I served this semester as a reader on an Honors Scholar thesis for a creative writing student. One chapter of her project was titled "First Memory" and in it she detailed her memory of huddling in bed with her mother during an earthquake in southern California. I did the math: she was born in 1985 (according to the account she had written of her birth) and her first memory would likely be of something that happened when she was, say, two or three. That would make it 1987 or 1988, provided she was telling the truth. So, I asked her:
"Was that story about your first memory based in reality?"
"Yes."
"And you lived in L.A., right?
"Orange County."
"I think we have something in common," I said. "I think we experienced the same earthquake. I think that was the Whittier earthquake of 1987."
"Yeah, I think so."
----------------------------------------------------------------------
It started at about 7:30 in the morning on a bright autumn day: October 1, in fact.
I was scheduled to be at work at 10:00. I worked at 20/20 Video, the biggest video chain in L.A. prior to the rise of Blockbuster. I was asleep in the one-bedroom apartment on Napa Street between Reseda and Lindley. Noel was already off to work at Solly's Deli.
It wasn't one of those rolling kind of quakes -the ones that build slowly. This one started with a bang and was at full force. I jumped out of bed and ran to the front door. We lived on the second floor of one of those quintessential L.A. apartment buildings: two-stories around a central swimming pool. I threw open the door and heard screaming. I looked down and saw the pool below spilling over on all sides. In a half-sleep still, I remember taking off for the front entrance of the complex.
I don't remember the sprint down the outdoor hallway, or descending the stairs, or even opening the double doors out onto Napa Street. I do remember, though, the sudden realization that I was still in nothing but my boxer shorts. And I remember the workers across the street laughing. Luckily, I hadn't shut the doors and I could slink back to my apartment and get ready for work.
Somewhere in Orange County a little girl and her mother were climbing out from under the sheets on the bed where they had taken refuge.
When I got to the store, everything was off the shelves and the four ceiling-mounted tv monitors were hanging by their wires. We fixed the monitors and started to clean up. My boss, channeling his darker side, found a copy of Earthquake and put it on. He played it all day.
When I returned home after my shift, the apartment managers, Bonnie and Frank (later found to have worked in cahoots with Steve, the ex-marine on the first floor at the end of the building, to burglarize several of the apartments in the complex), spotted me and asked me if the sky was falling. Apparently, they had seen my streak to safety.
Noel was probably drinking a beer when I walked in. He had been driving at the time of the quake and said he hadn't felt a thing.
--------------------------------------------------------------
Three days after asking Maddison about her first memory, I awoke to the sound of Peanut barking loudly downstairs. "Damn dog," I thought, unhappy about the prospect of getting up to let her out.
Trin was in the bed with me; David was in the other bed with Nancy (this kind of musical beds happens a lot these days in our house). Before I could get up, I heard the bathroom cupboard doors start the rattle. The wind? A train? And then the walls started to shake and I heard that unmistakable sound of everything moving.
"Jesus, we're having a earthquake," I said to myself. "Come on, Trin. Let's go."
I picked up Trin, still sleeping, and walked over to where Nancy and Dave were. "Nancy, we're having an earthquake," I said, still in a little bit of disbelief. "You should get up and get to a doorframe." The house kept rumbling longer than I expected and I suggested we get downstairs to a stronger doorway. "This is nothing so far, but who knows where it could go?" I thought.
We got downstairs and listened to the cupboards rattle for another 20 seconds or so, and then it was calm. I looked at the clock. It was just after 5:30. We went back upstairs. The kids were still mostly asleep.
Neither one of them will likely remember this.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Friday, March 28, 2008
Sunshine, Lollipops, and Rainbows
The crocuses and daffodils are popping up all over the neighborhood, but there is frost on my windshield. Spring is here. Spring is full of promise.
