Viola is Russian. Her lips are dark, her nails and clothing exclusively black. She has warm blonde hair and a small frame. Her teeth are not perfect. The incisors overlap the laterals and they retain a warm yellow color, due mostly to the coffee and cigarettes she ingests daily. But Viola does not see her teeth as a flaw. In fact, she barely notices them.
This is because Viola is obsessed with her eyebrows.
Everyday, Viola wakes up two hours before work. She showers. She dries her hair. She eats a Nutri-grain bar. She brushes her teeth. She gargles. She applies her mahogany lipstick. She walks naked toward the mirror to check for patches of cellulite. Still dimple-free. Depending on her mood, she may make her bed. She dresses. And she sits.
She lights a cigarette, turns on Bette Midler's Greatest Hits and flips the switch to employ the 150 watt bulbs above her mirror. She takes in the moment with a deep inhale and a puff outward. She often inches her face so close to the mirror that her nose bumps into it and she has to angle slightly sideways. With the hand that isn't clutching the blazen Pall Mall, she picks up her 200 dollar pair of Shu Uemura tweezers, and she removes them from their plastic case. (They originally came in a metal one, but Viola worried that the metal would dull the tip). And everyday, she spends an hour and thirteen minutes looking for non-existent eyebrows to pluck.
She knew it was getting bad when her eyebrows started resembling Whoopi Goldberg's, but she couldn't stop. She would pull a single one out, then tap the mirror with the blade of the tweezer, leaving a remnant brow behind, clinging to the mirror by its root. Instead of satisfaction at having removed a stray, she felt she needed to remove another. And another. And another. Until, of course, the point came when there were none to remove.
So now Viola has had to invest in a very expensive eyebrow pencil. While very expensive, Viola has not quite mastered the art of the color-in, so usually one of her eyebrows looks slightly more arched than the other. Her appearance is rather off-kilter.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The Day I Hated New York
Its 9 am on a Sunday.
Let me set the scene for you. Two friends of mine are staying at the Waldorf. I go visit them on Saturday night, and we end up drinking wine. A fair deal of wine. Its late. I don't feel like catching a cab home, much less taking the six train up four stops, so I decide I'm going to spend the night with them.
The next morning is Sunday. Yes, THE Sunday in question. Now I hate Sundays anyways, with their promise of the Monday to follow, but I knew this one was going to be a real mess from the second I woke up. I wake up with slight hangover symptoms to the Waldorf wake-up call, which happens to be across the room from me and has rang at least 67 times. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, like waking up to a hotel wake-up call. I mean, do they purposely choose the most loud and obnoxious ring, or is it law-required?
I get up and put my clothes from the night before back on, something I positively despise, which has certainly kept any slutty instinct I may have had at bay thus far in life. My contacts are all but stuck to my eyeballs and my hair is best described as a tangle of bleach.
"Hey," Justin yells from the bedroom. "Do you want to take all those bottles of wine with you? Cause we can't take them on the plane."
So while it is confirmed that we drank copious amounts of wine the night before, apparently we did not drink enough. I grab a paper bag that's laying on the floor, throw in the four bottles of wine plus a bottle of water from the mini-bar (they're staying at the Waldorf for heaven sake), give Justin and Christy hugs and kisses and wishings of a safe flight, and head out the door.
First of all, I kind of get lost leaving the Waldorf. I'm sorry, if you've never been I'm sure you're laughing, but this hotel is like, BIG. And we're in some private elevator entrance that leads to Lord knows where. Luckily this gives me time to kill 1/3 of my hangover by downing 5/6 of my 7 3/4 dollar bottle of water.
I arrive at the subway and, of course, it takes its merry time coming to pick me and my fellow uptown commuters up. And its full. Really, really full. I stand trying to balance myself, my huge purse, my bag of four full bottles of wine and 1/6 bottle of water, between a 12-year-old who has apparently already taken up smoking and an old woman of sorts. Side note: If you are a man and you do not offer your seat to the old woman, you have serious things coming to you dude.
So the subway gets stuck. I kid you not. It sits motionless and quiet on the track for at least five full minutes. Now I am aware that five minutes does not sound like a long time, but imagine sitting stuffed in a hot subway car with nowhere to move, carrying at least 25 pounds worth of materials and inhaling fresh cigarette stench. I can't decide which is going to happen to me first, a shoulder break or death by inhalation. My contacts are dry. My feet hurt from the heels I was in last night, and subsequently, am in this morning. There's a possibility I'm coming down with some sort of rare but deadly throat disease.
I finally make it past 68th street, Hunter College, and up to 77th. I anxiously push my way out of the subway and begin walking rapidly towards daylight before I have some sort of panic attack.
