Has it been 20 years already?

"No sir, I don't like it."

That's a quote from one of my favorite '90s cartoons "Ren and Stimpy." (More about that in a minute.)

That's also how I feel about a sudden rash of 20th anniversaries that are cropping up. Not so much the anniversaries themselves - who doesn't love to celebrate important milestones? - but the fact that I've been around long enough to remember when the events were current...and that I was old enough even then to enjoy them. I know, I know: anyone older than, say, 30 is in this boat with me. But seriously. When did we get that old? Why do I find myself telling the "when I was your age" stories? Why do I find myself saying "oh {shoot} ! It can't be 20 years already? Wait, how old am I now? oh man."

20 years ago, Little Chrissy was in 8th grade (incidentally, a 20th class reunion was just scheduled), watching the world break open and events unfold that would define a decade and a generation, and influenced the quirky girl you know today. And now we're remembering, 20 years later:

• Ren & Stimpy: This show on Nickelodeon was cutting edge, and I'm convinced it wasn't designed at all for children but, more likely, stoned college students. But I enjoyed it anyway, as did my best friend, and together we would burst out at random times with the "Muddy the Mudskipper" song or the fake commercial "Log" as a parody to the real "Slinky" commercials. And who could forget "Happy, happy, Joy, joy"? Go ahead - judge me. You know you love it, too.



• Nevermind: The quintessential album of the '90s. You couldn't escape the urgency of "Smells like Teen Spirit" or the dark, flannel-wearing introspection that surrounded it. My older sister had the CD and played it a lot, and so I listened, a lot. Being the confused kid that I was during a poignantly dark period of my life, the angst of every song appealed to me. It didn't matter that my adolescent mind couldn't fully comprehend the context of the lyrics, nor that the majority of kids in my class were listening to R&B and had no idea "alternative" music existed. I didn't follow the trendy grunge look, nor did I understand at the time how important this album was to the sea-change that would befall rock music. It's only within recent years that I came to appreciate the poetry of the lyrics and genius behind the composition. Kurt, you are still missed.



• Pearl Jam and Ten: Yes, the grunge scene was bursting open. As a kid of the sparkly '80s and more in-tune with sparkly new wave than the underground punk scene, grunge was...well, kinda grungy. I remember seeing the video for "Alive" and thinking, that's kind of a cool song. Who would have thunk that they would last 20 years? At the time, I thought they were trying to be a Nirvana knock-off. Boy, was I wrong. Eddie Vedder was like the modern-day storyteller (much like Bob Dylan or Billy Joel, if you will) that spoke to a generation. How many times do we think of "Jeremy" whenever there is a tragic school shooting? Unfortunately, too many.



• Guns N' Roses Use Your Illusion I and II: Kids, I know it's hard to imagine that Axl Rose used to be cool...but 20 years ago, he was. And so was his band. And this double album made them maybe just a little more acceptable by pop radio - with the likes of "November Rain", one of the all-time top rock ballads. Who would have thought the crazy, alcohol-soaked "hair" band could create something so significant? Polar opposite of Nirvana? Sure. But no less important.

There are many, many other 20th pop-culture anniversaries being celebrated - the release of Thelma and Louise (I was too young to appreciate), Wiggles (I was too old to care), the launch of Lollapalooza (I'm still uber-jealous of my sister who attended), and some of the other events noted in this timeline. Still, as Tears for Fears once said, I find it kind of funny and I find it kind of sad to look back, think about our culture and our world 20 years ago, how far we've come and how far we still need to go. In 20 years, what culturally significant events will we celebrate? That Snookie was able to stay out of jail, or that anyone without talent could become an overnight star? Oh...Nevermind.

On the Move

For the last few months, the predominant theme in my life has been moving.

First, my family helped move my grandparents from their home of 18 years to a place closer to the rest of the family. It was a big undertaking to say the least. We sorted, packed, tossed, sold, saved several decades worth of memories. Even the smallest item would hold some sort of sentiment. "I remember when your grandfather gave me this [item] when we first moved to [city] back in [year]." or some such phrasing. The mere act of holding some of the things churned memories that I had long forgotten and made me a little sad to watch things change. And it wasn't even my home.

