I'm old enough to remember a movie called "Ordinary People", which won an Academy Award or two back in it's day. I didn't see it until I was an young adult, and I watched it mainly for the star power. The plot dealt with a dysfunctional family that was very normal on the outside, but behind closed doors...
We put on a mask to go out in the world, to deal with everyday life. Joyce Meyer said in one of her sermons to treat people as though someone was always looking. It is true that we 1)treat people how to treat us (as adults) and 2) act differently when we are aware of being in the public eye.
It strikes me funny that magazines love to publish various female celebrities with their make up off as a source of what, ridicule? The poor woman usually looks one of two ways, either startled or confident (breezy maybe).
Years ago I wouldn't leave the house without wearing make-up. I was so insecure that if I was to be seen in public, I would have my hair "done" and have my make-up on. I cared so much about how I looked to other people. Isn't it funny that I went through great lengths to put on such a front! You should have seen my hair in the 80s! My friend called me the "Queen of Tease". It took us two hours to be completely ready for really, exposure of ourselves in much more intimate ways.
I went through a period where I was so insecure about myself, I never went without a good looking stud on my arm. I started an awful trend when I was 15 and just couldn't seem to stop until I hit my early 30s. I look back on it now as a blur. After that, I realized that I wasn't going to find happiness anywhere outside of me, so I went the other direction for the next 8 years. Studying, working and domestic tranquility became my passions. I was celibate and it was one of the happiest periods of my life. I didn't miss the drama-at all. In my two "serious" relationships, I was trying to be something that I'm not. Maybe I could have been somewhat, but I didn't feel "equal". I felt I had to fit a mold in order to be loved. Not too healthy.
A very long time ago my parents and I are on our way to church. I messed up (again) and my dad turns around and slaps me a good one across the face and then the next thing you know, we're pulling into the church parking lot and they are telling me to stop crying, it's time to go in. We walk up to the front door and my dad is all smiles to everyone he meets. Meanwhile, the tension is thick. I'm sitting in church, and I want to scream and run out. I cannot do a thing. That episode is what I call hypocrisy and I've never forgotten the lesson. Don't be on the outside what you are not on the inside.
Now, I rarely wear make-up. Someone said to me a long time ago, and over the years I've noticed this. The more make-up you wear, the more make-up you need. I believe that is really true for ourselves as well. The harder we try to put up a front, the more we should be paying attention to why we're doing it.
As I've gotten older, I notice that I don't particularly pay attention to individual people in general (unless I come into direct contact with them). Somewhere along the way I learned to stop really looking at people, because when we do, we're bound to find flaws, you know? I'm totally convicted about judging other girls when I was younger, the insecurity thing again. I believe it's better to "glaze" over people and smile when we feel we're being "gazed" at by someone else, if I'm conscious of it at all. Joel Osteen reminded people that the other person you meet up with somewhere may be having a bad day, try to be gracious. If you can't, you can't, but most people are just ordinary good people.
I hate having to get my picture taken because all I see is flaws. I am grateful that God sees my heart, and although I can be a jerk sometimes, he loves me anyway. He doesn't care if I have grey hair or spots. I am grateful that he sees the real me, without make-up. To heck with trying to cover it up.
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Shelly Morgan and the Rowdy Girls
Being a teenager is not easy. It's not easy on the kid, who's clueless, and on the parents, teachers and everyone who is around them. Being a goofy, naive girl is fun when you're a teenager. The world holds possibilities, the future looks bright.
Sometimes I feel that my life has been like a Cold Case File. I can remember bits and pieces of the past, but I've done a pretty good job at trying to forget my years as a teenager. I was a hot mess. I didn't know it then, but I had years of therapy in front of me to try to make peace with myself and my memories.
What I regret the most is the loss of my innocence, my hopes and dreams. About the time I turned 11, I started to mature into a woman. My brother was born. My mom was trying to keep up, and my dad was out with "the guys", picking up women and drinking. At about this time, things got worse between my dad and me.
I discovered he was having an affair while I was riding my bike to the drug store to buy him a father's day card. The pretty blonde in the front seat was not my mother, and I never saw her before. After I heard my parents arguing about my dad giving my mom the clap, I lost respect for my father, and wanted my parents to divorce. My mother had my other little brother the following year. I became my dad's favorite target, and there was no escape, even though I tried to run. That was about the time I started a yearly jaunt to leave Illinois.
I ran and ran, I sought solace in every nook and cranny I could find. I became self-destructive.
But there were my friends.
I had friends. I loved them. I could escape my private hell and just be a girl with them. We plotted together, they helped me get out of the house and away from my dad. When my dad started in on my brothers, I began to drag them with me too. My friends were patient and kind. They listened to me rage and supported me when I cried. They were my secret underground.
