And Ye Shall Receive

Well, you asked for it, so here it is: my first published piece. I think it’s pretty good if I do say so myself. Unfortunately, the paper that originally published it no longer has it in the archives, so I can’t give you a link. I am reprinting it here, with my own permission. Without further adieu…

There’s No Place Like Home

Dorothy learned her lesson—there’s no place like home. But lately, I have found myself wondering what exactly makes a place “home.”

When I go home, I really go home. My mother still lives in the house where I grew up. When she and my father brought me home from the hospital, it was to the same place I return to now. I don’t know many people my age that can claim the same.

My roommate’s family moved, on average, every three years or so. When we graduated college, the programs listed us this way: Cheryl Ricci, Minnesota; Jessica Larson, United States of America. When she goes to visit her family, it’s in a house she never really lived in. Mine is a house I lived in until college.

One time my roommate came to Minnesota. I drove her around the area and was able to tell her about my past there. “There’s where I went to high school,” “Here’s my grade school,” “That is where my best friend used to live,” “Over there is where I had my first job.”

The concept was completely foreign to her. She joked that we’d have to do a cross-country trip for her to show me where she grew up. But, it didn’t seem to bother her much. To me, the idea of not being able to do that is alien.

I wonder what it’s like to live in a place where you don’t know its history; when you don’t know the stories and the secrets of things that happened there. What would our laundry room’s growth chart, our initials in the door frame, or other marks we’ve left behind mean to anyone else?

I try to imagine what it’s like to look into a bedroom without remembering building forts there, or see a living room without picturing my sister and myself plopped in front of a console TV watching “The Muppet Show.”

Home to me is a place filled with memories—good and bad—and the people I love. Home to my roommate is wherever the people she loves are. I don’t think either of us has it right or better than the other; and neither of us knows what the other is missing.

If “home is where the heart is” then maybe neither of us is missing anything. Her heart is with her family. Wherever they go, that’s where home is. For her, home is about people. For me, the building is just as much at the heart of home as the people. It’s the memories and spirit of the place. But it makes it harder to move on.

In this day and age, people move often and we all have family spread out across the country, even across the world in many cases. In the end, I think home is really about people. That’s where the memories really live. My roommate has just as many fond memories of growing up as I do. And we should work to preserve those memories. Because you can take them with you wherever you go, wherever it is that you make your home.

*This piece originally appeared in the editorial section of The St. Paul Pioneer Press one happy day, September 30, 2004. If you are a die-hard fan, you could find it in a back issue or microfiche, assuming the libraries still have those. If you are that die-hard of a fan, I appreciate the enthusiasm and please disregard all references to my home posted within this blog. Thank you.

Livin’ on 1200

Or How I Learned to Stop Whining and Love Diet Coke

It’s been two years since it all began. Two years ago I was four sizes bigger. I walked like I was trying to shrink myself. Self-confidence? What was that? Now, I am not one to advocate the skinny ideals of our culture. I think it’s disgusting to idolize models who starve themselves and have multiple surgeries to look the way they do (hips shaved, calf implants, botox, collagen). That should be a big clue as to how unrealistic the ideal is. Plus, I am a girl who dealt with eating disorders in friends and I myself was borderline. Yet those four sizes needed to be lost. They were completely unnecessary and I was completely unhealthy.

So, two years ago I heard about this meal plan from some women at work. It’s called Seattle Sutton. This is a woman’s name; she’s a registered nurse and came up with a meal plan where they make the meals, deliver them, and then you heat them up (if necessary). She had a 1200 calorie plan, and a 2000. I took the 1200 calorie plan which mean if I ate only the food they gave me and drank two glasses of skim milk a day, my daily intake was 1200 calories. Unless you’re in a coma you will lose weight if you’re only consuming 1200 calories a day.

I began to drink a lot of water. And I forced myself to drink Diet Coke because it had no calories. By my birthday in October, I had dropped one size. By Thanksgiving I decided to stop using the service because it was getting expensive. And also because while the food was pretty good (except when she got on a cabbage kick) it had three week cycles, so it wasn’t long before it got repetitive. In all honesty, in was pretty much the expense that made me stop.

Yet I took what I learned with me. It’s about portion size and before, mine were too big. And I kept drinking the Diet Coke. What’s weird is that I used to absolutely hate Diet soda. My father drank it because he was diabetic. He got so used to the taste, he coldn’t tell it was diet when we went out. My sister or I would have to try it and we’d sip it, wince, and assure him it was diet. It wasn’t long until I became my father, needing someone else to ensure that all was correct with my drink.

The diet continued and by July I was down another size. I gleefully called my mom when I was able to buy jeans in a lower size. Then, in October, I succumbed to peer pressure and joined a gym. I went faithfully and now I love going to the gym. I am an endorphin addict. By Christmas I was down another size where I have since remained steadily. Which is good. The people at work are starting to get catty, asking if I’ve eaten yet today, whereas my mom and sister laugh at me cause I eat all the time (I eat often to keep my metabolism up).

