Tuesday, July 29, 2003
I Wish I Could Write Them All Down
I remember Jeffrey had these bottles of liquid fluoride that the dentist prescribed him and he had to put the fluoride on his teeth twice a day for weeks. He told me about it and showed me how to do it. It sort of stung and tasted foamy and dry and spicy because it was cinnamon flavored. He gave me one of his bottles to use.
I also remember when he got contact lenses. He was 15 or 16 and had worn glasses since he was seven. Since he was so cute in glasses, I gave him a hard time about getting contacts, but he insisted. When he brought them home, I made him show me how to take them out & put them in & I tried to put one in my eye, but it didn't fit. Then, when I got contacts, he showed me how to tell if they were inside out (the doctor's explanation didn't make any sense to me, but his did) and how to clean them and how to rinse the case with very hot water and store it with the little round covers on the bottom and the case propped up onto them upside down so that it could dry.
When I moved into my father's house, where he had lived for a couple of years at that point, we were in his room one night & he said I had to see something. There was a book my dad had lent him, some kind of detective novel, and he started flipping through the pages and showing me all the "bad words" in there. He'd never seen a book with bad words before, and he wondered whether my father didn't know they were in there or whether he gave him the book by mistake.
When the Bulls won the championship in 1993 (or was it 1994?) and it was the third championship in a row, the "three-peat," we watched all the games leading up to the final game together and I learned all the names of the players on the Bulls and the Arizona Suns. Jeffrey explained all the rules of the game to me. He loved Michael Jordan because nobody could touch him. And, he liked that other player, can't remember his name right now, because he was short and Jeffrey was short--until he was 19 and sprouted up to almost 6 feet in about 6 months. The last game, the championship game, we were at our grandma's house for dinner and Jeff & I stayed there late to see the end of the game. When the winning shot was shot, we both jumped up, smacked hands, shouted, hugged, the works. And, on the way home, in my little car, we drove through a drive-thru at McDonald's (or was it Taco Bell?). The lady came on the speaker & said, "Can I take your order?" and I said, "No. There's no order. I just wanted to let you know that the BULLS JUST WON! THREE-PEAT! THREE-PEAT!" And, we roared with laughter.
These are the "little" moments, like when we went to dinner that Friday night and he told me that I should never order beer from the tap because, unless I can be sure the tap is cleaned often, there will be yeast in the beer. He said if you hold a mug of beer up to the light & see things floating in it, that's yeast. He told me he's seen big sheets of yeast in the beer where he works (worked) and he held his hands out to show me the size of the sheets.
These are the small things, the moments, the insignificant times. These are the conversations about things that are relatively unimportant. If I could, I would record all of them.
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I remember Jeffrey had these bottles of liquid fluoride that the dentist prescribed him and he had to put the fluoride on his teeth twice a day for weeks. He told me about it and showed me how to do it. It sort of stung and tasted foamy and dry and spicy because it was cinnamon flavored. He gave me one of his bottles to use.
I also remember when he got contact lenses. He was 15 or 16 and had worn glasses since he was seven. Since he was so cute in glasses, I gave him a hard time about getting contacts, but he insisted. When he brought them home, I made him show me how to take them out & put them in & I tried to put one in my eye, but it didn't fit. Then, when I got contacts, he showed me how to tell if they were inside out (the doctor's explanation didn't make any sense to me, but his did) and how to clean them and how to rinse the case with very hot water and store it with the little round covers on the bottom and the case propped up onto them upside down so that it could dry.
When I moved into my father's house, where he had lived for a couple of years at that point, we were in his room one night & he said I had to see something. There was a book my dad had lent him, some kind of detective novel, and he started flipping through the pages and showing me all the "bad words" in there. He'd never seen a book with bad words before, and he wondered whether my father didn't know they were in there or whether he gave him the book by mistake.
