Cherry 1979Originally uploaded by ein feisty Berg.
In the Decade That Was My Twenties
In the decade that was my twenties
I just wanted to survive. I just wanted to die. I wanted to be a songwriter (published and paid). I wanted to be married for a lifetime. I wanted to be the thinnest, most gorgeous babe in the world (in hopes of making my marriage survive). I wanted to scream. I wanted to play the piano constantly. I wanted to sing at the top of my lungs forever. I began to say I would love to have a doctorate. I wanted to do everything right so I would be successful and comfortable and be able, for just one moment or one day or one week, to let go and relax. So, what did I do? I survived. I wrote songs. I experienced a divorce. I became dangerously thin. I gained 20 pounds. I took voice and piano and choir at the college. I screamed. I was not able to do everything right. I was still unable to let go and relax.I
Cousins are a girl’s best friends
10 Things I Want to Do Before I Die, The first 2 decades
At the beginning of each new year a flurry of posts and essays and articles appear bandying about such terms as goals, resolutions, or “things I want to do before I die.” I have given this some thought and will begin a series of posts as I add items. Meanwhile, I am revisting the dreams and goals I have had over the years, a kind of review by decade.
During the first 10 years of my life I wanted to be: a stewardess (flight attendant), a choir director, a spy, a piano player, a drummer, and a “smart” or gifted student. I read voraciously and saw myself as the heroine. I longed to run through meadows, move to the music, and be somebody.
The second ten years were mostly a dark tunnel. I wanted a boy friend, I wanted to be popular, I wanted to have more than 5 daily dresses, one Saturday work dress, and one Sunday dress. I made New Year’s resolutions such as, “go on my first date before the end of this year.” I read voraciously and thought it would be exquisitly wonderful and romantic to go to a malt shop and sip soda through two straws from the same elegant glass with someone of the opposite sex. I felt I ought to be a missionary to a foriegn country and I wanted to be a pastor’s wife. I wanted to graduate from high school. I wanted to play piano for the rest of my life (but I hated to practice). I wished there was some type of automatic composer hooked to my piano so I wouldn’t have to write notes by hand. I wished I was a gifted student without trying and I was a gifted student when it came to music. I wanted to know and be known, to be acknowledged as someone special, to have a kindred spirit friend.
So, how did I do? I started teaching piano at the age of 15, I sang in an excellent choir. I made it to sweet sixteen without being kissed. I married the first guy I dated. I had the opportunity to student direct the choir in prep for college and decided not to go to college.I finished high school and married shortly after my 18th birthday. I thought we were going to be missionaries to a foriegn country or at least ministers in the USA, but he decided to be an atheist.
As for the kindred spirit friend, I had two cousins (one of each gender) who served wisely and loyally in this capacity; when I was not too infatuated or emmeshed with my boyfriend to do my part toward the friendship.
Stop the Presses!
Stop the presses! I found my pictures! I have been searching for six weeks. Now I can write the blog planned in February, “Ten things I want to do before I die,” and a narrative of how the list is coming!
Our Little Town Grows Up
post card photo by Ron Ruhoff @2001
Originally uploaded by ein feisty Berg.
This afternoon at 2:00 P.M. the new Sonic will open in town. Andrea will work there until she leaves for college in the fall. When we moved “up” to the mountains six years ago this giant hot dog was the only “fast food” spot in town (with the exception of the Safeway deli and a Subway tucked in next door). I use the word “fast” endearingly. It was not unusual to wait in line for 30 minutes, nor for the line to stretch and snake into the parking lot. In the past two years our community has seen the departure of this hot dog and the arrival of: King Soopers, A Lifestyle Safeway, Wendy’s, Quiznos, 2 Starbucks (one in each supermarket), the aforementioned Sonic , Qdoba; and, in the next two weeks, Chili’s and Baskin Robbins.
The giant hotdog which had been a landmark for giving directions, now resides 30 minutes further up the mountan. There are times I long to move 30 minutes more into the mountains and times I long for the city. The highway that runs through town now boasts two lanes each way and a number of overpasses (to get to the new Safeway). Our habits have changed. I often stop at the grocery on the way home and we have once again fallen into the habit of fast food, midnight snacks and cozy mom and kid dates to the coffee shops.
Belated
Today I returned to eine feisty berg and to my surprise, there had been no posts since February 19. So, I did the only sensible thing: I clicked publish. More pictures, more rambling, coming soon!
And Did I Slow Down?
(Post was actually written the first week of March and post did not publish)
I have been absent. Did I slow down? No. For awhile I had a good deal of inspiration and could not get to the computer. Then even the creative was sapped through daily toil. In addition, pictures I had hoped to post could not be found, so I spent a number of hours going through my shoe boxes. Do not go away, dear reader (s); I shall return in a burst of time and creativity some day hence.
It’s OK to slow down ….
I bought a box of white-chocolate fortune cookies in the clearance cart of the floral department of our local Safeway yesterday. Ummm. We have luxuriated in nibbling them, both with hot tea or coffee and without. I particularly have savored the fortunes enclosed. This morning my cookie said, “It’s OK to slow down and smell the roses.” OK. But, how? How can one slow down? Particularly in light of achieving the fortune I opened yesterday, “In your old age, you will enjoy comfort and material prosperity.” I’m old. I’m old. Bring it on.
These Gloves were made for losing…
These gloves wre made for losing….or am I just totally irresponsible when it comes to pairs of gloves (or earrings). Gloves are extremely important to me. I love my hands. I take good care of them. They make sweet music at the keyboard; but I digress. I particularly like leather gloves; problem is, black is best and black has a way of disappearing in the recesses of my black purse. I have lost complete pairs of black leather gloves at the gas station in Chicago, at churches, at school, and most recently at a Christmas concert. I buy tons of gloves, the 2 for $1.50 stretchy kind are great for back – up and for loaning and for tucking in the pocket of every coat and jacket and every backpack. After using my water proof, double layer ski gloves for 5 winters (and not losing one) I finally invested in a pair of nice WARM and Professional looking suade gloves in October. Now these gloves not only looked great, they were fur lined and had knit gussets all around and a cuff. They were extremely comforting and comfortable. I got them at nearly half price at Kohl’s and I wore them through the first days of extreme cold here in the Colorado mountains. My fingers did not go numb driving in to work. I praised them, I flaunted them, I wore them to the Christmas concert; tucked them under my arm while receiving a program and then sat in the bleachers for an hour. Entering the night air at 8,000 feet afterward was a sharp reminder. I caught the janitor turning out the lights, we searched the gym. We looked under the bleachers to no avail. A mere month of use and my gloves were gone! I am still sad. Even sadder now as I drive to work in my miss matched pair ( one stretchy and one ski glove); because, yes, I lost a single the other day. Maybe I should take up baseball again – afterall you only need one glove.