It was 1966. I was sitting on my grandparents couch being bored, and a brat no doubt, when I picked up the little TV Guide (remember those?); on the cover was a picture of a man with pointed ears. The idea of a man with pointed ears living in outer space did not compute for me. What an Earth-shattering concept. I thought all pointed-ear folk were fairies and lived in Ireland. Grandpa Omer leaned over to see what I was prattling on about and laughed; when he did a puff of sweet- smelling smoke washed over my face. I wanted to watch it, but it was mid-afternoon and the show was not on. He laughed again and went back to watching whatever was on TV and I wandered outdoors. Born in 1903, I'm sure he thought all the space stuff was nonsense, just like fairy stories. Boy, oh boy, if only he could see what this nonsense has become.
I fell in love with science fiction at that moment and have loved Star Trek very since. Spock was my favorite. My sister was more of a Kirk fan. We watched the show avidly and would discuss it for days afterward. We each had our favortie episodes and argued about them even the 15th time we had seen them in re-run. In my opinion the original series was the best of the entire franchise (although I do have a fondness for Jean Luc too.) Holding on tightly to my fond memories of the original, I have been struggling over whether to see the new movie or not. Some of my Twitter buds have loved it so I am leaning that way. Are you a Trekkie? What do you think? Have you seen it?
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Showing posts with label memories. Show all posts
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Sunday, August 24, 2008
High School Yearbook
When was the last time you picked up one of your high school yearbooks?
Last night, I opened the padded white plastic cover onto my junior year. Flipping through the photos of my classmates, I skimmed over the faces that I did not remember at all; focusing on those I did. How young and innocent we all were. I studied the face of the girl who out of the blue moved to the east coast; the boy who would later murder his wife; the chum who went on to become a doctor living and working in Africa, and all the girls who got married right out of high school and settled down to start families.
Many of the candid pictures did not have any captions or names associated with them, so I had no idea who was in the photo or what was so hilarious. I strained, trying to force the memory. Perhaps it was too late at night after a hard day at work, or I really moved in a small circle; either way many of the pictures were meaningless.
Equally vague were all the notes people wrote in my book. One of the highlights of getting the yearbook was carrying it around so friends and classmates could write in it. I read all those penned sentiments, twisting the book this way and that as I followed the scrawls, clueless as to which of the Marys wrote what note, who Jess was, was I really Mr. Brunswick favorite Biology student, and why some friends had not written at all.
Who was this person they were writing about. How could it be me? I pondered the girl that treasured that book. I did not recognize myself; yet in the midst of those notes, there was a hint of who I would become. I closed the book, happy to be able to visit my past and terribly glad I am not in high school.
Last night, I opened the padded white plastic cover onto my junior year. Flipping through the photos of my classmates, I skimmed over the faces that I did not remember at all; focusing on those I did. How young and innocent we all were. I studied the face of the girl who out of the blue moved to the east coast; the boy who would later murder his wife; the chum who went on to become a doctor living and working in Africa, and all the girls who got married right out of high school and settled down to start families.
Many of the candid pictures did not have any captions or names associated with them, so I had no idea who was in the photo or what was so hilarious. I strained, trying to force the memory. Perhaps it was too late at night after a hard day at work, or I really moved in a small circle; either way many of the pictures were meaningless.
Equally vague were all the notes people wrote in my book. One of the highlights of getting the yearbook was carrying it around so friends and classmates could write in it. I read all those penned sentiments, twisting the book this way and that as I followed the scrawls, clueless as to which of the Marys wrote what note, who Jess was, was I really Mr. Brunswick favorite Biology student, and why some friends had not written at all.
Who was this person they were writing about. How could it be me? I pondered the girl that treasured that book. I did not recognize myself; yet in the midst of those notes, there was a hint of who I would become. I closed the book, happy to be able to visit my past and terribly glad I am not in high school.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Roasting Marshmallows
There is nothing like sitting around a roaring fire roasting marshmallows on a hot summer night. Choosing the right stick is of paramount importance. It has to be long and narrow with smooth bark. A pointy end helps; otherwise the marshmallow develops a huge hole and has been know to fall into the flame. Not that this has ever happened to me, of course. Ahem. There are various techniques to toasting. I prefer the char-it-till-it’s-black method. But then I have no patience for the slow-constant-turning method. I actually like when it catches fire. After blowing it out, I slip off the outer layer and pop it into my mouth then put the marshmallow back in. The underlayer then toasts to a gooey golden brown.
As I sat starring into the flames last night, the neighbors popped over with their 2 girls. I sent them off to the wood pile to select sticks. They toasted and ate marshmallow after marshmallow, thrilled with the woodsy-ness of it all. We fed the fire late into the night; telling stories, pointing out constellations, listening to the trill of the tree frogs and the random early bang of firecrackers. I love being part of the innocence of childhood.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
September 11, 2001.
