Dear White Trash Neighbor,
My husband mentioned to me the other day that I should not be referring to you as "white trash." Though the name might be fitting, there are just some things we should only say to our spouses, who have to love us no matter what because we know each other's nasty secrets. When I pointed out that all of my secrets are splattered all over my blog, he shrugged. Because it seemed I'd finally won an argument between us, I instantly became suspicious that he may be plotting a secret secret reveal that includes you in some way, as you started the whole thing. But then, someone sent me a link to a television show called "Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo" and I realized that he was right all along, it's not very kind to call you "white trash." So, as homage to your apparent idol, Miss Boo-Boo, I will from here on out call you Redneck Neighbor.
So, Redneck Neighbor, a little congratulations is in order. You've been living with your sister and mother now for two months and I haven't once seen a police car, ambulance, or fire truck. My sisters are co-habitating for a while--the small abode now housing 5 children and 3 adults, nearly alike to your own situation. And the nicest thing I can say about that is they are all still alive.
Another congratulations is due you--even in this struggling economy you managed to pull off a successful yard sale. I have to admit, it was the first time I've ever seen anyone use their actual yard for a yard sale. It really bothers me when people put everything in the garage and call it a yard sale. Or they pile things into the driveway and call it a garage sale. Um, no. That's a driveway sale. I didn't mind at all that shoppers used our driveway to park--I didn't have anywhere to go for six hours last Saturday.
Though, I'm still perplexed as to why all of the unsold teddy bears, bright plastic toys, and piles of clothes are still occupying your yard. Are you planning on having another sale soon? Should I go ahead and park my car on the street in case I need to leave? If another sale is in the works, I wonder if you've noticed the weather? There's a hurricane brewing just south of us, and the rain that's been coming down since Monday is a result. I don't know how successful you'll be at selling soggy goods, though someone may buy the tires you left in the flower bed, after all they're meant to get wet. But who am I to tell you how to run a yard sale, as I've never before seen one and last Saturday was such a huge success. I hope you generated enough money to buy all of those school uniforms--sorry, I couldn't help overhear, your voice does love to travel.
I do have one suggestion, though, for the impending second sale. That huge hole on the far side of your driveway, you know the one? It's just before you get to what used to be a bed of knockout roses but is now an overgrown tangle of dead vines. I'd fill that in. Sure no one stepped in it last time, but why tempt fate twice? I'd hate for your good fortune to be ruined by a lawsuit of some kind. I'd also hate to see little Johnny, or one of the "K" girls, suddenly disappear.
Of course, if you've left everything out in order to create yard art, I commend you even more. Our prissy neighborhood could use some sprucing up. A plastic toddler bed, strewn in among struggling day lilies, is the exact sort of avant-garde display these tired, manicured yards need.
Always,
Your Neighbor Who (Really) Doesn't Mind People Parking in Her Driveway for the Sake of Your Good Fortune
8.30.2012
8.28.2012
A Short Ride: Remembering Barry Hannah
...the book i've been working on with fellow VOX editors, Louis Bourgeois and Adam Young, is soon to go to print...it's been an emotional process over the last few months, especially as the images of Barry came pouring in...it was my job, in addition to editing, to lay everything out, to scrutinize and format images...each day, for at least two hours, i was bombarded with Barry's face...
...i cried a lot...then cursed myself for it and my sentimentality, something that i'd thought Barry Hannah and Tom Franklin had beaten out of me in the program...
...i've read each one of the essays in A Short Ride at least a dozen times and am still amazed at Barry's reach, his humanity, his ability to be a complete cad, a gentleman, and, let's face it, at times, a straight-shooting asshole...
...this is the beautiful cover, created by Glennray Tutor (an amazing artist you should know about, and if you don't i'm wagging my finger at you and insisting you click on his name immediately), and designed by Betsy Chapman (yes, that Betsy Chapman, of the Mississippi Chapmans)...
...i hope you'll all order a copy when it hits the shelves...i'll let you know the exact date soon...
...i cried a lot...then cursed myself for it and my sentimentality, something that i'd thought Barry Hannah and Tom Franklin had beaten out of me in the program...
