Bohemianbelle’s Weblog
Just another WordPress.com weblogArchive for August, 2008
D. Allen
When you leave your home state at the age of 18, venturing beyond the little pond to the big sea, you start relying on friends as the umbilical cord of everyday life (since family is no longer a block away). They take on great importance and meaning, no way around it. Even as I have grown older and started a family of my own, and to my own chagrin have done a much poorer job of keeping in touch, these special people are no less important to me. And even though I have changed, as has my lifestyle from those swinging single days, I still treasure those who have had a profound impact on my life – all in unique and special ways.
I am going to start writing brief entries about meaningful friends, as a means to capture, as best I can, some of the treasured and special moments we shared way back when.
I have to start with Allen, as he just wrote for me the most special thing anyone has ever written for me. He knows…I know. I am going to print it out and put it in my wallet, read it when I’m sad or happy.
So anyway, here are some thoughts of Allen, and the picture he paints in my eyes.
I met Allen in graduate school, and probably didn’t get to know him well until my second year. I always respected Allen for his intelligence. He was accepted into the JD/MBA program at William and Mary, a high accomplishment in and of itself, but decided to forego law so he could get the hell out of dodge at a faster pace. Bearing this in mind, I have always turned to him for advice and help – during school and after – because I trust and admire his thoughts and perspective. But we also moved to Richmond for our first job after college, and purchased yellow labs weeks apart from one another. What more meaningful bond could be formed by means other than through our “children?” (Not only was Banks was one of the few dogs Shelby didn’t try to eat, but we mutually understood how devastating it was when we lost our precious angels).
1. Only Allen loves Out of Africa as much as I do.
2. He also knows how much I cherish The Sound of Music, and gave me the VHS collection after school (yes, we date ourselves).
3. He nurtured my addiction to Melrose Place, back in the day.
4. He’s a great cook. Remember that orange roughy one night at your apartment in Williamsburg?
5. He’s a phenomenal dancer, and I’m still bummed he didn’t come to our or wedding. I missed my dance partner.
6. He has more ties than I have shoes and sweaters combined. Remember when we went to your friend’s wedding and you laid out your ties and shirts across the bed for me to choose my favorite? I and my “no hose” so we had to go buy some on the way to the ceremony? (We did have fun going to weddings together – especially Jen’s).
7. He is the ONLY ONE ON EARTH who had the patience to drive along Mass Ave in Brookline for miles, with Shelby running back and forth across the back seat of my lovely Jetta, barking and slobbering like a fool. He never complained once (I still don’t know how you managed that one).
8. And during the same visit to Boston, endured my “no electricity” because I forgot to pay the bill. Again, no complaints.
9. He came to NJ for my 30th party and never laughed so hard as when we piled into my Jetta that snowy day for our adventures in NYC. Wasn’t that fun? I’m sure you thought we would never return from that outing.
10. We like to share sibling stories and brag about our special moms.
11. He worries about me like a sister. Or at least he did when I lived in New Jersey.
12. I know if I ever needed anything, Allen would be there for me. And he knows I’d do the same for him.
13. He didn’t make fun of my clothes, no matter how bad they got. (See below for proof).
Eat Pray Love
Though I love to write, I begrudgedly admit I am not a voracious reader. Not for a lack of wanting, simply for a lack of speed. I get frustrated when it takes so much time to read the first 100 pages (yet then finish it with ease and enjoyment). That said, nothing gives me greater pleasure than reading a great book. I was reminded of this on vacation last week when friends of my husband said they’d struggled to find a good read as of late, and neither of us could remember a real page turner since Lovely Bones (which I read five years ago on my honeymoon).
But this statement is true no more. I just finished reading a memorable and moving book – Eat Pray Love. As usual, I was struggling through the first third of the book. Though I found her eating escapades in Italy interesting, I didn’t find them riveting. Though I felt her pain in describing her depression and anxiety understandable and sad, I found it painful to read. I almost put the book down with a “well, I tried but I just couldn’t get through it.” She’s a great writer but I can’t read more than 3 pages at night after I’ve put my child to bed.
How glad I am I moved onward to India. In fact, I gained increasing interest in the book because I found the information on the Ashram, yoga and meditation factually and historically fascinating. But that’s when the author really pulled me in with her personal experience, too. From a desire to be closer to God to the trials and tribulations of meditation to a genuine interest in other cultures and people – I simply couldn’t put the book down. Her ability to admit her shortcomings and describe how she was personally able to overcome them was inspiring.
Anyway, I haven’t read a book this good in a long time. I’m simply sad that it’s over. And Elizabeth Gilbert has made it very hard for me to pick up another book this summer, as the next will pale in comparison, no doubt.
Sir and Mam
“Yes sir. No Sir. Yes mam. No Mam.”
Most people would recognize these as salutations you may or may not hear, depending on where you live in this country. Ironically, these words represented the first argument I had with my husband about parenting. Before we had a child, of course.
If you were raised in the South, you wouldn’t dream of having a child that didn’t utter these words each time he or she spoke to his/her elder. That’s how I was raised and this was emphatically the way things were (and are) done. Or at least that was my argument – I wanted to have a child who was polite and showed respect for his elders. My husband’s argument was that sir and mam sounded like a drill sergeant and masked a child’s true respect and courtesy for others. I argued senselessly but never actually won (or lost) the argument.
These sentiments were shared by a mom who swore (prior to having a child, of course) that “no child of hers would ever eat a French fry.” Fast forward three years later and you’ll hear, “Here, honey, please eat a French fry” when her child refuses to eat and will likely have a complete emotional meltdown at any moment because his blood sugar has dropped far below the level needed for his otherwise fun-loving personality.
But back to the Sir/Mam politeness/manners thing. I went to a “White Gloves and Party Manners” class when I was in the third grade, when my mom could scarcely afford to buy meat for dinner, because it was paramount I learn the proper way to eat at the dinner table, among other things (or clean my hair so I could hold Squeaky the mouse during class, I kid you not). I really do want my child to display common etiquette, even if my husband thinks Amy Vanderbilt’s Complete Book of Etiquette is senseless (and even if our son isn’t off to the best start when it comes to chewing with his mouth closed).
But I must say I’ve come around a bit on the Sir/Mam thing. I haven’t lived in the South for 15 years now, and therefore have not heard those words in 15 years. These are simply unspoken in regions of the country outside of the humidity zone. When I spoke to my niece and nephew recently on the phone and every other word was mam this and mam that, I felt like I was hearing a foreign language. And though I appreciate their good manners, I don’t think these words necessarily “grant” someone the crown of genuine respect and humility. If a child says “yes” to me, and is otherwise sweet and enjoyable to be around, I am more than contented.
Just like beauty is skin deep (and French fries are deep fried), politeness, class and respect extend far beyond a few silly words. If given the choice, I’d much rather my son genuinely respect and care for others.