Spring means birds. Trinity stepped outside with Nancy yesterday morning to get the paper and was treated to the sounds of robins and starlings and cardinals and sparrows. Our normally wiggly girl sat perfectly still, listening. Nancy asked her if she liked the birds' singing. "Yeah," she whispered. This bodes well for Trinity who has a grandmother in Maine who says things like "I heard a Veery in the woods today."
Spring means playing in the yard. Walking through the backyard this morning, I can see what Peanut has been doing back here all winter; and now I can start to clean it up. (Dave and Trin have already taken a couple of forays into the minefield and come away clean, but that luck is going to run out soon enough.) Frankly, nothing really says Spring like the sight of a little boy playing with his trucks and tractors in the dirt, or running around the yard being chased by his dog. David, by the way, is in L O V E with Peanut, following her around and hugging her and singing little songs like "Peanut, Oh, Peanut/ Rinky Dinky Doo."
Spring means riding bikes. We took Dave and Trin out for a spin around the neighborhood last Saturday and had our picture snapped by a photographer from the newspaper. And there we were on Monday morning: the kids looking sporty, and me looking like I weigh about 300 pounds. They say the camera adds about 10 pounds, but this is ridiculous. Dave is a monster on his bike. He's 100% mobile now, except when her veers off the sidewalk and into the mud; then he's 100% helpless. Trin can't push the pedals of her bike hard enough to get going and so she must be pushed. This wouldn't be so bad, if she would steer. She CAN steer but chooses not to. She's a gazer like my great aunt Helen who, legend has it, was so fond of looking in people's windows as she drove by that she was always in danger of driving off the road.
Spring means new sneakers. Trinity's ready for the basketball court or an all-girl pop band (maybe called "Sugar Stick"!) with her new high-top pink plimsolls!
Spring means birthday parties. Both David and Trinity celebrated birthdays this month: David turned 3 on the 24th; Trinity turned 2 on the 14th. We've been eating cupcakes ever since. The cupcake recipe that Nancy used comes from Amy Sedaris. You can find the recipe here:
http://www.amysedarisrocks.com/recipes.htm#amy
David's birthday was almost solely a Thomas the Tank Engine affair. He got new tracks and lots of new trains and t-shirts, and conductor's overalls, and a hat. Trinity's was a little more varied, since
she doesn't show a marked preference for any particular kind of toy. The big present was a dollhouse. Of course, David likes to play with it more than she does. And, sadly, Nancy and I like it maybe even more than either of them. It turns out that Trinity's toy animals fit almost perfectly into the dollhouse, presenting us with an irresistible opportunity to create miniature scenarios depicting things like potty training among the woodland creature set.
Spring means baseball and softball. While the real athletes report to camp and negotiate unfathomable salaries, increasingly soft-in-the-middle used-to-bes like me struggle into our cleats for another season of slow-pitch home-run derby, complete with lumbering.
And, of course, Spring means Summer is coming, which means more time to spend doing the things that Spring always promises, such as...
Spring means birds. Trinity stepped outside with Nancy yesterday morning to get the paper and was treated to the sounds of robins and starlings and cardinals and sparrows. Our normally wiggly girl sat perfectly still, listening. Nancy asked her if she liked the birds' singing. "Yeah," she whispered. This bodes well for Trinity who has a grandmother in Maine who says things like "I heard a Veery in the woods today."
Spring means playing in the yard. Walking through the backyard this morning, I can see what Peanut has been doing back here all winter; and now I can start to clean it up. (Dave and Trin have already taken a couple of forays into the minefield and come away clean, but that luck is going to run out soon enough.) Frankly, nothing really says Spring like the sight of a little boy playing with his trucks and tractors in the dirt, or running around the yard being chased by his dog. David, by the way, is in L O V E with Peanut, following her around and hugging her and singing little songs like "Peanut, Oh, Peanut/ Rinky Dinky Doo."
