Momentos

When I was a little kid, I was enamored with my grandparent's house. It's a small ranch-style house, not particularly exciting in any way, but I thought it was the most beautiful house in the whole world. There were four things about the house that always made me happy when I saw them.

One was the three very small statues that sit on columns on the front porch of the house. I think they're cherubs or something, and they are nothing I would ever choose for my own house, but to me they were always the biggest signifier that we had arrived at our destination.

Two was the grand piano in the formal living room. It's white, and my grandpa can play beautiful melodies on it (although half the time I think he might be making them up as he goes). I took piano lessons for approximately one year, but the violin was already my instrument of choice, and the lessons didn't stick. Still, I remembered about five songs from my lessons and from having picked up what my friends had learned and taught me from their own lessons. I used to love to come in, drop my pillow and books from the long car ride, and immediately play my meager repetoir on that piano.

The third thing is a little rotating picture cube that plays "Close To You." The pictures in the cube have stayed the same for as long as I can remember, and include two of my dad and his sisters when they were little kids, one of my great-grandparents, one of my grandpa and his brothers golfing in the 70s, and one of my older cousin when he was a kid. This has always been on the nightstand of my bedroom and to this day, I always have to wind it up and listen to it at least once while I'm there.

The last cherished part of my grandparent's house is no longer there. When we were kids, there were two giant willow trees in the backyard of the house. My cousins and my brother and I would climb up into them and have our own "clubhouse". We played for hours in those trees. Alas, they got sick and had to be cut down several years ago. It still makes me a little sad to look out the back window and see empty space where they used to be.

I know the day will come when my grandparents will no longer live in their house. So, I try to cherish it as much as I can now. It's the only house that I've known my entire life, and there is a certain comfort to that. Walking into it and seeing each room, the mirror at the end of the hallway, the pattern of the linoleum in the basement, the wicker headboard of the bed in my room, is like clutching a favorite stuffed animal as you drift off to sleep when you're little. It makes my feel safe, nostalgic, and happy. No matter the craziness of my day-to-day life in Chicago, this is a constant that brings me back to the center. Though I've never lived there, it'll always been "home" to me.

Unexpected Moments

I was planning on blogging a lot while I was in St. Louis for Thanksgiving the last few days, but the fates had decided otherwise. First, because I ended up coming down with a HORRENDOUS cold the day I left, which literally developed overnight. Second, because while I knew my grandparents are not of that "let's be hip and learn how to use (or even own) a computer" species of grandparent, I figured I'd have time to scope out some place with free wi-fi. I was with the Schramms--what was I thinking?

I wasn't expecting it to be a very fun Thanksgiving. My grandpa has been in the hospital for nearly three weeks now, having multiple surgeries for multiple ailments. Only one of my three out-of-town cousins was coming in, and my uncle's father died, so I knew that part of the family would be busy with sitting shiva and the funeral. For the most part, my predictions were correct. Everyone spent a lot of time at the hospital with my grandpa (I couldn't go due to the aformentioned cold-from-hell), and the rest of the time was spent shopping for clothes for my brother (who needed new jeans, decreed my mom) and my cousins (who needed something to wear to their grandfather's funeral), making a brief pit stop at World Market, and sitting around watching TV at home or just chit chatting. Usually we see a movie, go visit Hog Hollow (a fun old house that has been turned into a home interiors/crafts store), do something kind of Christmas-y (trekking out to St. Charles, a small little town that had all kinds of boutiques decorated for the season, or visiting a Christmas tree farm, which we did last year), play games, and other things of that nature. I don't think anyone was really in the mood this year.

Amid the blah-ness of the holiday, however, there were two bright spots. Last night I was digging around in my grandparents video cabinet to see if they had any good movies to watch, and I ended up unearthing a cassette tape with the name "Michael" (my brother) written on it. No one had any idea what it was. So, we ended up finding a tape player in the basement, and checking it out. It took us a few minutes to definitively decide that the voice on the tape was indeed Michael, circa about 1986-1987 (he was maybe five or six years old). We were able to make this determination after hearing several topics of extreme interest to the Michael of that era: cheetahs, Abraham Lincoln, German shepherds, and Batman. Apparently, Michael had decided (or Mom had decided for him) that he was going to make a tape of his stories to send to Grandma and Grandpa, since we lived far away from them. He had a title for each story, and after each one, he would say "And that's the end of my story: The Little Boy and the German Shepherd...[long pause]...by Michael." It was hilarious. I literally had tears rolling down my cheeks at one point.

