Anatomy of a Childhood Home

I had a small shock administered to my system as I took a spontaneous jaunt past my childhood home this afternoon.  You see, this is my childhood home as we left it when my family moved out in 2001:

This is how we found it today:

Bushes obliterated, Christmas lights hanging in June, grass coming up through the driveway, front porch swing replaced with piles of unused furniture...

... backyard toys in the front of the house, moldy siding, Mom's roses hacked out of the trellis, trees that seem to be growing out of the living room walls...

I fainted and swooned and made the appropriate amount of inappropriate Facebook comments about it shortly after.  Then I remembered that the new owners have a growing brood of three or four offspring, much like the four children of our own family who had the time of our lives growing up on that same lot.

I wondered if we had also left the yard in such disarray as we ran amok for the better part of the 70's and 80's.  Did we always have the time and resources to keep up with power-washing the siding and repairing every peel and splinter?  I decided to dig up some pictures and reanalyze the anatomy of my childhood home from the bones up!

This was the family home in its original form:

That's Tammy's hind and tail you see, my older sister screaming (right) and myself acting extra concerned.

A cinder block bungalow, painted yellow and insulated with old newspapers.  We didn't get around to pouring a sidewalk yet, so we walked on a row of press board sheets, laid single file, to get from the porch to the often muddy driveway.  This system proved good enough for a decade or so.  The boards would start to warp throughout the years, which added an extra ounce of fun to our childhood. Often on a dare and always with thrill, we'd take turns lifting up the boards one-by-one to see if anything good had crawled beneath.  It was usually just ants, worms and roly-polys to be found. But, on a special day, we might discover a crayfish hole.  On an even more special day, we might find a crayfish peeking out of its hole and snapping at us with one claw. Extra fun accompanied by extra squeals!

We had an above-the-ground green Kmart pool installed in the side yard (later moved to the back.)  It didn't matter that our house's paint had started to peel or that the phone line hung low.  This is where we all learned to swim!  My older sister, with obvious glee. Me, on the ladder, waiting to "get used to" the water temperature.  We all shared my yellow doggie bathing suit throughout the years as well as my sister's red one, and we all can now stave off drowning for an hour or two if need be.

I can't say much about the interior decor of our home in the 70's, because then I would also be commenting on the interior decor of your home in the 70's.  I'll let this one photo of baby me and older sis riding off into the sunset of our shared bedroom speak volumes.  I can tell you this, however.  It can be a dangerous thing to lazily roll over in bed and accidentally smack a wood-paneled wall in the middle of the night.  I can vividly remember waking up, on several occasions, with wood splinters underneath my fingernails and only having to venture one guess as to how they got there.  Not to mention, how the pattern of the wallpaper and linoleum flooring offered little comfort to any flu-sufferer stuck in bed. Already dizzy with fever from the virus, the dots and checkers would just spin and twirl until one was sure they'd somehow entered Lewis Carroll's wormhole.

As the 70's neared its close, this kid entered the house---apparently making it much too crowded.  Thus entering the family home into Phase II of its incarnation. That's my younger sister rolling around in her lead-based walker in the middle of an active construction zone. 

My dad designed an addition to be slapped onto the left side of the house.  It included a downstairs family room and dining room, and a new master bed/bath/closet upstairs.  The neighbors all pitched in with the build and, as far as I could tell, they were paid in McDonald's.  I remember climbing the staircase with my mom one evening to check on their progress only to find my dad and all the neighborhood teens sitting atop piles of two-by-fours and munching on as many quarter-pounders as they could stomach. I was incredulous!  We were only allowed McDonald's on Fridays!  Maybe if I could learn to build a house one day I too would be rewarded with fast food in the middle of the week.

Months of blood, sweat, toil and burger grease eventually gave way to this:

Black and white and red on the chimney.  The kids occupied the original right side of the house, still bungalow in style with the interior unchanged. And, the grown-ups took over the left side, where they could actually stand fully erect while digging through their closet.  Yes, as cute of an idea as a bungalow seems, let me present this warning: As I touch the top of my skull with the palms of my hands, I can still feel the lumps left behind from years of knocking my head into the sloping ceiling of my childhood room.  Permanent damage from the innocent notion that I could safely retrieve a clean pair of socks from the dresser drawer and emerge unharmed.  Consider yourself warned!