Spring means riding bikes. We took Dave and Trin out for a spin around the neighborhood last Saturday and had our picture snapped by a photographer from the newspaper. And there we were on Monday morning: the kids looking sporty, and me looking like I weigh about 300 pounds. They say the camera adds about 10 pounds, but this is ridiculous. Dave is a monster on his bike. He's 100% mobile now, except when her veers off the sidewalk and into the mud; then he's 100% helpless. Trin can't push the pedals of her bike hard enough to get going and so she must be pushed. This wouldn't be so bad, if she would steer. She CAN steer but chooses not to. She's a gazer like my great aunt Helen who, legend has it, was so fond of looking in people's windows as she drove by that she was always in danger of driving off the road.
Spring means new sneakers. Trinity's ready for the basketball court or an all-girl pop band (maybe called "Sugar Stick"!) with her new high-top pink plimsolls! Spring means birthday parties. Both David and Trinity celebrated birthdays this month: David turned 3 on the 24th; Trinity turned 2 on the 14th. We've been eating cupcakes ever since. The cupcake recipe that Nancy used comes from Amy Sedaris. You can find the recipe here:
http://www.amysedarisrocks.com/recipes.htm#amy
David's birthday was almost solely a Thomas the Tank Engine affair. He got new tracks and lots of new trains and t-shirts, and conductor's overalls, and a hat. Trinity's was a little more varied, since
she doesn't show a marked preference for any particular kind of toy. The big present was a dollhouse. Of course, David likes to play with it more than she does. And, sadly, Nancy and I like it maybe even more than either of them. It turns out that Trinity's toy animals fit almost perfectly into the dollhouse, presenting us with an irresistible opportunity to create miniature scenarios depicting things like potty training among the woodland creature set.Spring means baseball and softball. While the real athletes report to camp and negotiate unfathomable salaries, increasingly soft-in-the-middle used-to-bes like me struggle into our cleats for another season of slow-pitch home-run derby, complete with lumbering.
And, of course, Spring means Summer is coming, which means more time to spend doing the things that Spring always promises, such as...
Friday, March 7, 2008
The Philadelphia Story (or why going away to a conference sounds like fun, but isn't always)
Society for Cinema and Media Studies Conference, 2008. Philadelphia, PA:
I woke up on Thursday morning feeling like something was not quite right. My lungs felt a little tight and tickly; the first cough was just a little painful. It was early – 5:00. My flight for Philadelphia was scheduled to leave at 9:18 and I needed to be out of the house by 6:30 in order to make the hour drive to Indianapolis, park the car, get ticketed, and get on the plane. “Just what I need,” I thought. “I’ll get sick just in time to be stuck at a conference.”
The morning went smoothly. Trinity had made it through the night with only one bout of complaining. Nancy got up at 5:30, and both kids got up in time to see me off (I had worried that David at least would sleep through my leaving). I got to Indy, parked the car, got my tickets, and got on the plane without a hitch. The flight was smooth and uneventful – as it should be (one take-off, one landing). I met a friend at the public transit station and we rode the train into Center City together. I met my friend Amanda at the hotel and we grabbed a nice lunch at El Vez, finishing just in time to get me back to the hotel for my presentation.
I was first up on my panel and as I stepped up to connect my computer to the projector, I noticed that there was no audio cable. After a couple of minutes searching in vain, I gave up. No clips. “OK,” I thought. “I can wing this.” So, I gave my talk without the help of my very carefully and painstakingly prepared clips, opting instead to simply describe them. Something was lost, I think, in the translation, but I did my twenty minutes, people clapped politely, and I was done.
I felt that little tickle in my throat return. My cough had settled in my lungs, which felt very tight.
At 4:00, I went by myself to get a cup of coffee. On the way out, I ran into my friend, Bob, who was supposed to be presenting at that time. He told me that he had to step out because he was feeling a bit nauseous. We talked for a couple of minutes and then I let him go about the business of getting some fresh air. There is a Starbucks across the street from my hotel and so I went there. The line at the counter was at least 30 people long: film and television scholars, every one. I spun on my heels and headed for a little coffee shop I noticed on my way back from lunch earlier. It was just a few blocks away. I sat and had a nice latte and an almond croissant. I saw Bob walk by.
