Tag Archives: Memories

Sniff, Sniff… Sniffle

I think I’m coming down with a cold. That isn’t what this post is about, though. It’s about my childhood pets. I saw a woman walking two gorgeous lhasa apsos yesterday, and it made me miss my dogs so much!

Boomer and me

I was home alone one day, so I hung out with Boomer. We started playing house, and I gave him the pretend name of Moose. We had to retrain him to respond to ‘Boomer.’ My brother was pretty upset about that.

Benji and me

Awww, Benji. I miss him. I was 9 when we brought him home. I was 23 when he died. He was a loving dog who loved pizza. I would take him for a walk when I got home from school. We were pals. When my bedroom door was closed, he would “knock” to be let in by bumping his head on the door. He loved to play with furry toys, and he liked to stick his face in snow.

I don’t know if I’ll ever have my own pet. I considered getting a cat, but the chances of me killing it because I forget I have it are 50/50. Even though I grew up with a dog, I can’t help but see dog ownership as a daunting responsibility. So, I feel lucky that I had great pets when I was younger. I’m content with the experiences I had.

Maybe I’ll get a fish someday. For now, I’ll have to stick with a pet rock or My Pet Zombie.

Ready? OK!

DO YOU KNOW that it’s National Cheerleading Week? Oh my gosh, it is! Can you dig it? Can you D-I-G-I-T?!?

I was a cheerleader in 4th grade. Our school colors were red and white, and our mascot was the cardinal. Cardinals, you’re looking -clap- GREAT! It’s almost laughable that I was a cheerleader. Sure, I was spunky, had a lot of energy, and I had a lot of school spirit. Ahem. But I wasn’t exactly athletic. I am talking picked-last-in-gym-class levels of athleticism.

Looking back, I am really not sure why I decided to go out for cheerleading. I suppose I must have been impressed by the cheerleaders at our school pep rallies. They wore cute outfits and they always looked like they were having fun. There was something about the routines they did, how they knew when to clap, when to stomp; the motions they made with their bodies that looked complicated, but were really just simple and calculated. I suppose I thought, “I can do that. I can be peppy. I can be loud and cheerful.”

We had to learn two cheers for varsity tryouts. I practiced and I was ready when it was my turn to show off in front of the coach. I knew I did the best I could possibly have done, but I still wasn’t sure if I would make the squad. There were already a few girls who were in the squad the previous year, and only a limited number would be selected. I was elated when I saw that I made the squad and even more elated when my coach remarked that I had great jump height.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to be a super gymnast. Cheerleading for me was learning routines, staying in sync with the other girls, memorizing cheers, and committing to practices and cheering at school sports events. No pyramids, no splits, no tumbling aside from the occasional cartwheel. I loved our coach. She was laid-back, trustworthy, and helped us keep a positive attitude even when our team was losing or the opposing team’s cheerleaders were doing aerial cartwheels. (She wasn’t too happy when we bent over, lifted up our skirts, and shouted, “UP YOURS!” to the other cheerleaders at a football game that one time.)

My cheerleading days are a blur to me now. I still remember some of the cheers and routines. I bust them out from time to time, successfully creeping out anyone who is around me.

Hey! Hey you!
You really think you’re cool
You thought that you were winning
But you ran out of fuel!

You found out
That we’ve got class
It must have been confusing
‘Cause you ran out of gas!

My favorite thing about cheerleading had little to do with cheerleading. I used to ride with the same family when we drove to away games. I’m not even sure how or why I ended up riding with them. My fellow squad member was one or two grades ahead of me, and our only interaction was during cheerleading practice or games. BUT ANYWAY, my favorite thing about cheerleading is the impact it had on my music tastes. Specifically, cheerleading and riding around with that family was my introduction to the oldies. Of course, I had heard all the old songs before. The Supremes. The Beatles. Dave Clark Five. Dusty Springfield. But this experience made it different. The dad would sing along as he drove. My peers liked the music. It was such a happy car to be in. I found myself going home and setting the dial to 104.3. I would listen to it after school and dance around in my bedroom. Even if cheerleading sucked, the way it fueled my appreciation for the oldies would have made the entire experience worth it.

GoooooooooooooooOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO CARDINALS!!!!

Impression

I have been thinking a lot lately about first impressions, approaching strangers, small but memorable moments. There are vivid moments throughout my life that I remember. They lasted a minute, maybe less, but I remember everything about them.

I remember one day in high school, after lunch, I was walking in a crowded hallway. I was on the ground floor of the building, and I remember that I was wearing a skirt that day. I was a junior and he was a senior. We ended up walking next to each other. “Palpitate,” he said. I looked up at him; he was tall. “Palpitate. What does that mean? Our hearts can palpitate. Right?” He looked at me. We continued to walk side by side. “I think so,” I replied. He smiled. “Thanks,” he said, and then we parted ways.