Six years ago today.
The day was bright and sunny; warm for the time of year. I got ready for work, even left a little early. My commute is usually about an hour, give or take 10 minutes. I had been listening to David McCullough’s biography of John Adams on tape in the car. I pulled out of the driveway, switched off the radio and put in a tape.
Traffic seemed a little heavier than usual. As I got closer to the Tappan Zee Bridge, I remember thinking something must be happening on the GWB. Traffic is often heavy if there is an accident on one of the other bridges. But it was not stopped, only slow.
When I pulled into the parking lot at work, I saw one of my staff pacing and smoking a cigarette. I pulled up along side of him and laughingly rolled down the window.
“Hey, if you have nothing to do, I can give you work.”
He shot back, “What are you talking about. How can I work after what happened?”
I must have looked quizzical, because he followed up with “A plane has just hit the World Trade Center.”
“Get out.” I said. I drove up the row and parked. He met me as I walked toward the office.
“Didn’t you hear it on the radio?”
“No, I was listening to a book on tape.”
I went inside and the office was in an uproar. I cancelled my morning meetings and joined the rest of the office staff upstairs where the Media folks had set up a TV. We all huddled around watching the news as it was unfolding. We watched in horror as the buildings collapsed. We saw people jumping, running, and streams of smoke and paper and ash everywhere.
This is something I will never forget for the rest of my life.
When Mayor Guilani shut down the City, we all wondered if we could get home. People on the east side of the river offered up their homes to those of us who didn’t live close. The Foundation President closed the office. I decided to make a run for the bridge. I figured I could always go north if I had to. There would surely be a bridge open somewhere. The thruway was almost empty. I tried to dial out on my cell, knowing that my family and friends would be looking for me. Many people in the flatland and even those in NJ have no real grasp of exactly where I work and its proximity to the City. The circuits were jammed. I just kept hitting redial.
As I crossed the bridge, I looked down river and I could see pillars of smoke rising. It would continue that way for a long time after the buildings had collapsed.
The office was closed the next day. I went to visit my friend Louise for her birthday. I will never forget her birthday again.
Two other memories stand out.
I sat on my front lawn with my neighbor on a clear sunny day the following weekend. We marveled at a sky with no planes. We talked about what was happening and what it meant to us.
I also remember the 2 pillars of light that honored the twin towers. We could see them from NJ. It was awesome.
What were you doing on September 11th ?
The day was bright and sunny; warm for the time of year. I got ready for work, even left a little early. My commute is usually about an hour, give or take 10 minutes. I had been listening to David McCullough’s biography of John Adams on tape in the car. I pulled out of the driveway, switched off the radio and put in a tape.
Traffic seemed a little heavier than usual. As I got closer to the Tappan Zee Bridge, I remember thinking something must be happening on the GWB. Traffic is often heavy if there is an accident on one of the other bridges. But it was not stopped, only slow.
When I pulled into the parking lot at work, I saw one of my staff pacing and smoking a cigarette. I pulled up along side of him and laughingly rolled down the window.
“Hey, if you have nothing to do, I can give you work.”
He shot back, “What are you talking about. How can I work after what happened?”
I must have looked quizzical, because he followed up with “A plane has just hit the World Trade Center.”
“Get out.” I said. I drove up the row and parked. He met me as I walked toward the office.
“Didn’t you hear it on the radio?”
“No, I was listening to a book on tape.”
I went inside and the office was in an uproar. I cancelled my morning meetings and joined the rest of the office staff upstairs where the Media folks had set up a TV. We all huddled around watching the news as it was unfolding. We watched in horror as the buildings collapsed. We saw people jumping, running, and streams of smoke and paper and ash everywhere.
This is something I will never forget for the rest of my life.
When Mayor Guilani shut down the City, we all wondered if we could get home. People on the east side of the river offered up their homes to those of us who didn’t live close. The Foundation President closed the office. I decided to make a run for the bridge. I figured I could always go north if I had to. There would surely be a bridge open somewhere. The thruway was almost empty. I tried to dial out on my cell, knowing that my family and friends would be looking for me. Many people in the flatland and even those in NJ have no real grasp of exactly where I work and its proximity to the City. The circuits were jammed. I just kept hitting redial.
As I crossed the bridge, I looked down river and I could see pillars of smoke rising. It would continue that way for a long time after the buildings had collapsed.
The office was closed the next day. I went to visit my friend Louise for her birthday. I will never forget her birthday again.
Two other memories stand out.
I sat on my front lawn with my neighbor on a clear sunny day the following weekend. We marveled at a sky with no planes. We talked about what was happening and what it meant to us.
I also remember the 2 pillars of light that honored the twin towers. We could see them from NJ. It was awesome.
What were you doing on September 11th ?
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