There were a few that I was especially close to: Kerry Lyons, Barb Oehman, Tracy McManus, Shelly Morgan, Amy Viano, Lisa Kennedy to name a few. We went rollerskating together, went to the movies, school dances, parties. We laughed alot. There are girls that I can't place. There are only remnants of faces that I can't remember. I wish I could remember. Paula Gow shared her lunch with me sometimes. She got me out of trouble once, and I never got to repay her. Gabby Vlach was a sweet girl. See, there's only one problem with trying to forget the bad things, you forget the happiness too.
I tried to go back when I could, before the internet. I looked girls up when I would come into town. I went to the places they used to live, but they were gone. Some of my friends wrote things in my yearbook, the only one I could afford to buy, my junior (and last) yearbook. I treasured that yearbook, because during the sad times, I could remember those goofy girls. The memory of them made me strong enough to carry on. Designing women had a show once about a goofy girl who was a friend of Jean Smart's character, who was getting knocked around and knocked down by her husband. Jean Smart's character reminded the woman that she was a rowdy girl, and that she had the strength she needed to leave the man. When I saw that episode, back then, I cried. I knew what they were talking about...I had my rowdy girls too.
I remember Shelly Morgan's party. She was all smiles that day. She was so happy to have her friends over, listen to Journey, play games, and have pizza and ice cream. I can remember her smiling, enthusiastic face. Shelly understood me. I snuck out to have a cigarette, and she covered for me with her mom. She was cool. She was true blue.
After my parents did divorce, my life became a running nightmare. I was in a bad, bad relationship, in which the man I was with took over where my dad left off. I sought out Shelly a few times but couldn't find her. Her phone number was disconnected. Her mother had moved out of Arbury Hills. Years went by.
In 1993, after a particularly bad punch, I vowed to find a way to stay gone. By then I had hit bottom in my life. I was broke and beat down. I couldn't see a future any more. I begged my aunt to take me in. I went back to school. I moved back with my mom and brothers after that, wanting to be close to them again. My mom bought a house in Arbury. I walked through the neighborhood hoping to run into someone who knew shelly. My brothers wanted to get closer to me, but my mother did not. After that, we didn't have much of a relationship.
I finished my bachelor's degree and became a photographer. While I lived in Mokena, I searched for my old friends. My yearbook was gone by then. Former roommates locked me out and kept all of my stuff, everything was gone, the only remnants left of my childhood. The faces were gone and all of the wonderful things they said. John Capodice wrote, "It's been a slice". We had Foods class together. I thought he was being witty. Some people wrote that I had better not change...I wish I could have.
I changed. I lost my innocence working at a dive bar in Lemont. I lived on the dark side of life. Lost was the carefree girl listening to records and sneaking cigarettes. I smoked for 20 years. It took me 2 years to quit but I did. I finally found a reason to live.
Goodbye Shelly Morgan. I missed you. I'm sorry I didn't call or come back. We had years of friendship ahead of us and things changed. I'm sorry.
Goodbye Michele the girl. I missed you. I'm sorry I didn't call or come back. We had years of friendship ahead of us and things changed. I'm sorry.
In a twist of fate, God granted me a second chance at a "normal" family. In 2004, I had a baby girl, who is the sweetest, goofiest, smartest girl I could have. I tell her she is my favorite girl. She doesn't understand, but that's ok.
Sometimes I feel that my life has been like a Cold Case File. I can remember bits and pieces of the past, but I've done a pretty good job at trying to forget my years as a teenager. I was a hot mess. I didn't know it then, but I had years of therapy in front of me to try to make peace with myself and my memories.
What I regret the most is the loss of my innocence, my hopes and dreams. About the time I turned 11, I started to mature into a woman. My brother was born. My mom was trying to keep up, and my dad was out with "the guys", picking up women and drinking. At about this time, things got worse between my dad and me.
I discovered he was having an affair while I was riding my bike to the drug store to buy him a father's day card. The pretty blonde in the front seat was not my mother, and I never saw her before. After I heard my parents arguing about my dad giving my mom the clap, I lost respect for my father, and wanted my parents to divorce. My mother had my other little brother the following year. I became my dad's favorite target, and there was no escape, even though I tried to run. That was about the time I started a yearly jaunt to leave Illinois.
I ran and ran, I sought solace in every nook and cranny I could find. I became self-destructive.
But there were my friends.
I had friends. I loved them. I could escape my private hell and just be a girl with them. We plotted together, they helped me get out of the house and away from my dad. When my dad started in on my brothers, I began to drag them with me too. My friends were patient and kind. They listened to me rage and supported me when I cried. They were my secret underground.
