Well I had a lot going on this evening, and this weekend, but everything fell apart at the last minute for tonight, which is a good thing, because it's been a week! I finished the third S.A. Cosby book early in the week. Same great characters, good story, wonderful action scenes, and important threads on racism and LGBTQ hate were addressed well (but if you are on the New York Times bestseller list, you are probably just preaching to the choir). But he did something I didn't expect. He plot revealed way too soon! Served it up to me on a silver platter. I was hoping he was leading me down a blind alley, but my guess bore out. Premature author ejaculation. SMH. I'm still excited to read the new one, but think I'll take a break.
Bought three new books at Wordsworth yesterday - my friend Kandi West bought and owns it now - so I've got choices. Was picking up the invitations for the party - Eleanor is in Palm Beach - and didn't realize it had moved. And the Painted Pig. And the store is closed on Saturday - since Covid, she explained to me. What's up with this space shuffle in the most congested area of town. Wednesday I finally got done with my tooth issues - had last two cavities filled, and I'm religious with the fluoride toothpaste now. I've been religious with oral hygiene in the past, but the gag reflex led me to avoid the dentist. Never again.
I was driving back to work from the dentist and passed my old house (It looked much better and less barn like with white paint and black shutters, IMO, but to each his and her own). There was a moving van, and the front door was wide open. I parked my car on the curb and I stood on the front porch awkward and anxious for a few minutes while the owner was obviously talking to the head of the moving company. When they were through, I introduced myself and mentioned I was a doctor at Baptist so he didn't think I was crazy and he invited me into the foyer. I grew up in this house, I told him. Oh, so you are a Nestrud! He said. Yes, oldest of four. Sorry I'm talking funny half of my face is numb.
I requested a tour and he enthusiastically obliged. Besides paint, it looked much like when I left for Hendrix at 16. I was flooded with memories - I calculated I hadn't been there in 34 years. He told me my Mom was instrumental in helping him get the lay of the land, and problem solve. I asked how long he lived there - 30 years. He was a retired child psychologist and his wife was a retired PM&R (like Fizzy!). They were reluctantly moving to Chenal for a ground floor bedroom. My parents put in an elevator, I said, and he said they tried to look at that option but there were no real good places to put it.
This was our add on playroom, my parents put in this built in. Everything seemed so small. While I reached my full height at probably 13 most of my memories are from when I was little. Your parents did things right, he said. This was a garage, correct? Yes, I remember scrubbing my dad's whitewall on his tires when I was little and everyone still washed there own cars. We have changed little, he said. Oh! This is where I did my college entrance essays with those old DOS computers remember those? I was such a procrastinator but my dad would stay up with me until midnight helping me edit.
We moved onto the kitchen and the backsplash and the fridge were all the same. I remember standing right here helping my mom with the mashed potatoes at Thanksgiving, I said. And there in the living room was a large TV where we watched first Macy's Thanksgiving parade every year (mom, from NY, was addicted) and then the birth of MTV. Would it offend you if I asked to go upstairs, I asked?
Of course not, he said. Your Mom and Dad did things right. We had a tree fall on our house a few years ago and because he made the roof tongue and groove, it didn't cause much damage. This house had give, in storms. As we walked up the stairs I told him I remember coming to see the house before we bought it. Must have been five, one of my first memories. These wooden steps and the wall were covered in orange shag carpet my Mom said this has got to go.
The bathrooms were the same. The retro black and white tile I used to create shapes with in my mind, the bathtub my Dad hid in during birthday parties affixing small toys to our lures while we took turns playing Go Fish. What room was this? He asked when we got to the treadmill room. It was mine. I was in such shock I couldn't remember the eggplant walls or the stereo system behind my melon covered catty cornered bedspread until I was on my way back to work. Pyro me lighting candles and burning things secretly in the closet. I told him about the time I was mad at my Mom and sprinkled glitter all over the carpet.
Sara's room, our childhood playroom that turned into the boys room, then we came to a room that they used as a guest room. Was this your guest room too? He asked. No, I said, after we got older my mom went back to school to get her masters in nursing. This was her office. I used to hide in that closet to read Stephen King because I wasn't allowed to. He laughed. He showed me their bedroom, the add on I said we suffered through - I told him there was a makeshift stair built outside to get up and down for months I still remember the sound of the rain on the visqueen. I had not remembered my parents put a deck off of their bedroom, or built a cedar closet.
I know it's hot, I said, but can we go out back for a minute? Whoa. There's the magnolia tree. Same Hostas. Pool add on - lots of volleyball played there. Did you use that playhouse? He asked. No, I said, I was already in high school they built that for my brothers. The only thing we've done is expand the brick courtyard, he said. As he wished me goodbye and thanked me for stopping by, I thought no I've got you to thank.
Was up at 3am the next morning inundated with more memories. Mom tipsy sitting on the stairwell after one mimosa at my graduation brunch (she never drank). Dad presenting me with my 16th rose at my 16th birthday party on the front porch. My friends had planned it - it was a scavenger hunt and I drove around for hours as various boys from my high school gave me roses and the next clue (super awkward as an introvert - some of the hugs and pics were painful but I appreciated the effort). While I was driving around they arranged a girl pool party and had decorated to the max.
Jack had his first non-respite volunteer experience at Camp Aldersgate last week - spina bifida - and was enamored. That was my first week at 15. I had such a great bond with a camper she was featured in my college entrance and med school entrance essays. Jack came to lunch one day on break and we excitedly talked about learning transfers. The volunteers don't catheterize, but I did back then. The new pool had water wheelchairs I was incredulous we just transferred the campers to the pool shelf and made sure they had sufficient life jacket support to keep them safe.
He won volunteer of the week! He was so excited. For a tall white 18 year old he is surprisingly sensitive and empathic and not entirely confident. But I love who he is and who he is becoming. His counselor, Kutorri, saw this as well and thinks he is amazing and needs to shore up his confidence (like mother, like son LOL). Jack shared a video of them rapping Hamilton. One of the campers, he's from a small town, has been texting Jack, the camper obviously considers him a mentor in life. I told Jack one of the great things about Camp is that they finally get to be a majority and not a minority. That does wonders for your self esteem. I'm excited to hear about Diabetes week at the end of the month. I never did that one.
So when I first read about Barbie movie over a month ago I was excited to see it. Thought it must be coming out that weekend. But now? So much press and hype I want to puke. My strongest memories of Barbie is when I was still at Montessori, at 10 or 11, and we would hide and play a child version of strip poker with them. We would pile on the clothes and play Go Fish or Slapjack or War and the one who lost the round would have to take off another layer. The first girl to get her Barbie naked lost. Seems warped, in retrospect.
Christy twisted my arm and ordered tickets for Barbie at 10:30 am tomorrow at the Promenade. She's wearing hot pink, maybe I'll try to find some? Love Greta Gerwig but not so much pink burgers at Burger King. Then Eleanor and I are having an address party on Sunday so I need to shop for snacks and drinks. Long post! Happy Friday, much love, Elizabeth