Posts (page 2)

Last night Kristi and I volunteered at the Salvation Army warehouse, which was oddly located about a 1/4 mile for my old office at Urbanite Magazine. We arrived after work at 6pm ready to work, but not really knowing what we were to be doing but we knew that we wanted to help no matter what they needed.

Walking in I noticed right away that most of the facility was oddly clean for an old warehouse. They had new white walls, new signs and plenty of other volunteers to show us what to do and where to go. We walked around the corner and got a quick look at what was ahead of us. It was probably 3-4 thousand square feet of isles, each having three levels of boxes on either side. A total of 10 rows, hundreds of boxes. Each one of these boxes designated a family that the donated toys were going to. Our first task was to take all the donated toys from that and put them in the appropriate boxes which were designated with tags on each of the bags. Following that we have to make sure that each child (named on the box) had 2-3 toys, a stocking and a full set of clothes.

It was absolutely amazing to be doing this for someone else. As I've mentioned quickly before I have an amazing guilt complex (which has only become worse and worse) for the things that I have and how little I actually give back to people who need things more than I do. Each of these volunteers were there to help make these children's Christmas that much better by making sure that what they had written down for what they wanted, was completed by what was donated.

Those kids that were only represented by names on boxes because real people in my life, even only for last night. I wanted to make sure that each of them had exactly what they wanted so that they had a nice Christmas. So they had a nice Christmas like I always had.

A night like that really does sober someone up to how good you actually had it as a kid. I knew I was spoiled even back then. I got everything I wanted, pretty much always. I had not one Nintendo, but a Nintendo for each house that I went to (three total: mom, dad's, grandparents). I got the camera and lens I wanted when I started photographing.

In the beginning this was mostly because of my grandmother who spoiled everyone, but above and beyond spoiling me. My parents (Mom and Scott) always got me great things, which were much more down to earth in terms of quanity. My dad always did what he could and I never thought anything of what he gave me. Looking back I am embarrised to say what I eventually asked to do. I would ask mom, scott and nana to collaborate together and buy one big gift. Rather than letting each person buy something for me that was personal. Maybe that's not something to do with a teenager, but looking back on it, I feel embarrised at the greed that I felt.

I just remembered a time when Nana and I went to get a live tree (though there main tree was fake) for Pop. We went to get this before he came home from work, because "Marv always wanted a blue christmas tree." So we stopped and got all blues lights and blue bulbs for the tree. It was an amazing symbol of how much she loved him.

Things have always been great for x-mas for me though. It was the only time that my dad and I got along. He would stop being so mean to me for that time and I became fiercely defensive of that time period with him because it was the only time I could count on having the room to breathe. Dad and I had traditions that we carried for years because once we found something we both could agree on, we stuck with it. When I was eight or so, it was his year for x-mas eve and we wanted to go out to dinner (i think that was the only night of the year we went out)..needless to say nothing much was available for a late dinner on X-mas eve, except for Chi-chi's. We went there for the next ten years on that night. We listened to Nat King Cole and a blues Cd we bought in the bargain bin at circuit city. I remembered going to bed and not sleeping because I was so excited about the morning.

Things at mom's were always wonderful. We woke up, my parents were in their robes
and we would slowly open gifts. Always laughing, always having fun. Usually my mom would make breakfast (a wonderful omelet, pancakes or her amazing french toast). I would then go to my dads about noon.

Back then my dad usually had tears in his eyes when I arrived. He was all alone, but he would always make this particular dish that he only made on Christmas morning. It was red potatoes (he's never cooked a regular), eggs and cheese. We would open presents then, under the tree that we went and chopped down ourselves, decorated with bulbs bought when my mom still lived with us. He was a terrible wrapper and would always leave stuff with price tags on the boxes that what the present shipped in. At the time I looked down on him for it, but now I look back and think it's endearing. I remember one year I got him a book called Learning to Travel Alone, and he got really offended and started to cry. That is still very hard to think about. Later though, he would drive me to Nana's.

Everyone was there. All the family. We always wanted to unwrap presents one at a time, but it never happens. Nana usually had the Christmas tree so packed that it filled the whole living room. When everyone brought the other presents, there was hardly any room for people to sit! I had such strong memories of John being 2 or 3 and me pushing him on his firetruck around the presents. He was the cutest child ever. Nana always cook dinner and the ham/roast beef was always overcooked but her pies were always perfect.