When I finished my latte, I went back to the hotel, went up to my room, and relaxed for just a while on the chaise lounge in my room overlooking Market Street.
I was starting to feel pretty rotten and wasn’t sure what to do about dinner. I went downstairs after about an hour and met up with Amanda, Tim, and Serra who were on their way out to dinner. They were kind enough to invite me along. By this time, my voice was pretty much gone and I was getting the aches. I had taken some Advil, though, and it kicked in eventually. Despite my better judgment, I had a couple of beers with dinner. We had a great time and called it a night at about 10:00.
I slept like crap. My general malaise had turned into something with a fever. I kept waking up, unsure of exactly where I was, and unable to get comfortable. My head was pounding.
By the time I finally got up and out of bed this morning, I was sure that I was running a high fever. I got in the shower, got dressed, hunched my shoulders against the chilly air and walked the three blocks to the CVS, whereupon I bought a thermometer. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t have a fever to speak of. I walked a few more blocks to a less visible Starbucks and got a coffee, some coffee cake, and the New York Times. I had a leisurely breakfast, and then went back to the hotel in time to see Amanda’s presentation (which was excellent).
Next I had to chair a panel on television aesthetics, featuring some of the bigger names in the field. I was a little intimidated being the person in charge of telling them when their time was up. It didn’t help that by this time I was sounding more than a little like “Froggy” from the Little Rascals. But the presentations were great, the panelists were nice, and we only went five minutes over.
But my Advil was wearing off, my headache was back with a vengeance, and my voice was all but gone.
My friend Jon called and we made plans to go to lunch along with Jim, Nathan, and Bjorn. We went to this the very popular and very crowded indoor market where they have just about any kind of food imaginable. The crush of people was a little too much so Jon, Jim and I opted for the first hoagie stand we saw; Bjorn and Nathan missed the turn and we lost them in short order. There was absolutely no place to sit in the market, so the three of us walked back to the hotel. There was no place to sit there, either, so we sat on the floor of the lobby, unwrapped our sandwiches and had a nice lunch. It was made even nicer by the fact that Bjorn returned and Tim showed up with some food of his own. I still don’t know what happened to Nathan, though.
Even long lost Chris Dumas appeared. He informed me that Bob had, indeed, thrown up.
I’m feeling like that’s an apt metaphor for the conference. Philadelphia is loud and dirty. The hotel is nearly impossible to navigate efficiently. I feel like crap. But at the same time, it’s great to see friends and have time to catch up with lots of really smart people with similar interests.
Unfortunately, my condition has forced me to cancel my plans for an evening with Bjorn, Sherra, and Lori. I am up in my room now: alone, quiet, and ready to call it a night. I’m a little disappointed, but I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet, too.
Tomorrow's another day.
I woke up on Thursday morning feeling like something was not quite right. My lungs felt a little tight and tickly; the first cough was just a little painful. It was early – 5:00. My flight for Philadelphia was scheduled to leave at 9:18 and I needed to be out of the house by 6:30 in order to make the hour drive to Indianapolis, park the car, get ticketed, and get on the plane. “Just what I need,” I thought. “I’ll get sick just in time to be stuck at a conference.”
The morning went smoothly. Trinity had made it through the night with only one bout of complaining. Nancy got up at 5:30, and both kids got up in time to see me off (I had worried that David at least would sleep through my leaving). I got to Indy, parked the car, got my tickets, and got on the plane without a hitch. The flight was smooth and uneventful – as it should be (one take-off, one landing). I met a friend at the public transit station and we rode the train into Center City together. I met my friend Amanda at the hotel and we grabbed a nice lunch at El Vez, finishing just in time to get me back to the hotel for my presentation.
