Red

“Red hair, sir, in my opinion, is dangerous.”
― P.G. Wodehouse

I grew up reading Archie comic books. They're not funny.  Nevertheless, I found them wildly entertaining. Betty, Veronica, Archie, and the whole gang. Reggie refers to Archie as a “carrot top.” I hated Reggie. Somehow this felt like the worst insult that could be inflicted on someone with red hair. I feared—FEARED—that at some point in my life someone would call me a “carrot top” and I didn’t know how I would handle such a slight.

 

Then

It

Happened.

 

It happened in the 6^th grade. I thought I was out of the woods when it came to that dreadful insult. It was a regular day with me looking for an excuse to leave class so I asked to borrow the hallpass.  As I was wandering the halls I ran into a boy named Jordan.  We were the only two in the hallway.    Jordan was one of those boys who was kind of a fixture in my class pictures--always in my class, but I never paid attention to him.  But he was bold this day and, as I passed, he said, “Hey carrot top!”

 

I felt like I’d been cut off at the knees.

 

In one of the worst comebacks in history I recanted with:

“Hey potato hair!”

He happened to have thee whitest, blond hair I’d ever seen and I felt like the proper response was to make a vegetable comparison. I also believed by making such a remark that he’d see how stupid his comment was. He literally had no comeback so I sort of flipped my hair and went back to class feeling… sort of triumphant and almost glad that he'd said that to me. This thing I’d feared so long had finally taken place and it wasn’t so bad. In fact, I was ready for it. How often does one get the chance to say, “Hey potato hair” and feel good about it? Once in a lifetime.
 

The whole redhead thing brings up a lot of stereotypes. Fiery temper, feisty, mysterious, and others I shan’t mention here. Some flattering, some not. Of course, any intelligent person knows that stereotypes come from fear of something we don’t understand. Red hair is rare and it’s become a sort of different race. I don’t see many potato hairs around either. Mostly brown hairs. Different shades of brown hairs out there.

I was listening to a beloved podcast and one of the hosts has often mentioned that he loves “a good red.” Not speaking of wine. He mentioned a couple of actresses he wouldn’t mind getting to know. I’m terrible at accepting compliments. Even mentioning a compliment not directed at me personally makes me uncomfortable, but it definitely brought forth a giggle when he said:

 

I love a red. They’re like a heightened kind of person. I elevate them, I put them above other people... Look, reds, you’re a little better than us… don’t get a big head about it. –Howard Kremer
 

I burst out laughing.  My coworker asked what was so funny and I couldn’t tell her.  I just said that the podcast I was listening to was funny. This coworker is always very sweet and compliments me  throughout the week, but I worried that it would sound like bragging. And then I’d seem arrogant or… on the opposite side of the spectrum… insecure, thus, needing to boost myself with compliments.

 

 

Last summer I was with a friend at Café Rio when a man walked by and said, “Beautiful. Beautiful redhead.” I’m sure I cast my eyes down and thanked him. Later, kind of without thinking, I said to my friend

That was really nice what that guy said.
 

What did he say?
 

You know… the thing... about my hair.
 

Oh, that thing about you being gorgeous? It wasn’t nice, it’s just true.

 

And... in true fashion... I quickly thanked her and changed the subject.  Diversion tactics have always been a trick/friend/crutch for me.  So, the trick is to learn how to graciously accept compliments without embarassment or diverting attention away from the compliment.  The most common compliment toward me is about my hair and/or comparing me to certain actresses.  I do appreciate compliments, but I want to not feel flustered or unsure of how to  handle myself.  Is a simple "thank you" enough?
 

Out of Control

 

Second grade. Mrs. Ratcliff’s class. My strife with my elementary nemesis, let’s call him Scott Hilton, grew deeper.  One day, my teacher left the classroom for what she'd call a minute, but would usually turn into ten or so.  The latest fad with my classmates was pulling apart masking tape and pressing it onto each other’s backs.  Couldn’t really tell you why this was our idea of a good time, perhaps because it led to kids twirling around, similarly to a dog trying to catch his tail, in order to see the tape on their back.

 

I grew bored and decided to take it up a notch and wrote “dumb” on a piece of tape and placed it on Scott’s back. Pure comedy. The class agreed. He laughed too until he saw it was me and his face fell as he pulled it off with disdain and read it. He ran up to Mrs. Ratcliff as soon as she returned. Oh Scott. Tattle-telling is not okay. You were never cool like me. Anyway, in a very uncool move, Scott ran or maybe he kind of skipped in a very unmanly way, and relayed the events to her. She asked to see me in the hall. As I walked out the door, I locked eyes with Scott. He had a huge smirk on his face and I gave him a look that implied that what I’d written on the tape was very true.

 

 

However… seeing my teacher’s face brought me from annoyance with Scott to feeling very unsettled that she seemed disappointed and upset with me. I averted my gaze and kind of shuffled my feet as I looked down. She asked why I did what I did and I said, “I don’t know, but he was laughing at it at first.” Not a great explanation and I clearly remember she didn’t understand me and thought I was implying that people who laugh are not too swift.

