So, by popular demand, I bring to you, what my friend Damon wrote in my yearbook in 1988:
RENE:
Another year another wall (no pun intended). I'll come to your window. (No pun intended). Anyway, Irene, have a bueno summer. Keep the faith (ha ha!). RELAX! Actually, you have lately!
Love, [peace sign],
Damon
So maybe this one needs a little edification.
1. Damon like(s) calling me "Rene." He doesn't pronounce it "Ren-ay" - he pronounces it "Reen." I don't know why. I do know that I liked Damon so much that I let him call me Reen. We called him Tree. I don't know why we did that, either. He was pretty damn cool. I also "let" him make me wear the Hostess Cupcake hat (the silver foil his cupcakes were wrapped in [not a euphemism]).
2. ..."another wall" - I have no idea what this means. Sorry.
3. "no pun intended" - obviously this is where I picked up the lame "not a euphemism" business. It's funny, no?
4. I think I've told the story of how Damon used to show up at my bedroom window almost every Saturday night, scratching and tapping like a huge meowing cat, trying to get me to go to Rocky Horror with him? He'd wake me up, and I'd be all sleepy and half interested and half terrified? So one time I went, and it was delicious fun. I didn't get caught, which was amazing. And later, when I told my mother about it, my little midnight trip to the Nuart, my great Sneak Out Adventure, I put a little dig in at her refusal to let me hang out with Damon: I said, "Mom, of all the boys who came and picked me up at the front door, with him, the one you didn't want me to go anywhere with, I was always the safest." Gotcha, mama! It's okay now, though. I forgive her.
5. "bueno summer" - obviously he was a most excellent student of the Spanish language.
There's a picture of him in this yearbook, wearing a KXLU t-shirt, with his funny long hair and a blissed out expression on his face (his skin looks amazing), blowing bubbles at the camera. He didn't sign on that page. He signed on the page, amongst all the silly senior bios, that had a photo of some chick wearing skinny acid washed jeans, what look like velvet cowboy boots, and full-on, cannot be denied 80s hair.
...
So...
Yesterday was the funeral of this woman Patrick used to work with. It was actually pretty nice, as funerals go. I've never been to a Jewish funeral before, but I've been to lots of funerals; this one was peaceful. It was a beautiful day. The rabbi was pretty young, and his voice was beautiful. There were several people who stood up and told wonderful stories about the woman who passed away - about how caring and loving she was, about how dedicated she was to her work, and to gourmet food, and to her family, and how she had a lovely smile. About her personal style, which was (and I can see this, totally) fierce. I worked with her too, briefly, but I mostly remember her for the engagement party she and her staff threw for us, which was a surprise to me and lots of fun, and for how, on the infrequent occasions when we all got together, she was always nice to me and interested in what I had to say.
Afterwards, we went to visit my parents, and I looked at the paperwork my mother wanted me to look at. I wasn't sure what good my looking at it was supposed to do, but I told her again not to be afraid, to be brave, to ask her doctor questions, and then I told her I'd go with her and my dad the day of the procedure. I said that before I noted that she has to be at the hospital at 5:30 in the morning, but... okay. We can do that. Then I kind of made the same comment about praying for peace and to not have these worries, and as usual, my mom came after me. Here I am, trying to remind her that her religious views have always been held up to me as something that can get you out of trouble, and she's ignoring it, and asking me when I last read my bible. Hello? I am not the problem here, woman! But I smiled, asked her in my teasing way, "How do you know I haven't been?" and gave her a kiss.
In some ways I'm glad my mom still has her claws.
No comments:
Post a Comment