Monthly Archives: March 2014

I participate in a weekly writing community.  I hope you will too.
I participate in a weekly – daily writing community. I hope you will too.

the morning dance

I’m always the last one to get up out of bed.

First my 2 yr old flicks on our light.  He’s in the bed next to ours, terrible habit- but I kind of love everyone sleeping upstairs, all cozy and pioneer-like. 

My husband is an over acheiver in the mornings.  He makes a great silent fit if I’m not up to snuff with my morning chores.  The dirty dishes in the sink clang loudly as a reminder that I should’ve done them the night before instead of watching that final episode of The Walking Dead or Downton Abbey. 

Get them dressed, fed, make lunches, feed the dogs, brush teeth, get myself dressed, rainboots, jackets, backpacks ready?  It’s more of a frenzy than a morning dance.

Eleanor& Park, 1986

I am the sun and the air! ~How Soon Is Now?

Wow, Rainbow Rowell, I wish your Eleanor or Park  went to my high school. In  1987, I too fell in love for the first time over some 80s modern rock… New Order, Psychedelic Furs, the Cure, The Smiths. That feeling you get when someone unsuspecting, suddenly reveals themselves to you as getting you, through your understanding of being an angsty, confused, invincible teen on the verge of learning how harsh adulthood will be. I was bathing in the warmth of dismal Morrissey and Robert Smith lyrics, falling deeply in love with the swimmer with his yellow Sony Sports Walkman slung over his New Order tee, and his broad, tanned,chlorinated shoulders. I would pick him up on cold winter Monday nights after my rushed dinner and his swim practice. We would drive to the city park, and make out in awe of each other while Morrissey and Johnny Marr vowed that Shoplifters would unite and take over. The simplicity of those nights will never leave me.  I miss my high school confidence, my lean body and kick-ass metabolism. I miss thinking that the number one requirement for true love was music compatibility.  Life was tough yet simple in 1987. I miss you, the 16 year old you, K.  We both know how you are these days, successful financially yet desperately lonely and perpetually single into your mid, forties. But I remember the young man who would ride his bike 3 miles across town to give me a good night kiss.  The sweet guy who would draw me elaborate notes during school, embedded with lyrics from a John Hughes film soundtrack.  Do you miss me too?  I’m a mom and a teacher, a wife, a professor, and though my body and need for risks and impulsive needy teen love are subsided, I still miss you so.

It’s funny how a recent YA book can strike up such a poignant time in my life.

“HANG THE DJ, because the music that they constantly play, it says nothing to me about my life”

Thank you, Rainbow Rowell