And that's when it happens.
Remember that 1/6 bottle of water I had left? That I so carelessly threw in the paper bag, filled with four bottles of wine?
It leaked.
It leaked on the paper bag.
Do you know what happens when paper bags get wet?
They break.
They break, and three out of four bottles of wine break with it. Right in the middle of the subway station. All over my silver dress from the night before, and my patent heels, and the floor, and some splashes on a a child, and there are four bottles worth of sharp glass strewn about, and I'm in the middle of it, and its all red wine so its not like it camouflages, and my bag is broken and I almost drop my purse and tears well up in my eyes and I think Oh My God I'm going to start crying in the subway and I stand there stunned because I have no idea what to do.
Deep breath.
I decide there is nothing I can do about the broken bottles. I don't generally carry a broom and mop with me on my journeys, so I look to the subway counter to signal someone that I need help and of course no one is present. I chalk one up to bad timing, decide my mental health is more important than waiting around for help, pick up my unbroken bottle, stick it in my purse, and take a step forward.
"Oh my God, are you okay?"
I whip around and find a young man gazing concernedly at me. Now then. I knew not everyone in New York was selfish.
"Yeah," I say with a feeble attempt at a laugh. "I don't think there's anything else I can do."
"Hmm. Well I'm glad you're alright." He says.
"Thanks. Have a nice day."
At this point I expect the young man to wander off into city oblivion, never to be seen or heard from by me again. But apparently he has other plans.
"Do you think this may have been a blessing?" He asks, as he follows me outside and east. "Do you think that maybe you're an alcoholic and this was your wake-up call?"
"Um, NO I definitely do not think that." Dirty look. Keep walking.
"Maybe you're pregnant and this was a higher power warning you."
"Um, NO definitely not that either." Scathing look. Keep walking.
"Don't you think you should consider, even for one second, that this is all a little part in God's master plan of telling you not to drink?"
"NOPE."
"Why's that?"
I spin around and reach into my purse.
"Cause he left me with one bottle."
Let me set the scene for you. Two friends of mine are staying at the Waldorf. I go visit them on Saturday night, and we end up drinking wine. A fair deal of wine. Its late. I don't feel like catching a cab home, much less taking the six train up four stops, so I decide I'm going to spend the night with them.
The next morning is Sunday. Yes, THE Sunday in question. Now I hate Sundays anyways, with their promise of the Monday to follow, but I knew this one was going to be a real mess from the second I woke up. I wake up with slight hangover symptoms to the Waldorf wake-up call, which happens to be across the room from me and has rang at least 67 times. There is nothing, I repeat, nothing, like waking up to a hotel wake-up call. I mean, do they purposely choose the most loud and obnoxious ring, or is it law-required?
I get up and put my clothes from the night before back on, something I positively despise, which has certainly kept any slutty instinct I may have had at bay thus far in life. My contacts are all but stuck to my eyeballs and my hair is best described as a tangle of bleach.
"Hey," Justin yells from the bedroom. "Do you want to take all those bottles of wine with you? Cause we can't take them on the plane."
So while it is confirmed that we drank copious amounts of wine the night before, apparently we did not drink enough. I grab a paper bag that's laying on the floor, throw in the four bottles of wine plus a bottle of water from the mini-bar (they're staying at the Waldorf for heaven sake), give Justin and Christy hugs and kisses and wishings of a safe flight, and head out the door.
First of all, I kind of get lost leaving the Waldorf. I'm sorry, if you've never been I'm sure you're laughing, but this hotel is like, BIG. And we're in some private elevator entrance that leads to Lord knows where. Luckily this gives me time to kill 1/3 of my hangover by downing 5/6 of my 7 3/4 dollar bottle of water.
I arrive at the subway and, of course, it takes its merry time coming to pick me and my fellow uptown commuters up. And its full. Really, really full. I stand trying to balance myself, my huge purse, my bag of four full bottles of wine and 1/6 bottle of water, between a 12-year-old who has apparently already taken up smoking and an old woman of sorts. Side note: If you are a man and you do not offer your seat to the old woman, you have serious things coming to you dude.
So the subway gets stuck. I kid you not. It sits motionless and quiet on the track for at least five full minutes. Now I am aware that five minutes does not sound like a long time, but imagine sitting stuffed in a hot subway car with nowhere to move, carrying at least 25 pounds worth of materials and inhaling fresh cigarette stench. I can't decide which is going to happen to me first, a shoulder break or death by inhalation. My contacts are dry. My feet hurt from the heels I was in last night, and subsequently, am in this morning. There's a possibility I'm coming down with some sort of rare but deadly throat disease.