The second fun archaeological find from my dig was a VHS tape that said "Family Movie Tape." Now, I had seen old film footage of the family from when my dad and his sisters were little kids, and I was hoping that what I had seen was on the tape I was holding. It turned out it was! And while there was plenty of fantastic video of my dad as a little boy, huge dimpled smile permanently affixed to his face, it seems that the Schramm family of old had a major preoccupation with water skiing. Intersperced between the videos of birthday parties, Hanukkah celebrations, and doing The Twist (no, really), there was an overabundance of water skiing videos. This would be ok if you could actually tell who was water skiing, but for the most part it's an educated guess as to who you're actually watching. "I'm pretty sure that's Grandpa." "Oh! Is that me?" "Wait, I think that's [insert Jewish name of neighbor or "aunt"/"uncle"-that's-not-really-your-aunt/uncle]!" It became a bit of a running joke: birthday party, water skiing; kids playing in the backyard; water skiing; trip to the zoo, water skiing. At one point, the video turned to a vacation in Mexico that the family took when my dad was about 12. The scenery was nice, and there was some video of the kids playing in the hotel pool. And then my aunt, who was watching this with us, said, "Wait a minute...I think there was water skiing on this trip..." and as if it had been choreographed, the video immediately turned to water skiing. We all had a good laugh at that one.

I guess the moral of the story is that even if the situation isn't ideal, there is always something good to focus on. Thanksgiving is, after all, about being appreciative of what you have, and for most of us, family is one of our most valuable assets. A long-lost childhood recording of a now-grown sibling, and video from upwards of 50 years ago are pretty great treasures. Despite a bad cold, a visit to St. Louis without seeing Grandpa, and your run-of-the-mill family irritations, that's what I'll choose to remember from Thanksgiving, 2008.

Shrimptastic!

I read an article on msnbc.com today about how this video of a science experiment was posted on a website (I assume a science website) and someone got a hold of it and now it's become an Internet phenomenon. Apparently, the experiment was to take healthy shrimp and shrimp with bacterial infections, and to have them run on an underwater treadmill to see how long they could last. The scientists didn't even know if the shrimp WOULD run on a treadmill, thinking that they might do it for a few seconds, and then swim off. But as it turns out, apparently shrimp dig treadmills. Some of them were still running up to four hours later! Eventually they had to physically remove them from the treadmill. So here is the video, with music added to it, for your viewing pleasure.

Christmas Trees and Matzo Ball Soup

I've always been a stickler for not doing anything Christmas related, until after Thanksgiving. You see, poor Thanksgiving always gets the shaft. People ask what you're doing for it, and then you get together with family and become completely gluttonous for a few hours, and then it's over. There is no Thanksgiving tree. Nobody makes Thanksgiving cookies. And who ever heard of Thanksgiving carolers? In the meantime, Christmas is totally overstepping its bounds and crashing Thanksgiving's party. Christmas songs are playing. Houses are lit up with Christmas lights. Christmas sales are already starting at stores, and people are gathering their cheesy outfits for the annual family Christmas photo (to be accompanied by the annual obnoxiously detailed family Christmas novel that will be sent out to 158 of your closest friends). All of this before it's even December yet. Normally, I'm like, "Back off, Christmas! This isn't your turf yet, dammit!"

But not this year.

A paradigm shift has occured in my head. I have no explanation for it, other than the fact that I actually managed to make my plane reservations for Christmas earlier than two weeks before the day I leave. So maybe that's why I have Christmas on the brain. Whatever my main malfunction is, I'm actually putting up my Christmas tree tonight AND listening to Christmas music while I do it. Oh, the horror!! It's a good thing I have an apartment and not an actual house which would require outside decorations, because I would probably be receiving a visit from the Angry Pilgrim. I just found out about said pilgrim last night from my friend Katie. Apparently, one of the local radio stations sends people out to scour the local Chicago neighborhoods in search of pre-Thanksgiving Christmas decorations. When they find a house that meets the criteria, they take a picture of the decorations, and then they take them all down and steal them. After Thanksgiving is over, they go back to the house and, using the picture, put everything back just the way it was originally. Moral of the story? Don't piss off the Angry Pilgrim by doing Christmas before Thanksgiving. I'm glad my tree will be inside on the second story of my building because the pilgrim wouldn't be the only one who was angry if any of my ornaments got broken by his anarchist shenanigans.

In addition to Christmas-ing it up, and since I think Thanksgiving deserves to get equal shafting under the law, I'm also making matzo ball soup. My dad's family is Jewish, and while my immediate family has always been way more swayed by the enticements of Christmas (decorations, way too many gifts, music, the actual acknowledgment of the holiday, etc), we've also tried to pay tribute to my dad in some small ways. We have a dradle ornament on the Christmas tree, a menorah on the mantle, and we always have lox and bagels (what my cousin referred to as "pink fish and donuts" when she was little) for breakfast on Christmas morning. I think I'm subconsciously continuing the muticultural tradition up here by dining on Jewish fare while I decorate the Christmas tree.

