Day 17: My Mother Tries to Kill The Elderly

Our trip to Disney World, probably around 1978? It's completely bananas that this is the only picture of Susan and I for the week we spent there. By today's standards, it's basically criminal. We do, however, have approximately 35 pictures of the hula girls at the Polynesian dinner show. I'll give you three guesses as to who was the photographer in the family. (HINT: He was the only male.)

Though we don't have pictures, I remember how excited we were for our first plane ride. There was no Epcot or MGM, just Magic Kingdom. We weren't (and aren't) huge Disney fans, but I distinctly remember being amazed at how perfect Main Street was as we walked into the park.

There were two highlights from our trip that have no photos. First, Susan and I each used our spending money to buy giant sunglasses (like the joke kind that are five times the size of your head) and sombreros, which we then WORE ON THE AIRPLANE TO FLY HOME. Do that today and you'll probably land yourself on the terrorist watchlist. But back in the days of innocence, the only thing it got you was seats in your own row because your parents had orphaned you at 30,000 feet.

The second gem from that trip is burned into my memory because I heard my dad talk about it no less than 1700 times ...with the story becoming more outrageous as the years went by. We were in line for Pirates of the Caribbean, waiting for a boat to pull up and for the cheerful Disney cast member to assign us a row. I'm not sure if my mom was overheated and dehydrated or whether she had a secret thing for pirates, but she got a bit excited when what she thought was our boat pulled up to the railing.

As my dad would tell it, it was a boat FILLED with people who were 100 years or older, all invalids. Completely immobile. These poor innocent seniors were then ACCOSTED by my mother, who attempted to JUMP INTO THE BOAT WITH THEM before they had a chance to exit. He reenacted old ladies shaking their canes, gripping their husbands, and tucked his lips around his teeth to show that they were so old they didn't even have dentures anymore. He would also scream and tuck his knees up to his chest, as if they regressed and entered the fetal position at the sight of my mother trying to capsize their Disney Dinghy. NOT SURPRISINGLY, he was able to grab my mother and save those poor older people from having to try to find the life vests under their seat. In the words of Bonnie Tyler, they were holdin' out for a hero and DON WHITE WAS IT.

How I remember the story is irrelevant. Mostly because my version is boring and the truth. In the beginning, my mom would protest and tell him he was exaggerating. But what became funnier over the years was not the story, but my mom, my sister and I laughing at HIM, telling this completely embellished, over-the-top, and basically fictional story. I guess that's really what matters, that he got laughs, the people he told the story got laughs, and we got laughs...even if it was all for different reasons.

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Day 16 of #the100DayProject: Here's the story...

The Brady Bunch was probably my favorite tv show growing up. It was a time when, if a show came on Tuesdays at 8 p.m., you watched it then or you missed it until summer reruns. My dad hated The Brady Bunch because it was "phony" and also because I would watch the repeats and recite the lines before they said them...which prompted him to ask why I needed to watch it again if I already knew what happened. He clearly was not charmed by the complicated plots, Alice's quirky gestures, or seeing Bobby swim through bubbles after overflowing the washing machine.

You know how we hear about weird college courses that analyze pop culture or specific movies? I want to take a class about the Brady Bunch. Since I can't find one, I went ahead and prepared a syllabus:

1. Discuss the Carol/Alice dynamic. They genuinely seemed to love one another without a power struggle. Was Alice paid well? Did she have health insurance? Was Sam the Butcher allowed to spend the night?

2. Six kids and one Jack & Jill bathroom. How was this possible? Current HGTV viewers have just thrown an embolism.

3. There should have been more fighting over the telephone. Mike installed a payphone on one episode, but that was it.

4. What was the deal with Cousin Oliver? Fun fact: The statue in the Hawaii Tiki episode was also named Oliver.

5. Did famous stars like Joe Namath, Davy Jones, and Vincent Price actually WANT to do guest appearances or was The Brady Bunch like The Love Boat? (*There should also be a course on The Love Boat, because (a) it's both exciting and new and (b) they're expecting you.)

