Duck, Duck, Goose!

The photo here is representative of ‘a picture of something that means a lot to you’ and I know what you’re all thinking -- ‘A duck? Really?’ but let me assure you its not just the duck.

I don’t know exactly when my mom knitted the ducks in question, possibly before either of us were born, but this red white and blue duck was mine and my sister received a pink and brown duck. If Wendy weighs in over here I’d love to hear if she still has her duck somewhere. Let’s just say hers got a little...um, floppy.

This little guy was probably one of the only stuffed animals I ever had that didn’t have a name, he’s just duck. And he’s definitely a he in my mind. Not sure why but to me all ducks are male. He used to live in my doll cradle.  Sadly, I have no idea what prior learning experience I lost the cradle in, but I somehow managed to hold onto the duck.

When I said it means more than a stuffed animal its true. It’s something that’s always been in my life, a constant, and something that my mom made with her hands that lived in something my dad made with his. It’s kind of the representative of the short number of years that my parents were still together and happy with that arrangement. Before the fighting, the divorce and the moving of lives.

Namely ours.

So we moved from Humarock to Arlington. We moved into a second floor apartment. My mom paid rent and we frequently had babysitters at night. I had to make new friends at a new school, had to wear hand-me-downs because we were so poor there were food stamps involved, because of that I got picked on and bullied, I introverted something awful and started to hate life.

A shake up in your home life at age seven will do that to a girl.

I stopped sleeping with the duck at night. There was something about it that I felt needed to be preserved. Something that said, if I just left it happily sitting in its doll cradle, everything would turn out okay. My sister hugged hers to death I think. She wouldn’t even let my mom wash it, and believe me, the pink had all but turned to brown so it really could have used the wash.

When we moved to the house the duck of course came along for the journey. But here’s the interesting thing…beyond that, I have zero recollection how I still have this duck.

In the many (read: many, many, many, many, many, many…) apartments I’ve had over the years there have been a bunch of items lost forever to the prior learning experience apartment gods. For some reason though, duck managed to stay by my side through it all.

Obviously older, and happier for my parents not being together (which of course is a whole other blog for a whole other day), the same kind of significance I put on the duck doesn’t apply daily anymore. But it's always a good reminder of where I’ve been, how much my life has changed since then, and where I aspire to be in the future.

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Catch up on anything you missed  30 Photos, 30 Days
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Sibling Rivalry

Immediately after posting yesterday’s blog I thought to myself ‘what in the hell have I gotten myself into?!?’ because I read through the list and there are some things in there I have no clue how I’ll make it work.  But screw it, “I’m in the mood to kick a little ass.”

Today’s requested photographic interpretation is:

A picture of you and the person you have been closest with the longest.

This is really tough because there are a couple different people I could pick for this particular category but in the end I really have to go with, my sister.

No matter where we’ve lived or how many months, weeks, days go by in between times we talk to or see each other, we can still share, literally, anything.  We started out, as most siblings do, in bitter rivalry -- mostly prompted by me who didn’t understand what the hell was going on and why there was another kid in the house after I’d had it to myself for so long.  As a young (like, really young) girl she was quiet to my loud, shy to my outgoing, sweet to my rebellion and I called her the “perfect child” in an effort to annoy the crap out of her and my mom. 

Most of the time it worked; but damn if she didn’t have one hell of an uppercut.  My early memories in our first apartment in Arlington certainly involve standing on the black and white, ‘70’s diamond printed sofa, ready to throw down and promptly getting my sorry ass kicked right onto the pea green carpet.  I knew just how to cut you down with my mouth, she perfected how to sucker-punch that mouth to shut it the hell up.

But as time went on we both came to realize we kind of didn’t have a choice but to be related, we were “in it together” so to speak, and suddenly we noticed that we were reading the same books and magazines, watching the same shows and movies, liked the same music, both loved to make up goofy dances and ate the same food.  We both came to appreciate the other for who we were and all of that pent up crap just kind of fell away.

It wasn’t like a switch got thrown and I can pinpoint the exact moment we stopped beating each other up, in our own ways, it just kind of happened.  One day I was watching the bulbous yellow lamp with its 24” shade whiz past my line of sight as I took a dive onto the floor while uttering something about hating perfect things, and the next we were building a fort, that spanned across our entire bedroom, out of all our blankets and listening to a Culture Club record while laughing.

And although maybe there have been some tears and major disagreements over the years, we stopped the verbal and physical hate that young siblings tend to experience and traded it in for a lot of love and common ground.  I’m looking forward to sharing even more with each other during the rest of our years here on this planet and now, as Matt and I make our way to the southwest where she has called home for well over a decade, we'll have more opportunity to do it face to face.

