That’s my son wearing my dad’s outfit, which Dad wore in the picture my son is holding.
I did it again.
That’s me and my brother [mumble-mumble] years ago. My mom made our outfits for a centennial celebration in our little town. Come to think of it, I believe she made a matching dress for herself. Whether that and my brother’s outfit still exist, I’m not sure. My outfit — except for the drawstring purse — still does, though. I dug it up and washed it before my daughters were too big to wear it anymore.
My first daughter was all over the idea of dressing up for pictures, especially since she also got to wear her dressy shoes. (She loves her dressy shoes.) She posed and smiled and even tried to dip her head.
My other daughter? She was having none of it. I asked her every day for the last week if she wanted to wear Mommy’s dress. Nope, she said, especially if it meant taking off her shirt. (???) I told her she didn’t have to take off her shirt. Nope. I called it a princess dress. Nope. A princess prairie dress. Nope. A pretty princess prairie dress. Nope. She wasn’t buying it. She might have been tempted if it looked more like this. (Notice the shirt underneath.)
Nagging an almost 4-year-old doesn’t work, although I did tell her yesterday that she would probably regret not wearing this dress for a picture a few years down the road. I imagined the conversation I would have with the girl who can repeatrepeatrepeat something 3,492 times — or until it wears a hole in my head.
I figured I’d get the “Why didn’t you take a picture of me in your dress?” and “You always loved her best!” and, you know … “MarciaMarciaMarcia!”
But it didn’t come down to that. I asked her again if she wanted to wear my dress and take pictures, and she said YES! I dropped everything, dressed her up and took her outside before she could change her mind.
Here she is.
Only problem was, the other daughter cried the entire time. Two daughters. One dress. Sigh. Oh well. She got to wear it again after we were done. (Notice the teary eyes and the red nose.)
Stay tuned for I dress my children in very old clothes, Part 2.
So I did a meme the other day. I mentioned a Johnson who was president. Why? I thought it would be a good segue into the “I come from a long line of Johnsons” bit. I also mentioned the only Johnna I’ve ever known, and I haven’t even said her name in, oh, almost 30 years. (Dang. Where is that yearbook?)
Then I ran across this article in Newsweek, My Turn: Don’t Just Call Me Jane, written by — a woman named Johnna, who writes about her unique name. (This other Johnna read the article and blogged about it.) While several people named Johnna responded in the comments, it’s still a fairly uncommon name.
The next day, my newspaper ran a full-page article about not just any ol’ Johnson but Lyndon Baines Johnson, called This is LBJ Country, with a Johnson City dateline.
That same day? We went to look at a house for sale on Johnston Road. (No, no. Nothing serious. Just looking.)
4. I can’t think of many “Johns” in the family, though, except middle names and those who married into the family. I went to school with a girl named Johnna and a boy named Jan. My first best friend in high school was named Johanna.
5. This is my favorite picture of my dad.
6. This is my second favorite. It’s a picture I took of my son, holding Dad’s baby picture and wearing the same outfit Dad wore in the picture.
7. Even though we grew up in various places, everyone in my immediate family (mom, dad & sibs) was born in Nebraska.
8. Everyone in my little family was born in a town with five letters: Molde, Omaha, Tampa. Our birthdays last year were all on Sunday.
Magpie Musing wants to know what’s on page 123 of the first book within my reach. I’m surrounded by books. I have books on the shelves in front of me. Books in stacks on the floor beside me. Books stacked on top of the shelves. While I’m not actually reading it, the nearest book, however, is one I bought in Norway for the kids, Jostein Gaarder’s Julemysteriet (The Christmas Mystery).
I have read two of his books Sophie’s World (Sofies verden), which was made into a movie, and The Solitaire Mystery (Kabalmysteriet). Here’s a little diversion from the main topic at hand. It’s a trailer to the movie Sofies verden, which apparently isn’t available in English yet. I guess it’s not so easy to get the Norwegian version either. I haven’t seen it yet, but I’d like to.
I saw Gaarder at some literature festival or other several years ago. I thought it was Bjørnsonfestivalen, but I still have a tote bag from then, and it has Bokbadet På Tur on it. So who knows.
Anyway. Here’s what’s on page 123 of the book that’s closest to me, Julemysteriet by Jostein Gaarder.
– Joda, svarte pappa. — Men det har jo egentlig ingen betydning hva hun het.
Den siste som sa noe før de måtte skynde seg å spise frokost, var Joakim.
– Jeg synes det har ganske stor betydning, sa han. — For også damen på bildet het Elisabet.