...i've read each one of the essays in A Short Ride at least a dozen times and am still amazed at Barry's reach, his humanity, his ability to be a complete cad, a gentleman, and, let's face it, at times, a straight-shooting asshole...
...this is the beautiful cover, created by Glennray Tutor (an amazing artist you should know about, and if you don't i'm wagging my finger at you and insisting you click on his name immediately), and designed by Betsy Chapman (yes, that Betsy Chapman, of the Mississippi Chapmans)...
...i hope you'll all order a copy when it hits the shelves...i'll let you know the exact date soon...
8.27.2012
70-80 Victims
...trying to remain virtuous today as i plug along in what is, to date, the hardest part of the memoir i'm writing: the crimes my father was charged with...i've had some great help researching my father's past from the attorney who prosecuted him, a man who has prosecuted hundreds of criminals and says he remembers very few of them--my father being at the top of the list...he helped me piece together much of what actually took place in those bedrooms...while i can't interview any victims--could only find one and she, understandably, doesn't want to relive it all--talking to the attorney has helped me fill in much of what i need for the book, my father also being tight-lipped...ultimately, though, what i want to achieve is not sensationalism, but dignity for the women, and perhaps even, a little for myself...
...still, research is research--removed, distant, almost foreign...talking with the attorney has uncovered secrets my father, nor the rest of my family, would never share...now i'm staring down the barrel of being not simply the daughter of a man convicted of 8 counts of rape and burglary, but the daughter of a man who probably--according to LAPD--committed somewhere between 70 and 80 rapes...
...not easy to stomach, really...
...but the writing goes on...i'm up to 312 pages and whether or not it will ever go into print is beginning to weigh heavily on my mind...
...i was at odds with myself about what picture to post today...i decided on this one because it is one of hope...to anyone unaware of my circumstance, this photo is just a father and daughter enjoying her first christmas...
...it's hard to believe that's me...even harder to believe that's him...
...still, research is research--removed, distant, almost foreign...talking with the attorney has uncovered secrets my father, nor the rest of my family, would never share...now i'm staring down the barrel of being not simply the daughter of a man convicted of 8 counts of rape and burglary, but the daughter of a man who probably--according to LAPD--committed somewhere between 70 and 80 rapes...
...not easy to stomach, really...
...but the writing goes on...i'm up to 312 pages and whether or not it will ever go into print is beginning to weigh heavily on my mind...
...i was at odds with myself about what picture to post today...i decided on this one because it is one of hope...to anyone unaware of my circumstance, this photo is just a father and daughter enjoying her first christmas...
...it's hard to believe that's me...even harder to believe that's him...
8.20.2012
If I Could Turn Back Time
...that's right, i dropped a Cher bomb...this is actually one of the hundred or so songs that i know by heart--excluding, of course, all of the 1980's television show theme songs...and it's the song i had on my mind when i purchased a keychain that's a replica of hermione's time turner necklace in the HP movies...i love that little piece...not only because it's gold and shiny and has a miniature hourglass in the center...it represents the idea of going back in time...i'd love to see what my hair looks like from the back...
...i've long been interested in the idea of turning time back on itself...i think most people who've been damaged in childhood, or who've lost people they loved, have fantasies about going back and doing something differently...i would have said..., i would have acted..., i would have done...
...but then i think, "would i really go back in time if i could? how far back would i go? what would be erased? created? forgotten?...would i end up in some alternate reality where completely incompetent 40-somethings are in charge, and Biff owns a casino?...
...i wouldn't want to relive my 20's--i'm lucky i made it out of them alive the first time...forget about my teens--the repression, fear, idiocy...and my 30's have been a crap-shoot on the happiness scale, i wouldn't want to stack the deck by moving time--it would probably come back (go forward?) and bite me in the butt...
...there's a pretty long list of crappy things that've happened to me or people i love over the last few years...i could turn back time and talk to Grandpa before he died...could brace myself for the backstabbing i've faced...i could go even farther back and erase friendships, marriages, births, relationships...but why stop there?...why not pinpoint the hour, exactly, that i last saw Grandma?...or my father? what would going back in time solve there?...could my seven-year-old self say something remarkable that would alter his behavior? no.
