I'm glad I wrote most of this yesterday, or there would be no journal entry to post today. It's 7am, and I'm hoping to pack quickly, grab a shower, and fling my children into the vehicle to head to NY to go see BNL and Alanis.
I've read a lot on the discussion boards, that the tickets to the shows thus far for the fan club have not been as good as the past 2 tours, that it seems VIP seating is up front, instead of BNL/Alanis fan seating... so I'm hoping we're not disappointed with 20th row seats which suck, when I can go onto Ticketbastard today and buy really good orchestra seats.
If you're on Long Island, go buy you some tickets. The show should rock. I'm even looking forward to seeing Alanis, and normally I am rather "meh" about her. Not a huge fan. But. I hear she's got good energy live, and that her band is amazing.
And, Ed is running around in sleeveless shirts to show off his wicked tats, his right shoulder visible in this picture here... never pegged these nerdy guys to go the way of the tattooed freak, but... there ya have it.
After BNL, tomorrow morning we're heading back up this way, grabbing Doug, and heading to Maine with my sister to retrieve her car. Finally. So I'll be off the radar here for a couple days. Unless I get a quick posting in tonight or tomorrow on journalspace.
Oh, before I forget. I was watching the news last night at 11pm, waiting to see if the 2 hikers from Acton-Boxoborough who were lost in the White Mountains had come out of the forest yet. When they said one of the names, I said "Hmmm. That's familiar..." and then I saw the families and saw his mom.
The mom was the CIO at a company where I used to work. There she was on TV, hugging family members as they got the news that the boys were okay. I'd hoped to see some sort of interview with her, just to make sure, but... without a doubt it is her. I recognized her black hair and her huge smile. In the Boston Herald article (last link) the boy's dad says he, his wife, and daughter went to help with the search. The "daughter" was one of our interns in the HR department and is seriously one of the nicest, most beautiful, lovely people I've ever met in all my days. I love that girl. I didn't see her on TV, but... I'm sure she was there.
I'm relieved for them that the boys are safe. I've not really thought of Jo much in the past couple of years, what a crazy way for her to appear back on my radar. Hurrah!
Oh, and just for fun I googled the mom's name and found some great and funny articles. I'd post links to them here, but. I'm afraid someone may find my journal by searching for her name or something... I'd rather keep a distance.
My last entry made me do some more thinking on neighbors and neighborhoods... I thought I'd talk a little bit about the way it was "back in the day" in the Projects of NY. Word.
We grew up in "the projects" and for a great many years we were the only white family around. Sometimes, another white family would move in, but they'd move out a few years later. My parents have been in their apartment for over 30 years. I've seen a lot of changes in the neighborhood. I'm sure my sister can attest to these, because she is living with my parents currently.
When I was growing up, I remember in the summer time my mom and all the other moms in the neighborhood would be out there, on the stoops, on the sidewalks, hanging out smoking and talking to all hours. All the kids played together, the playground equipment sang metal upon metal squeekings until late into the night. Until a certain age, the kids were totally unaware of the differences in skin color. That usually changed in middle school. I know it did for me, when I started getting my ass kicked by people who I considered my closest friends for years, as they pulled my hair, dragged me down the street and called me fat white honky bitch, or, they just stopped talking to me all together, which left me with NO friends because I hadn't really bonded with any of the white kids. They weren't my neighbors and friends. So for a couple of years there, I was unaffiliated.
The projects were set up so there were two different styles of houses. There were four-unit free standing buildings which looked like houses. Then there were the "townhouses" which ran all along the back perimeter of the property. They had underpasses for breezeways, and these huge concrete walls that come down at an angle. I should so take pictures of this for you. I can't believe how many times I was up on top of one of these 12 foot high concrete walls, running down its slope to get to the bottom.
So there were two kind of circles of moms who'd hang out and dish, the house unit circle and the townhouse circle. The "house circle" seemed to center around Emma Edwards. All the kids down that end of the parking lot would be out running around and playing, and the moms would come and hang out at Emma's porch.
I learned a lot from Emma. She was the most caring and loving mom who'd bitch slap your ass regardless of your skin tone if you messed up. The woman ruled with a loving, iron slappy hand.
One night I clearly remember some massive racial incident having happened in the neighborhood, and my mom was talking things over with Emma. Emma said the following, and it has stuck with me for my whole life. No offense meant by use of the N word here, it's a direct quote:
"There's black niggers and white niggers. Nigger is a state of mind."
I had to have been Jessie's age when I heard this. It struck me as incredibly profound, and from this large and loving black nurse, it made more sense than any other explination of racial issues ever thrown out there.