I finally make it past 68th street, Hunter College, and up to 77th. I anxiously push my way out of the subway and begin walking rapidly towards daylight before I have some sort of panic attack.
And that's when it happens.
Remember that 1/6 bottle of water I had left? That I so carelessly threw in the paper bag, filled with four bottles of wine?
It leaked.
It leaked on the paper bag.
Do you know what happens when paper bags get wet?
They break.
They break, and three out of four bottles of wine break with it. Right in the middle of the subway station. All over my silver dress from the night before, and my patent heels, and the floor, and some splashes on a a child, and there are four bottles worth of sharp glass strewn about, and I'm in the middle of it, and its all red wine so its not like it camouflages, and my bag is broken and I almost drop my purse and tears well up in my eyes and I think Oh My God I'm going to start crying in the subway and I stand there stunned because I have no idea what to do.
Deep breath.
I decide there is nothing I can do about the broken bottles. I don't generally carry a broom and mop with me on my journeys, so I look to the subway counter to signal someone that I need help and of course no one is present. I chalk one up to bad timing, decide my mental health is more important than waiting around for help, pick up my unbroken bottle, stick it in my purse, and take a step forward.
"Oh my God, are you okay?"
I whip around and find a young man gazing concernedly at me. Now then. I knew not everyone in New York was selfish.
"Yeah," I say with a feeble attempt at a laugh. "I don't think there's anything else I can do."
"Hmm. Well I'm glad you're alright." He says.
"Thanks. Have a nice day."
At this point I expect the young man to wander off into city oblivion, never to be seen or heard from by me again. But apparently he has other plans.
"Do you think this may have been a blessing?" He asks, as he follows me outside and east. "Do you think that maybe you're an alcoholic and this was your wake-up call?"
"Um, NO I definitely do not think that." Dirty look. Keep walking.
"Maybe you're pregnant and this was a higher power warning you."
"Um, NO definitely not that either." Scathing look. Keep walking.
"Don't you think you should consider, even for one second, that this is all a little part in God's master plan of telling you not to drink?"
"NOPE."
"Why's that?"
I spin around and reach into my purse.
"Cause he left me with one bottle."
The Day I Loved New York
The moon is eclipsing tonight.
I creep out of trivia night, hoping my absence will go unnoticed by my peers. The night is clear and black, and its late enough so that the cabs have silenced their horns and a certain tranquility exudes from First Avenue. Away from the smell of beer and bourbon, my breath escapes from the scarf that seconds as a face muffle; my fingertips burn from the Atlantic wind. Faint strains of James Taylor and Janis Joplin can be heard from bars down the street. And there it is. A soft, burnt sienna blanket embracing all but the top of the doe-eyed moon. And though its New York, and I can’t see the stars, I know they’re there.
I creep out of trivia night, hoping my absence will go unnoticed by my peers. The night is clear and black, and its late enough so that the cabs have silenced their horns and a certain tranquility exudes from First Avenue. Away from the smell of beer and bourbon, my breath escapes from the scarf that seconds as a face muffle; my fingertips burn from the Atlantic wind. Faint strains of James Taylor and Janis Joplin can be heard from bars down the street. And there it is. A soft, burnt sienna blanket embracing all but the top of the doe-eyed moon. And though its New York, and I can’t see the stars, I know they’re there.
Far Left Corner
Everyday that I leave my apartment to do some writing at my favorite haunt, I see the same couple. They never bring computers or studying material. All they do is make-out and take pictures of each other on their camera phones. Then they make out some more. At first it made me uncomfortable to be in their line of vision, but now I am semi-fascinated.
I wonder about them, this ebony-haired, bad-skinned, skinny-jeaned duo. What is it that they do? They don’t bring work material. They don’t appear to be talking about anything serious. In fact, they rarely talk at all.
I imagine their names are Daniel and Hillary. They work nights, but not in a dirty way. They like to go to the Park on weekends with their adopted pit-bull mix. They split most finances. It is Daniel’s first serious relationship but not Hillary’s. She had an affair with a 56-year-old investment banker when she was 17, but, of course, will never reveal this to Daniel.
I wonder about them, this ebony-haired, bad-skinned, skinny-jeaned duo. What is it that they do? They don’t bring work material. They don’t appear to be talking about anything serious. In fact, they rarely talk at all.
I imagine their names are Daniel and Hillary. They work nights, but not in a dirty way. They like to go to the Park on weekends with their adopted pit-bull mix. They split most finances. It is Daniel’s first serious relationship but not Hillary’s. She had an affair with a 56-year-old investment banker when she was 17, but, of course, will never reveal this to Daniel.
