Archive for November, 2004

Something I love about Flagstaff weather:  we may get a nasty storm coming through, but the next day it’s sunny and beautiful and all of the snow melts away.  I have heard that we average more snow a year than most northern cities but because of the fact that we get so much sun, you would never know it.

It’s a glorious day out today.

—

As I’ve said previously, we were poor and homeless before anyone ever talked about the national crisis of those things.  As a kid, though, the only time you really know that you’re poor is when you can’t afford the same things as the other kids you’re hanging around or if you somehow look different than them because your clothes are frayed or older styles.

I remember my first pair of Nike tennis shoes.  Nikes were it.  Everyone wore Nikes and HASH jeans when I was pre-teen/early teen.  If you didn’t have those, you weren’t anyone.

Most of the girls I know wore white leather Nikes with a blue swoosh.  They were expensive.  Even back then, I think they were close to $50 a pair and my parents would never be able to justify spending that kind of money on tennis shoes even if they had that kind of money to spend.

I dreamt of those white leather Nikes.  To this day, I can see them.  They were glorious. 

Michelle had a pair of those.  Michelle was the person I looked up to.  She dressed well.  She had all of the right things.  She set the tone for our age bracket at school.  Michelle was as much “it” as Nikes and HASH jeans were.

We shopped at Kmart.  We didn’t shop at the mall like others could.  We didn’t go to the big department stores.  We usually got things on bluelight special and at closeout clearances.  We didn’t beg for things that couldn’t be bought.  We were those quiet kids in the store that tried things on quickly and got out quickly because Mom knew exactly what she needed.

One day, in the midsts of all of the racks of shoes, I saw them.  In between black patent fake-leather and shoes that resembled Keds, I saw them.  That glorious music came on (you know…the music that signifies something god-like is in the air…horns and strings played).  A light shown from above and illuminated them.

Neon green with a yellow swoosh.  Canvas.  Nikes in a Kmart.   Seriously.  Nothing like this had EVER happened.  Nikes in a Kmart.  At a price that was similar to other shoes.

Nikes.

It seems so funny now (especially since I rarely wear sneakers and don’t like how they feel on my feet).  At the time, though, I was overjoyed.

Nikes.

I bought my first pair of Nikes that day.  They were so ugly (and that’s probably why they were at Kmart!).  But they were mine.

Michelle even complimented me on them (probably because she was kind and polite and my friend and knew how much a pair of Nikes meant to me).

They weren’t hand-me-downs.  They were new.

My first pair of Nikes.  Ugly, yes.  But they were mine.

lili, it is snowing up here.  It’s been snowing off and on since Saturday and we’re supposed to get up to 4 more inches today.  I’m still stuck in bed but it does look pretty cold outside.

I do still want a horse.  I have enough land now to have up to 3 horses of my own but I don’t have a barn nor do I have the cashflow to own one yet.  Plus, I want to be able to take care of one properly before committing to that.  I actually have coworkers who are willing to show me all of the duties that go along with owning a horse…how to properly care for them, etc.  They do classes on this for their 4-H groups and are willing to share that knowledge with me, as well.  If I’m able to afford a horse, I will definitely take them up on it.

—

There was never a time in my childhood when we were much more than poor.  There were times, however, when we were more poor than others.

We were homeless before homeless was vogue.

When we left San Diego and moved to Montana, we left with barely anything but what would fit inside of an old Metro van (remember what milk trucks and ice cream trucks looked like?  That’s what a Metro van looked like).

My dad had fashioned a way to put up cots so they stacked like bunk beds in that van.  My brother, Todd, and I slept in those cots.  My parents slept on the floor with my little brother who was still an infant.

We heated the van with an old kerosene heater that was brown and had mica windows.  I remember those because occasionally the mica would flake off and the windows would be different thicknesses in areas.  I loved how mica could do that.  It was an endless fascination for me and, perhaps, the precursor to my fascination with geology.

I can remember seeing the flames through those windows.  They danced a beautiful orange glow.  The heat coming off of that heater was powerful but whenever I woke up in the morning, it would be so cold.  I wouldn’t want to get out of bed because it was so cold.

We lived in that van for what seemed like an eternity.  We lived in a KOA campground for a time.  At least there, we had showers, a laundry facility, and even a pool.

One of my most cherished childhood memories happened at that KOA.

My brother, Todd, and I found out that the campground had bike rentals.  They had regular bikes but they also had bicycles-built-for-two.  It was $1 an hour (this was the early-mid 70s).  That was a lot of money, though, and my parents couldn’t really afford to splurge a dollar to let us do something as silly as riding a bike.

Somehow, we got the money together and for one glorious hour of my childhood, we rode a bike together.

I don’t think I had every felt so free.