 

 

“I laugh. Does that make me dumb?”

 

 

“No” and then I felt the tears roll down my cheeks. Still not making eye contact and wondering when this would end. Kind of how I imagine I might react if a cop pulled me over and I knew I was in the wrong. “Just give me my ticket so I can be on my way. Save the lecture. I get it, I know.”

 

 

She eventually sighed and said “Okay, well, I need you to go down to the control center now.”

 

 

The “control center” was my school’s comedic name for detention. You would sit in a room with about eight desks and, I don’t know, get yourself together? Think about your crimes? Pray for forgiveness to the blank walls? Ironically, walking from the hallway into the room housing the control center, you would first enter the rewards room: candy, toys, games, balloons and that’s where you’d go to cash in your good deeds cards. The teacher/monitor would cash in your card with rewards or… if you had to utter the dreadful words, “I’m here for the control center” she’d get a grim look on her face and point her finger behind her, directing you to a small, separate room. Not sure who devilishly came up with the idea of sharing the rewards/punishment programs in the same room. The funny thing is I got stickers for doing good deeds only a little more than I got sent to the room for punishment so she never knew how to react when I came through the door.

 

 

The control center didn’t really work for me. In fact, it provided a pretty good space to plot my next schemes. I wish there really were such a thing as a control center. A place one could go and feel a sense of control.

 

 

“Life is to be lived, not controlled; and humanity is won by continuing to play in face of certain defeat.”
― Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

 

 

I’ve learned more and more that I really have very little control in life. I’d like to say I completely embrace that, but there are plenty of times where I worry myself sick because I want to have some say in the way my life unfolds. And Finn’s, but in different ways. There are many times when I think of events from when I was young and wish I could protect that little girl. I was remembering this incident because it’s a reminder of times when I’d be engaged in innocent or light situations and something dark or scary would come from it and I didn’t have any control. I’ve been analyzing my past reactions: running away, succumbing, being stubborn, impatient, scared, numb, and/or frustrated. I didn’t feel much reassurance from anywhere and just had to deal with things with a real lack of information and tools. So many of the things that I still think about from that time are scary and don’t seem real. But I also think about the fact that I’m blessed to be a mother today and I hope Finn will feel comfortable talking to me. And I’ll listen. Really listen. And empathize. But I can’t control his life either.

I think a few years ago I’d be wracked with worry and not let him out of my sight for even a second, but I’m a little more relaxed now. I just have to really accept that I have very little control over either of our lives and what will occur in the future. I know that you can only really be happy in the present moment. When I look into his big, wide eyes full of innocence as he gleefully runs around in the grass and talks about his teddy bear, cartoons, books, planes, food he likes, reiterates conversations we’ve had, etc, I just want to protect him, but I know that isn’t the best route either. I have to trust that things will be okay. No matter what.

A little imagination... and, by a little, I mean a lot

This is a cake.  Finn's creation:

 

When I wasn't sure how this all fit into my concept of a cake, he patiently explained that the "helicopter plane" was the cake, the railroad crossing was the candle, and the other two items remain unclear but "The Diggingest Dog" and that blue pot lid MUST be included.  I tried to put another book there before and he said, "No, NO.  Diggingest Dog, Diggingest Dog!"

"Ooooh, that looks tasty.  Can I have a bite of your cake please?"

"No--Teddy's."  And he very tenderly brings his teddy bear to the cake and plunges its face into the helicopter. 

With a smile, "Here you go Teddy."

 

 

He loves Woody from Toy Story.  I'm convinced all two year olds do.  Finn noticed some similarities between Woody and Pinocchio.  He noticed they both have long noses and are puppet-like.  He likes to clomp Woody across the hardwood floor and sing "There are no strings on me!" 

He loves pretend play and thinks it's hilarious to substitute things like his hairbrush and toy maracas for a hot dog and ice cream cones.  He'll implement story lines from his books or movies into our discussions and it blows my mind.  He has an excellent memory and recall for details.  Sometimes I'll take a moment because I'm taken aback by it and then I usually have to smother him in kisses.  Buuut I think he kinda likes it.

And last night when I was putting him to bed his eyes were twinkling and his face was lit up with love and light.  He said "Night, night mama.  Sweet dreams."  I can't put into words how that feels.  It just makes my heart soar with pride and joy.  I'm not sure I ever want him to grow up.  I hope he keeps a Peter Pan spirit always...

The apartment

I have an apartment.  It feels... like a dream.  It doesn't seem like my reality.  I found an apartment, I signed a lease, and I'm currently moving my stuff into it.  So it's real, buuuuut...  I've never lived in an apartment.  I've never been solely responsible for rent and bills. 

It's an unravelling journey.  A pull from the universe to let go of who I'm supposed to be and become who I am.  All the events which have lead me to where I am today as I carry box after box up a flight of stairs and walk into a strange place which is "home" have allowed me to not carry pretense anymore.  That's something I can let go.  The universe isn't short on wake up calls--I just became really good at not listening or hitting the snooze button. 