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Catch up on anything you missed  30 Photos, 30 Days
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The Past Crashes

In the 1980’s there were just some actors and actresses you couldn’t avoid hearing about -- Ringwald, Broderick, Nelson, Sheedy, Estevez (OK, the whole “Brat Pack" really), Sheen (no, not Martin), Cameron, Astin, Phoenix, Depp, Milano, Wheaton, Fox, and of course the unmatched duo known simply as “The Coreys”.

Two of the actors in the list above are dead now. Both from overdoses. Both far too young.

It isn’t as if we didn’t all know that Corey Haim had serious substance abuse problems but I guess for those of us who glorified him as a “top notch actor” back in the 80’s the hope was that he’d smarten up and kick the habit in order to make a fabulous comeback to the big screen along with so many of the others who are reliving their old glory days for a new generation of kids (our kids!) to fall in love with.

It isn’t a total stretch after all. Don’t believe me? Hey, Mickey Rourke did it, so did New Kids on the Block. Enough said.

All hopes for a Corey super comeback were definitely lost yesterday when the world lost Corey Haim to an overdose. A tragic story for such a young guy.

It’s been twenty six years since Corey Haim first starred in a motion picture called Firstborn but no one knows him for this smaller role. His break out role of course was the 1986 movie Lucas where he starred as the title character.

He was amazing in this performance, truly captured the audience with his sweet charm as the vulnerable science geek who doesn’t get the girl but comes out on top anyway. It’s fair enough to tell you that every time I watch this movie I cry at the end.

He was just 14 years old when that movie came out. He had his whole life ahead of him on screen and off. Then somewhere along the way he just lost it and decided to go down the path of so many young stars, right into a life of big money and even bigger drug problems. I texted my sister to tell her and we both agreed it was like a little piece of our teenage years went right along with him.

So yesterday I started rifling through my old boxes of random stuff to try and locate an item I had a feeling was still hanging around. I found it this morning.


I made a joke to someone on Facebook that I could probably list it on eBay today and pay my rent next month. Now that I think of it, that statement is the epitome of “the comedy, is that it’s serious”. Besides, I’d never part with it after all the hard work I put into making it (no to mention money to buy all those teeny bopper mags back in the day).

Considering I’ve been on this nostalgia streak for weeks now it was odd timing.

There were a few other choice items stuffed into this box. Other scrapbooks and a whole bunch of stuff that can not be mentioned due to the following clause handwritten at the bottom of this birthday message from a very good friend:


Luckily I’m good with Photoshop so I have kept the grand secret of who gave this to me and who they ♥’d at the time. Not only do I find it appropriate to have kept it all these years but it’s perfect to have found it in this box of stuff that should probably be burned. No, wait, definitely should be burned. It’s ok if you miss the funeral Friend, I’ll know what you’re doing. No matter how old we are at the time.

So I also came across a super cool shot of me & my sister.


Our hair defies gravity. I won’t even tell you what her friend calls her glasses, its so evil. Kind of wish I still had that shirt though, dinosaurs are really cool.

Also re-discovered a stunning photo of my dad.


Every time I look at it I laugh uncontrollably.

Then there were some photos of my first serious boyfriend and some of the two of us together. He and I recently reconnected. (Yes of course on Facebook, where else does anyone stalk each other these days?) We got together for lunch and had the most awesome conversation for about three hours a few weeks back. We filled each other in on what has happened in the past 12 years since we’ve seen each other and in reality the last 18 since we spent any real time together.

Those pictures I keep just for me, but today on Facebook the following was posted and it made me laugh so it seemed appropriate to share it. All names have been changed to protect, well, no one really. If you know me you know him. If you don’t, well, it’s still funny so deal with it.

His status: Give a man a match, and he’ll be warm for a minute, but set him on fire, and he’ll be warm for the rest of his life.
My comment: Thought process after reading this -- Hysterical laughter, "man you have got serious issues", hysterical laughter, 'huh, looks like I do too'

People pass.
Old friends come, go, stick, fade.
Family relations shift.
People get married, have babies.
Years pass.
Things change.
Life continues on.

All the Dorks In the House Put Your Hands Up

For the past couple of months, I have had almost no desire to write. Well, let me clarify, I have had no desire to write the convoluted insanity that I used to write almost every day either in this blog or my journal. Instead, I am filling up volumes with posts about eco-friendly products and moderately serious prose. This does not upset me, save for the fact that I kind of tried to deny to myself the reason why I was in that mode in the first place -- I had temporarily misplaced my humor.

