Under a Red Roof

Over and Over

June 5, 2008 in Listening, Remembering by Colleen | Permalink

When I was a kid, and my dad or brother would buy a new album, they would play it over and over again, driving me nuts, wishing I could yell “fire!”, or turn off the power to get it to stop, but realizing that even if I did, the effect would last but a minute before the truth was discovered. So, unless I wanted to go to the park, which, generally, I didn’t, there was no escaping it (until I bought my car – sweet freedom!). The music came into my bedroom, the bathroom, upstairs, and even outside on warm days, as we Sohns are not shy about volume in voice or otherwise. I was, as they say, surrounded, no choice but to surrender.

I just could not fathom why anyone would want to hear something, even if it was good, so many times. All that repetition just made me crabby and desperate for industrial strength ear plugs.

That was then. Now I get it. Thanks first to rediscovering Astral Weeks by Van Morrison about five years ago and to Sam Beam, of Iron and Wine, I really get it.

An aside for the G-Man. When we lived in Denver, they would sometimes show the fans outside McNichols Arena (a.k.a. Big Mac – now gone) after a concert on a slow news night. On one such night after Van played, a woman who had likely partaken of some illicit substance, screamed, “Van Morrison is pure love!” As a result, neither one of us can say his name without adding that as well. Good times.

I am digressing. I do that. Anyhoo, I got a taste of the repetition with Mr. Pure Love, and then came to a full understanding with Iron and Wine. This is rock steady, keep on wiggling in my chair, singing softly along kind of music. I love to listen to Sam Beam’s gentle voice when Gregory and I play cards. More often, as my friend Sarah will attest, this is sewing music. It’s just so perfectly suited to stitching.

I put one cd on, and as soon as it is over, the next. I can do this on a loop for hours, never ever growing tired, just stitching along, but often sitting in silent amazement when a disc is over. How could that be? Where did the time go? Wasn’t I just singing “Sunset Soon Forgotten”? Golly, that’s only the fourth song.

With Van Morrison (pure love!) and Iron and Wine, it is like they whisper the lyrics in my ear, and while I hear them and whisper back, I dream of myself and my place within the songs, in fields, under trees, peering through a crack in the door. What can I say? Magic.

Fifteen

May 29, 2008 in Loving, Remembering by Colleen | 3 comments

January 26, 1991. What I thought was possibly the worst day of my life turned into the luckiest. First, my car was literally blown off the road and into a ditch in a gale force wind on Highway 93 en route to Boulder, Colorado. Second, I had to take a ride with strangers to actually get to Boulder, something I had never done before, nor have since. I was terrified! Are these people going to kill me? Thankfully they didn’t. Third, my sort-of boyfriend, upon my late arrival at my final destination of Fort Collins, instead of asking me if I was okay, demands, “Where’s my stuff?” I had to leave it in my car that was in a ditch on the side of a road you #$&! I would not speak to him again for another eight years.

Now that I had no plans to see the not-so-nice guy, I went to a hotel kegger with my friends. There on the bed, I chatted with a very cute and sweet guy I had met once before. When he got up to fill his beer, he asked me to save his seat. I did. We went out on our first date two weeks later, February 9, 1991. Two years and a little over three months after that, we were married, May 29, 1993. Today makes fifteen years – the absolute best of my life.

Sometimes, I can hardly believe it is true. I look at him with amazement and pure joy every single day. He’s with me! He’s my absolute best friend, confidante, and partner in crime. Our life together could not be more perfect, really it couldn’t.

Thank you wind, thank you strangers, thank you jerk!

I love you, Buddy. Happy Anniversary!

How I learned to say s#*t in French, and oh, Happy Mother’s Day!

May 10, 2008 in Loving, Remembering by Colleen | 1 comment

Madame Augden, my junior high French teacher, was a patient and thoughtful lady, always going that extra mile for the class. One year, she decided that we should make Mother’s day cards. She brought scissors, construction paper, markers, and various other craft supplies for each of us to make a masterpiece in honor of mom. It was a very sweet idea, actually, but, as with many such notions from the minds of well intentioned teachers and into those of crazy teen age girls and boys, it went slighty awry.

The word for mother in French is mere and the word for day is jour, but silly kids that we were, we kept going at it in Franglais combining mere with day, and at a rather fast clip, so in the end, it sounded like mere-d. Happy Mere-d, Madame Ogden!

Upon hearing this, Madame Ogden looked at us with a horrified expression. We could not fathom a reason. We were happily repeating mere-d in sing song voices while cutting out hearts and flowers, and aside from being a bit boisterous, we were generally doing as well as a class of junior high students could.