We then went to June's for a late night exchange. Even then it was still June's and we were all so tired by this point we were smiling only out of habit.

I lost track of my family for a few years after I moved out. I was getting my legs in my new life, living away from everyone, going to college and trying to start traditions of my own. Luckily I have found such a wonderful person to share and create Christmas with that I often have mental problems keeping the secret of her presents! That is a wonderful feeling to have and for that I am very thankful.

I have so many amazing memories from my childhood of x-mas that I want those children to have the same. I really hope they do and I hope I had just a little to do with that.

Some grand things that I want (that go completely against what I want to be...which is a person who doesn't need much and gives more than he takes....)

    * A small home theater. Some place with 4 chairs, a beautiful display and sound. I want a whole room for media, to watch movies, TV and video games in this room. It should be insulated as to not bother anyone else.
    * A medium sized house. I've realized that I can't live in a tiny house like I once thought. I now know that I need room to put all the things that I love and that I find beautiful. I find a lot of things beautiful. In this house I want my own office. In this office I will always have gadgets, computers and all other sorts of electronic gizmo's that have a million LED lights that stay on at night and look like the stars in the sky. I want to be part of the tech-journalist community. I want to know people from all around the word and talk on skype. I want to finally find the words to write letters and even the book that I promised myself that I would write in middle school.
    * Moderately priced designer furniture. I cannot help but find furniture to be the most wonderful body of art that one person could collect. Not only is it pretty to look at, it's functional and has a physical body in your house (unlike a painting or other 2D art.) I would want a really nice stand for the electronics, beautiful bookshelves for allllll the books.

One problem with this list and things that I want in general is that I feel an overwhelming guilt for wanting physical things... for wanting toys or things that aren't necessary for survival. I can see being ok with a modest house, the desk and even a single computer. But a home theater? do I really need that?

Is this just the mind frame of someone who is saving every penny right now? I'm hoping to find a solution to feel good about things that I can purchase for myself and i think that comes form being able to give as much as I get. If I feel like I am putting out a lot of good energy into those people around me (in the worldly sense).  Maybe this will work and maybe not.

this has to be funny to people other than me, right?

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The coffee at work tastes like balls. Would it be rude for me to bring in my own beans? seriously, BALLS. 

I would say about 80% of the time when people make stuff, I don't like it. I think that we should leave the craftsman type creating to people who really know what they're doing and then do what I need to to have the nicely created object.  I spend a lot of time online looking at crafty, artsy stuff and I'm sitting here wondering WHO THE HELL IS GOING TO BUY THAT THING THAT LOOKS LIKE IT FELL OFF A CAR. maybe i'm just a design/visual whore...because i certainly am....

  Death so far (the +/- of it all)

Death segments life into manageable parts. There is before ________ died and there is after.

The first death that I went through was that of my grandmother on my father's side when I very young. All I remember is sitting with dad in a new suit in one of the pews. The only memory I have of her before her death was sitting at the foot of her lounge chair and staring at her feet and then up to her body.

My grandfather died in 2000. I came out of the auditorium later than most ( I always walked around and talked to people in the last two years of high school ) and I saw my sister parked beside my car, leaning against the trunk of my car. I don't think I even noticed who she was until I was within hearing distance. She said, "I'm sorry..." and sniffled. There is always a point where you know that the situation is different...that something has gained a giant lead brick of weight. "I’m sorry... Pop passed last night." It was such a beautiful day in January. I followed her back to Nana's house a few miles away. Walking into the house you could smell the crying and death. It was heavier than the air and it laid at your feet, pulling you to the ground. Nana was at the dinning room table in the rightmost chair near the kitchen entrance, hysterically crying with Pop's hat over her face. She was swinging herself back and forth. I had never seen someone crying that hard before. Patty was across the table, Tammy next to her and Mom has the phone and was making calls. I had arrived as they were taking his body away and I was told not to go in and look at him. I was told that he had a heart attack in the middle of the night. He was up from bed, but had bent down to pick something up. He was found on his knees, he bent down, had the heart attack and never got back up. I questioned them, but I knew that I couldn't see him in such a position. Nana stayed in the house and when everyone visited (more than ever because she was now alone) it always felt awkward knowing that he was there. She moved out of the house, it took the family two full weeks to clean the house. She moved into town closer to the family, into a nice apartment for older folks just like her. She was the hit of the community. When ever I walked in people in the hallways always said how wonderful she was. Nana was on the top floor, down the hall on the left. When you walked into the new apartment you noticed that she had completely changed her furniture except for a few pieces. She was never the same. She was dieing with grief. I visited her many times always saying to myself that I will never know when it is coming. You can't predict someone's death. She lasted longer than many of us had predicted and there were a few signs of her 'getting worse' but overall it was quick. I got the call one afternoon from mom saying that Nana was in the hospital for shortness of breath, but Mom expected her to be fine. Twenty miles from Baltimore and thirty miles from Frederick, Scott called to tell me that Nana had passed away. When Pop died I cried. When Nana died I sobbed, I lost my heart, I lost a part of me. I remember as a kid thinking that when she dies, I would die also. There was still some truth in that. When Kristi and I got to the hospital everyone was there, crying like before. Nana was in her bed, white and cold. It was one of the best moments in my life being able to say goodbye to her then. To her body.  She had not been the same for years, but saying goodbye to her kisses and hugs were nearly impossible, no matter how much you planned for it. The doctors never really found out what killed her. It had something to do with her kidneys, but everyone knows it was of a broken heart.