Now, while not nearly as traumatic as moving from a beloved home, I face another move - at work. Our office is moving just a few miles up the road - not far at all, hardly enough to make a significant dent in my commute - but enough to be completely foreign after coming to work nearly every day for 8+ years to the same building. The process of sorting, packing, tossing, selling and saving things is in full swing. As a coworker said to me, "I never thought I would feel sad to see everything boxed up."

It will be a change for sure, on several levels. Still, as I sort through things I filed away years ago, I am reminded of the young adult I was when I started, the projects I worked on then and how I've grown professionally since. The "war stories," the memories of coworkers who have moved on, the clients who have changed. I will miss the familiar faces of others in the building, the town center at lunchtime on a warm sunny day, the gorgeous view from my office window. I realize how easy it is to get lost in the day-to-day, the frustrations, deadlines, and such, and how very easy it is to take for granted the little things that build memories. And how comfortable we become when in one spot for too long.

So, just like any change, it will take some time to get used to. I will need to start a new routine and adjust a little, but it's time to build some new memories and begin new stories. Until the next chapter of change is ready to unfold.

Remembering Michael Jackson

Why is it that only upon death do we realize how special someone is?

Unless you live in a cave without any form of communication with the outside world, you know that the King of Pop himself, Michael Jackson, passed away yesterday. Suddenly, it's cool to like Michael Jackson again. For years, he has been at the center of pop culture controversy (child molestation charges, his ever-changing appearance and disappearing nose, Neverland Ranch, dangling his infant off a balcony, and so much more), the punchline of many jokes, and in most circles, the epitome of lame. But there was a time when he was not just the King of Pop; he was the King of Cool.

My earliest memory of Michael Jackson was the Thriller album, which my big sister owned. The video to "Thriller" scared the bejesus out of me for years. I remember visiting family friends in Virgina the summer that Thriller was huge. Walking around their complex, I could hear songs from the album drifting from open windows and cars. I don't know why I remember that; I guess it was that big of a deal then.

Years later, Michael Jackson still managed to creep into my life, even when I decided that alternative music was way cooler. In 1995, when MJ released HIStory, he had giant statues of himself all over the world. That summer, I was in Berlin, and there was his statue, perched high atop some building. It was smaller than I thought it would be, but a secret part of me thought it was a little cool. In college, a friend loved to sing Michael Jackson songs at karaoke; he did the King of Pop proud. Just last spring, another friend busted out dancing to "Thriller" at a bar in Boston - and that was before we started drinking. These are just some of my favorite MJ memories.

He's gone now, but his music will live on. So, he was weird. Really, really, weird. But it's not like that weirdness came from thin air. He was a troubled soul, trying to find his place in the world and a little love. He gave everything he had to his fans and those in his life. Today, let's remember what he gave us. Won't you share a memory or two?

In the meantime, here are two of my favorites from MJ:

The Charlie Browniest

To say I love Peanuts is a huge understatement. Totally.

Snoopy and I go way back. I won't bore you with the details, but let's just say over the year I've amassed a collection of Peanuts paraphernalia that could easily fill an entire room in my house. When I was two years old and hospitalized for spinal meningitis, I wasn't allowed to have any toys or dolls for fear of infection; once I began to recover, the first doll that I received was Snoopy. I still have that doll. In college, I gave a presentation during my public speaking class on Charles Schulz, Peanuts and the evolution of his comic strip (it was made more poignant when he passed away shortly thereafter). Faithfully, every year for each holiday, I watch all the Charlie Brown cartoons on TV (the ones from the '60s were the best, in my opinion); I have the DVDs. And that's just a sampling.


I'm an adult now and don't have any children. But Snoopy and the gang just hold a soft spot in my heart, and no matter how old I get, they will always be with me. Which is why I almost cried tears of joy when I saw this commercial:



Enjoy!

Then & Now

I hadn't planned on posting anything today, but I need a mental health break, so what better way to enjoy a few minutes than to fill out a survey and give you more of an idea (maybe too much of an idea?) of who I am (and then, it will be your turn!) A special thanks to PQ Nation for posting this first!

