The other day, while riding in the car (where we have some of our more interesting conversations), Sean asked me about handkerchiefs. I'm not sure how it came up...we were discussing knitting while on our way to pick up Chinese food.  His interpretation of handkerchiefs were "Those white things people wave."  For me, they will always be associated with my grandparents.

My grandparents always carried around a handkerchief.  My grandfather had big white squares of cloth that were always soft from being laundered so many times.  He kept one folded neatly in the pocket of his slacks, brought out to wipe down a grandchild's nose or tears.  My grandmother's were more dainty, as ladies hankies were.  She had all sorts of hankies for different occassions.  The thin one with the embroidered shamrocks always came out for St. Patrick's Day.  I'm not sure she ever actually used one of her hankies as, well, a hanky.  She usually had a tissue tucked under the wristband of her watch or inside a pocket of her purse.  As a child though, I loved going through her dresser drawer, where she kept all her pretty, lace edged, embroidered hankies. 

The one story I remember my grandmother telling is when she and my grandfather went to Italy.  It was post Vatican II, so things weren't as strict in the Catholic Church as it was before about dress codes.  My grandmother - who has always been appropriately dressed for everything - showed up at the one church door one Sunday morning for Mass in her nice sleeveless dress.  The usher at the doorway stopped my grandparents.  He pointed to my grandmother's bare shoulders and shook his head.  My grandmother instantly understood what the Italian usher was telling her - no sleeveless garments in church.  She and my grandfather walked off to the side and she asked him for his handkerchief. He produced his, she pulled hers out of her handbag, along with safety pins (the woman was always prepared to alter a garment I think), and pinned the handkerchiefs on the shoulders of her dress, tucking them in just right to create sleeves.  She marched back up to the door, the usher saw her new "sleeves", smiled and waved them into the church.  The only surprise of this story to me is that my grandfather didn't take a picture of it. 

This week, I was also in the office supply store here in town - which isn't so much an office supply as a "You want it?  We probably have it somewhere in here." type of office supply/general store.  And below the line of backpacks hanging on a display near the door were two boxes of big square men's handkerchiefs.  But they weren't white...they need to be white in my book.  Soft white comforting squares of cloth.  That you could I guess use to wave at people as well, if you wanted to.

Sunday, September 21, 2008 10:21:32 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

I was about 11 years old when we got cable.  A very big deal in our household to say the least. 

The man came to install it, and once he got the box hooked up, he punched in the number 34.  Channel 34 was Mtv...and it was back when Mtv had VJ's and played actual music videos.  And this was the video that was playing.

I remember jumping on the couch to the song and thinking that the band was really cool.  I also wondered what the heck they were singing about and my mother giving me a version of Bloody Sunday (we're part Irish, if you haven't caught on by now.)  Years laster, I actually got to hear it live, with my college friends - now that was a night.  A few weeks later, my friend Anne and I and her friend Jill stalked them hung around after another concert and actually got to sorta meet Bono and Anne got a kiss on the cheek from him and a couple autographs before collapsing to the ground.  No, I was never jealous of Anne.  She was way more of a fan than I could ever dream of, and I was more excited about being there to watch her finally meet Bono than if I had met him myself.  If there was a soundtrack to my college years, U2 would be it. 

Anyway, now you know my history with this video and song and band..  Now enjoy them, live at Red Rocks, playing "Sunday Bloody Sunday".

Monday, July 14, 2008 6:55:58 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

This song takes me back to Oak Lawn, Illinois, 60453.  It's the town I grew up in.  I grew up in the big light blue house on 52nd Avenue.  Though it's no longer light blue. 

I loved that house.  Heck, even now I think it's a great house.  It had built-in bookcases, lots of windows, good closets.  It also had quirks like the former owners son's name carved here and there and the shelf in the upstairs bathroom that had been a window before the addition, which still had the window frame around it.  And the two attics, neither of which we ever managed to get into.  Oh sure, it also had mold in the bathroom and drafty windows and the basement that was great and scary at the same time.  But I've learned that no house is perfect...well, none I could afford.