Now I appear much taller because I walk straighter and more boldly. Hello self-confidence, where have you been all my life? The confidence spread to other parts of my life too. And now here I am, poised to start a new chapter and really wanting to just scan over the end of this one. So, it was my hard work, Seattle Sutton, and the Diet Coke that helped me out. And yes, even though I eat pretty much whatever I want now, I still drink the Diet Coke.

When the Fates Allowed

Five years ago, my mother and sister drove with me across country to take me to Bryn Mawr. Armed with improper directions, hope of finding what I’d missed at my first school, and the name of my dorm and roommate, we arrived on campus on move-in day. I was one new upperclasswoman in a sea of frosh. I met an orientation leader and she told me my roommate was already there.

I headed up to my room on the third floor and the girl stopped me. “This is your roommate,” she told me. I looked and found myself face to face with a tall, blond girl. My shorter, brunette self was awed. She smiled and introduced herself and her father, standing next to her. We proceeded to spend our day unpacking, rearranging furniture, and meeting other people with a plethora of ice breakers.

She and I were the only transfer students in the vicinity. We later found out that we were the only transfer students put together–everyone else had a single room or a freshman roommate. All around us were girls new to college, whereas we were simply new to that college. While the others around us were trying to figure all of college out, we had declared our majors; we had experienced life without our parents; we knew that you could and should take more than one small beverage glass in the dining hall.

We bonded over our shared experiences, but we were also very different. Her major was Psychology; mine was English. She played basketball; I was on yearbook. She enjoyed going out to clubs; I didn’t do much drinking before I turned 21. If we hadn’t been put together by the random roommate assigners at Bryn Mawr, chances are we would never have met, and we both knew it.

Yet we were roommates that year. We shared our experiences as “new Juniors.” She taught me the value of going out and I introduced her to the merits of an evening in. For me, she encouraged a growth I wouldn’t have anticipated. She helped me through a lot of difficult times that year.

We returned to Bryn Mawr for senior year with our own rooms, in completely different dorms, but still friends. Through force of will, we deemed ourselves orientation leaders for the transfer students so they could bond as we had. We took classes together. We hung out, we celebrated our graduation together.

Then, she moved back to Michigan and headed to Chicago, while I returned to Minnesota where I eventually got an apartment, lost a father, and started my first job. She was drving from Chicago to Pennsylvania when I called to tell her my dad had died. She came the weekend after the funeral, as soon as she could be there. She called every week, more than once, to make sure I was ok. She helped me move on, to Chicago, when I was ready, providing a roof over my head and a job.

Five years after our introduction in the entry hall of our dorm, here we are in Chicago. We’re still very different, bringing out qualities in each other. Yet we still share many things in common. We’re always united over our relationship which runs deeper than friendship; she’s like a sister to me.

The thing is, I firmly believe that we were meant to meet each other. Somehow we became roommates, somehow roommates evolved into best friends. Every day I consider myself lucky to be assigned to that room on the third floor, and to have had her assigned there as well.

“Ditto”

Rent Rant

This weekend I managed to squeeze in a movie with my mom and sister. Amongst our plethora of previews (I believe I counted six, not to mention all those commercials now) was one for the movie version of Rent. That’s the second time I have seen the preview for this movie. It gives me flashbacks, which make me shudder.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen Rent. I saw the traveling show when it stopped in St. Paul in the summer of 1997. I liked it. I even own the soundtrack, music is pretty good. What I can’t (or couldn’t) stand was the reaction the show got from some of the most annoying kids in school—the drama kids.

If you’ve done the math, I saw Rent right before my senior year of high school. Then it was back to school where I somehow always wound up next to drama kids. Some of them were ok, but for the most part my impression of them was “Oh, we’re so cool and artsy and open-minded that we’re close-minded because we only accept people who are just as cool and artsy and open-minded.”

These kids always had snide comments for anyone who dared share their opinions. I still remember AP English that year. First semester, I sat next to two of the very worst of the bunch—ES and JB. JB sat in front of me and ES to my left. I heard everything these two said in response to others’ comments, including the ones that were supposedly under their breath. I guess since I wasn’t cool and artsy and open-minded like them, I was also deaf. In my physics class I ran into the same thing as two girls cattily talked about one of my friends who had dared try out and win a big role in the fall musical, never mind that one of them couldn’t even sing.

Anyway, I remember the love and adoration these kids had for Rent. They wanted to be those Bohemians living that lifestyle. I even remember one time, Mrs. C, the AP English teach said something about the opposite of love which caused two or three of them to break out into “the opposite of war isn’t peace; it’s creation!” Plus, I think at least one of them quoted Rent in his senior quote.