THEN AND NOW: This tag basically asks what I was like as a kid, at age 18, and now, for all of the following:

*MY DREAM JOB*
Kid: It varied. For a while, I wanted to be an English teacher. Then, since I played "business" all the time (with no more than a tricked out calculator and a pad of paper), I wanted to go into "business." Then I wanted to be a journalist. I even used to have weekly issues of a newspaper I made myself on lined paper. My only subscriber was my sister, so the paper folded.
Age 18: I was a freshman in college studying child psychology. But my dream job was to be a journalist for Rolling Stone or National Geographic.
Now: Would love to be a published writer (book or magazine). Also, anything to do with music (magazine, radio station, whatever). Hey, you said "dream job!"

*MY FANTASY CRUSH*
Kid: Kirk Cameron, Joey McIntyre (NKOTB)
Age 18: Brad Pitt
Now: Anthony Bourdain, House (do I have a thing for grumpy, scruffy old men?)

*FAVORITE SONG*
Kid: Anything NKOTB or Debbie Gibson, then I really loved "I Beg Your Pardon" by Kon Kan...toward the end of the 80s I was into New Order and the Cure. And many many more.
Age 18: Anything Tori Amos, Sarah McLachlan, Ani DiFranco, BNL, Britpop. Loved "The Child Inside" by Qkumba Zoo. And many many more.
Now: I listen to a ton of music so it's hard to narrow down.

*FAVORITE MOVIE*
Kid: "Never Ending Story" and "Sound of Music." A few others, I'm sure. There was also a time when I watched "White Christmas" almost every day for a week. Don't ask me why.
Age 18: Anything John Hughes. It's a Wonderful Life. Sound of Music, a ton of others
Now: Anything John Hughes. It's a Wonderful Life. Sound of Music, Donnie Darko. About a Boy. The Notebook. A ton of others

*HOW YOU SPENT YOUR EVENINGS*
Kid: watched TV or played until bedtime
Age 18: Classes, watched TV, parties, typical college stuff
Now: cooking dinner or get togethers with friends, watching TV, reading, running errands

*YOUR BEST FRIENDS*
Kid: my sister, Lynette, Sam, James, my cousin Jaime
Age 18: Sam, James, my college roommate and friends
Now: my husband, my sister, Sam, Joanne, Beth

*MY JOB*
Kid: Being a kid.
Age 18: I worked over the summer and on holiday breaks as a bank teller
Now: Director for CME programs at med ed company

*MY CRUSHES*
Kid: I had a few. None you need to know about.
Age 18: I had a boyfriend then but it lasted only a few months. Not sure if that counts as a crush.
Now: My husband!

*WHAT SCARED YOU?*
Kid: The thought of losing my mom, then when that happened, having a stepmonster, which also happened
Age 18: living away from home for the first time and trying to make new friends
Now: The thought of losing my grandparents

*YOUR HERO?*
Kid: my mom, Amelia Earhart
Age 18: my mom, Amelia Earhart, Audrey Hepburn
Now: my husband, my mom, my grandparents, my sister and to echo Princess Q "Anyone who spends their life trying to make a difference in the world by being true to who they are."

*MADE YOU LAUGH?*
Kid: it seems that kids are always laughing at something stupid, so it could have been anything
Age 18: Being goofy with friends
Now: Inside jokes and being goofy with friends/my husband/my sister; stupid people

*HOW YOU FELT ABOUT YOUR FAMILY*
Kid: Loved my mom and grandparents. My sister was annoying. My father was, well, there.
Age 18: Loved my grandparents and sister. My father put stepmonster first which strained things a little. Loved him but it was hard at times.
Now: Love them all even if they can get annoying. Family is the most important thing.

*A DREAM COME TRUE?*
Kid: not that I can recall.
Age 18: Um...not that I can recall.
Now: My husband.

*WHO WERE YOU?*
Kid: The youngest in my family. Incredibly shy. A four-eyed, braces-wearing, taller than all the other kids in class, brainiac (aka, Nerd!). In a black hole after my mother's death.
Age 18: College freshmen trying to find my way. Trying new things and listening to my heart. A bit more confident.
Now: Still shy and trying to find what it is I am meant to do on this great earth. A wife, a sister, a daughter, a friend, a coworker.