When the Bulls won the championship in 1993 (or was it 1994?) and it was the third championship in a row, the "three-peat," we watched all the games leading up to the final game together and I learned all the names of the players on the Bulls and the Arizona Suns. Jeffrey explained all the rules of the game to me. He loved Michael Jordan because nobody could touch him. And, he liked that other player, can't remember his name right now, because he was short and Jeffrey was short--until he was 19 and sprouted up to almost 6 feet in about 6 months. The last game, the championship game, we were at our grandma's house for dinner and Jeff & I stayed there late to see the end of the game. When the winning shot was shot, we both jumped up, smacked hands, shouted, hugged, the works. And, on the way home, in my little car, we drove through a drive-thru at McDonald's (or was it Taco Bell?). The lady came on the speaker & said, "Can I take your order?" and I said, "No. There's no order. I just wanted to let you know that the BULLS JUST WON! THREE-PEAT! THREE-PEAT!" And, we roared with laughter.
These are the "little" moments, like when we went to dinner that Friday night and he told me that I should never order beer from the tap because, unless I can be sure the tap is cleaned often, there will be yeast in the beer. He said if you hold a mug of beer up to the light & see things floating in it, that's yeast. He told me he's seen big sheets of yeast in the beer where he works (worked) and he held his hands out to show me the size of the sheets.
These are the small things, the moments, the insignificant times. These are the conversations about things that are relatively unimportant. If I could, I would record all of them.
Wednesday, July 02, 2003
I officially admit that my hair has become wavy.
When I was 18, I used to blowdry my hair upsidedown with mousse applied at the roots to make it look thicker & to prevent it from hanging flat and limp. But, I could let it air dry & it would be straight as a pin--straight as it had been my entire life.
About the time I started to need a bra (age 21), my hair also started to get body. I noticed it was just slightly thicker, slightly more interesting. But, then, I went through a "very short hair" phase for a couple of years, and it didn't matter.
Straight hair becomes part of your identity, like being tall or wearing glasses. Because of my resistance to the possibility, I didn't even notice the wave in my hair until I was 25 & I had a bob haircut & realized that if I blew it straight, it didn't have that weird "crease."
I also noticed that there was frizz where there had never been frizz before. I tried pommade, glossy gel stuff, hair repair cream, leave-on conditioner. I stopped dyeing my hair red after 10 years, thinking my hair was "damaged" from the dye.
But, it is not damaged. It is wavy. It flips out & it flips in. It needs anti-curl gel. It needs a round brush and a blow-dryer. It needs to be tied back in humid weather. Or, it needs to be let loose to dance its wavy-hair dance, its disorderly, flingy dance.
It is no longer hair for small, plastic barrettes that the six, seven, eight, fourteen, twenty-year-old wore just to pull her bangs out of her face.
It is wavy. It is substantial. It is not tame.
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When I was 18, I used to blowdry my hair upsidedown with mousse applied at the roots to make it look thicker & to prevent it from hanging flat and limp. But, I could let it air dry & it would be straight as a pin--straight as it had been my entire life.
About the time I started to need a bra (age 21), my hair also started to get body. I noticed it was just slightly thicker, slightly more interesting. But, then, I went through a "very short hair" phase for a couple of years, and it didn't matter.
Straight hair becomes part of your identity, like being tall or wearing glasses. Because of my resistance to the possibility, I didn't even notice the wave in my hair until I was 25 & I had a bob haircut & realized that if I blew it straight, it didn't have that weird "crease."
I also noticed that there was frizz where there had never been frizz before. I tried pommade, glossy gel stuff, hair repair cream, leave-on conditioner. I stopped dyeing my hair red after 10 years, thinking my hair was "damaged" from the dye.
But, it is not damaged. It is wavy. It flips out & it flips in. It needs anti-curl gel. It needs a round brush and a blow-dryer. It needs to be tied back in humid weather. Or, it needs to be let loose to dance its wavy-hair dance, its disorderly, flingy dance.
It is no longer hair for small, plastic barrettes that the six, seven, eight, fourteen, twenty-year-old wore just to pull her bangs out of her face.
It is wavy. It is substantial. It is not tame.