There were a few that I was especially close to: Kerry Lyons, Barb Oehman, Tracy McManus, Shelly Morgan, Amy Viano, Lisa Kennedy to name a few. We went rollerskating together, went to the movies, school dances, parties. We laughed alot. There are girls that I can't place. There are only remnants of faces that I can't remember. I wish I could remember. Paula Gow shared her lunch with me sometimes. She got me out of trouble once, and I never got to repay her. Gabby Vlach was a sweet girl. See, there's only one problem with trying to forget the bad things, you forget the happiness too.
I tried to go back when I could, before the internet. I looked girls up when I would come into town. I went to the places they used to live, but they were gone. Some of my friends wrote things in my yearbook, the only one I could afford to buy, my junior (and last) yearbook. I treasured that yearbook, because during the sad times, I could remember those goofy girls. The memory of them made me strong enough to carry on. Designing women had a show once about a goofy girl who was a friend of Jean Smart's character, who was getting knocked around and knocked down by her husband. Jean Smart's character reminded the woman that she was a rowdy girl, and that she had the strength she needed to leave the man. When I saw that episode, back then, I cried. I knew what they were talking about...I had my rowdy girls too.
I remember Shelly Morgan's party. She was all smiles that day. She was so happy to have her friends over, listen to Journey, play games, and have pizza and ice cream. I can remember her smiling, enthusiastic face. Shelly understood me. I snuck out to have a cigarette, and she covered for me with her mom. She was cool. She was true blue.
After my parents did divorce, my life became a running nightmare. I was in a bad, bad relationship, in which the man I was with took over where my dad left off. I sought out Shelly a few times but couldn't find her. Her phone number was disconnected. Her mother had moved out of Arbury Hills. Years went by.
In 1993, after a particularly bad punch, I vowed to find a way to stay gone. By then I had hit bottom in my life. I was broke and beat down. I couldn't see a future any more. I begged my aunt to take me in. I went back to school. I moved back with my mom and brothers after that, wanting to be close to them again. My mom bought a house in Arbury. I walked through the neighborhood hoping to run into someone who knew shelly. My brothers wanted to get closer to me, but my mother did not. After that, we didn't have much of a relationship.
I finished my bachelor's degree and became a photographer. While I lived in Mokena, I searched for my old friends. My yearbook was gone by then. Former roommates locked me out and kept all of my stuff, everything was gone, the only remnants left of my childhood. The faces were gone and all of the wonderful things they said. John Capodice wrote, "It's been a slice". We had Foods class together. I thought he was being witty. Some people wrote that I had better not change...I wish I could have.
I changed. I lost my innocence working at a dive bar in Lemont. I lived on the dark side of life. Lost was the carefree girl listening to records and sneaking cigarettes. I smoked for 20 years. It took me 2 years to quit but I did. I finally found a reason to live.
Goodbye Shelly Morgan. I missed you. I'm sorry I didn't call or come back. We had years of friendship ahead of us and things changed. I'm sorry.
Goodbye Michele the girl. I missed you. I'm sorry I didn't call or come back. We had years of friendship ahead of us and things changed. I'm sorry.
In a twist of fate, God granted me a second chance at a "normal" family. In 2004, I had a baby girl, who is the sweetest, goofiest, smartest girl I could have. I tell her she is my favorite girl. She doesn't understand, but that's ok.
Monday, February 7, 2011
Windows
I'm a little nutty when it comes to windows. I like them. If I am inside of the room, I gravitate towards the window to see what can be seen from it. Each window has a story.
The first window I can remember is a basement window that was my first bedroom window. We lived in a basement apartment in Cicero, Illinois, and you didn't get much light in from the windows in that apartment. It was perpetually twilight. I could never tell what time of day it was. By the time I was 4, my parents moved into a second floor duplex at Roosevelt Road and Oak Park Avenue. The apartment had lots of windows. There was a turning staircase that had a window at the landing. It was where my dad and Uncle Bill stopped the day they were carrying the new refridgerator upstairs. Uncle Bill had a bead of sweat hanging from the tip of his nose and I remember staring at it right then, and wishing he would wipe it off because I thought it looked gross. Uncle Bill died a couple of years ago from a brain hemorrage, so looking back on it now, I wish I could give 'ole Uncle Bill a big hug. There were 8 or more windows on the second story back porch.
My aunt and uncle bought a very large, very old Victorian era home on Western Avenue in Joliet in the late 70s. When I was 7 or 8, my parents and I took a ride to see them on my birthday in June. We were supposed to have a barbeque in the back yard, but it started to rain. That was the first year that I remember it raining on my birthday. After that, it always seemed to rain on my birthday, and I returned to the window to look out on the rain from wherever I was.
In 1974 my parents moved from the city to the edge of a small town in the far southwestern suburbs of Chicago. The view was of farmland and was open and clean and I remember seeing the tractor driving by one spring day, kicking up dust behind it as the farmer plowed the field. The sun was shining brightly that day, and the weather was perfect.