I used to sit on the stairs and stare out the front door.  Watch it rain or just the cars go by.  I spent countless hours bursting out the back porch, down the stairs, out the gate, down the sidewalk.  We never really used the front door.  No one ever had a key for it. 

We moved into that house when I was 6 months old.  I left to go to college from it.  When I was twenty, we moved from it to a new house a few blocks away.  I would go back to Oak Lawn a lot to visit family, until they all moved away.  The last time I was in Oak Lawn, a few years ago, I realized that it had completely changed from the town I grew up in.  It was no longer that place.  Too much had changed, in both it and me. 

It was a great place to grow up, but as the song says, "Some had to leave it."  Turns out I was one of those who had to leave.  And it turns out, that was okay.

"Photograph" by Nickelback

Monday, May 12, 2008 10:26:17 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

This week I bring you Natasha Bedingfield's "Unwritten" - it's fun to dance to, a bit inspirational, and it appeals to the writer in me.  I also am somewhat amazed that I can keep up with it when I sing along with it when it comes on the radio.  It has a lot of S's in it. 

See, as a child, I had a big bad speech problem.  I couldn't say S, SH, CH, J, soft G's, Z's, R's...W-R combinations would trip me up at times...I'd also spit a lot b/c of my speech problem.  I was teased a LOT because of it.  It wasn't until 8th grade that I conquered it all.  Now, I meet speech therapists and they are amazed at how well I speak after hearing my history.  No one who has known me since high school ever guesses I had a big bad speech problem.  As the song goes, "No one else can speak the words on your lips" - they couldn't.  I had to learn it all myself.  And now I can sing that line...maybe not the best that anyone has ever sung it, but all my S's are as clear as anyone else's.  It never occured to me until recently just how much that should be celebrated. 

Monday, May 05, 2008 9:20:16 AM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

Sure, it's Earth Day.  But it's also my grandfather's birthday.  He would have been 91 today.

My grandfather passed away in 2000, complications from Alzheimer's (which truly does suck.)  Before the big nasty A got to him, he was pretty much the coolest person in my world.

He was born the youngest child of Italian immigrants.  He was his mother's little boy.  He was my grandmother's sweetheart.  He loved cars and children and his family.  He was a Chicago police officer, a carpenter, and a WWII soldier (not in that order.)  He was a story teller and a poet.  He could be strict, but then get in trouble with the rest of us kids for giggling in church - and usually he was the cause of the giggling.

And he loved his birthday. 

Tuesday, April 22, 2008 4:21:17 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0] 

Yesterday, I was over at my mother's house, going through old pictures from my grandparents house.  I was looking for the pictures my grandfather took while on his tour of duty during WWII.  But of course, we found all sorts of pictures to look at.  Pictures of my grandfather and his brothers, pictures of my grandmother's aunt, pictures of my mom growing up, pictures of us as kids...

I saw one that has always been one of my favorites of me as a kid.  It's me in a light green shirt with a rainbow on it, my hair in braids, and I'm looking down at my little sister, then just a baby.  I was almost ten, she was just a couple months old.  She was making that baby "ooo" face at me and I was doing it back at her.

I laughed at us, at that shirt I used to love and then I noticed a big white spot on my arm.  "Oh!  You can see my psoriasis in this picture!"

And then it hit me - I have never noticed my psoriasis before in pictures. 

Now, seeing as I've had this all my life, it's a surprise and yet not that I've never noticed it before.  I don't really notice it on me.  I mean, I know it's there.  I know all about it.  I know that I need to use more lotion than the average person.  But otherwise, it's just part of who I am, like my hair or eye color. 

The weird thing is that I am now half-tempted to go looking through pictures to see if I can spot it again.  I'm just curious as to how visible it was.  I know it was visible - I remember in grade school, people looking and pointing at it, asking me what it was and if it was contagious.  Sometimes I'd say yes, just to laugh at their reaction.  I was a bit of a snot as a child, I can admit it. 

Wednesday, April 16, 2008 12:30:33 PM (Eastern Standard Time, UTC-05:00)    Comments [0]