I…tag…YOU!! Do this…it was a lot of fun

Toy Catalogue

Unless you have children (which I don't...not yet), have young relatives or have close friends who are parents of young children, it's not expected that you'd be hip to the cool toys of the season. I know for certain that I fall into that category. For instance, what was last year's Hannah Montana craze is this year's Twilight rampage (or is it HSM?); what was once Pictionary is now Wii (or is it XBox?). It's hard to keep up. And that's just for the "older" kids. I'm totally lost when it comes to the hot list for those under, say, 10.

So, why am I surprised every year when our company does its charity holiday gift giving initiative, I select a child who wants a toy I have never heard of in my life? Last year it was the Backyardigans. I had no clue. Luckily, a coworker had a young granddaughter who also liked those characters, so she helped me. This year, it's Elmo Dance and Learn. Now, I know who Elmo is. That part is simple. What I didn't know is that Elmo Dance and Learn is not, in fact, a dancing furry monster that giggles when you press his hand. It, as I've learned, is a mat for dancing....and learning. (I just thought I'd share my new-found knowledge for those of you in my shoes.) I still can't find the darn thing in stores, but that's besides the point.

When I was young, it was simple year after year: Barbie! Loved her. I had all sorts of Barbies, and accessories, including her townhouse, her Corvette, her McDonald's; then there was Ken, Theresa, and Skipper, and some other cousin/sister/friend whose name escapes me...and the horses....Oh, it was great. I don't think Barbie has the same luster any more. She doesn't even look the same. Even though Barbie just won a legal battle against Bratz dolls, I don't even know if either is popular with girls anymore.

I was in the toy section of a store today. They still sell Lincoln Logs. Can you believe that? With all the gizmos and gadgets out there now, they still sell the simplest (and most boring, if you ask me) toy.

I'm not sure what my point is today, except that suddenly I am reminded again how old I'm getting and how different childhood seems through these adult eyes.

High School: The Requiem?

The other day I ran into an old classmate from high school. I haven't seen her, in person, since the day we graduated, over 12 years ago. I say "in person" because, of course, there is always the virtual class reunion of facebook.com (I'm sorry, classmates.com; let's face facts - you just never possessed the same luster or the addictive quality of facebook.) For the most part, after graduation, it was like the majority of my classmates just dropped off the face of the earth, and - like that long-lost Hollywood actor or actress, if they are not continually in the public eye, you just assume they are dead. All of a sudden with facebook now, it's like a miracle! They live! They have families! They live in California! They're...wow, they actually seem nice now!

I envy those people who rejoice in recollecting stories about high school and claim that those days of teen angst were the best of their lives. My high school years, well...let's just say, I became a much happier person after high school. Like most people, I was awkward and shy and had, like, zero confidence. My home front situation was less than ideal and contained enough material for several Lifetime (or maybe even Sci-Fi) movies. It was only compounded by the fact that my two best friends transferred around the same time, leaving me to my own defenses when everyone already seemed sewn into their cliques. It's not like people were mean to me; in fact, I think I got along with most people. But, paraphrasing what one person once said to me, "some people were more interesting than others." Yep. I suppose they were.

Then 12 years happen. Change happens. The class b*tch suddenly has a heart of gold, and the class beanpole suddenly has gained some muscle mass, and so on. We are now adults with careers, mortgages, maybe even families. Some of us have traveled extensively; some have moved to other states. Some have suffered tremendous losses; some have achieved tremendous success. Still, being as honest as we can with ourselves, that small fraction of who we were in high school will forever exist in the brains of our classmates.

I looked at my former classmate the other day, thinking two things: she's shorter and more soft spoken than I remember. I can only imagine what she thought about seeing me again. The good thing, though, is that I don't think either one of us cared - we were just happy to see each other.

Three Cheers

I saw this video on today's Good Morning America. This kid has that crowd in the palm of his hands. He's gonna go places with that kind of power! Aren't there some days you wish you could raise your hands and have the same reaction?