...of course there are some advantages to going back in time--the lottery numbers, test questions, the bus i missed and, because of that, i didn't make the premier of Forrest Gump when the rest of my friends did (and have pictures of themselves with Tom Hanks to prove it)...
...the fact is, i wouldn't turn time around, even with the knowledge i have now, because i know that would, somehow, cosmically ruin the path my life has taken...then whose life would it be?...who would i be now if i altered my past?...i wouldn't be me...and while i'm not my biggest fan, and it's hard to look in the mirror and admit the mistakes i've made, i know i'm a person of conviction, who's ethical, truthful, and (most of the time) respected...i wouldn't chance my future on screwing with my past...
...over the last week, though, because i've been working on editing the VOX tribute to Barry Hannah, i've been thinking a lot about my happy years in Oxford, MS...and the reality of his death has finally come home...and with it, the guilt that i haven't yet finished my first book, haven't sold it, haven't done justice to the degree Barry bestowed on me nine years ago...
...time to take time by the balls...show up...do the work...
...these two pictures were taken on september 25, 2003 in a booth in a bar in Oxford...i'd just graduated in may, but was teaching for a year at Ole Miss...Barry had started drinking a little...he had hair again...we'd all met up at the bar...when the little squares fell out of the machine, Barry fished them out and laughed, "look at how much pleasure you're getting from behind"...i was embarrassed at the time...i'm sure i turned bright red...i'd been one of the (few?) women who'd never thought of Barry sexually...he'd been a role model, a man i loved...he'd saved my life...
...i'd turn back time long enough to say thank you...
...i've long been interested in the idea of turning time back on itself...i think most people who've been damaged in childhood, or who've lost people they loved, have fantasies about going back and doing something differently...i would have said..., i would have acted..., i would have done...
...but then i think, "would i really go back in time if i could? how far back would i go? what would be erased? created? forgotten?...would i end up in some alternate reality where completely incompetent 40-somethings are in charge, and Biff owns a casino?...
...i wouldn't want to relive my 20's--i'm lucky i made it out of them alive the first time...forget about my teens--the repression, fear, idiocy...and my 30's have been a crap-shoot on the happiness scale, i wouldn't want to stack the deck by moving time--it would probably come back (go forward?) and bite me in the butt...
...there's a pretty long list of crappy things that've happened to me or people i love over the last few years...i could turn back time and talk to Grandpa before he died...could brace myself for the backstabbing i've faced...i could go even farther back and erase friendships, marriages, births, relationships...but why stop there?...why not pinpoint the hour, exactly, that i last saw Grandma?...or my father? what would going back in time solve there?...could my seven-year-old self say something remarkable that would alter his behavior? no.
...of course there are some advantages to going back in time--the lottery numbers, test questions, the bus i missed and, because of that, i didn't make the premier of Forrest Gump when the rest of my friends did (and have pictures of themselves with Tom Hanks to prove it)...
...the fact is, i wouldn't turn time around, even with the knowledge i have now, because i know that would, somehow, cosmically ruin the path my life has taken...then whose life would it be?...who would i be now if i altered my past?...i wouldn't be me...and while i'm not my biggest fan, and it's hard to look in the mirror and admit the mistakes i've made, i know i'm a person of conviction, who's ethical, truthful, and (most of the time) respected...i wouldn't chance my future on screwing with my past...
...over the last week, though, because i've been working on editing the VOX tribute to Barry Hannah, i've been thinking a lot about my happy years in Oxford, MS...and the reality of his death has finally come home...and with it, the guilt that i haven't yet finished my first book, haven't sold it, haven't done justice to the degree Barry bestowed on me nine years ago...
...time to take time by the balls...show up...do the work...
...these two pictures were taken on september 25, 2003 in a booth in a bar in Oxford...i'd just graduated in may, but was teaching for a year at Ole Miss...Barry had started drinking a little...he had hair again...we'd all met up at the bar...when the little squares fell out of the machine, Barry fished them out and laughed, "look at how much pleasure you're getting from behind"...i was embarrassed at the time...i'm sure i turned bright red...i'd been one of the (few?) women who'd never thought of Barry sexually...he'd been a role model, a man i loved...he'd saved my life...
...i'd turn back time long enough to say thank you...