Well the house looked this way for the rest of my childhood.  The wood paneling doubled in quantity thanks to the doubling in square footage of the house itself.  Years of backyard fun was had as recorded for prosperity in an earlier post.  But, what about the issue of curb appeal that inspired this post to begin with?

With the arrival of my little bro in 1980, came the quadrupling of toys and noise spilling out of our yards, front and back.  I found evidence in this:

And this:

And this:

And this:

God bless the neighbors for still answering their doors when we rang!

We may have always had a project going on...

Maybe the dad who lived there then was a bit handier than the one who lives there now.  Maybe people didn't like our taste in style.  Maybe our dog yapped out back all night and the drivers passing by in the 80's were as appalled by the big wheels and bicycles strewn in the driveway as I was today.

Whether the bones of a house are strengthened throughout the years or left to rot, it will always be the structure the child remembers as "home".  I guess Christmas lights in summertime, furniture on the porch or mold on the siding has no effect on this.  Be it ever so humble... this is where every child's memories will be made, pages added to their story and fodder found for their future blogs.

"No Offense!"

I have a five-year old nephew who thinks "I'm sorry" is a get-out-of-jail-free card.  He thinks he can punch his brother, kick his sister, slap anyone's face and not get in trouble because, "Well... I said, 'I'm sorry!'"

It's not uncommon to hear a thud coming from the other room, instant tears accompanied by an "I'm telling!" that's very quickly followed with an "I'm sorry!  It's okay. I'm sorry!"  It's also not uncommon for me to enter the room as a slap-down is in progress, meet eyes with the five-year-old slapper and still have him play his card once it should be too late.  "I'm sorry!" he tosses out to his nine-year-old brother whom he's just publicly walloped.  Nine-year-old brother looks at me and tosses out an equally hasty, "It's okay, I forgive you."  Fake hugs are the next order of business and they think this means all is well.  Yes, he may forgive you, but it's not okay!

I don't know if I'm more perplexed by the logic of the apologizer or the forgiver in this scene.  That is, I was perplexed until I learned older brother's new piece of rationale.  The phrase "no offense" has entered his fifth grade vocabulary.

He uses his get-out-of-jail-free card as a means to criticize everyone's weight, looks, intelligence or natural body odor and thinks he can cash in our forgiveness by prefacing the whole insult with a "No offense, but..." 

Only someone with the audacity to say such things as, "No offense, but your armpits smell like toothpaste." and "No offense, Kimmy, but I weigh 70 pounds and you weigh a thousand times more than me." (Oh yes! Real life examples!) would have the same reasoning to forgive someone as they are simultaneously pounding in his solar plexus.  Maybe he's just laying the groundwork for a "No offense, but you're a big-headed buttface" that he knows he'll be dishing out within the hour.  Who knows!

I hope I've effectively used this weekend to clear up that once a bad deed is done, sorry or not, it is still wrong and there will still be punishment.  And that, if you feel the need to say "no offense" before making a comment, it's probably a comment left best unsaid.

Now if I could just remove the word "sexy" from the five-year-old's vocabulary. As in:

5YO: "There are three Japanese girls in my class.  They all love me and they are all SEXY!"

Me: "What?! What do you know about sexy?"

5YO: "I'm telling you, these girls love me and they are [in a creepily sing-songy voice] sex-y!!!"

Me: "That's the most inappropriate thing I've ever heard!"

5YO: "But, they are!"

Me: "That is not a word for kids. I don't want to hear of it coming out of your mouth again until you're at least twenty!  And, not even then!"
5YO: "I'm not lying.  They are sexy and HOT!"

Me: "That's gross.  No five-year-old is sexy!"

5YO: "It's okay.  One of them is six!"

No offense, but I foresee the principal's office calling next school year with a complaint that "I'm sorry" won't be good enough to fix. Sigh...