Pappa doesn’t think it matters what her name is. Joakim, on the other hand, does. He things it matters a lot because the woman in the picture is named Elisabet.
If you want to know what’s on page 123 of books I’m actually reading, here are a couple of passages.
In the fall of 2004, when the kidnapping started, it became very necessary not to be publicly identified on the streets as a foreigner. I wear a scarf, I wear Iraqi-style clothing. I don’t go with the whole abaya [the traditional full-body garment for Islamic women] because I don’t walk like I’m an Iraqi that’s in an abaya. — Liz Sly, Chicago Tribune
I kept a blue Magic Marker with me at all times. My favorite tags were “Lady Cupcake, Slob Killer”; “Lady Cupcake, 60’s Killer” (to denote “60’s Killer,” I’d write “60’s” and then mark a giant X over the 60’s); or “Lady Cupcake — Gangsta Ca-rip Cuzzz.” Gangstas also taught me how to make money by “working a store.”
That’s from A Piece of Cake, a memoir by Cupcake Brown, who practices law in San Francisco. I’m almost halfway through her book. I just read about her third pregnancy/second abortion. Her first pregnancy ended in miscarriage brought on by a severe beating by girls in her foster home … when she was 13. That was after turning tricks, a stint in the hospital for alcohol poisoning and running away repeatedly from the abusive foster home, where her biological father put her after her mother died when she was 11.
Even though I will eventually read about her graduating magna cum laude from college without a high-school diploma or certificate of General Educational Development and her other successes, I can’t help feeling she lives with her past as a big part of her present. And that makes sense, I guess. Most of us carry around a part of our 5-year-old, 10-year-old or 15-year-old selves, don’t we? When I was reading The Glass Castle, though, I felt the author was looking back on a much older story from a different time and place. Brown tells her story with such gusto and bravado that it seems she’s not as far away from her past. Two very different perspectives, yet the authors are about the same age. Maybe the difference is that Brown’s past is a big part of her current life because she uses “all of the years of negative experiences, coupled with the positives, to share with others how — even though it seems impossible — the hopes and dreams of anyone really can come true” to speak to others around the country.
I’d love to hear what Brown is reading, but I understand she’s incredibly busy. Oh, what the heck. I’ll tag some of my favorite authors. Let’s just see if they (or their publishers) ever check their incoming links.
Dad2twins honored me with the “This Blog is Rated E for Excellent” award. Wow. Thanks, D2t! (Is it just me, or does the award look crooked? I keep wanting to straighten it out. Nah. It’s straight. It must be an optical illusion with the crooked E and all.)
It took some time, but I found that the award originated with Project Mommy, a 23-year-old mother of two girls. She wanted to show her appreciation for the blogging community she’s found. She asks that anyone who receives the award turns around and gives it to at least 10 (or more) blogs, and it doesn’t matter if they’ve already gotten it. So now I need to pass along the award.
So, yeah. I’ve got some awarding to do. I’ll get to it, I promise. I just can’t guarantee that I’ll get it done before 2013. (What … am I running for president or something? More on that soon. Promise.)
Neil at Citizen of the Month started The Great Interview Experiment on Jan. 18, 2008, after deciding, ”We all should be interviewed, at least once.” So I signed up and interviewed the next person to comment after I did: Alisa of A Juicy Life. She runs The Juicy Pear, a pottery studio in Los Angeles, and Art-Works Studio, where she and her husband, Bruce, teach art classes for children.
Just in time for Valentine’s Day, here is a story of amour and bonheur. A story of the loves of Alisa’s life: her husband, her dogs, her art, pears, wonderful food and République française. Reading through her blog, I was struck by how happy she is. Turns out one meaning of her name is “great happiness.” It fits.
Joyeuse Saint-Valentin, Alisa and Bruce!
I’m so sorry for the loss of your dog Daisy in July. How old were you when you got your first dog? What kind was it? What was his/her name?
We got our first dog “Dixie” when I was about 6. She was a white Shepherd mix. Sweet as can be. My sister and I would dress her up in skirts and shirts. She was so great. She was a mom and had seven puppies after a romp with Reddie the Irish Setter that lived down the street. The pups were like golden retrievers, we kept one “Buffy” … she would steal bread and sleep with it. They both lived a long life, Dixie passed away when she was 18 and Buffy lived until 17. I will always have a dog (or two or three). We currently have three.
Congratulations on your recent marriage! What was the first thing you noticed about your husband?
The first thing I noticed about Bruce was his blue eyes … they are beautiful.
Getting married after 11 years together on 11/11 is pretty cool. What made you think of that?
