I feel so old

I’m almost 40-Will be on Dec 30^th if you want to send gifts (I like gifts.)  I rarely feel or think of myself as my age; most of the time, in my head, I’m closer to 28 and apparently I look like I could claim it.  There are times when I’ll be talking to someone and think that they are within 5 years of my age, only to find later that they are 25!  Then there are times when I’ll be talking to someone and think they are way older…he was 35 but I think it may have been the bad mustache!

For most of my life I have felt younger; I think it had something to do with being younger in grade school.  I was right at the end of the cutoff date for starting kindergarten.  In grade school all but one of my classmates was older than me.  Then when I got to High School, I was the youngest in my graduating class-I think this may be a contributing factor in my inferiority complex.  It’s my own fault- when registration time came, my parents let me decide.  I sometimes wonder how differently I would have been had I chosen to wait.

There are a few things that make me feel my age:

finding out someone I used to babysit for is married with teenage children.

Seeing how grown the children of my family and friends are-especially if I haven’t seen the child in years.

Trying to go without sleep-I love to sleep and the thought of an all-nighter now scares the crap out of me.  I was a teen librarian for over 5 years and teens LOVE Lock-Ins-they get all hyper and sugar loaded.  The last one I worked was as a favor for a friend (I had already been fired and wanted to feel connected to the library field again)-it took about 4 cups of coffee, lots of candy and hyper teens to keep me going all night… I had fun then I went home and slept for 8 straight.

And now I can add road trips-not all road trips… just ones that include my Mom and shopping.  Last weekend we went to Dayton, OH for my Cousin Susie’s wedding reception.  The drive there was fine, we spent the night before in Lexington at Paul and Lori’s house (older brother and his wife-who puts up with us a lot.) The reception was great, laid back and very casual.  The hotel -Hampton Inn and Suites- was wonderful… mmm squishy bed with squishy pillows…if only there had been a hot tub. Nice helpful staff and hot breakfast included.  Sunday was the shopping day-I knew this going into the trip-I was the one using Google Maps.  I knew as soon as I had both Jungle Jim’s International Market and Sam’s Club on the same day I was in trouble.  I made Mom agree that we weren't going through ALL of Ikea this time.  There were a few other stops in there too… mostly places at least 2 hours from home.  We finally finished at Sam’s at around 6PM and headed toward home.  My back hurt from walking at Mom’s slower pace and I was glad that I had worn sneakers and had flip-flops to change into.

We pulled unto Food City in Hazard to “get the last few things on my list” (-Mom) at around 11:30. I fell asleep in the car while Mom went in to get bread and OJ.  I was completely wiped out the next day and I’m not sure I’ve completely recovered yet.  Today I feel about 35, so I’m almost there.

The Oil Change

I take my car to a mechanic for oil changes.  Now, that sounds a lot fancier than it is.  When I lived in Cincinnati, I would take it to someplace like Jiffy-Lube.  Most of what they do is oil changes with the occasional radiator flush and tire rotation; you are in and out in about 20 minutes if they aren't busy.  Here there is one fast lube place, a Wal-Mart and dozens of little mechanic’s garages.

If you’ve never been to a small town mechanic-it’s hard to describe.  I show up, tell them who my kin is (that means relatives in case you didn’t know) and they treat me like they’ve known me all my life… Ask after my family and neighbors; ask what I do and the like- all the while, letting me watch and ask questions about what they’re doing while they’re working under the car.  There are always 3-6 men in the garage whether they work there or not and at least one will be really old and missing teeth.  They always seem really interested that I would bring my car to a mechanic without male accompaniment.

A few months ago, I was having some trouble with my car; it was loud and didn’t have as much power as it should.  I took it to this place Mom told me about, apparently my brother-in-law worked there for a little while.  Mike was able to tell me what was wrong just by lying down in front of the car and wiggling a few things underneath.  I went to get cash-he doesn’t take plastic and Mom is one of the few people he’ll take a check from.  An hour after getting back to his garage, I was on the road with a new flex tube and a much quieter car.  And when I took the car back because the weld had failed and my car sounded like crap again, he said they had messed up and then fixed it without any hassle or charge.