I was on a plane with my Mom, flying back home from one of my music competitions. I was in the window seat, my Mom in the middle, and a man to her left, in the aisle seat. We got our drinks and our lunch. (Wow, remember when you would get lunch on a plane for free?) The box contained a sandwich and potato chips. The man handed the chips to my Mom. He had on headphones and he was reading a book. My Mom handed the chips to me. I looked at the man to thank him. He smiled and pointed at his book: The New Sugar Busters. I was happy to have an extra bag of chips.

I was young, maybe 10 or 11, walking back home from my Grandma’s house. It was summertime. My neighbor from across the street came out of his house and met me on the sidewalk in front of my house. He was skinny, wearing jeans and a white short sleeve undershirt. “Here you go, sweetie,” he said as he put a long cowry shell necklace around my neck. He had never really spoken to me before. I said, “Thank you.” He nodded and went back into his house. He passed away some months later. Cancer. I still have the necklace. It’s hanging on the mirror in my bedroom. I like to think that he would keep an eye on me during those summers that I was home alone.

Small moments. Lasting impressions. I can only dream that someone remembers a moment they shared with me, and that the memory brings a smile to their face.

Let It Snow

This post was originally titled, “Hibernation,” and was going to be a treatise on staying in during winter in order to avoid the cold and snow. I will admit it upfront: I do not like driving in the snow. It’s scary and can be stressful, and my little Honda Civic feels like a deathtrap. I dread having to drive anywhere: work, the grocery store, my condo. Still, we have only had two big snowfalls this winter, and if I wasn’t traumatized enough after witnessing a woman have to drive through a red light because she couldn’t stop, or after almost crashing into a railing over 294 because I was sliding, seeing cars end up in ditches, or having to–this is the worst–clean my car in the middle of a raging blizzard, I think I will be just fine. Here’s the thing: some really amazing things have happened to me during crazy snowstorms.

In 2000, my mom took me shopping on a day so snowy and crazy that the mall closed early, but not before I found the perfect little black dress for a party I was invited to by my crush.

In 1999, I went on a road trip with my sister and two cousins to Indianapolis for a Backstreet Boys concert (yeah, yeah, hilarious). We stayed there two nights. On the second night, the weather was insane, but we still drove to the drive through liquor store to get some beers. That was an awesome trip. It’s one of those things that I can’t believe we did, especially in those conditions. It makes for a great memory, though.

In 2009, my niece Juliana was born. It snowed that night. Having been born in August, I can maybe brag that it was sunny. I think snow makes for a cooler birth story.

In 1999, there was a snowstorm so bad that it forced everyone to stay in. My family and I hung out in the basement, played mahjong, and drank. Then, once the snow stopped and the alley and streets were clear enough so that we could go somewhere (and the piled up snow was taller than I was), we went shopping. We were carefree and simply enjoying each other’s company.

In elementary school, we used to play on the snow mounds made by the snowplows at the end of the parking lot during recess.

In 1994, I have this distinct memory of having walked in snow that was up to my crotch. I was wearing my school uniform: red plaid skirt, white tights, and boots. It was a wild thing for me to do, but a much more efficient way to get into the car versus walking around the snow.

For many years, the Zoo Lights Festival at Lincoln Park Zoo was something I loved to visit. Hanging out at the zoo, in the city, at night. Having hot cocoa and snuggling with someone you like or love. Bundled up in a great jacket, wrapped in a scarf, wearing gloves and earmuffs.

I was tickled to see people sledding and even skiing in a park by my parents’ house the day after the most recent snowfall. What a reward to enjoy the snow with your family and friends after a dreadful commute the day before.

I dread winter, I worry about driving in the snow, but I love winter in Chicago. I love that a little snow doesn’t stop us. I love how my snot freezes up when its below zero. I love sweaters and my puffy jackets and my wool coats. I love the feeling of turning off my car after driving through snowfall. I love snowmen and snowladies and snowpants.

So, let it snow, Chicago. Let it snow. Just try to snow on days or times when I don’t absolutely need to drive. And be kind to Lake Michigan and Lake Shore Drive.

Ice Queen

Talk to the hand

This is a personal post, but something I’ve been thinking about for awhile.

Preface: I remember the first bachelorette party I attended. I had just turned 18, was literally two days away from starting college, and was really excited to hang out with the older girls and drink some alcohol. I didn’t know what to expect from the stripper. He did his dance and played with the bride and bridal party, all of which I was able to handle. When he started grabbing the other girls at the party, I fled the room. Literally. I quickly walked out of the room and sat outside on the porch – as far I could possibly be from the stripper – until he left.

At the start of the party, long before the stripper arrived, the maid of honor was handing out funny name tags for everyone. The name tag she gave me was “Ice Queen”. The label given to me and the actions that followed that night have continued to haunt me.

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