By the end of the semester I’d had enough. I couldn’t go to class without hearing about Rent, or songs from Rent, or the stars of Rent. I wanted to scream at them to shut up; I wanted to tell them that their precious musical wasn’t even 100% original—it’s a modernization of an opera; I wanted to shout that the characters should shut up and get jobs so they could pay the rent (just to fuck with them, of course). But I didn’t. I was way too shy to speak up back then.

I don’t know that I will see the movie because I don’t know if it will work as a movie anyway. Plus, I wonder about using the original cast who are now 10 years older, so will they be able to pull off people in their 20s? Regardless, Rent will be seen whether it is on stage or screen. And I’m ok with that. I really do like Rent. The “RentHeads” however, are another story.

Ready For My Close-Up

Well, not a close-up, but I am being interviewed by Amber, so here is the Q&A.

1. Would you rather be able to hear one conversation or take back one thing you say?
Probably take back one thing I say. I am always saying the wrong thing and then I regret it. When I regret it I antagonize over it and then what I said ends up doing the most damage to me. So I want to take it back. If it was a specific something, I know what it is, but don’t want to share it—I’m that ashamed.

2. If you could Quantum Leap, what one historical event would you want to see happen?
I would say …um…maybe something unknown like Amelia Earhart’s disappearance, or find out who shot JFK and then I would know what happened to her and I could be like the one who knows the answer. Or else V-E day, sounds like a party. But I don’t go for history much, so I dunno.

3. What is your best memory from the past year?
Being published. For me it was one of the most euphoric moments in my life. Best Friend said she’s never seen me that excited or happy.

4. If you could be in any stage show (musical or otherwise) what would it be and as what character?
I would want to be in Chicago and play Velma. In the stage show she is the main character and the star. She gets all the good musical numbers, dance numbers, and a cute black dress. When I saw it on Broadway (yes, THE Broadway) Velma was amazing. As a second, I’d be Eliza in My Fair Lady because I often break into “All I want is a room somewhere….” I would definitely be in one where I can sing.

5. Shag, marry, throw off a cliff: Nick Lachey, Justin Timberlake, Nick Carter (that’s 98 Degrees, N*Sync and Backstreet Boys, respectively)
Hmmm, so hard. They’re all so annoying in some way. I’d say Shag Justin because he isn’t marriage material and he’s just too popular to trust. Plus, he’s probably the best at it, although he may have caught something from Britney. With proper precautions though…

I think I would marry Nick Carter because he’s kind of vanilla and that makes me think he’d be a pushover so I could have more control of the relationship. And also, he’s the lesser of the two remaining evils.

I’d push Nick Lachey off a cliff. Clearly I am not in his taste as far as someone to be with as he likes ditzy blonde girls with big boobs and I am a smart brunette girl with, well…not-big ones. Plus, the fact that he’d marry Jessica Simpson kind of scares me. Even more than Justin dating Britney.

Want to play? The Official Interview Game Rules:
1. If you want to participate, leave a comment below saying interview me.
2. I will respond by asking you five questions – each person’s will be different.
3. You will update your journal/blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview others in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

The Pencil Factory

I have before mentioned the building where I live and today am struck to write more about it. My building is very large. It takes up an entire block in our neighborhood. The building used to be a pencil factory, where they made number two pencils. It was known as the Eversharp Building, but now it’s simply “the pencil factory.”

It’s five stories and there is a roof deck on top. The greatest thing about our roof deck is that it has unobstructed views of the city. Zoning laws will not allow any building in the neighborhood to be taller than ours, so we’re assured that our view isn’t going any where.

The building is red brick and concrete. Our unit has brick and concrete outer walls. We also have twelve foot ceilings and nine foot windows. Match this with southern exposure, and we’re talking major light. The ceilings are also concrete. It makes for a fairly well insulated place, sound-wise although noise does travel through the regular walls. Best Friend’s bedroom walls don’t reach the ceiling, there is a three foot gap. We also have exposed metal duct work and lighting tracks, stone pillars, and fun cubby spaces for storage.

When we were looking for a place to live, the agent took us to the building and showed us one unit. It faced the alley in back and it was really nice. But it was snatched up before we could act on it. The next day we heard of another unit available. Ironically it was directly across the hall from the first one we looked at. Which meant it faced the street. Even better it was on a corner which means windows on two sides. We acted quickly and moved in September of 2003. Actually I will rephrase that, Best Friend and her father moved us in. I had to go to Minnesota. Now we’ve been there for almost two years. I love the building; I love the neighborhood; I love Chicago. And for a writer to live in a pencil factory, well it’s incredibly appropriate.

Here’s a picture of my building. See the corner there, where it juts in toward the building? That’s my loft on the second floor, front and side—those are my living room windows!