Best Friends

Beth at Woolworth

I’ve always considered myself a lucky person.  I grew up in a loving household, with the kind of childhood that is usually only found in ’60s era sitcoms.  I found a career I love.  I have a wonderful daughter.  And not least, I’ve had the same best friend since I was ten years old.

Beth and I met shortly after her family moved in down the street from mine.  We are about a month apart in age.  I am a little older, which gave me bragging rights when we were ten, but has lately given rise to jokes at my expense.  For example, every time she holds a door open for me she quips, “Age before beauty.”  To which I reply, “Pearls before swine.”  Thank you, Dorothy Parker.

Growing up we were constant companions.  We went to different schools until high school, but would hook up as soon as we got home.  We grew up at a time when parents could let their kids play outside until dark without worry, and we did.  We took long walks, we climbed trees, we learned to cook together (at her house) and embroider (at my house).  We played with dogs, we played in the creek, we chased boys, we went to church, we snuck out of church–all together.

When we were about twelve, we were allowed to take the city bus uptown, to go shopping.  There were a couple of department stores, and if we played our cards right, we might be given permission to use our parents’ charge accounts for some new clothes or makeup.  Beth was usually more successful at that than I-her daddy had a hard time saying no.  We would go to Woolworth, where they had all manner of inexpensive shiny things, and a photo booth.  Four pictures for a quarter.  I don’t think we ever went that we didn’t take pictures in that booth.  In most of them, we’re together and making faces.  We were endlessly entertained by that.   I have a few of those photos  still, some I’m keeping for blackmail purposes.  We’d always go to Pete’s for lunch.  Pete’s was a diner in the front, and a restaurant in the back.  Pete himself was a large, garrulous  Greek, who had a daughter our age, and a soft spot for kids.  We would carefully calculate what we could afford to order, but Pete always brought us more.

When we were teenagers, I got a car first, which is odd because her dad owned a car dealership.  But we went everywhere in that car–an old Dodge that my mother had driven for years–buying gas two dollars at a time.  Cruising the Beacon, buying a cup of tea for a quarter, and refilling it all day.  And although we were together almost constantly, we talked on the phone for hours.  My mother always knew when I was talking to Beth–the giggles were unmistakable.  We went through crushes together, first boyfriends, breakups, bad hair styles, worse clothes, always together.

We even went through most of college together–and we owned that campus.  Between us, we knew everyone and got away with anything.  I don’t think either of us paid for a parking pass or parked in a student lot for at least three years.  We took many of the same classes, shared notes, worked on papers together, procrastinated working on papers together, and tried to stay awake in Professor Brown’s World History together.

Inevitably, we moved on.  I went to law school, she went to Washington.  But we never lost touch.  We still had vacations and holidays.  And huge long distance bills.  We went through bad times together.  The loss of her dad, her cancer diagnosis.  The deaths of my parents.  We celebrated good times, too, especially the adoption of my daughter.  But always with distance between us.   She in Washington, me in South Carolina.  But not for long.  She’s taken a new job, and she’ll be moving back.  I feel like a kid who’s waiting for Santa–counting the days.  For the first time since we graduated from college, we’ll be living within a 30-minute drive of each other.

When we were talking about her new job and the move, I told her that I wanted us to agree not to get complacent about living so close, and make the effort to see each other.  She was offended that I could question that, and pointed out that the whole point of moving home was to have that time with family and friends.  I am reassured, but I am going to put myself on her calendar.  Woolworth is closed, and Pete’s is long gone, but I bet we could find one of those photo booths.  The creek is still there.  And the Beacon.

Pogo

Pogo

I’m stealing another idea from my sister.  She wrote about our dog, Pogo, and his paper route.  Pogo was the best dog ever, and he lived a long time (against all odds, as you’ll see) so there are lots of Pogo stories.  I was reminded of one the other day when a friend was telling me about running her daughter to school while wearing pajamas, and getting caught that way when she witnessed an accident.

Pogo was accident-prone, to say the least.  He was the origninal car-chasing dog, and he hated the UPS truck with every fiber of his being.  To my certain knowledge, he was hit by the big brown truck at least twice, once losing the tip of his tail in the process.  But once was a bit more serious.  My sister and I were home from college for Christmas, and having breakfast when there was a knock on the door.  It was the UPS guy, who said he’d hit the dog, and he thought we’d better come.

My Daughter at 8

Salute! Ellen in competition

My sister recently reminded me of my grandmother’s habit of creating little descriptions of family members as of a moment in time.  My daughter recently turned eight, and I decided to try to do the same for her now.  I can hear my grandmother in my head as I write this.

My Ellen (named for my sister and my mother, but shortened to “Ellen” for everyday use) has what my grandmother would no doubt call laughing black eyes.  You could say sparkling, twinkling, mischievous, or bright, and you wouldn’t be wrong.  When I think of her, the word “merry” invariably comes to mind.  She has a happy soul, and is almost always excited about something, or up to something.  One of my favorite things about her is that she’s really bad at pouting-she just can’t hold down the joy that long.  So, laughing eyes, merry face.