Things Unemployment Has Taught Me

Upon entering my fifth month of unemployment, I have decided the following things:

• I will never make judgemental comments about anyone on unemployment ever again. 
• I will never look down on fast food workers again.  Even accidentally.  Even if they forget my fries.
• I am not quite ready to work at McDonald's yet.
• Saving money is easier than I thought back when I was still making some.  Never realized how many unnecessary things I used to purchase each week until I stopped doing so.  Grateful to have learned that lesson before the severance checks stopped.  My bank account now thanks me!
• Politicians who make any mention of the unemployment rates have no idea what they are talking about.  If you really want to include that in your platform, refuse your pay and insurance for the better part of a year, live off your savings, pay your doctor's bills in cash, manage to still keep your home and cars somehow, and then you may speak.
• Although I'm desperate for work, I will not act desperate.  Just because I may need your job does not mean you do not need me.  I am still a valued worker.  Don't treat me as less than that.
• Single parents who work three part time jobs to feed their families deserve applause.  (And insurance.)
• For every job I don't get, I'm genuinely happy for the person who does.
• Magazines can be read for free at the library.
• They've got free books to read there too!
• Fresh air is a necessity.
• New clothes are a luxury.
• Taking thirty seconds to enter the Publisher's Clearinghouse Sweepstakes every day is still a valuable use of time.
• Anyone paying off student loans while having to apply for the jobs ads listing "Bachelor's Degree required. Pay rate $10/hr." has my deepest sympathies.
• Money does not equal happiness.  Although, it could buy a little peace of mind.
• Maybe I'm not quite ready to retire.  Twenty-four free hours can be long ones to fill!
• I will still daydream about retiring one day, though.  It can not be helped.
• I am not a loser. 
• You are not a loser.

Bunheads

When I heard there was a new tv show coming out that had named itself Bunheads, it was the last thing I thought I would find myself watching.  However...

You know how nothing really good is on primetime tv during the summer?  And, how it's no fun doing hobbies at night, because that's regularly designated "tv time"?  And, how the same thing goes for reading a book because reading is delegated for quiet afternoons or bedtime?  And, how this leaves you, partially reclined, clicking the remote with such fervor that you're practically inviting carpal tunnel syndrome into your life?  Well, that's how I ended on the ABC Family channel last night, which---mind you---is a channel that I rarely ever flip to.

I had read that Bunheads was created by Amy Sherman-Palladino, the inventor of all things Gilmore Girls.  I loved Gilmore Girls as much as every other fast-talking sarcastic gal of my generation, but this show is called Bunheads for crying out loud!  There are toe shoes involved!  I'm no princess.  I'm a Lorelai! But, noting that I was already settled in my pjs and my other viewing options were the even less enticing reruns of River Monsters, Lizard Lick Towing or My Big Redneck Vacation, I decided to give it a go.

Our lead bunhead is named Michelle (played by Sutton Foster) who is a dancer gone cryptically wrong who somehow ended up as a Las Vegas show girl.  Which seems like an unlikely employment option once you see her slim birdy figure getting swallowed up by a giant red feathered headdress and spangly french-cut panties.  But, this is fiction... so we can overlook this and suggest to ourselves that maybe there are a few Vegas shows who consider themselves equal opportunity employers to the unimplanted.

Well, Michelle has a sweet-seeming fan/stalker who (uncreepily, they somehow convince us) shows up backstage once a month bearing lavish gifts and dinner invitations.  His name is Hubble, which is interesting and left unexplained.  But, even better, he is played by Alan Ruck (first seen, by me, as Cameron in Ferris Bueller's Day Off and last noticed as a nameless second-rate ghost in Ricky Gervais's Ghost Town.)

Michelle apparently still auditions for more noble productions whenever she can swing a break.  But, after a particularly disappointing veto and a pity dinner date with Hubble to vent, she finds herself imbibing in a few too many cocktails and waking up in a preppy-looking station wagon cruising down the early morning coastline (Left Coast, I'm assuming... even though it had a very Right Coast feel to it) with a little sparkler on her left ring finger.