I was first up on my panel and as I stepped up to connect my computer to the projector, I noticed that there was no audio cable. After a couple of minutes searching in vain, I gave up. No clips. “OK,” I thought. “I can wing this.” So, I gave my talk without the help of my very carefully and painstakingly prepared clips, opting instead to simply describe them. Something was lost, I think, in the translation, but I did my twenty minutes, people clapped politely, and I was done.
I felt that little tickle in my throat return. My cough had settled in my lungs, which felt very tight.
At 4:00, I went by myself to get a cup of coffee. On the way out, I ran into my friend, Bob, who was supposed to be presenting at that time. He told me that he had to step out because he was feeling a bit nauseous. We talked for a couple of minutes and then I let him go about the business of getting some fresh air. There is a Starbucks across the street from my hotel and so I went there. The line at the counter was at least 30 people long: film and television scholars, every one. I spun on my heels and headed for a little coffee shop I noticed on my way back from lunch earlier. It was just a few blocks away. I sat and had a nice latte and an almond croissant. I saw Bob walk by.
When I finished my latte, I went back to the hotel, went up to my room, and relaxed for just a while on the chaise lounge in my room overlooking Market Street.
I was starting to feel pretty rotten and wasn’t sure what to do about dinner. I went downstairs after about an hour and met up with Amanda, Tim, and Serra who were on their way out to dinner. They were kind enough to invite me along. By this time, my voice was pretty much gone and I was getting the aches. I had taken some Advil, though, and it kicked in eventually. Despite my better judgment, I had a couple of beers with dinner. We had a great time and called it a night at about 10:00. I slept like crap. My general malaise had turned into something with a fever. I kept waking up, unsure of exactly where I was, and unable to get comfortable. My head was pounding.
By the time I finally got up and out of bed this morning, I was sure that I was running a high fever. I got in the shower, got dressed, hunched my shoulders against the chilly air and walked the three blocks to the CVS, whereupon I bought a thermometer. Surprisingly enough, I didn’t have a fever to speak of. I walked a few more blocks to a less visible Starbucks and got a coffee, some coffee cake, and the New York Times. I had a leisurely breakfast, and then went back to the hotel in time to see Amanda’s presentation (which was excellent).
Next I had to chair a panel on television aesthetics, featuring some of the bigger names in the field. I was a little intimidated being the person in charge of telling them when their time was up. It didn’t help that by this time I was sounding more than a little like “Froggy” from the Little Rascals. But the presentations were great, the panelists were nice, and we only went five minutes over.
But my Advil was wearing off, my headache was back with a vengeance, and my voice was all but gone.
My friend Jon called and we made plans to go to lunch along with Jim, Nathan, and Bjorn. We went to this the very popular and very crowded indoor market where they have just about any kind of food imaginable. The crush of people was a little too much so Jon, Jim and I opted for the first hoagie stand we saw; Bjorn and Nathan missed the turn and we lost them in short order. There was absolutely no place to sit in the market, so the three of us walked back to the hotel. There was no place to sit there, either, so we sat on the floor of the lobby, unwrapped our sandwiches and had a nice lunch. It was made even nicer by the fact that Bjorn returned and Tim showed up with some food of his own. I still don’t know what happened to Nathan, though.
Even long lost Chris Dumas appeared. He informed me that Bob had, indeed, thrown up.
I’m feeling like that’s an apt metaphor for the conference. Philadelphia is loud and dirty. The hotel is nearly impossible to navigate efficiently. I feel like crap. But at the same time, it’s great to see friends and have time to catch up with lots of really smart people with similar interests.
Unfortunately, my condition has forced me to cancel my plans for an evening with Bjorn, Sherra, and Lori. I am up in my room now: alone, quiet, and ready to call it a night. I’m a little disappointed, but I’m looking forward to the peace and quiet, too.