The work I've had to do and will continue to have to do is messy and deep.  Sometimes I want to retreat back into my former state of oblivion.  It was easier then, but not really.  Not really at all.  Today I wrote down the words, "What is this?  I feel real.  I feel worried, but I also feel brave.  Something has changed--I can feel it." 

I'm much more in tune with how I feel, rather than what people might think.  But I still have miles to go.  I still self sabotage, I still get impatient, I still have insecurities and pain.  I still have strong feelings of doubt, worry, and anxiety.

But today I feel kind of proud.  I've stretched myself more than I ever have.  Today, I'm just going to feel grateful for that.       

Silver Linings

Silver Linings Playbook.  A gem of a movie.  I'd been cinematically deprived for five months before seeing this.  The last great movie I saw in the theater was Ted... then this.  By the way, Ted would not have been my first pick, but I'm glad I succumbed and went to see it.  It made me crazy with laughter.  And then I saw this and it just made me crazy.  This movie is CRAZY.  A little mental illness, a little divorce, a lot of obsession.... ehhh, what could be better?

I saw this movie a few weeks ago and it's refusing to leave my mind.  I love everything about it, including the fact that it's so awkward at times and it's fabulous in its awkwardness.  I see a lot of TV shows and movies with "awkward" scenes forced into them and they feel staged and false, but these scenes were truly awkward.  Bradley Cooper's character has no filter in his language.  He's absolutely the type of person who would say, "Hey, what's wrong?  You look fat today" and have no idea that it's not okay to say that.  But he's charming!  Even more charming is his father, played by Robert Deniro.  I fell in love with Deniro again.  He always has been and always will be one of time's best actors.  His portrayal of Cooper's father is inspiring... like a modern day Atticus Finch.  So reassuring, so gentle, so patient. 

Cooper is obsessed with getting his wife back and devotes 100% of his attention to that end.  Oh, how I can relate to that feeling.  So what I love is how he meets Jennifer Lawrence and their first encounter isn't so smooth, but their mutual imperfection is interesting to the other and intriguing.  They bond over discussing their screw ups and mistakes and bad reputations.  They're social misfits.  I think Dr. Seuss's famous revelation on love is fitting here.

They understand each other without judgment.  Wellll, there may be a little judment on Bradley Cooper's end in the beginning, but it quickly changes.  Neither of them are in a state to find love.  She's a recent widow.  He's obsessed with reconnecting with his wife, who has a restraining order against him.  But they reawaken a sense of hope within the other.  And it's beautiful to see.  It's real love.  And it's refreshing to see a movie that develops characters you not only hope, but NEED things to turn out well for them.  Because you relate to the humanity of the story and these characters are relateable.  Maybe they're you. 

Out of context... maybe not so powerful, but I loved the scene of the movie when Deniro advises his son:

"Let me tell ya. You gotta pay attention to the signs. When life reaches out with a moment like this it's a sin if you don't reach back." 

 

Greatness.

Alice in Crazyland

I've known for a long time that I wasn't the same, didn't fit in, there was something different about me.  I was Alice in Wonderland.  I've known this at least as far back as the early elementary years.  So I struggled like Alice.  Curtsying, saying the right words... all the while feeling a frustration that I couldn't just be myself because being myself would be wrong and not accepted.  I'd be judged... for CERTAIN I'd be judged.  I lived my life by other people's standards from a very young age.  This was their world and I was living in it.  And one day it'd all come together for me.  But practicing this way of life for so long becomes habit and the habits become engrained.  Until I no longer knew how it came to be that I was so devoid of instinct.  Words stop making sense and the pretense becomes exhausting. 

So I'm starting from scratch.  I'm rebuilding.  Learning to rebuild is sort of like reading a book for the mechanically inclined to learn to build a house.  Lickety trickety.  But the foundation is important.  I'm rebuilding in Wonderland. 

 

After the Storm

One of the most beautiful songs I’ve heard in years. It’s a song that gives me chills... goosebumps.  I think it gives me chills because its message is so perfectly on point with reassuring hope.  Hope is the message I receive when I listen. I like that it’s honest. The fear is understood, but the hope is what’s most important. I cannot listen to this song just once.  I wish I could find a video for this online, but it's powerful without a  visual.  No visual needed. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of my favorite lyrics... from memory... I write this because it's not the entirety of the lyrics, but just what I'm connecting to.

 

Night has always pushed up day

You must know life to see decay

But I won't rot, I won't rot

Not this mind and not this heart, I won't rot

 

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears

And love will not break your heart but dismiss your fears

Get over your hill and see what you find there

With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair

And now I cling to what I knew

I saw exactly what was true

But oh no more, that's why I hold

That's why I hold with all I have, that's why I hold

And I will die alone and be left there

Well, I guess I'll just go home, oh God knows where

Because death is just so full and mine so small

Well, I'm scared of what's behind and what's before