I grew to love the view with rain coming down, because that meant that there was no outside work for that day, and I was spared weed pulling or rock moving. There were always weeds to pull.
A very forlorn Joey on the TV show Friends was looking through a rainy window pane in a lead-in shot in one episode, and when the shot widened you could see that it was an electronically devised decoration to simulate a rainy window. Joey was feeling sad so he sat looking through it for the "back from commercial" lead-in shot. It was funny.
Windows are special to me because they always let you in on something. Eyes are the windows to the soul. You can tell if a person is clean or not by looking at their windows, car or home. Windows can help you let light in or keep the outside world out.
I once awoke to the sun coming up over the Charles River in Boston. The view from my window was from the 25th floor of the Westin facing north, towards Cambridge and Harvard. The river separated us. The view of the city was spectacular. Some of the most beautiful windows I've ever seen are overlooking Fallingwater. The view of the woods is breathtaking and is incorporated into the house and vice versa.
God doesn't close a door without opening a window. Sometimes it's hard to recognize a window. You know the door is closed behind you, there's no going back. The future is uncertain, all you can do is step blindly into the darkness, and then...there's a small light.
God once spoke to me and told me not to open the door. In that case, the only case, he wanted me to know that the door was closed and clearly, I should not open it under any circumstances. Pandora's box comes to mind. God closed the door and then showed me why. I was very unhappy but grateful for the heads-up. Thank you God.
Windows can let you see the storm but be safe. Windows let you see the world outside even if you can't find the door. They can be beautiful and artistic or broken and ugly, just like the building they punctuate. Without them we would live in caves, like Plato suggested. Knowledge, then is like a window. Without it, we would live in the dark. Windows are essential to our humanity.
The first window I can remember is a basement window that was my first bedroom window. We lived in a basement apartment in Cicero, Illinois, and you didn't get much light in from the windows in that apartment. It was perpetually twilight. I could never tell what time of day it was. By the time I was 4, my parents moved into a second floor duplex at Roosevelt Road and Oak Park Avenue. The apartment had lots of windows. There was a turning staircase that had a window at the landing. It was where my dad and Uncle Bill stopped the day they were carrying the new refridgerator upstairs. Uncle Bill had a bead of sweat hanging from the tip of his nose and I remember staring at it right then, and wishing he would wipe it off because I thought it looked gross. Uncle Bill died a couple of years ago from a brain hemorrage, so looking back on it now, I wish I could give 'ole Uncle Bill a big hug. There were 8 or more windows on the second story back porch.
My aunt and uncle bought a very large, very old Victorian era home on Western Avenue in Joliet in the late 70s. When I was 7 or 8, my parents and I took a ride to see them on my birthday in June. We were supposed to have a barbeque in the back yard, but it started to rain. That was the first year that I remember it raining on my birthday. After that, it always seemed to rain on my birthday, and I returned to the window to look out on the rain from wherever I was.
In 1974 my parents moved from the city to the edge of a small town in the far southwestern suburbs of Chicago. The view was of farmland and was open and clean and I remember seeing the tractor driving by one spring day, kicking up dust behind it as the farmer plowed the field. The sun was shining brightly that day, and the weather was perfect.
I grew to love the view with rain coming down, because that meant that there was no outside work for that day, and I was spared weed pulling or rock moving. There were always weeds to pull.
A very forlorn Joey on the TV show Friends was looking through a rainy window pane in a lead-in shot in one episode, and when the shot widened you could see that it was an electronically devised decoration to simulate a rainy window. Joey was feeling sad so he sat looking through it for the "back from commercial" lead-in shot. It was funny.
Windows are special to me because they always let you in on something. Eyes are the windows to the soul. You can tell if a person is clean or not by looking at their windows, car or home. Windows can help you let light in or keep the outside world out.
I once awoke to the sun coming up over the Charles River in Boston. The view from my window was from the 25th floor of the Westin facing north, towards Cambridge and Harvard. The river separated us. The view of the city was spectacular. Some of the most beautiful windows I've ever seen are overlooking Fallingwater. The view of the woods is breathtaking and is incorporated into the house and vice versa.
God doesn't close a door without opening a window. Sometimes it's hard to recognize a window. You know the door is closed behind you, there's no going back. The future is uncertain, all you can do is step blindly into the darkness, and then...there's a small light.
God once spoke to me and told me not to open the door. In that case, the only case, he wanted me to know that the door was closed and clearly, I should not open it under any circumstances. Pandora's box comes to mind. God closed the door and then showed me why. I was very unhappy but grateful for the heads-up. Thank you God.
Windows can let you see the storm but be safe. Windows let you see the world outside even if you can't find the door. They can be beautiful and artistic or broken and ugly, just like the building they punctuate. Without them we would live in caves, like Plato suggested. Knowledge, then is like a window. Without it, we would live in the dark. Windows are essential to our humanity.
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