Bunhead got herself hitched and out of Vegas!  Hubble lives in a quaint little town (They don't even have a movie theater! This is made very clear to us several times throughout the episode.)  Oh yeah, and with his mother (Gloriously played by Gilmore Girls Kelly Bishop) who runs the local ballet studio.  It's made very clear, very quickly, that the whole town---who she hasn't even formally met yet---absolutely hates her!  News travels fast on the West (or maybe East) Coast!  This all leads to funny little encounters with appropriately quirky, for a Sherman-Palladino production, town folk who mistakenly refer to her as "stripper", "hooker" and "Playmate".

I started to fall in love with the show a little just as Michelle was finally falling a little bit in love with Hubble.  THEN they had to go and kill my little show crush by ***SPOILER ALERT!  SPOILER ALERT!  DON'T SAY I DIDN'T WARN YOU!!!*** literally killing Hubble!  (Poor Cameron, never could catch a break.)

I understand, this is probably just the writers way of finding a way to get the Michelle character out of Vegas and into this small town, but then allowing an open door for a little Luke-Lorelai sexual tension with some new character eventually down the road.  But, pilot episode?!  Poor Hubble never even stood a chance!

Overall, it was cute enough where I'll probably find myself tuning in again next week.  Sutton Foster has the right speed to snark ratio in reciting her dialogue to make this potentially a signature Sherman-Palladino hit.  They squeezed in a sweet bonding scene between her and the junior bunheads to hint at where her place might end up being in this sleepy coastal town.  And, have I mentioned the magnificent Kelly Bishop?

Now, let's just cross our fingers for Alan Ruck next pilot season.  Get at least six episodes written into your next contract, buddy!

Daytime TV

If there's one thing about unemployment that I simply cannot get used to, it's daytime television.  I've learned to make a habit of not turning on the tv before 5 pm, lest I sorely regret it. (Unless I'm catching a 3 pm viewing of Anderson. My one exception!)

The last time I enjoyed daytime tv, my age had a one in the tens column.  I'm convinced anything airing before the primetime news is solely directed to either the preschool or retiree set.  Somewhere along the line daytime talk shows have switched their theming from "talk" to "accuse". ("You are NOT the father!")  The allure of a full hour of paternity tests times five days a week is beyond me.  Soap operas don't catch my attention and watching court room shows is out of the question because televising petty claims always was and remains to be, well... petty.

These are the last shows I remember enjoying pre-suppertime:

Mr. Dress Up: Much superior in my mind to Mr. Rogers or any mister residing on Sesame Street.  There was something about Mr. Dress Up that made me unable to miss an airing (even reruns!) How he got his name, I don't know.  I can't even recall him dressing up that much!  Sometimes, yeah.  But, not enough to warrant a moniker.  I do remember alot of craft times, singing, stories and most importantly puppet shows with my favorites: Casey and Finnegan!  I had convinced myself the first two children I bore would be named Casey and Finnegan.  Seeing that I'm pushing forty and still childless, I have now convinced myself that Casey and Finnegan would also make excellent cat names.

Mister Rogers Neighborhood: Oh yes, Mr. Dress Up was superior, but that doesn't mean I didn't stay tuned for a trip to the Land of Make-Believe afterward.  Mr. Rogers was kind and gentle enough.  His voice was very soothing and there was an odd comfort in watching him change from his blazer to his cardigan (Not to mention the suspense of waiting to see if today would be the day that he finally drops his shoe during the theme song's toss!)  But, each day I was basically tolerating the science talks, factory tours, story times and postal visits; all in anticipation for that model train to come whistling through the hole in his living room wall. Yes!  It's Land of Make-Believe time!  The Land of Make-Believe was basically just a bunch of cardboard sets where the neighborhood puppets resided.  Again with the puppets!  I must have had a thing for paper mache' as kid!  If they ever revived any of these shows today, they'd have to add a heck of alot of felt to the characters as not to scare off the children.  The Land of Make-Believe puppets were pretty creepy-looking in retrospect. Especially that crabby lady who wore way too much blush.