This just brought a smile to my face and thought I'd share:

Tag stag

With all the excitement of Halloween, the election, NaNoWriMo and just daily life, I forgot to tell you that I was tagged on Cosmopolite Kaffeeklatsch last week. I usually don't do the tagging thing - why? I don't know, I'm wacky like that - but I guess being tagged means it's time to share 7 random things about myself to keep the chain going:

1) I went to the same elementary school that my sister, my parents, and my grandparents attended
2) I'm addicted to Twizzlers candy
3) I almost died when I was two years old from meningitis
4) I was in college when I took my first and only trip to Disney World
5) The first car that I owned, all by myself, for the first time was a Honda del sol, and it was totaled a month after I bought it
6) I'm a Leo
7) My first concert ever was to see The Cure

So, now it's time to tag 7 others:
Coming full circle...again and again
Lilly's Life
Me and the Blue Skies
Rambling Rose
Life as I know it
My Random Thoughts
Christinchen's Soapbox

From Where I Come

Ever since I was young, I have had heard bits and pieces about my ancestory - mostly from my mother's side - so I knew enough in general terms to understand (somewhat) my cultural roots. Like many Americans, my ethnic composition is a hodge podge of several groups, none of which you would immediately be able to detect by just looking at me. My family has been in the United States for a few generation now so I'm about as exotic as Wonder Bread. Because we are a nation that likes to push people into boxes to make things easier, I'm considered "white." I hate that. Yes, my skin is on the pastey side, but I'm not "white." Same goes for "black," "yellow," "olive," and so on. People are not colors. We are heritages and cultures and stories and history. If you're going to assign me to a color, at least pick a pretty one, like "rose" or "indigo."

But I digress. Back to my ancestory. So, my maiden name is not a common one, and most people really don't know where it came from. (For the sake of privacy, I will not give my last name here, but those of you who know me can follow along at home). It's Russian, folks. Or Ukranian, depending on the year you're talking about. People don't often believe the name's roots because it doesn't end in "-ov" or "-ski." I will say this - as with alot of names (just try and dispute it, government), upon entry into the U.S., someone decided to add an extra letter to the name so instead of "-alo" it became "-ailo." And so the name stuck.

Why all this talk about last names and heritage? Well, last week, I found out, under no uncertain terms, that I'm also Hungarian. Or Austrian, depending on the year you're talking about. I had heard rumors drifting in the stratosphere that I had relatives from the Austria-Hungary Empire. As it turned out, it was my paternal grandmother's mother's family. Thanks to the website Ellis Island and some help from my aunt, I saw with my own eyes the ship's record of my great grandmother's passage, who left Hungary at age 7 with her siblings and mother and sailed aboard the passenger ship Derfflinger from Bremen, Germany; her father came a few years earlier. In fact, today, October 21, is the 105th anniversary of my great, great grandfather's arrival into New York aboard the Kaiser Wilhelm der Grosse.

I can only imagine the hardships they must have faced. It's bad enough to endure cramped quarters on a passenger ship for weeks amongst strangers harboring who-knows-what kind of diseases. It's downright heartbreaking to be so desperate to leave your homeland to seek a better life for your family regardless of the risk to your own; to arrive on a foreign shore not speaking the language or looking the part, coming from shear poverty into more poverty, and trying to improve your standing despite heavy xenophobia and beliefs that you are another species altogether. But they overcame those barriers, just as my maternal relatives from Ireland, Wales, and the Netherlands did. I won't get into the story of my Mohawk relatives; that will be another post.

I guess I could make several points here and go off on a diatribe comparing my relatives' story with the current immigrant situation, assimilation or lack thereof, and how xenophobia still exists and what will the presidential candidates do about it and so on. But I won't. You can do that. I'm just happy to have a connection and a tangible piece of my ancestral puzzle. It's not the only piece, and I cannot wait to learn more. I do know that many records, on both sides of my family, were destroyed either in fires or whatnot years ago, so I'm not sure how far back the trail goes. Has anyone researched his/her family ties? What sites are good? Has anyone tried the Mormon Genealogy Library?

Stamped Out

As mentioned yesterday, I recently came across some old letters from a few pen pals I had back in grade school.

One girl, Crystal B., was from Thorndale, TX and I started writing to her through a program arranged through our schools. The second girl, Jackie C., was from Clondalkin, Ireland, just outside of Dublin, and that connection started with a girl scout project. My writing friendships with both Crystal and Jackie lasted about 3 years - between 5th and 8th grade. I don't recall any of us writing much beyond that point in time. There were two other pen pals that didn't work out so well: a boy from France, and a girl from Midland, TX. I have a feeling the boy didn't write or understand English well (or maybe he didn't want a girl as a pen pal); whatever the reason, he never responded. The girl from Midland wrote her whole life story in the first letter; she must have thought I was a jerk for asking where Midland was and telling her that there was no such town in New Jersey as Indian Falls where she said her friend lived, because she never wrote back, either. Ah, c'est la vie.

