Under a Red Roof

Thanks for the Memories…

August 7, 2009 in Remembering, Spotlighting, Watching by Colleen | 1 comment

Writer and director John Hughes died yesterday. He had a heart attack while out walking in his Manhattan neighborhood. I hope that there was some comfort to that, in walking around the city that is home, dying surrounded by the familiar. If I were able to choose, I think that would be a pretty good way to go, don’t you? Then there is the enviable way that Nico died, while out riding her bicycle. I wonder if she was singing, when suddenly it felt like she was flying, E.T. style, out of the beautiful day to day and into the sweet hereafter. Until it is our time, I suppose we’ll never know.

I am digressing, however, for this post isn’t about dying or flying, but the films of John Hughes. Boy did I love his movies! When I originally started writing this post, I included details from my favorites and why they were so special, but that somehow tainted the magic of the stories I return to again and again. So instead, I leave you with my favorites (one might surprise you!) and your own precious memories to conjure…

A Whiffle and a Zoom: The Story Before Tomorrow

July 20, 2009 in Remembering, Writing by Colleen | 2 comments

I peer out the window as the car pulls up in front of the house, five humans tumbling out, tired and travel weary. I am weary, too. I wonder what might become of this weekend. Mere days before insides will literally be taken out, via three small incisions. That point continues to be emphasized. Three small incisions. No one has to know. But they do. I am a truth teller, truth sharer. I can’t help myself – the girl can’t help it. Well, mostly.

I keep from my friends that I am terrified of three young things in my house, onto my furniture and floors. They laugh and smile and one cries, uncertain of this under a red roof house. It’s okay; sometimes fear lives here, too. The bear is broken, and the fear is replaced by something softer, lighter: joy.

The trio makes eager, thumping sounds as they descend stairs. Their voices carry, and they like the television loud. I see their small bodies, clothed in character jammies. I remember Underoos. They happily munch cereal and watch the birds and bees. One night under a red roof under their belts, a beautiful, hot day ahead of them.

The day whirls and twirls, a burger at the outside diner, an old friend and a boy whom I once knew crawling, not talking. Now his words and thoughts roll and rock as steady as a boat at sea. His hair is long, nearly covering his eyes, though his mother’s eyes, too, that brilliant, beautiful blue. They both look at me, but, for the eyes, it’s really just like one. Oh no, I’m late! I’m late, for a very important date!

My mush mind is home again, and we dash to THE appointment. The one that spells s-u-r-g-e-r-y. There is a lot that will happen and other bits we sincerely hope not. I take a tissue, but only squish it in my hand. I d o n o t c r y. I am not afraid. It is almost here, and I am not afraid. There are marvelously beautiful people that surround me: doctors, nurses, family, and friends. They make phone calls, send beautiful cards, give giant bear hugs, write sweet comments, all brands of love to keep me afloat in appreciation and wonder.

Milestones. Triplets frolic in a fountain. A sweet boy sits on my lap. Dinner at the Country Cat. A tooth is lost. My heart is broken apart by the love of small children. We sip cocktails and eat splendid food. Drowsy adults talk until there are no words left.

Morning comes. We eat and scurry. Our caravan climbs the hill to Forest Park, vistas and trails await us. Green and lush, filled with voices of excitement and a hush that is wonder. A giant banana slug. Spiders. Ferns. Birds. We search for the letter “K.”

More hugs and a departure. The house is quiet, and we wait. Tomorrow is the day.

Old and New

July 15, 2009 in Admiring, Learning, Remembering by Colleen | 1 comment

Ahh, another deeply satisfying Facebook reunion. I’ve known Gretchen since elementary school, and for anyone interested in the math – that’s more than thirty years! She came into town on Monday for a business trip, and we were lucky enough to eat lunch and spend the afternoon together. It was a whirlwind of Porque Non?!, VooDoo Donuts, and Northwest 23rd, including the least welcoming greeting from a fella who’d had one too many, or perhaps, not quite enough.

I’ll admit that I was a little nervous about our visit. Gretchen and I had always been on the periphery of each other’s lives. We knew the same people, but ran in different circles – she was a cheerleader, played softball, and sang in choir. I wasn’t terribly athletic, only sang in the car, and had, let’s just say, slightly less mainstream pursuits. What might we talk about besides the weather and beautiful Portland, Oregon?

I turns out, a lot, and the conversation came so easily, too. In fact, we talked (and laughed) so much that my throat is still sore. Of course we reminisced about all the people from school, but the highlight, at least for me, was really learning about Gretchen as a person. She’s had her share of heartaches in the years since high school, but in no way have they diminished her intelligence, empathy, caring, or passion for life. I had always thought she was pretty, but now, I know she’s beautiful, inside and out. I’m really looking forward to our next thirty years of friendship!

Portland City Walks: No. 18 – Inside the Bubble

June 29, 2009 in Exploring, Remembering by Colleen | 1 comment

When I taught English at the high schools in Lake Oswego, the kids referred to their lives there as being “inside the bubble.” I came to believe this as well, as Lake Oswego is an interesting place of money, privilege, power, and very little crime. Unlike our neighborhood, the homes are all nice, with manicured gardens and expensive cars in the garage (not on the lawn as a select few do around here, sigh). My kids, so accustomed to life “inside” were often quite worried about my safety as I lived in Portland where the terrible things happened. “Oh Ms. Sohn, isn’t that a bad neighborhood? Aren’t you afraid?” In response, I would thank them for caring and assure them that I was rather fearless by nature (I did teach high school, after all) and felt safe, too.

Though they had many things I could only dream about at that age, my students were typical young people. They were sweet, smart (though sometimes altogether stupid), hilarious, sassy, sometimes unruly, and exhibited all of the behaviors associated with teenagers: trying to find their place in the world, the drama of relationships, and getting into all manner of trouble. In spite of or despite this, I’m not sure which, I loved them all, and did my best to teach them everything I knew.

Anyhoo, we ventured to the bubble for the 46th annual Festival of the Arts on Saturday afternoon. It was a perfect day – warm and sunny. As for the festival itself, it is quite nice, not too big, but big enough not to have Mama’s weird homemade junk, though I did see some rather creepy looking sculptures (to each their own). Our friend Jamee was one of the many talented artists there and had her usual display of beautiful paintings. I hope she did well. The highlight, however, had to be the incredible showcase of mosaics with many unique interpretations of the ancient art. I said “Wow!” a lot.

After perusing the art and buying a neat vase from the Yoga Goat, we completed Portland City Walk No. 18. It led us through a tour of the town, wandering down roads I had never taken when I taught there. It is a beautiful place with homes classic to modern and small to gigantic (I should say small for Lake Oswego because what looks little there is pretty normal, even slightly big, in our neighborhood), lots of mature trees, lovely views of the lake, the surrounding hills, Mount Hood, and many, many birds, like the Song Sparrow above, singing happily.

Ahh, another perfect Saturday – hope yours was too!

Rest In Peace

June 25, 2009 in Remembering, Spotlighting by Colleen | 1 comment

The man defied racial barriers, musical traditions, and quite often, logic. Thank you for the memories, the dance moves, and, most of all, that voice!