She also has wild hair.  Less so now than when she was younger, when it literally stood on end.  My sister once commented that she is so full of life that it leaks out through her hair.   Although longer now, and sleeker than before, it refuses to be completely tamed, and usually stands up in a kind of halo around her head.  For gymnastics competitions, we try and tame it, usually with limited success.  It seems able to absorb unlimited quantities of hair gel or hair spray.  Of course, I love her hair, especially since I have about four hairs on my head, and have spent a good part of my life trying to get it to look like more.  My daughter will have the opposite problem, and being female, she will almost certainly see it that way.  One morning when she was about three, I was trying to catch her to brush her hair, and she turned around, hands outstretched, and said “No, Mommy.  I Supergirl, and Supergirl has wild hair.”  So, whenever I see that halo, or the hair I have carefully braided falling down, I just think “oh well, that’s Supergirl.”

Ellen is small for her age at this point, but has grown so fast in the last year that she seems leggy and coltish to me.  She is a gymnast, so she’s also strong, agile, and athletic as well.  She loves showing it off, too, and tells me about playground games where the boys can’t catch her.  Just keep runnin’, I’m thinking.  She can climb a rope or a tree, swim like a fish, and throws a baseball hard enough that I had to buy a glove to keep playing backyard catch with her.  Oh, and she can walk on her hands, do a back handspring, and slide down into an effortless split.

When I watch her walk into school (or anywhere else, for that matter) she looks supremely confident to me.  Perhaps because of her athleticism, she has always had excellent posture, just like my Mom.  On occasion I know she has felt intimidated by a new situation, but you can see her lift her chin and make up her mind not to show it.  I hate to watch her walk away from me, but I love that when she does, it is with an air of being up for anything, afraid of nothing, and ready to take on the world.  I hope she’s just the same at 18.   And 88, for that matter.

Second Grade Progress Report–Part Dieux

Here we are in the second semester of Ellen’s second grade year, and she’s about to turn eight!  It is truly hard to believe.  Report cards came out today, and she has gotten all As for the third six-week period, and made honor roll again!  We are starting a week-long birthday celebration-Ellen’s idea, not mine, but it should be fun.  The “real” party will be Saturday.  Stay tuned for party pics!

Josh's pic of ellen

Christmas 2008

Ellen and Peef visit with Santa

We had a wonderful Christmas in 2008.  We spent a whole week in Michigan with Aunt Lolly, Uncle Matt, and the boys, and it was COLD!!!  It was also a white Christmas, and Ellen got her fill of sledding, building a snowman, and warming up with hot chocolate afterwards.  She also got to make a gingerbread house (Aunt Lolly is so cool), go to church with Uncle Matt, and play the Wii with her cousins.  Mom brought a happy and exhausted child home, fortunately with another week in which to recover before going back to school.  Next up: a birthday on January 26th.

Second Grade Progress Report

I CAN climb this tree

Our first PTO meeting of the second grade was last night. It was fun, and different from the two previous years. The last two years I have been one of five or six parents who showed up. Last night, at least two-thirds of the kids’ parents were there. I think that alone will make a difference in the kind of year Lollipop will have. She’s having a really great year so far, and her teacher promises more challenges ahead.

It also gave me a chance to figure out a bit about how the work is handled. I was glad to see that Lolly has plenty to work on if she finishes things more quickly than other kids (which she says she does, and the teacher confirmed last night). She has a folder in her desk for “seat work” that has mostly math, a Social Studies workbook, a journal which she has to write in each day, and a basket of books and magazines by her desk. Her classroom is one of 19 in the school that has a promethium board this year–according to the principal, most of those were funded by grants from private foundations. Her school has over 800 enrolled this year.

Of course, the real star of the evening was (and always will be) Rodeo, the classroom guinea pig. By the end of the evening, he had retreated into his plastic igloo, and who could blame him. Lolly is wild to bring him home for a weekend, despite our house full of cats. She promises to keep him in her room with the door closed. I have a mental picture of the cats laying siege in the middle of the night. “You listen for the big one. If I can just get my paw a little further under the door….”

Simple joys

It’s hardly an original observation, but kids get so tickled over the simplest things.  This week, Ellen is excited about getting a real combination lock for her locker at gymnastics.  The locker doesn’t have much in it right now, which Ellen is planning to address as soon as she can talk someone into a trip to Target.  So, it probably doesn’t need a lock so much, except that it makes her so happy.  She worked about half an hour at learning how to open it, and woke me up the next morning to say that she still remembered the combination.

She’s also excited about a new framed print, and an airline eye mask a friend gave her to help when she has a migraine.  Oh, and getting permission to check out ten books at a time from the library media center–that’s so big that she’s been dragging her 40 pound book bag with her everywhere.  It doesn’t take much, which is a thought I need to hang on to as Christmas approaches.

catching snow

Hello world!

I’ve created this blog as a way of updating friends and family about my daughter and I.  Mostly my daughter-she is endlessly fascinating to me, and I needed a better way of recording all that cuteness to share.  So, I’ll get started shortly!