8.14.2012
The South is So...
...i've lived in the South for--brace yourself--twelve years!...and very little has begun to phase me...the blaring cicadas are nearly musical...the paternal family structure is something i now shrug at...i say "y'all" and, even worse, know how to correctly spell it...i've gotten lazy about railing against the mainstream, yelling into the wind, farting in silence...
...i've been especially falling down on the job when it comes to liberal beliefs in a not-so-liberal atmosphere...and it's an election year...for the first time since i could vote, my guy won the last presidential election...i'm so proud i left the bumper sticker on my car...so this year, i've decided to get a new sticker with the same hope for the next four years (if not, i'm really going to ruin my paint trying to get these off in november)...
...and that's when it hit me: i've been in the South way too long...never mind, i just finished reading Absalom! Absalom! and have convinced myself Quentin doesn't hate the South...i've reduced party politics to republicans and democrats...how limiting...
...yes, i've been reading Faulkner, thus the following long, parenthetical tangent that, having read it, will supply my reader with a large payoff at the end of this post...
(...being raised in Southern California by an East Texas grandmother had its challenges...most of them were generational...since she'd grown up without talking on the telephone, i could do the same...she'd grown up cutting grass with scissors, so should i...i was lucky that when i got my period she actually bought me pads instead of making me fold dishrags into a square for my underwear (although, once, during a summer visit to Texas, i had to fold up toilet paper because she didn't want relatives to know i had my period)....
...enough menstrual talk...my one male reader is cringing, hovering his pointer over the big red X...
...most of the time life with grandma was like walking a tightrope...a tightrope that, on a good day, had no safety net...on a bad day barking dogs and vicious attack monkeys vied for a place three stories beneath me with the hope i'd fall and become a tasty snack...i was constantly unsure of my footing, especially when it came to how to think of my Texas family...on one hand, i had to respect them because they were family, grandma's ancestors and blood-kin...my immediate family was small--my mother, her sister, two sisters of my own and two cousins...this clan was like a huge network and each time we visited them i felt myself drawn in...i could see her features in theirs...they knew stories about her from childhood that she wouldn't share...on the other hand, grandma mostly called people from Texas--the South in general--"trash" or my personal favorite "hillbilly pukes"...it would be years before i understood her mixed feelings of her patria and countrymen (material for memoir #2 i'm sure), so most of the time i struggled with how to view the southern part of the united states...
...if the mood struck her to be vague and sincere, grandma would utter the phrase "the south is just behind"...usually she said this when it came to fashion...Southern California trends reflected the pulse of the country, by her estimation...so i'd show up in Texas ready to play with my second and third cousins wearing a color-coordinated outfit direct from May Co. or Bullocks, complete with over-sized accessories, matching bows, and pristine huarache sandals...while the other kids climbed trees i stood in the shade, smacking mosquitoes...they probably took my discomfort for disdain...probably mistook my fear of soiling my clothes--something grandma literally smacked into me--for prissiness...i would've loved to have donned cut offs and a big t-shirt, scaled the deer stand and jumped into the creek...but my clothes wouldn't let me...and i didn't own those other necessities anyway...they were not the pulse of the country...poor, poor South, so behind the trend of making children into Victorian-era dolls...)
...so when i saw a prius with a libertarian bumper sticker i actually thought "oh yeah, right, like you've got a chance!"...then i mentally berated myself and resolved that as part of my punishment for pessimism and momentarily rejecting my very California views of 1) freedom of speech, 2) a better, bigger world, and 3) voting my conscience rather than submitting to the mainstream view, i would post a blog about how behind i've become, how limited...and where that limiting-ness (yep, coined a word) came from...
...i'm not saying that all of my limits come from my restrictive childhood wardrobe, or from a grandmother completely at odds with herself...but i'm sure they played a small part...
...i'll end this blog with promises:
1. i will now be posting at least once a week & I LOVE FEEDBACK so talk to me, let me know you're there, give me ideas for future blogs
2. i will try to include a photograph in every post...my awesome husband bought me a scanner, copier, printer thingy and i want to use it
3. i will not expect you to wear matching outfits in order to keep reading
...the first photo, of which i'm sure grandma would be proud: here she is, probably a few years before my birth in 1977...it's my favorite picture of her and i keep it on my desk as a reminder to lighten up, not take any crap, and generally stick out my tongue in the face of adversity...