As an Irish gal growing up in a punny family, a witty personality is something I was just born with. Generally I can find the hilarity in any situation, extract it, and plunk it on out there so everyone else can laugh about it too; even if it is an “in-joke” situation. But I have been in this recoculous introspective place lately, because many serious things have happened in my life, and rather than spit them out after they lost their flavor, I was continuing to chew on them. Then my sister came to town.

There are some people in my life that just get me going and I fall right back into that awesome place of humor and goofy stupidity where my timing is freaking perfect and its just on without even having to flip the switch. Wendy is at the top of the list of those people.

This past week while she and her boyfriend were here there was more laughter (and drinking and smoking and late nights) than had happened in this house in a long time. Immediately after dropping them off at the airport yesterday afternoon, as always happens, I missed her. But Matt and I were in full on “go” mode to get the house cleaned and then pack because we are cat and semi house sitting for a friend for the next couple weeks. We spent limited time back here just to pick up the $4 in returns from beer bottles (sorry, I mean beah, ya know, what we drank while eating pitzr; as we say here in Bahstin), grab some food in a cooler, toothbrushes and a night’s worth of clothes then jam.

This morning, back home to work, I got my over tired, highly nicotined ass into detox mode by drinking about five glasses of water, and then I finally opened the mail that had piled up. I fully expected to be ecstatic by the quiet that I would be surrounded by but something interesting occurred. I sat down at the computer to start paying bills online and it was like the laughter of sixty people was hanging like a fog in the air. The energy in my living room was infused with awesomeness, fun and about a billion movie quotes and I sat here smiling for no good reason other than I was happy to continue to soak it up.

Every time I sit in bumpadabumpa traffic nexta a Dunkin Donuts now I will think of yas.

And for anyone who lives in Bahstin, ya know that’salat.

Who Rocks More Than You?

The answer you’re looking for would be no one.

You have flown back to the land of sun and parties to mold the young minds that are entrusted to you every day; to live your life in the place you call home while I live my own in the place I call mine. I think I must have put on about 10 pounds from all the beer but then worked it right back off again from all the laughter this past week.

We dropped W off at Logan at about 8:30 this morning which sounds strange even typing it. I had to think about it for a minute; it feels like I have lived two days since sending her off with a huge hug and a fly safely curbside because Matt and I are gearing up to take off on our annual vacation with friends tomorrow bright and early. I miss the days where it was possible to go and sit with someone in the very uncomfortable vinyl chairs right at the gate and give them that one last hug right before they boarded the plane.

We had one wild week of so much fun and sun I would be in a blur if it was not for the photos. Someone once said something to the effect of “I love digital photos, they allow you to reminisce immediately” and that is what we have done all week. There were many times spent just the two of us to talk about life and family or friends, as well as many others completely surrounded by those same family and friends making new memories that we will no doubt laugh about for the next twenty years.

Man I miss her already.

But such is life across the great wide expanse of our wonderful nation and really there is nothing like that old cliché -- absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Because I am unable to format a rational thought to put it all together I will let the pictures do part of the talking for me this time.

Our first morning at the cottage, this little rascal was chomping away.




We went down to the beach to watch the huge thunder and lightning storm that was moving across the land somewhere down on The Cape and then out to sea. I took literally fifteen photos trying to get my third shot of lightning but to no avail. The clouds were cool but nothing was cooler than my company. W and Matt were naturals, like Abercrombie and Fitch models or something. Work it.







Mom, M & our nephews came down for an afternoon of fun in the sun and although the boys had never seen the ocean graze over their toes they were completely enthralled as I taught them about the undertow and why you should always face the waves as they break. They also loved to learn from W about the sandbar, what it was and how it formed. As I heard things only my Grampa used to say coming out of both of our mouths all day it really made me smile that we could pass it on to the next generation to learn about and respect the sea.




This is a pretty common sight, sorry about the screen.




Although the 4th is when the nation celebrates Independence Day, on our little mile long stretch of sand the real party happens on July 3rd every year. Since I can remember there have been bonfires and fireworks on the beach that night. Technically fireworks are not legal in Massachusetts but neither are bonfires on the beach yet a company hired by the town trucks in hundreds of pounds of unused palates and other wood to build thirty foot high teepee shaped piles that are primed and ready to burn at the end of each street. Never in all the times we have gone to this fiesta have there been that many people or that large a display. It was awesome.






Check out a video of the fireworks and fires.

On the 4th we cooked out with a bunch of family and then took a nice long walk down the beach. Then of course I had to pee because, well, that is just me so W and I went back to the house then back to the dunes to meet up with everyone. My legs are still feeling the burn. Or maybe that is from earlier that walk when I deluded myself into thinking that doing gymnastics on the beach after sixteen years was still a good idea.

Despite what I said earlier this was a week I will never forget.