaps an hour of freedom in between? What keeps me from walking out, going home, throwing everything I thought I owned away because it is not truly mine and never was/never will be—they are just things—they are just artifacts taking up space. I’m my own artifact, so why need anything else? We have tree rings. Why count outside of myself, to see how far I’ve come?
There are moments like this, when my heart pushes aside the other organs and fills up all the limbs—when it is kicking up the back of my throat and flushing the bed of my palms. The cells will riot and lose.

There are so many things that I need to be doing, things that are slight but important—things I keep telling myself oh I’ll get to or maybe tomorrow or someday or it’s not important(the worst is being so busy that my gauge of significance gets broken). Time is not slowing down. My life is not getting longer. Whatever this energy is that I have is going to change into something else one day.

Everything always starts here. And I’ll begin by going outside and calling my father to tell him I love him.

(10 minutes later…) Mission accomplished. My dad is such an incredible person.

posted in the infamous missed connections section, which is the charming part:

HEY YOU NEED TO HELP ME WITH IRONING
w4m

Date: 2008-04-11, 12:39AM EDT

I dont ask for much however I would appreciate some help in ironing. The clothes are getting all backed up. I know you dont like this chore but some help would be appreciated, btw I do have starch which makes the job easier.

“Is that the four food groups?”

“Is that the new food pyramid or the old food pyramid?”

“What are you?” (this one I received twice)

“What is your ethnicity?” (worded much better, received once)

and, the most awesome one of the evening:
“Were you in The Dark Crystal?”

I’ll have more tales from the bar later. Right now it’s 6:56 am, I’m still trying to wake up, and it’s about time to go to work. I think I’ll go intravenous with my coffee this morning. Oy vey.