Archive for the ‘ Growing Pains (and not the TV show)’ Category

“There’s a handful of normal kid things I kinda missed.”***

Posted on November 28, 2008

Not my actual family

Not my actual family

The Girl is painting. The Girl is gluing rocks to the wall. The Girl is full of questions. The Girl has no regrets. The Girl wonders if she’s said too much. The Girl was dreading the impending madness. The Girl feels like a heinous human for saying that. The Girl believes that Bobbie Sue had her reasons. The Girl wishes time didn’t fly. She also wishes she were having more fun. The Girl wonders if “anybody really knows what time it is.” The Girl doesn’t think the “last word” is all it’s cracked up to be. The Girl is so sick of the fact that FACEBOOK makes her think in sentences like these.

I hear last night was the biggest bar night of the year. Perhaps it is just my nature, but The Girl has never felt the draw to go to her home-town bar the night before Thanksgiving and play “Remember When” with a group of people she hasn’t seen in 10 years. As Tony Soprano would say “remember when is the lowest form of conversation.”

Overall, Thanksgiving weekend is generally a bust in the WaterWorld. Aside from the minutely serious domestic incidents (the fork hurling scene comes to mind) and the historical significance (the sudden death of her grandfather), Thanksgiving feels like a mish-mosh of mixed memories and celebration of familial tension.

When the movie Garden State came out in 2004, it became my early 20’s anthem for soul rebellion. For indulging that which is right if not rational. It started with my addiction to The Shins (who were prominently featured on the soundtrack), but escalated to epic proportions when Zach Braff ran through the airport to Frou Frou’s “Let Go” and back to the girl he found intoxicating. In spite of the fact that he didn’t know what was next… (ellipsis.) Sigh.

I saw the film four times in the theatre (don’t judge… I was 23). It wasn’t until the third or fourth time that I really heard the speech Andrew makes about family…

Andrew Largeman: You’ll see when you move out it just sort of happens one day and it’s just gone. And you can never get it back. It’s like you get homesick for a place that doesn’t exist. I mean it’s like this rite of passage, you know. You won’t have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it’s like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that’s all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.

Those last two lines. They totally hit me. I can’t help but feel like the whole exercise is futile. Am I grateful? Absolutely. Am I blessed? You betcha. Do I love stuffing like nobody’s business? Uh huh.

But somehow, some way, I could do without the whole thing.

I sit there, mind adrift, contemplating the stories behind the stories. The parts of the sum total. The experiences and synchronicity that put a group of 11, almost completely unrelated people in the same room. And allow them to be called friends and family. Would I opt into friendship with these people? For the most part, no. Neither here nor there. Here we stand. Experiencing moments within moments. I also consider the more intimate knowledge that I have about each of the beings who surround me. We would be having a far better time if we could allow ourselves to be those people.

So here I sit, back on the boat, being me. Contemplating the day. Staring at the city lights. Forcing my eyes to focus until they blur and merge and I force myself to look away.

There is no ending to this. No neat bow to tie it up with. It continues. The ultimate ellipses…

***Post title also from Garden State

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This is a pain in my thumb…

Posted on September 22, 2008

Noy ACTUALLY my thumb, but mine looks all bent and disjointed like this one...

Not ACTUALLY my thumb, but mine looks all bent and disjointed like this one...

I’m not being cute. I’m not using a quirky play on words. The Girl can’t type. The Girl can’t write. The Girl can’t do much of anything that involves her dominant hand. The Girl has a gnarly case of Trigger Thumb ( and it is affecting my world. Ironically, this is a water injury. Or rather a “carrying a boogie/ surf board down the beach in Hawaii injury” which has gotten progressively worse since actually leaving Hawaii. Maybe the Girl just needs to grab the Spouse and head for the hills (or mountians) of Hawaii and it’ll heal. On a positive note, the Girl and the Spouse are celebrating one year of marital bliss today and the Girl cannot help but feel uber-grateful to have a man who cooks amazing fish for dinner and pumpkin/ banana pie for desert whilst strictly but lovingly reminding her “not to use that hand!!!!”

In pain and love (often the same),

Girl of the Water

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My Transitional Lamp

Posted on September 5, 2008

The bedroom in our new apartment gets minimal light, and in spite of the 8-foot window, has a distinctly cave-like feel. So, I had to buy a lamp. I hemmed and hawed and researched within an inch of my life and ended up deciding to go with one of the first I’d seen. The Hampton Bay Cherry Wood Shelf Floor Lamp. Functional yet Zen. I dug the style and appreciated it’s utilitarian flare.

As I wait for the Ferry bus, I glimpse the package again praying that it’s packed properly and that the twine handle tied on by the helpful Home Depot man which is now ripping the box, hasn’t affected the wood inside, when I notice the writing on the box… “Hampton Bay~ The Transitional Collection”. Hmph. Transitional? Really? What does this mean and why would Home Depot judge me?

I’m not transitional… I’m an adult, dammit! It doesn’t make sense…you don’t even KNOW me, Home Depot. Then it hits me. They’re right. I am totally transitional. This lamp was made for me. Shit. They have a whole collection made for me and those just like me. Case in point…. this is the very first apartment I’ve ever had which does not contain ONE thing from Ikea. Nary a “Malm Dresser” and no sign of an “Ivar Wall Unit”. YET, I do not have even one piece from ABC Home and Carpet (home of the 4,000 dollar plastic chandelier). See… I AM transitional. Sigh.

So, I transport my transitionally appropriate lamp home and get into a transitional fight with my hopefully not-transitional spouse over it’s assembly and then took a walk through Weehawken questing for Diet Pepsi, and realized what the term “transitional neighborhood” means.

Meanwhile, my lamp remains in transition as the shade was never completely put together by the time my husband decided that the only way to end our disagreement was to transition into another day, by going to bed early.

Sometimes Even Beautiful Things are Troublesome...

Sometimes Even Beautiful Things are Troublesome...

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