Tomorrow's another day.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Sugar Stick
Eddie has bolted to the back door and is begging me to let him out. Peanut is nowhere to be seen. Nancy and David are sequestered in the playroom pretending not hear. I am in the kitchen – the front lines – bracing for the next salvo.
She smiles, cocks her head to the side,
twists at the hips, and spins on one foot. She falls to the tile floor midway through the clumsy pirouette, laughing uproariously. She clambers to her feet, grabs a balloon in each hand and leaps into a toddler cheerleading routine. “Hooray!” she shouts, one fist in the air. I duck as the plastic weight on the end of the balloon string in her raised hand hurtles toward my face.
“Sugar Stick” is on the loose.
We found ourselves at the mall too late to get home in time to make a proper dinner and decided to find a kid friendly place to eat, settling on the T.G.I. Friday’s in the mall. Sure enough, they were ready with paper placemats, crayons, and booster seats, all in a room clearly designated for the dreaded “families with kids.” The kids’ menu was right there on the placemats and we ordered Dave the Chicken Fingers with Fries, and Trin got the Mac and Cheese with Fries (it was either that or carrots, and we knew where the carrots would end up). They also got slushies to drink.
Just after the slushies arrived, Dave started to melt down about a Thomas toy he’d seen in the music store, and Nancy decided to take him for a walk. They were gone for a while and Trin pounded her slushie like it was her job. The nice waitress brought her a refill and she started in on that one, too. Nancy arrived back with David just before the food arrived. Dave decided he didn’t like his slushie. Nancy took a sip and said, “Wow. That’s sugary!” I took the lid off Trin’s and looked inside. My heart sank. It turns out what I assumed was actually a “Raspberry Lemonade” over crushed ice was actually a cup of ice with “Raspberry Lemonade” FLAVORED SYRUP (aka pretty much straight sugar) poured on top. She’d had two of these toddler 8-balls and would have had a third had Nancy not taken that fateful sip.
She’s asleep now. Her alter ego, “Sugar Stick” crashed sometime after slapping me across the neck with bubbles from her bath, all wild-eyed and wiggly.
I wonder if she’ll remember any of this tomorrow.
She smiles, cocks her head to the side,
twists at the hips, and spins on one foot. She falls to the tile floor midway through the clumsy pirouette, laughing uproariously. She clambers to her feet, grabs a balloon in each hand and leaps into a toddler cheerleading routine. “Hooray!” she shouts, one fist in the air. I duck as the plastic weight on the end of the balloon string in her raised hand hurtles toward my face.“Sugar Stick” is on the loose.
We found ourselves at the mall too late to get home in time to make a proper dinner and decided to find a kid friendly place to eat, settling on the T.G.I. Friday’s in the mall. Sure enough, they were ready with paper placemats, crayons, and booster seats, all in a room clearly designated for the dreaded “families with kids.” The kids’ menu was right there on the placemats and we ordered Dave the Chicken Fingers with Fries, and Trin got the Mac and Cheese with Fries (it was either that or carrots, and we knew where the carrots would end up). They also got slushies to drink.
Just after the slushies arrived, Dave started to melt down about a Thomas toy he’d seen in the music store, and Nancy decided to take him for a walk. They were gone for a while and Trin pounded her slushie like it was her job. The nice waitress brought her a refill and she started in on that one, too. Nancy arrived back with David just before the food arrived. Dave decided he didn’t like his slushie. Nancy took a sip and said, “Wow. That’s sugary!” I took the lid off Trin’s and looked inside. My heart sank. It turns out what I assumed was actually a “Raspberry Lemonade” over crushed ice was actually a cup of ice with “Raspberry Lemonade” FLAVORED SYRUP (aka pretty much straight sugar) poured on top. She’d had two of these toddler 8-balls and would have had a third had Nancy not taken that fateful sip.
She’s asleep now. Her alter ego, “Sugar Stick” crashed sometime after slapping me across the neck with bubbles from her bath, all wild-eyed and wiggly.
I wonder if she’ll remember any of this tomorrow.
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