So I walk in this morning and Mike asks how I’m doing-“fine and you?”  Then I ask after the possibility of an oil change-he says “pretty good” Mike asks if I want to leave the car or come back in a couple of hours.  I said “I’ll bring it back” and that’s the end of the conversation… he goes back to standing under the truck looking at the underside while the owner tells him what’s wrong with it. 

Oil changes, used tires and other small things are what keep small local garages in business.  I’d rather have my oil changed at Mike’s any day-his prices are fair, he’s fast and if anything is ever really wrong with my car, I know the name of a good mechanic.  Plus it keeps life far more interesting than spending 20 minutes sitting on a molded plastic chair.

In a couple minutes it will have been a couple hours and time to take the car back. 

June is a Terrible Month.

For the last several years, June has been a notoriously bad month for me.  Let me go back to the beginning. 

I was living in Louisville as a college dropout.  A friend and I were sharing a crappy one-bedroom walk-up on Taylor Blvd.  She got the bedroom because “It [was her] apartment” she was just letting me live there. It was true, her name was on the lease, but I paid half the rent.   I worked about 4 blocks away at a little gas station (where I got held-twice-jerks.)

I was 21, and like I said the other day, had the bottom half of my head shaved; I would pull the rest- dyed black-back into a barrette at my crown, of course.  I wore lot of black-basically I was Goth before it was called Goth- funky jewelry, makeup and all. 

I drove the afore mentioned 1979 AMC Spirit-I loved that car.  Went to Rocky Horror-in costume, drank gallons of coffee nightly with friends at Denny’s, played Magic The Gathering and hung out with friends a lot.  I basically lived a carefree existence-no longer a child but not quite an adult.  Then…

In the beginning of June 1994, my Dad died unexpectedly-it had to do with a heart problem that they found when he was in High School-doesn’t matter.  I was caught complete off guard, because quite honestly with Mom being a Brittle Diabetic, I always expected her to pass first (soo many health problems.)

My beloved AMC Spirit had died and I had no way to get home.  My friend Lori (hi Lori) came home from college to make sure I was okay and take me to my brother’s in Lexington so I could ride the rest of the way with him.  The rest of my family members who passed in June of various years were all elderly.  That’s not to say that they were expected, but they were less of a shock.  

I was a mess for the first year… sullen, sarcastic and bitchy- like I am now but far less fun because I cried a lot.  Dad looked like Santa Clause, so the Christmas in July commercials broke my heart.  The first Christmas without him was hard-we sat arround drinking and "decorating" the tree.  The lights and garland stayed bundled and were tossed into the branches and an empty can served as tree topper.  We laughed and cried and we got through it.

I moved back to live with Mom to finish teaching her and my sister how to drive-it’s hard to get anywhere here without driving.  I took classes at the local Community College, because I knew he wanted me to and because I wanted it.  Then after that year I went away to college at Berea then on to Lexington for more schooling. 

Each year day-by-day I would get a little better till out of nowhere, I would be reminded and have a mini breakdown; I remember being in the Design studio at Berea waiting for class to start while one of my friends told me something his Dad said or did that upset him.  I reminded him that he should appreciate his Dad while he had him and that he was just doing his job. Then the tears welled and I couldn’t push them back.  It’s the moments when I’m not expecting it that I get the sucker punch to the gut.  Most of the time I’m fine and can talk about him and tell stories, but I don’t talk about him being dead-it makes me cry. (Don’t worry and rush to call me-by the time you read this I’ll be back to fine.) 

So, there the grief is, lurking behind the everyday, just waiting for its turn to ride the Merry-go-round.  I always expect that grief to make its appearance during the first of June and hang out for a week.  Well, that didn’t happen this year.  I was going through the motions of the everyday when I realized it was half way through June and didn’t have my usual “OMG! It’s June!” moment. I didn't prepare for the depression and crying, get extra tissues, chocolate and anything else I might need.

After realizing that I had forgotten to wait for the sadness to overcome me, I was filled with guilt.  I know I shouldn’t.  I should be living my life and enjoying what I have, but I can’t help it.  Inside I’m a very sensitive person so I feel deeply. 