I enjoyed having pen pals. Most of my friends had pen pals then, too. It was the thing to do in the pre-Internet days. Can you imagine - taking the time to WRITE a thoughtful letter, maybe include a drawing or magazine clipping or something; ADDRESS AN ENVELOPE and maybe include a doodle on the back flap, and STAMP the letter?? Preposterous! But that's how we did it, kids, back in ancient times.

I learned so much about other places in the world and what people were like, whether we shared similar interests, and so on. It was a great experience. But what made it really great was receiving MAIL. As a kid, the only mail you get if you're lucky are annual birthday cards (maybe) and perhaps a monthly subscription to Highlights or some kind of children's magazine. You just don't get mail. So, with my letters (especially the ones from Europe) I felt important. I felt there was a connection and it made me smile then, and it does now re-reading the letters. You don't get that from e-mail. Well, I suppose you could, but would you really print out each e-mail and save over the years? It just wouldn't have the same effect.

Today, if you do a Google search for pen pals, you'll come across mostly Web based services. "Hey, kids, you can send more e-mails in addition to all the other Web-based things you do! Hooray. Watch out for the pedophiles." Just another nail in the coffin of childhood. There is Student Letter Exchange that actually let kids MAIL letters! But, I doubt there is such an interest anymore. Kids, for the most part, don't even know how to write a decent sentence without "texting lingo." Such is a sad day for the English language.

As for Crystal and Jackie - I don't know where you are or if you even remember me, but I hope you're both doing well. If you read this, send me your e-mail address and I'll drop you a line.

Tripping down Memory Lane

This weekend, I stopped by my father's house to help clean out some of the things I left behind when I moved out a few years ago. Since then, I got married and while our little house is wonderful, it just does not have storage space. At all. Like, zilch. My intent was not to leave things at my father's house, but with hardly any room for daily goods, I took what I needed and left what I didn't. After a few years of empty-nesting it, my father decided that he didn't want to build a shrine to his youngest daughter (come on, dad! don't you love me anymore?) so after storing my {ahem} stuff in his house, he ever so kindly asked me to remove it from the premises so that he could actually use the space. Ugh.

Lucky for me, dad became impatient and basically threw whatever was in my old bedroom in boxes for me to sort through, making my job of sorting ever so much easier. Honestly, though - rediscovering bits and pieces of my past as I sifted through box after box was really....weird...but kind of a fun weird. Like, going through someone else's things. With the exception of a few items that were, in fact, someone else's things - my sister's - they were all mine and I couldn't believe it:

The '80s Childhood

• My Girl Scout uniform and badges
  
• Scholastic News from grade school. News of the day included the Challenger explosion and Berlin Wall tumbling down
  
• Letters from my pen pals circa late '80s/early '90s: Crystal from Thorndale, TX and Jackie from Dublin, Ireland
  
• All my NKOTB memorabilia, like posters, buttons, dolls, trading cards, comic books, magazines...I think I paid for their retirement
  
• A local newspaper from '91 announcing that the U.S. entered the Persian Gulf War and remembering my sister's then-boyfriend going off to war
  
• Statue of Liberty commemorative pencils from 1986
  
• My hot pink and purple Caboodles with a scattering of scrunchies, headbands, makeup, movie ticket stubs, phone numbers
  
• Lisa Frank stickers
  

The High School Years

• Prayer cards, postcards, thank you's, birthday and Christmas cards from family and friends...some still in my life, some not
  
• Triangle-folded notes passed in high school classes, including one from my German-exchange student
  
• A newspaper clipping from '95 with a photo of the high school senior I had a crush on winning a basketball game
  
• A collage meant to have been in my senior year high school yearbook with photos of friends who transferred schools years before
  
• Mixed tapes of dance music I probably would still listen to, had I a cassette player anymore
  
• Likewise for the broken Walkman

College and Beyond

• Swizzle sticks from when I finally turned 21
  
• Canceled rent checks from senior year in college
  
• The approval letter declaring I would graduate cum laude after completing original research for my honors thesis in psychology with an "A"
  
