Tag Archives: Childhood

A rose by any other name… might smell like kielbasa?

15 Apr

So we all know people with unfortunate name combinations…. just start a conversation about someone you know whose name is Rose Budd (nee Bush) and inevitably, you’ll start hearing about other ironic pairings.

Last night at book club this very topic came up and I found myself talking about a girl I went to elementary school with, who – in the interest of anonymity – we’ll call Krista Hiney. (This isn’t her real last name, but it’s a close parallel, especially on the Hiney part.)

Her last name wasn’t just unfortunate, but something of a self-fulfilling prophecy: in fourth grade she crapped her pants during quiet reading time. Except instead of wearing pants, she was actually wearing a dress, so she had to be pushed out of the classroom while still seated in her chair because she was scared her underwear would fall down when she stood up.

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I wonder if I’ll get a bill for my 911 call…

11 Apr

Well hello there...

There’s something about the first warm days of the year that compel me to spend every possible minute outside. This weekend we as no exception – DC served up two perfect summer days, made even better by my recent exposure to Chicago’s 28-degree temperatures.

Yesterday Alan and I packed a picnic and walked over to the Shirlington Dog Park, which is all of ten minutes from his place. The dog park borders a creek, so it’s not uncommon for people to walk their dogs down the steep embankment and throw balls into the water for their dogs to retrieve. Alan and I spread our blanket on the other side of the bank, where we had a perfect view of all the activity without the smell of dog crap.

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Michigan: Just needs a little CPR and a set of earplugs.

3 Apr

Talk to the hand.

I’ve been in Michigan this week for work. For some reason, people always apologize when they hear I’m here. The conversation usually goes something like:

FRIEND: Where are you this week?
ME: Michigan.
FRIEND: I’m sorry.

Poor Michigan gets an undeserved bad rap. Aside from Detroit (and the flat southeastern corner where I happen to hail from), the state is actually quite pretty. Last time I checked, it was the only state bordered by fresh water on three sides. What’s not to like about that? And the people here are ridiculously nice. Strangers actually say hi when you pass them on the sidewalk, or wave if they’re in a car. Definitely NOT something that happens in DC.

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Now if only I could walk on water…

6 Mar

Technically, I suppose it's graphite.

When I was in third grade, a trip to the pencil sharpener ended with five millimeters of lead lodged in the palm of my hand. My teacher, Mrs. Minton, had very strict rules about interrupting her when she was working with a reading group. Even so – I approached her timidly, with my pencil sticking out of my hand.

“Mrs. Minton?” I tested the water.

“Alison, you know the rule.”

I returned to my seat, and sat, holding my hand, trying not to cry. When reading group ended, Mrs. Minton came over to find out what was “so urgent” and I showed her my hand, the pencil and its missing lead. Of course, there was some blood as well, and when she saw all of this, I could tell she felt horrible and sent me immediately to the office so a nurse could look at it.

It’s now 17 years later and I still have that lead wedged in my hand. I’ve become attached to it, almost like it’s a beauty mark. But here’s the weird thing: it’s starting to surface. I’ve never been able to feel it in my hand – until the last month. Like a splinter, it seems to be working its way out.

Part of me is sad – I don’t want to lose it. Part of me is fixated on it, wanting to know why – after 17 years – my body has finally realized it has a foreign substance in it and is try to drive it out. And part of me is creeped out realizing that one day I’ll look down and see my skin split open and some random length of lead protruding from my hand. Ack!

Or maybe I won’t notice at all. I mean, I started this life with an “outie” belly button, but sometime around fourth grade it just magically inverted. I wasn’t aware of it until my friend Shannon pointed it out. “Hey? What happened to your belly button? It’s not sticking out any more?”

I looked and – to my amazement – she was correct.

Sometimes it takes something crazy – like a belly button righting itself or (less impressively) a piece of lead resurfacing after more than a decade to remind us that these bodies of ours are nothing short of miraculous.

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Reminder: Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you have to be lame.

24 Feb

Today when I went to the DC Pool to swim, a little girl skipped past me up the sidewalk and shouted, “Hi!” Inside at the check-in desk, she explained to me that her mom would be signing her in later. Friendly little thing, I thought.

In the locker room, separated by a row of lockers, she shouted, “Do you have your swimsuit on under your clothes?” I assumed her mom had shown up. But then, ten seconds later, she yelled the exact same thing, only louder, and came walking around the lockers to look at me.

I faced her, topless, and said, “Apparently not.”

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