Today's Special: Mannequin that comes to life after store hours.  No, not starring Andrew McCarthy... just some goofy Canadians whose names are long forgotten.  I don't remember much.  Just that they'd always get some visitors busting in on their skits (who must have been real slick to get into the mall that late at night and manage to give the security guard the slip.) And, there were probably some creepy puppets too, seeing that the show managed to capture my interest for very long. "Hocus pocus alimagocus!"

Polka Dot Door: "♫The Polka Dot Door. The Polka Dot Door.  Let's peek through the Polka Dot Door, for songs and stories and so much more. [ding dah-ding dah ding ding] The Polka Dot Door.  This is the time we always say, get ready, get set for [fill in the blank] Day.  We'll sing some songs, we'll pretend and play... so come in! The polka dot way.♫"  That's all I remember of the show, but it sounds like a bit of singing, pretending and playing was involved.  (Sidenote: I'm thoroughly convinced I could write a children's theme song after reliving that masterpiece.)

Now, onto the game shows.  Game shows aren't a hot commodity these days, but in the 70's and 80's boy did people get excited for the chance to win a couple hundred bucks.  Remember the days when you didn't get to carry your cash home from a Wheel of Fortune taping?  No!  They forced you to spend those winnings in their own revolving housing goods store where, anyone stuck with a remaining $100 and no furniture left to buy, would be forced to waste that last C-note buying an unwanted ceramic dog (who's value I'm sure was much less than its price.)

The Price is Right: I was hardly in charge of the household grocery shopping when elementary school aged, but that didn't stop me from trying to price household items along with the televised contestants.  Plinko and the big wheel spins were the best parts of the show.  (Maybe because I sucked at pricing household objects, considering the dollar/week allowance I was hardly budgeting well at that age, and these two games were strictly games of chance.)  I never understood how people could accurately price the huge prize packages at the end of the show without going over and be correct within $1,000.  Prices of cars, vacations, appliances and campers were totally beyond my scope of knowledge.  But, it was exciting to watch and made me think becoming a spokesmodel (minus the speaking) was a totally plausible career goal.  Why, I could shift my weight to the right leg while sticking out my left knee and simultaneously wave a hand up and down the contours of a Fridgidare.  Easy peasy!  How much do these girls make? (Bob Barker would have also been happy know that all of our family pets had been spade or neutered.)

Card Sharks: This was my absolute favorite of the game shows, which is hilarious because I can't even remember how it was played. I just knew that jokers were wild (no matter how creepy I thought they looked, you actually did want a joker card!) and that shouting out "No whammies!  No whammies!" was the Card Sharks equivalent to Wheel of Fortune's "C'mon big money!" chant.

Which leads us to the world of talk.  I watched Rolanda, I watched Sally Jessy and, yes, I even watched Jenny Jones.  But, in the mid-eighties a new host came onto the horizon and quickly climbed the ranks of talk royalty. 

Yes, and then there was Oprah! (Did you think I was going to say Montel?!) 

I don't know what it was about The Oprah Winfrey Show that superseded all other talk shows of the day.  Before she was a household name, men usually mispronounced her name as "Ofrah".  And, before all of the celebrity connections and favorite things, she started out just interviewing regular folk like you and me.  Maybe it was that she could calmly mediate between the most controversial of enemies or that she had the stones to let the KKK on her show and patiently let them speak their ignorance.  Maybe it's because she was unashamed to cry for her guests and unafraid to speak the horrors of her own past, if she thought it would touch one soul.  Maybe it was her humor, her spunky pal Gail or that she was somehow able to grab that coveted interview that no other host or reporter had a chance at.  Whatever it was, she set a new standard.  Yeah, she got a little high on her horse and big for her head for awhile there.  I hated when her audience decided she'd reached guru status and began treating her like a deity.  But, she was the best and I even enjoy catching her Next Chapter interviews every now and then.  There is only one Oprah and there will never another one like her. (Although, that Ellen is pretty good.)

Well, I've pretty much convinced myself that anything worth watching during daylight has either been canceled or become no longer suitable for my age range. Which is just as well, because I have enough distractions from productivity from blogging and Facebook alone! 

Besides, who can sit inside watching the tube when it's 2:15 in the afternoon, eighty degrees out and there's birdies chirping?  Thank God there's nothing good on tv!