Old Movies and red birds

August 19, 2003

The end of my last blog could not be more fitting considering the currents coursing through my brain. I really am very scattered, and I am just praying to grab on to some type of rescue line to drag me into a direction or the next. I could really use some luck or divine inspiration in these next couple months to keep up my perseverance and make big decisions. I’m sick of the treadmill.

This morning, my brother and sister left for college at Penn State with our minivan loaded to the brim. My mom was emotional as they drove away down my street, but it was mitigated by the fact that my mom, dad, and I will be driving up on Friday to bring up their remaining articles, go shopping, and of course say goodbye. Their classes start on Monday.

Last night, we watched random TV shows together, and as we waited in the break between “Law and Order:SVU” and “The Nanny,” my mom asked us if we would like to watch some “home movies” in the meantime. We all didn’t object, even though it was probably a difficult moment for us all to watch them together before the imminent departure of three of us.

Anyways, my mom has been going through these home movies in order to label them all. Later in life, she will take up the job of putting them all on DVDs; God bless her soul! We all watched four films of us as children, and we were all so incredibly cute! I usually exclude myself from that description because I am growing through my awkward middle school years in the movies where all four of us are all present. Therefore, in order to be fair to all children, my mom usually digs out the movies of the whole family, where I look absolutely tragic in every sense of the word.

What do you mean by “tragic,” you might ask? Well, I was attending the middle school during the late nineties. In fact, I graduated from eighth grade in 1999. The only thing worse than living your pubescent years in nineties middle school was actually being in high school. If you have ever seen a high school yearbook of anyone between the years of 1985-1998, I assure you that you will see disastrous-dos, hairspray-caked manes with a perfectly teased 6-inch cloud bangs fanned across their forehead, as if a plane just flew through their hair giving them the Ace Ventura look—In addition there was also the hairdo that formed a wreath around the girls head, the messy-Madonna look, and the horrible idea to crimp or perm one’s hair, over and over again. I won’t even get into the headbands, the bows, the side ponytails, the large clips—I just won’t go there. I chose those dates because I was born in 1985, and hair straighteners and curling irons weren’t widely introduced until the end of the nineties; I am sure they existed before, but their tasteful use is still being put into practice after entering homes ten years ago. My mom tells me stories of ironing her hair in the seventies—ouch!

My hair experience in middle school is only one of my more beauteous attributes, as I was blessed with hair that is only half-curly, or frizzy based on the humidity factor. Without product or hot irons, my hair looks close to a rat’s nest without careful hair dryer attention. During those years, I convinced my mother to let me get bangs like many other girls who were sprouting the perfectly-rolled bangs. My hair was so combative to the very idea of bangs, the hairs usually writhing in every which way, that I had a crop of sad doo-hickies hovering over my forehead with two barrettes on each side holding down the uncontrollable frizzies. On top of the tragic bang disaster, I also was saddled with braces for 5 years—accompanied by head-gear, expanders, and retainers. I was so lucky!

If you thought my hair and braces were enough, I will add the fact that I was an extremely tall girl for my age, one of those premature bean sprouts growing out of clothes faster than you can by them. I always sang in the back line at choir concerts, and all of the shorter boys gave me a slight complex because I felt like a jolly green giant in their midst. I also make fun of my horrendous fashion sense, but my mom continuously vows that “it was the style!!” I was completely embarrassed when I got my first period because I was the “numero uno” of my friends, and my mom ended up telling them “my secret” by throwing a box of pads into my bedroom when Kristin was at my house.

That gives you a very brief background to the battleground of my young teenage years, and I will continue on after making this point: I was very shy, I was not popular, I loved swimming, and I suffered a lot during those years. Suffrage is a hard term, but considering that all emotions and situations are magnified during those early formative years, I feel justified in using the word.

To jump back into my “home movie” conversation: I look at myself in those videos, always cracking jokes about my appearance and uncanny nasal voice (before the doctor removed my adenoids); however, I have a warm spot in my heart towards that awkward little girl. She was good and innocent, she loved her family and younger siblings, and she was very lovely without even having a clue.
I watch those movies with laughter, trying to suppress a lump in my throat when I see our family together passing holidays, playing games, bickering, opening up presents, and blowing out different candles. One should never be sad about the passage of time, but it is refreshing to look upon those times realizing what a special family you have. I was particularly touched by our Christmas video that we watched where my father was fulfilling his traditional role of reading “The Night Before Christmas” to all of us huddled in bed. My dad would stop, and let us fill in the rhyme.

The second video that I loved was of us exchanging the “family” presents at Christmas. In those years, the “family” presents were the gifts that we bought for one another, which was completely separate from Santa’s gifts! Being the oldest child, I got to play the Santa game for a long time with respect for my younger siblings’ belief. My littlest sister, Alyssa, was so proud of her gifts for everyone, and she exclaimed in her tiny high-pitched voice, “I knew this would be perfect for you!” She gave me a vanilla-scented candle, Christa a set of earrings, Robert a toy horse (in those years, Robert aspired to be a horse!), Dad a coffee mug, and Mom a syrup container, which she picked out herself; she was so proud! We called her “Lovey” because she was always smiling.

Anyways, as I sat watching those movies last night, I began looking at my dreams of travel and adventure as being completely empty and mislead. Am I being too stubborn or selfish in my new “cultured” aspirations to travel, write, and create art? I can’t help but feel guilty when I see my family’s happiness and realize that I have left them and will be leaving again shortly.

One thing that I have to keep in mind is to not take myself or my “mission” too seriously in life. It is true that I would love to do a lot of good in this world, but I can’t lay on the usual pressure to be something fabulous or great. In my opinion, I was fabulous as an awkward teenager, and I will always be so in the eyes of those who love me.

In addition to becoming confused last night, I also realized how important it is to find that one important person to marry. I see the beautiful family that my parents have created, and I would love to have a family that shares so much love some day. I just hope that I find that special person who is good enough to create that special story. It seems so hopeless! Blahhhh—“Don’t think about it!”

Weird! I just looked up from my typing to see a red bird staring in at me from the trellis outside the window. My grandmother has always said that the red bird was “her mother” looking down upon the family. Since then, this bird holds a reverential significance for us, and I view it as a symbol of a guardian angel. In any case, in that moment of consternation, I looked up and saw the red bird; I feel much better and at peace. I will not attribute the rare sighting to the fact that my neighbor owns approximately twenty-five bird feeders!


I probably shouldn’t write this down but….Yesterday, Mark, my ex-boyfriend, came over to swim in my pool for thirty minutes before heading back to Philadelphia for a few days. I looked up as we were talking and saw a red bird on the pool deck. I am not very superstitious, but I hope that these red bird incidents are not connected: I doubt whether or not I should have written down this first sighting. I might delete this later.

Well, Robert and Christa are gone. I am home alone because Alyssa just ran off to Volleyball practice. I have taken the dog out three times to fulfill her frustrating morning routine of potty trips and treats. I have a lot of laundry to do before packing my bags so I guess that I will get on the horse.

I can’t imagine the dinner table after I leave: Mom, Dad, and Alyssa. We joke around that there will be crickets in the background because Alyssa usually doesn’t feel the need to expound upon her daily events. It will definitely be different, and I think Alyssa is looking at her “only child” experience with a bit of fear for greater amounts of attention—but maybe it will be nice for her as well after all these years of following in our footsteps. Who knows, times are a-changin’!