On Sunday night two more people died in my family. One was my grandfather, my father's father. He was 96, a hard worker with no nonsense farmer who lost everything to his children in a custody battle. Dad had seen him not a month ago and had one of the best times with him that he has ever had. Dad said he made his peace and his death was not a shock. I remember only two or three times that I met him. He was very tall, four inches taller than my 5' 8" father. He was also skinny and looked like the hardest worker you've ever seen. He was that from dad said. He was such a hard worker that he never paid attention to his children and my dad never got over it.

Marjorie also died.

In 9th grade I was absolutely miserable. I was no where near confident enough to make friends. I had no idea who I was or what I wanted and therefore was stuck in a terrible 'in-between' place amongst my peers. My dad and I were fighting worse and worse at this point. I had grown old enough to know that I hated him but still felt that I couldn't stop seeing him at all. When I first met Marjorie she was living in a giant house in a development 5 miles from Urbana High. You had to turn into a large development, follow a few roads and then turn off onto a dirt path. It was a house from a Lia Block book. There were plants everywhere. The lawn was up to your shins. It was beautiful. The next time I saw her she had bought land near Jefferson and put a nice pre-built house it. Dad said to me one time that she needed someone to come over and take her to go get groceries. From that point on she paid me $20 a week to take her to the grocery store and back. Oh wait.. I forgot she had bought a condo in frederick before buying this land. The condo never fit her and she always felt that. I always remember her being miserable there. It's easy to remember the new carpet smell that never left. She filled it with plants and her furniture, we ever had a Christmas dinner there, but she never felt at home. Back to the house near Jefferson… I would take her to the Weis a few miles from her house and I'd always finish getting my half of the groceries (she had the brand and box size she wanted, it was a shopper's dream) before she did and then I would read magazines till she finished. This was fun, especially the rides up and back, but she was always uncomfortable. She never learned how to drive and rarely left her house. She had suffered from many years of depression, often lasting years and her anxiety didn't let her leave the house except for a few things that she needed. When we returned to her house, I unloaded the groceries; she would make a BLT sandwich, with bacon bits and not real bacon. She would also have swedish fish for me and at Christmas time she knew how much I loved candy canes and would always have them also. We would have the most wonderful conversations and for once in my life, I felt really understood. In 8th grade I had started the journey of transforming into my adult self and was completely lost socially, but in that house on those Monday's, she knew exactly. She introduced me to Leonard Cohen, Prairie Home Companion, Car Talk and lots of classical music. She would take the Lake Wobegon segment of PHC onto tapes for me to listen in my car. At that point in my life, she was the only home I had where I felt part of something away from my parents. When I was 17 turning 18 things started to stop being so perfect. I think I was getting really busy with school, my first girlfriend and work. At 18 I went to college and Dad went shopping for her. They fought constantly, I knew that. When I visited from Clarion with bright Pink hair she made fun of me and I never really went back after that. I heard through dad that she had started drinking a few bottles of gin a week and I know her meds weren't working as well. She went back into a depression and never recovered. She died from a heart attack in her bed around midnight.

With the love of Marjorie, I know I wouldn't have had the confidence to become who I am. She let me know that not only that it was ok, but something to be proud of. She was truly one of the most beautiful souls to have known. I am very lucky to have had her in my life and I will adore these few memories that I have.

Death plays such a fascinating role in life.  It is beautiful in it's own way, because it makes you understand just how ALIVE you are.