The other circle, the "townhouse circle," was mostly mom, Cessie Howley and this huge woman named Dottie. Dottie had a little boy named Sean and he was born with a hairlip. He was really sweet, but Dottie and her husband gave me the creeps. Cessie was married to a mailman named Lester. They had four kids, the oldest of whom was ... for lack of a better term, retarded. Mentally handicapped. Everyone teased the shit out of him, and he had a mean streak a mile wide.
I remember my mom and Cessie would have these disagreements and not speak to each other for months. Then, things would ease up and gloss over... and there would be quiet forgiveness but I have no idea if apologies were ever issued.
My parents live in unit C in their four unit building (A through D if you haven't caught on). They've been there 30 plus years.
Next Door in Unit A is Bob and Fran, and their daughter Deseriee (I know I spelled that wrong. Yes, she has a stripper name, and yes she is named after the Neil Diamond song). Fran's mom lived in that unit before we moved in, and Fran and Bob retained it when mom moved into the Brick Building nextdoor.
My mom and Fran, and Fran's mom, used to hang out and talk on the stoop for many hours. They'd garden together. I have pictures of us digging up the lots in front and getting the flower beds in. I think now my mom says passing pleasantries to Fran, but there is no sense of "community" and talking the way there used to be, unless there is a tragedy or an emergency.
Deseriee has lots of medical issues, she was in a car/train accident in 2000, and I know my mom was there for them every hour and every minute. Bob and Fran don't drive, so there were lots of trips out to the hospital and my mom and sister totally took care of them and their needs, both transportational and emotional.
Recently, Bob confessed to my sister that he's gay. 20 years of marriage and he finally comes out of the closet. I don't know if he's told Fran yet... but my sister was sideswiped, blindsided and floored by the discussion that they had. Suffice to say, one of his biggest fears is telling people like my sister and losing their friendship. I'm proud of her for her response. She assured him that she'd still be his friend, no matter what, and basically that he needed to take care of himself and his family. And... what more could one say?
Bob turned me on to Black Sabbath when I was in junior high school. Saved me from disco and made me the \m/ rawk girl that I am today. I need to thank him next time I see him.
In unit D, currently there resides my Aunt Esther. Yes. Family live right next door. Sometimes it is smooth, sometimes it is contentious. They go weeks without talking. My mom called me the other night and told me all about how mad she is at Esther right now. My mom can hold a grudge like a bucket holds water. With lid on it so the water doesn't evaporate, but gets hotter and hotter in the summer sun.
My aunt Esther's unit has seen a lot of turn over. Because it is one bedroom, sometimes old people get into these units throughout the development and they either move into the Brick Building (which is a huge building that used to be brick and now it's been stuccoed over in beige boringness, but we still call it the brick building) or, they die.
There was an elderly couple who lived in the unit when we moved in. I remember them like they are here right now sitting on my couch. Along with Fran and her mom, John and his wife were the first "real" hispanic people I'd ever met. I'm not sure if they were Colombian or Puerto Rican or what. I just remember them speaking Spanish and cooking all the time. For a little white kid, this was a cultural experience for me.
I loved John. He was like a grampa. His wife had whiskers and it scared me when she'd try and kiss me. Everyone ate my sister right up, because she was this wee little blonde girl, and ... well, she was a cultural experience for a lot of folks.
My Aunt Peggy lived in that unit for a while. She had a VW bug, and it fascinated me that you could turn the radio on and get power without the ignition key. VWs are cool like that (when they aren't blowing their timing belts). Aunt Peggy moved into the Brick Building. I loved her apartment in there.
My grandmother (father's side) lived in the Brick Building too. She died when I was young, but I totally remember going to her apartment, and looking at our car through her window, and riding the elevator. All the old people in the Brick Building would come out and sit in their folding chairs outside in the shade. To get to the playground, we'd have to pass them. And they'd stop us and talk to us and love us to death. I loved all those old people. I'd hang out with them in the little circle under the tree. I'd help Rose Chiet bring her folding chair out every day because she could barely make it down the hall to the elevator, much less carry the 1.6 lb aluminum chair with her.
In unit B, around the other side of the building, there lives Tom. Tom has lived there for as long as my parents, if not longer. He has been on the board of directors of the cooperative for a million years. He is a wise and sweet older man. And I think he's been old forever. He's black, and has a white beard, and I always dig that look, that "Grady" from Sanford and Sons look. Tom had a couple daughters, one of whom had some mental health issues and was killed by a LIRR train one day a couple years ago. His grandsons live with him. They're much older now, but I still think of them as little kids. Trey has a Jaguar. And I always loved the name Trey because of him.
I don't think anyone hangs out and talks the way they used to. I don't know if the old people come down and sit out in their chairs around the tree the way they used to.
Next time I go home, I'm looking into that.
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