It has been 18 years and more than a week, and I think I might be getting past this grief-next I get to work on the guilt for not feeling the grief as much. 

Other-ness and Blue People

I led a very suburban life in my childhood.

We lived a block from my school, a little Catholic school, and yes there were uniforms. We, myself and the people I spent most of my time with – my brothers, our friends, sometimes my little sister- rode bikes around the neighborhood, hung out at each others houses, had snowball or milkweed fights, walked to the store to buy candy and tried to have as much fun as possible and make it home before the streetlights went on. We were able to go and do without too much hassle. Most of the places we wanted were within walking distance or we knew how to use Louisville’s bus system.

Other cities I had visited had the same feel about them. We had been to Dayton, OH and Chicago, IL every couple of years to visit family. I had been other places too like to COSI with the Girl Scouts, Santa Claus Land (yes, it was still Santa Claus Land at the time) and the Wisconsin Dells.

It was sometime around my 13^th birthday when we learned we would be moving to Hazard, KY (or thereabouts.) When my Dad brought us for our first visit he tried to explain that living here wouldn’t be like living in Louisville. He gave us lots of advice like “wait till the people approach you” and “if you rush off they will think you’re rude” and his favorite, “never leave Church early, someone will follow to make sure you are okay.” Apparently, the first time Dad went to our Church here, he left right after Communion (which was a commonly accepted practice in Louisville) and three doctors followed to make sure he wasn’t sick.

Dad also gave us a newspaper article he thought might interest us. It was about the “Blue People of Troublesome Creek” about a family with a blood disorder that caused them to turn blue when they got cold. I was 13, and imagined hundreds of people the color of Smurfs all over Eastern KY. In all the time I have lived here, I have never seen a blue person… because they don’t exist. Not the way I was thinking; it isn’t like a mood ring. And it is rare. Always was, but now it is much rarer than it was in the 60s when it was discovered in this area. Because the thing that was keeping the blood disorder alive was proximity.

Here in the early 1900s it wasn’t as easy to get to… well, anywhere. Your neighbors were your family and sometimes boys ended up married to the girl next door aka cousin Bess. I found and reread that article recently and it was interesting and technical. I noticed one of the family names listed in the article and asked a friend if her family was one of the descendant lines that had this blood disorder. She was kind of suspicious about my interest. I realized later she was thinking of the incest stuff and I was thinking how cool it would be to see someone turn blue.

There are a couple of misconceptions I want to address here:

• I don’t care that your Great Grandpa married his first cousin, that was a different time. None of the people I know here now have done it.
• The people here are basically just like the people everywhere else. Some are vegetarians, some play video games and some are morons.
• Undereducated is not the same as ignorant. I know a couple of really smart people who finished high school and that is it.
• Some of the smartest people I know came from here: doctors, lawyers, professors, you name it… environmental engineer, computer programmer and one genius that can’t really be pinned to one thing-so he's a substitute teacher. I’m just the librarian.

I think what Dad was trying to explain to us about life here is the other-ness. Now that I am sitting here trying to, I know there is no description that can capture it, but I’ll try. I can run into someone I haven’t seen since high school, (who wasn't really my friend at the time) in Wal-mart or the library and they will ask me how I’ve been then ask about all of my family by name and I know that they really want to know. For all their lives, people here live next to family, so if you live next to them, you may not be blood kin, but you are family. Any person that is my family’s kin is my family same goes with friends.

My sister, Joan and I look a lot alike: she’s a little taller, I have darker hair. I always though she was prettier. I wear a lot of black, make stuff and watch Science Fiction and Foreign stuff. She’s really busy with her kids and NA. You get the picture, we’re different. Mom and I were walking into Wal-Mart a couple of weeks ago, when I see this woman waving at me. I smile and wave back at her because by this point I figured she was just saying “hi” to my sister. She says, “Oh I though you were Joanie!” We ended up talking to her for about 20 minutes. That is just the kind of place this is. Other-ness and blue people.

Interested in reading about the Blue People of Troublesome Creek? Click the blue words.