6. Brady Bunch lines still famous today:

- Pork Chaaaaaaps and appleshawwwsh

- Ow! My nose!

- Mom always says, don't play ball in the house!

- When it's time to change, it's time to chaaAAAAAnge

- Marcia, Marcia, Marcia!

Do you have a favorite episode? Have you downloaded "Sunshine Day" by the Silver Platters on iTunes? Did you ever smuggle a goat named Raquel into your attic bedroom? Share your favorite Brady memories. This is a safe space.

Day 15:  Curls Just Wanna Have Fun

Ah, the 80s. The nylon materials, chemically-processed hair, and shellac to hold it all in place. It was all just so...FLAMMABLE. Did anyone spontaneously combust? Because I feel like people probably did, but there was no 24-hour news network to let us know about it. This glamour shot is a fine representation of not just big hair, but HOMEMADE HAIR. Those perms? They were done at the kitchen table and with a Toni home perm kit. 

I'm pretty sure most people in my generation experienced the torture. You'd schedule an ENTIRE AFTERNOON to get that hair did. Drag out the rollers and an old towel and assume your position in the kitchen chair. The victim....er, recipient, would hand the "stylist" (YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LOOSELY I AM USING THE TERM STYLIST), a thin paper and then a roller. That part wasn't so bad. It was when what I now believe to be Drano was poured over your head. You'd shield your eyes, which were already burning from the mere fumes. The horrid smell was only outdone by the shrieks, as the likely carcinogenic fluid permeated your skin, right down to the cerebral cortex. If you didn't come out of a home perm with lacerations and scabs, you weren't doing it right. Each and every time my mom, Susan or I did a home perm, my dad would stop sucking on his cigarette long enough to complain about the fact that we were trying to kill him (note the irony). 

You'd sit there waiting the 60 minutes to find out your destiny, secretly terrified you may have to feign illness for school on Monday or try to pretend you truly were going for the poodle look. Almost as bad was when you wasted an entire afternoon, only to unroll it and find you basically looked the same. This was followed by teenage wrath unleashed on the unlicensed stylist (your mom), who was probably secretly wishing she would have wound those rollers a little tighter. We didn't have the term "quality time" back then, but I think this bonding experience definitely qualifies.
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Day 14 of the 100 Day Project: Noticing

This may look like a regular window, but it's actually a mystical portal for the senses. I took this photo while staying at a tiny little AirBnB in Colmar, France. It's no photographic masterpiece, but it helps me to remember. Maybe it's the fact that window screens are not common in Europe, so you feel much closer to the outdoor surroundings. It gives a great sense of community, nothing between you and your neighbors. I remember hearing the church bells and neighbors speaking in their beautiful language. The sun moving across the sky, drenching the stucco and those gorgeous red tiled roofs. At around 2 am, you'd wake to the smell of bakeries starting their bread for the day. IT WAS LIKE A DREAM. It's hard to go back to sleep with that deliciousness wafting in, but is the most wonderful memory. Whenever I travel, I find myself constantly wondering, "Do these people know how LUCKY they are? Is it just another day, where the details go unnoticed?" Probably. Just as we go about life at a pace that blurs days to years. But photography lets us capture moments and keep them. It really is pretty darn magical. 

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Day 13:  I love their love.

Day 12 of #the100DayProject: Play

I’m guessing Susan and I were about 4 and 7 in this picture. We spent countless hours playing. Those were the pre-electronic days and also days that were COMPLETELY unplanned. Not a darn thing. All day. And my mom did her thing, cleaning and cooking. We played grocery store and library, making paper cards and stamping them. We lined up kitchen chairs into rows and carefully wrote plane tickets for each stuffed animal and then spoke into a telescope like it was a microphone. We used a 33 vinyl record as a steering wheel, cans of soup for the gas and the brake, a hammer shoved between the cushions as a gear shift and drove our couch all the way to Disney World. We’d then spread out a blanket with all our stuffed animals and baby dolls and wave to an imaginary Disney character parade. WE ACTUALLY SAT THERE AND WAVED. AT NOTHING. It all seems so sweet now, looking back. No photos of it, no videos, no Boomerangs or TikToks. And so very few pictures. But these are the memories that I want to document in a place other than my heart. It’s why I love this project so, so much.  