• Dried bouquets from all the weddings I had been in
  
• Early copies of my post-college résumé
  
• Recruiter cards, from places I had no interest in then but now find are my clients
• Directions to my former boss's house for her annual Christmas party
  
• A list of stolen CDs, created from memory (yes, I'm that neurotic about my music), after someone broke into my car...including "Take Your Time" by Love Bite
  
  

This list may not seem extraordinary to you. To me, it's a small sampling of over 20 years of my life. During my sorting, I had no emotional attachment to most of the junk in those boxes and just tossed away. Then I came across this stuff and was instantly transported back to those days when Little Chrissy was just trying to make her way through the small world that surrounded her. I was reminded of all the embarrassing moments and occasionally, the sunnier times when, for the briefest of moments, I felt invincible. I'm happy to say my world has opened up much more since then, but I am a bit sad that I don't really relate to my younger self anymore. I guess that's life.

Why did I hold on to this junk for all these years? I guess I felt like there was some significance there. Am I the only one my age who is now just letting go of her past?

A Snippet of Little Me

Funny how nostalgia can wash over you fast and furiously, without warning and seemingly triggered by anything - a song on the radio, formation of clouds, a walk down the street. If you read my blog yesterday, it should be of no surprise where this waltz down memory lane is coming from - the impending slide out of one decade into another, and the unavoidable comparision of myself then and now. So is it a mere coincidence that last night when I turned on the TV, Disney's "The Kid" was playing? (And by the way, if you've never seen it, let's just say, it's not a complicated movie but it's cute and amusing and even stodgy folks would get the message.)

Like most adults, I probably would never recognize myself if Little Me walked up today and said "hello." What would I tell her about the world and how things would change, both good and bad? Would I tell her anything, or let nature take its course? I look at this old photo of me (go ahead, you can laugh), thinking of me with skinned knees (and I still have the straight-line scars to prove it), thinking nothing bad would ever happen. Ah, innocence. All in all, though - I would tell her that she will be fine...a little banged up, but just fine.

Alot of writers have explored this pseudo-existentialist idea, and have tossled with the theme "If I knew then what I know now." I remember having a "discussion" with a close friend a few years ago and my position was, if you approached life and viewed it the same way now as an adult as you did when you were, say 10 or 15, you had issues. She disagreed. Maybe Emily Franklin's "It's a Wonderful Lie: 26 Truths about Life in Your Twenties" or Ellyn Spragins' book "What I Know Now: Letters to My Younger Self" would have helped me make my point.

Then again, maybe Little Me would remind not to forget who I was, and how there's still a piece of her left inside.

And you may ask yourself...

Another milestone in my life is approaching and is looming over me like some megalith at Stonehenge. I admit, I'm having trouble with this one (psst - my birthday). I suppose it started a few years ago when I had to admit that I don't remember things as sharply as I once did, that I have more gray hairs than I can count, and that my body is already showing signs of breakdown. OK, maybe I'm being a little dramatic. I still get complimented that I look (and probably act) younger than I am. Most times, though, I'm told that I look tired - a.k.a., the polite way of saying I look like crap. I now relate more to the geriatric population than to the gen-Yer's. Still, it's been a great ride so far.

I think about the Talking Heads' song "Once in a Lifetime" and think, well, "how did I get here?" A birthday is as good of a time as any to take inventory on that wild roadtrip to see where I've been:

- 12 sheltered years of Catholic schooling

- 1 foreign exchange student

- 1 death in immediate family

- 4 years as a conservative at one of the most liberal colleges

- 7 beautiful countries visited outside of the US

- 1 major car wreck

- 1 minor back surgery

- 1 wonderful wedding to one extraordinary man

- 4 residences that I've called "home"

- 3 companies where I've worked since college

- 6 people that I would trust with my life

- 1,576 songs currently on my ipod

- 1 movie seen in the theatre in the last year

- 0 casts worn for broken bones

- countless friends lost, found and made

Probably more than you need to, or care to, know, but there it is. Of course, there's much more to this ever-evolving story. It's interesting to reflect on how things have changed, how the world has changed, how I have changed...and will continue to change. I ask "where does that highway go to?" It is stretched out far ahead of me and I'm looking forward to the next lag of this roadtrip.