...i've been especially falling down on the job when it comes to liberal beliefs in a not-so-liberal atmosphere...and it's an election year...for the first time since i could vote, my guy won the last presidential election...i'm so proud i left the bumper sticker on my car...so this year, i've decided to get a new sticker with the same hope for the next four years (if not, i'm really going to ruin my paint trying to get these off in november)...
...and that's when it hit me: i've been in the South way too long...never mind, i just finished reading Absalom! Absalom! and have convinced myself Quentin doesn't hate the South...i've reduced party politics to republicans and democrats...how limiting...
...yes, i've been reading Faulkner, thus the following long, parenthetical tangent that, having read it, will supply my reader with a large payoff at the end of this post...
(...being raised in Southern California by an East Texas grandmother had its challenges...most of them were generational...since she'd grown up without talking on the telephone, i could do the same...she'd grown up cutting grass with scissors, so should i...i was lucky that when i got my period she actually bought me pads instead of making me fold dishrags into a square for my underwear (although, once, during a summer visit to Texas, i had to fold up toilet paper because she didn't want relatives to know i had my period)....
...enough menstrual talk...my one male reader is cringing, hovering his pointer over the big red X...
...most of the time life with grandma was like walking a tightrope...a tightrope that, on a good day, had no safety net...on a bad day barking dogs and vicious attack monkeys vied for a place three stories beneath me with the hope i'd fall and become a tasty snack...i was constantly unsure of my footing, especially when it came to how to think of my Texas family...on one hand, i had to respect them because they were family, grandma's ancestors and blood-kin...my immediate family was small--my mother, her sister, two sisters of my own and two cousins...this clan was like a huge network and each time we visited them i felt myself drawn in...i could see her features in theirs...they knew stories about her from childhood that she wouldn't share...on the other hand, grandma mostly called people from Texas--the South in general--"trash" or my personal favorite "hillbilly pukes"...it would be years before i understood her mixed feelings of her patria and countrymen (material for memoir #2 i'm sure), so most of the time i struggled with how to view the southern part of the united states...
...if the mood struck her to be vague and sincere, grandma would utter the phrase "the south is just behind"...usually she said this when it came to fashion...Southern California trends reflected the pulse of the country, by her estimation...so i'd show up in Texas ready to play with my second and third cousins wearing a color-coordinated outfit direct from May Co. or Bullocks, complete with over-sized accessories, matching bows, and pristine huarache sandals...while the other kids climbed trees i stood in the shade, smacking mosquitoes...they probably took my discomfort for disdain...probably mistook my fear of soiling my clothes--something grandma literally smacked into me--for prissiness...i would've loved to have donned cut offs and a big t-shirt, scaled the deer stand and jumped into the creek...but my clothes wouldn't let me...and i didn't own those other necessities anyway...they were not the pulse of the country...poor, poor South, so behind the trend of making children into Victorian-era dolls...)
...so when i saw a prius with a libertarian bumper sticker i actually thought "oh yeah, right, like you've got a chance!"...then i mentally berated myself and resolved that as part of my punishment for pessimism and momentarily rejecting my very California views of 1) freedom of speech, 2) a better, bigger world, and 3) voting my conscience rather than submitting to the mainstream view, i would post a blog about how behind i've become, how limited...and where that limiting-ness (yep, coined a word) came from...
...i'm not saying that all of my limits come from my restrictive childhood wardrobe, or from a grandmother completely at odds with herself...but i'm sure they played a small part...
...i'll end this blog with promises:
1. i will now be posting at least once a week & I LOVE FEEDBACK so talk to me, let me know you're there, give me ideas for future blogs
2. i will try to include a photograph in every post...my awesome husband bought me a scanner, copier, printer thingy and i want to use it
3. i will not expect you to wear matching outfits in order to keep reading
...the first photo, of which i'm sure grandma would be proud: here she is, probably a few years before my birth in 1977...it's my favorite picture of her and i keep it on my desk as a reminder to lighten up, not take any crap, and generally stick out my tongue in the face of adversity...
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