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Day 11 of the 100 Day Project:  The World Kept Turning 

In 1982, my mom drove me to Kennedy Airport in NYC and put me on a plane to Vienna for a seven week visit with my cousin, Susanne Grasser, and her family. That trip changed my life and instilled the tremendous gift of curiosity and wanderlust. Though I was experiencing a new language, culture, and more independence, I was 14-years-old and still wanted to keep up with everything back at home. 

At that time, international phone calls had to be made from the post office in town, so I only scheduled a few calls home during my trip. We wrote LETTERS instead. So adorably vintage, isn’t it?  They were even on these handy airmail forms, with pre-printed postage, and folded into an envelope for mailing. Included in my mom’s letters would be updates on what was going on with friends and family and, more importantly, a weekly synopsis of “The Young and The Restless”, “As The World Turns” and “Guiding Light.” We were SO INTO SOAPS. Or “the stories” as the older set would call them. They were goofy and dramatic, but compared to some of the reality TV today, they seem award-worthy. 

I love that my mom took the time to keep me up-to-date on who had been kidnapped (again) and who found out they had an evil twin (again). Her generosity and diligence were especially commendable, considering all of my letters include the phrase, “I love it here so much! I’m never coming home!” 

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Day 10 of the 100 Day Project:   Well, that’s embarrassing 

The idea of organization has intrigued me throughout my entire life. I’m drawn to graphs, markers and paper organized by color, label makers, a pantry that let’s you know you’re low on flour by a mere glance at the glass canister. 

Sadly, the exercise gene mentioned yesterday has an attached strand of DNA that codes for organization (I cannot cite this as fact because whether it is an ACTUAL fact has not been proven by science, only by me). I’m really organized with some things, like when I write report or document at work, but I also have an affinity for placing “important” papers on flat surfaces. By important I mean newspaper clippings, beautiful quotes that I write on napkins at stoplights, and coupons that I will forget at home. 

After having my first baby, I knew it was time to really get myself organized. I packed Trevor in his baby seat and off we went to conquer the stacks and see what methodology could help this new mom. (FUN FACT: It was at this same library in Virginia Beach that a man stood behind me in the cookbook aisle and repeatedly cleared his throat until I turned around to notice what he was “kneading.”) 

I found a great selection of home organization books and checked them out. After a week of heavy research, reading and taking notes, I decided I still needed more information. Even then, I suffered from analysis paralysis and had to find every morsel of data before proceeding. Back to the library we went, to see if anything new had hit the shelves. 

This was before computers were available to patrons. And before you ask, YES, the wheel HAD been invented. And so had fire. I asked the librarian if there were any more books available on my topic. She scanned the screen and read three titles, but said they were checked out; however, I could request to have them held when they’re returned. I excitedly handed over my library card with delight. MORE INFORMATION. 

She types away and makes a face that says, “Hmmmm.” “Anything wrong?” I said. “Well, it seems that the person who has the all the organizational books checked out is YOU.” 

Yep. Apparently I had cornered the market on every book they had on the subject and didn’t even recognize the titles when she mentioned them. Please keep in mind I had a 4-month-old baby at the time and was basically a 24-hour milk machine. And if I had to choose between being responsible for books AND a small human, I’m glad I could still locate and recognize the human. 

We laughed it off (or maybe I giggled and ran, my memory is fuzzy.) This story doesn’t really have an ending, other than these are a few of the books I currently own on organization, the top one being from an author I saw speak live last year on the topic of decluttering. I’m fully aware that I’ll never conquer my scattered tendencies and, at 52 years old, have decided to call it part of my “charm.”  

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