That is another day that I can remember the color yellow.  The sun was shining down on us.  There was laughter.  There was joy.

It was a perfect moment.

I’ve been dealing with a pretty bad upper respiratory infection the last week or so and haven’t felt like doing much.  I’ve been in bed nearly constantly since Friday afternoon and, quite frankly, I’m tired of it.

I’ve noticed something about being sick, though.  I feel the most lonely at that time.  If my phone doesn’t ring, if I don’t get an e-mail or a response to an e-mail I’ve sent, I feel more isolated and more lonely than I would if those things happened when I’m feeling well.

I have way too much time to think about it when I’m sick and it plays games in my head.

—

For most of my life, my family has lived in rural areas.  We had stints in cities:  we lived in San Diego long enough for my brother to be born, we lived in Las Vegas for 4 years.  For the most part, though, we have always lived in fairly rural areas.

From the age of 6 until the age of 13, we lived in Missoula, Montana.  The years spent in Missoula are still the fodder for great stories that we share with others.  We lived there when Mount St. Helens blew in 1980.  We lived there when streakers would jump off of the bridge into the river.  We fished for crawdads in the ditches, watched the Budweiser Clydesdales walk down the cobblestone, rode our bikes for miles and miles and miles, went swimming at the high schools, and became a family in Missoula.

We lived in several places in Missoula.  My favorite house, though, was the most rural of them. 

Our next door neighbor, Paula, was my best friend.  She and I would spend our summer afternoons doing cartwheels in the grass, avoiding bee stings, playing Life for hours and hours, and just roaming around her parents’ property looking for things.

Paula’s family was more on the wealthy side.  We were the poor neighbors. 

Paula had a Tennessee Walker.  Paula could ride this horse and did so in shows.

She let me ride him once.  Once was all it took and I was in love.  I would talk to her horse whenever I saw him.  I would let him know how beautiful I thought he was and how much he meant to me.

I think horses held a fascination for my brother and I.  There was something about them.

This is a hazy memory.

Some neighbors went on vacation.  Their horses were, of course, left at home.  They were out in a field.

My brother and another friend and I went out into the field and got a horse each for us.   We rode the horses.

Just that once.

We stole horses to ride them.

Does that make me a horse thief?  People were shot in Montana for that.

That’s how badly I wanted a horse.  I was willing to do stupid things in order to have a moment with them.

I don’t know why my mom was crying.  I can’t remember. 

If I think about it, though, I would say this:  she was crying because she was so young.  She was 20 or 21 with 2 kids.  Her husband was off on a tour in the Navy.  She had the weight of the world upon her slight shoulders.  She was 3000 miles from her family.  She felt alone.  She was scared.  She was overwhelmed.

—

Little girls and horses

I’ve heard that it’s a common theme for little girls to love ponies and horses.  We all wanted one when we were younger, didn’t we?

I don’t know if that’s true for everyone.

For me, it was definitely true.  I wanted a horse.  I’ve wanted a horse for as long as I can remember.  I don’t even know why.  They fascinate me.  They capture me with their strength, their size, their stature.  They seem regal to me.

They are the animals of all of the books I’ve read my entire life.  They pulled the carriages and they carried the heroes on their backs.  They were cared for lovingly and combed with care.  I could smell the horses when they were described in books.

When I was 10 or 11, I decided to take matters into my own hands.  It was a beautiful summer day in Missoula, Montana.  The sun was shining.  The morning glories had opened their lovely white petals to welcome the day.

I found out that someone had a shetland pony for sale.  I wanted it.  I wanted it so badly that I would do anything for that pony.

The pony had a halter and a rope attached to that halter.  She liked me.  She followed me easily.

I walked her up to my house.

I yelled to my mom to come outside.

“Mom.  She’s only $100.  Can I PLEASE have her?  I need her.  I love her.  She loves me.  Please?  Please, Mom?”

I have no idea what went through my mom’s mind at that moment.  I suppose I may have looked earnest (and I was).  I suppose I may have been a bit forceful.  I’m sure it was distressing.

We were poor.  The meat we ate came from the hunts my dad went on.  The vegetables we ate came from the garden we all tilled and weeded.

A horse was a luxury that could not be afforded.

But she was ONLY $100.

I remember that so clearly.  I also remember so clearly what my mom said.

“She may only be $100.  However, it will cost that much to feed her every week.  That’s $400 a month.  That’s money we don’t have.”

I was devastated.  My dream was shattered.  This pony loved me.  I loved her.

I think I felt a little lost.  I remember feeling so incredibly sad.

I took that pony back home but it was not the end of my fascination with horses.

I think that I found ways to try to fill the disappointment of not getting that pony. 

And that is a story for tomorrow…