But don't worry, Thanksgiving. I still love you and your overabundance of stuffing.

Nice Knowin' Ya.

Welp (as I used to say as a child), I'm moving to Mauritania. My bags are packed, and I'll be on the first flight out tomorrow morning. Never heard of the place? Don't fret, I hadn't either until about an hour ago. That's when I watched a DVRed "Oprah" from last week about beauty standards around the world. Apparently, in Mauritania, the most prized and desireable women are those who are overweight, with stretch marks and fat ankles. The men, however, are expected to remain thin. As Oprah started singing "There's a place for us...." from West Side Story, I couldn't help but agree. You see, some of us (and by "us" I mean "you") are naturally thin. The United States is a wonderful place for these people because they fit our standards of beauty without having to do anything at all. They don't struggle to lose weight, dieting and exercising their lives away. They just do their thing, knowing that they embody this country's most desired physical feature. That's great, more power to them. But others of us (and by "us" I mean "me"), go the other way. We are naturally inclined to weigh more. If we do nothing, like those who are naturally thin, we gain weight. What I never knew was, we would be considered super models in other countries! Super models, dammit! And here we are doing everything within our power just to get into pants that are one size smaller. I was simply born in the wrong country. That's all there is to it. So, while I've had fun hanging out with you all at one time or another, it may be a while before I see you again. In the meantime, feel free to start saving your money for a plane ticket to Africa.

Not diggin' it.

Realizing, once I've walked up all of the strangely sticky stairs in the back of my building and read the sign posted at the TOP of said stairs, that the stairs were newly painted today and please will you use the front door for the next two days and not walk on the newly painted stairs?

Cloud surfing

Ever since I was a small child, I've had extremely vivid, realistic dreams. I can still remember some of the ones I had as a kid, bizarre as they were. And that's the thing about my dreams: they are WEIRD. We're not just talking your normal I-was-taking-a-science-test-in-high-school-naked weird. More like did-I-take-a-hit-of-acid-before-I-went-to-bed-? weird. THAT weird. The details that I can remember are insane. My dreams are very colorful, I can hear things, and I can physically FEEL things. You know the flying dream that everyone has? Well, I've had that dream, and let me tell you, that dream rocks. Because I can feel the air on my arms as I'm flying. It's pretty sick.

When I've asked friends and family members what their dreams are like, I invariably get "Oh, uh, I'm not really sure. I don't really remember my dreams." You what?! How can you not remember them? They're so freaking WEIRD!! This leads me to believe that I'm abnormal and have dream issues. Add it to the list.

Anyway, one of the weirder dreams I've had in awhile (and that's saying something) occured two nights ago. In my dream, I was traveling somewhere via airplane with tons of other people. Nearly every seat was filled. And this was no normal airplane--it was gigantic. We're talking at least 40 rows here, front to back. And the rows were approximately 6-7 seats long on the right side, and then there was an aisle, and then there were 2-3 more seats on the left side (see, what'd I tell you about those details?). So, we're flying along contentedly AT A 45 DEGREE DOWNWARD ANGLE, which isn't weird at all, nope, not weird at all, when what was known in my dream as the "cloud surfing" began. So called because passengers on the plane would literally surf the seats of the plane while we were flying. In my dream, I looked behind me and up (because we were at a 45-degree downward angle), and people were standing up in their seats, taking a step between the shoulders of the two seats in front of them and then somehow sliding on their feet, standing up, from the back of the plane to the front of the plane in a straight line on the backs of the seats in all the rows in front of them (are you understanding this? It's kind of hard to describe). And the thing was, this was totally normal in my dream. I remember thinking, "God, I wish they wouldn't do that, it's so annoying." And the annoying thing was that if you happened to be in the path of one of the cloud surfers, they would totally TAKE YOU OUT. I mean, you'd be done. Done! If you didn't die, you'd be severely injured. This is because to go from the back of the plane to the front of the plane at that kind of angle meant that the cloud surfers picked up an incredible amount of speed as they went. By the time they got towards the front, they were going 50-60 miles an hour. And having any moving object going that fast hit you is not going to feel good.

Other problems with this "sport" were that sometimes the cloud surfers would get their foot caught between two seats on their way down, and they would get totally mangled and break the foot. Plus, once they got to the front of the plane, they would just slam into the door to the cock pit, and one guy actually died in my dream from this. I remember that I had brough three blankets with me, one being gray and polar fleeced (there we go with the details again), and once I saw the cloud surfers start with their crazy cloud surfing antics, I grabbed my blankets, got down on the floor, and threw them over myself as if to sheild myself from getting hit.

That's when I woke up.

And you though acid trips were weird.