Then she told us, her voice serious, knowing full well that this little bit of knowledge could be dangerous. You see, merde is that other word, the one with the # and * in it, and if you say it aloud, you’ll hear how close we were.

We were stunned by the information. How could she say a curse word in class? How could that word be so close to mother? Those crazy French! Then we each repeated it aloud a few times while she looked on in terror, certainly wondering if some sort of melee would ensue. In our defense, hadn’t she given us permission? Luckily for her, the fervor died down after a few minutes and we returned to our cards, proud of our new found knowledge.

After that, I never used it against her, but did tell my friends in rather hushed tones, books to my chest, “I know how to say s#*t in French.”

But, that is only the beginning of the post. I started out wanting to write about my mom and wish her a happy Mother’s day, but as is very often the case, I was waylaid by my own thoughts.

These are some of my fondest memories of my mom:

Hanging laundry on the clothesline

Being home every day after school

Having an after school snack for me, even in high school!

Telling me what I was like as a baby

Having my ears cleaned because it meant I got to rest my head in her lap

Kids at school saying, “Your mom is so pretty!” Me knowing it was true.

Homemade dinners (except spaghetti and chicken Chinese)

Watching her write – she has beautiful cursive

Running from the cold, air-conditioned grocery store, to sit for a moment in the hot car, windows rolled up.

Admiring her homemade birthday cakes – they were the best!

I love you Mom and wish you a very happy day…

It Was Forty Years Ago Today…

April 4, 2008 in Practicing, Quoting, Remembering, Thinking by admin | 1 comment

When Martin Luther King, Jr. died on April 4th 1968, I was three years from being born. As a white girl, living in a predominantly white neighborhood, I would only be scarcely aware of his existence until I bought my favorite U2 album The Unforgettable Fire in 1984. Despite this pathetic history, he is ever present in my life now, providing me with a shining example of goodness, bravery, intelligence, and wisdom.

There is rarely a day that passes that I do not think of him and find inspiration in his deeds and words. Through them I find my own strength and courage. Here are just a few:

“The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy.”

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere.”

“The hope of a secure and livable world lies with disciplined non-conformists who are dedicated to justice, peace, and brotherhood.”

“On some positions, Cowardice asks the question, ‘Is it safe?’ Expediency asks the question, ‘Is it politic?’ And Vanity comes along and asks the question, ‘Is it popular?’ But Conscience asks the question ‘Is it right?’ And there comes a time when one must take a position that is neither safe, nor politic, nor popular, but he must do it because Conscience tells him it is right.”

“Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.”

“The strong man holds in a living blend strongly marked opposites. The idealists are usually not realistic, and the realists are not usually idealistic. The militant are not generally known to be passive, nor the passive to be militant. Seldom are the humble self-assertive, or the self-assertive humble. But life at its best is a creative synthesis of opposites in fruitful harmony. The philosopher Hegel said that truth is found neither in the thesis nor the antithesis, but in the emergent synthesis which reconciles the two.”

This is me now, sending a little prayer out for peace and happiness to all. Infinite blessings upon your path…

Linda: My “Oldest” Friend

March 17, 2008 in Friendship, Loving, Remembering by admin | Permalink

Linda

I met Linda when we were in the seventh grade. Was it in P.E.? Gosh, another fact slipped into the ether.

There are so many wonderful memories associated with her that I hardly know where to begin. The most interesting fact would be a good start: Linda is the best belcher I have ever known. Loud, rolling, controlled, and capable of forming complete sentences. Whenever I belch, it is an embarrassing and awkward accident.

It was with Linda that I took my first trip with someone else’s family. We visited their cabin in Como, Colorado. It was a lovely, rustic place. We roamed the fields, played Yahtzee like there was no tomorrow, and giggled like the schoolgirls we were.

It was at Linda’s that I watched my first movie on a VCR (Rock and Roll High School), learned to shave my legs, and how to properly use a shower curtain. *Keep that plastic in the tub or you’ll end up with a whole mess o’ water on the floor.* She also helped me score the best paying and yummiest job of my teen years – a busser at Amici’s Italian Restaurant. Boy do I miss the sausage sandwich special!

As she lives in Denver, and I in Portland, we don’t see much of each other these days, but she is often on my mind. She’s the type of person who is always smiling (and isn’t a lovely one, too?), is kind, thoughtful, and never has an ill word against anyone. Everyone should have a little Linda in their life. I’m glad I do.