Our first date was on Nov. 11, 1996. We were married 11 years later, on our 11th anniversary of our first date.
[Becky: Délicieux! Magnifique! In other words, I'm drooling like Homer Simpson in a French accent. Who's coming with me to L.A.?]
Where did you grow up and what brought you to California? (That’s assuming you grew up somewhere other than California … )
I grew up in Lansing, Mich. Born and raised there. Youngest of four. My father was a golf professional and my mom a stay-at-home-mom. I left Michigan when I was 23 and went to New York City. Didn’t know anyone. I tell people I grew up in New York because I sure did. I left New York three years later and moved to Los Angeles, again not knowing anyone. The sun brought me here. I’ve been in Los Angeles for 18 years, although Bruce and I moved to Las Vegas for one year to rock climb. It’s time to leave L.A., though. I’m tired of the traffic, the smog and so many people. I will miss the ocean (I live 1-1/2 miles from it and bike along it three to four times a week) and the weather. That’s about it.
What made you fall in love with France?
Everything. My first trip there was 15 years ago, went to Paris and Nice. I have never been to a place where I felt so comfortable. When I arrived in Paris, I actually felt like I had been there before. I love — the language, the people (they are not rude … at least not to me; I have met some very lovely people there), the food, the wine, the lifestyle, the countryside, the architecture, the history and the Tour de France. My favorite village is Saint-Antonin Noble Val, located one hour northeast of Toulouse in the Tarn-et-Garonne. I also love Lourmarin which is in Provence, and Najac in the Aveyron and I love the Dordogne. I love it all.
Alisa in France
Are you or is your family French? (Gigi and Mathieu [Alisa's niece and nephew] sound sort of … French.)
No. I sure wish … it would make it easier for us to move there. I do speak French, though. Bruce and I have been taking private lessons for three years. My sister is married to a man whose mother is from Nice. That’s where Mathieu (spelling) comes from. Gigi — Georgia — was named after the Republic of Georgia (once part of Russia). My sister adopted this lovely little girl when she was 3 months old. Went to Georgia and picked her up. She’s a pistol.
What will you miss the most when you move to France?
Peanut butter. A good clothes dryer. The ocean. Southern California weather and a few very close friends.
Why “juicy pear”?
I love pears. Not eating them but the way they look. So not perfect! They are all different and unique. I want my pottery to be not perfect … nothing is from molds, no two pieces are the same. “Juicy” because a hard pear is horrible! Some people say that Bruce and I are the “Juicy Pair” …
What inspires you?
People who are risk-takers, free-thinkers and go-getters. Life is too short to moan and groan about things. Take a risk, take a chance, do something different, try something new. When I hear about people who have followed their dream or taken a chance, it makes me smile and realize that our goal to sell the house and sell the business and live in France isn’t crazy.
Were you always an artist? Or was there one thing (person, class, event) that made you want to be an artist?
No. I never thought of myself as an artist. Bruce is a painter, started drawing and painting as a young child. He can draw anything. I was a gymnast growing up. Very athletic, not artsy. I took a pottery class when I was 38, and it was so easy for me. I loved it. Bruce is the one who got me to take the class. He said that all of us are artistic; you just have to find out what it is. I found it in clay.
If you could talk to your 20-year-old self, what would you say?
Don’t get married before you are 35. Stop and smell the roses. THINGS don’t make you happy.
What’s one thing people might be surprised to learn about you?
That I’m pretty anti-social and a homebody. I’d be happy living in the country with just Bruce and the dogs.
I didn’t win the TravHELL contest. But … go see who DID win. Yeah, there were times during the whole Nightmare in Norway when we said, “It could have been worse … she could have puked at the CHURCH during the FUNERAL … or on the PLANE … or they ALL could have been puking on the PLANE …” So, yeah, while it was our own personal TravHELL, it could havebeenworse.
Now I’ve got to get back to begging digging for my missing $6,000 … mine is the HELL that keeps on giving.
Well, it’s not like you can go vote for me or anything. The blog-sponsors will do the judging. But, hey, I figured my travel experience sucks as bad as the next person’s. Ya think?
So …and the pursuit of happiness, Hotfessional and Sass Attack are running a contest to see who has the suckiest TravHell stories to tell. They’re even giving away prizes. (Think they can get my $6,000 refund? OK. Probably not. But I bet it’s better’n a bag of airline peanuts.)
Here’s my story. It’s all one trip. It’s just so hellacious that I can’t fit it into one post.
Posted by Becky @ 12:35 am | 5 Comments 