Roman Numerals are Tricky
I have an obsession with odd numbers. Everything must be odd in my mind. If I have two drinks, I need one more. If I have written four blogs, I will immediately compose another lame one about numbers. The only exception to this rule is the number "9", in which case I always want to make it 10.
The Resurgence of the Scrunchy
In what feels to be an inner battle between good and evil, man vs. himself, fight vs. flight, I have lately been entertaining the idea of wearing a scrunchy.
Yes, a scrunchy. You remember them. A wisp of colored cotton encircling a bit of elastic, wrapped snugly and carefully contorted around a ponytail. And the simple word itself probably brings back glorious visions of teased bangs and hairsprayed curls. Perhaps you remember wearing a red and green plaid one on Christmas, or taking your yearbook picture in one, or learning to ride a bike with one around your wrist. Perhaps you remember wearing one when you had your first crush or true love, or during a multiplication lesson, or that one time when you fell and skinned your knee and cried in front of the whole playground (hey, so I’m not an athlete).
Well, as the old saying goes, time stops for no man, and the eighties turned to the early nineties, and the early nineties turned into the mid-nineties, and alas, the scrunchy’s sartorial day in the sun was nearing an end. No longer were the fashionistas sporting them, but more so mothers living in Minnesota, doing their housework and eating dinners at TGI Fridays. So mass production is stopped, they are tossed like used tissue to the bottoms of drawers and trash cans, the very word can ignite a shudder. The world of fashion is a cruel, cruel, fickle one.
And yet, here we are, ten, twenty years later. Clearly fashion is ever evolving and recycling, and the 80’s and 90’s are here with a vengence. Hipsters around the city are wearing bright, tight denim with high tops and Henry Holland inspired t-shirts. High-waisted everything showed up on the runways of YSL, Phillip Lim, etcetera (though I’m certainly not implying this came about in the 80’s, just that “high-waisted” often conjures up images of stonewashed mom jeans from that time). Leggings as an entity are far from over for the masses. Flannels of the early 90’s have already been re-rocked by the Olsen twins.
Yes I just referenced the Olsen twins. I love those little Marlboro Red-smoking ladies.
So this is my question. How long, I ask you, until the scrunchy returns with a vengeance?
Perhaps it will be an extra, extra large scrunchy, editorial if you will. Or maybe it will follow the ongoing metallic or patent leather trend? Lucite? What are the limits? Will Nicolas Ghesquiere at Balenciaga make a matching one for future blazers? Will Dolce and Gabbana show an insanely tight corset-scrunchy stretching down the ponytail? Will Donna Karan design an “I Heart New York” one?
Most importantly, do I give into my inner battle and rock the scrunchy that very well may be put back on the map in the near future? Or do I fight the urge, fearing pre-fad ridicule?
All I know at this point is I will never re-wear my Hair-Deenie. You don't even want to know.
Yes, a scrunchy. You remember them. A wisp of colored cotton encircling a bit of elastic, wrapped snugly and carefully contorted around a ponytail. And the simple word itself probably brings back glorious visions of teased bangs and hairsprayed curls. Perhaps you remember wearing a red and green plaid one on Christmas, or taking your yearbook picture in one, or learning to ride a bike with one around your wrist. Perhaps you remember wearing one when you had your first crush or true love, or during a multiplication lesson, or that one time when you fell and skinned your knee and cried in front of the whole playground (hey, so I’m not an athlete).
Well, as the old saying goes, time stops for no man, and the eighties turned to the early nineties, and the early nineties turned into the mid-nineties, and alas, the scrunchy’s sartorial day in the sun was nearing an end. No longer were the fashionistas sporting them, but more so mothers living in Minnesota, doing their housework and eating dinners at TGI Fridays. So mass production is stopped, they are tossed like used tissue to the bottoms of drawers and trash cans, the very word can ignite a shudder. The world of fashion is a cruel, cruel, fickle one.
And yet, here we are, ten, twenty years later. Clearly fashion is ever evolving and recycling, and the 80’s and 90’s are here with a vengence. Hipsters around the city are wearing bright, tight denim with high tops and Henry Holland inspired t-shirts. High-waisted everything showed up on the runways of YSL, Phillip Lim, etcetera (though I’m certainly not implying this came about in the 80’s, just that “high-waisted” often conjures up images of stonewashed mom jeans from that time). Leggings as an entity are far from over for the masses. Flannels of the early 90’s have already been re-rocked by the Olsen twins.
Yes I just referenced the Olsen twins. I love those little Marlboro Red-smoking ladies.
So this is my question. How long, I ask you, until the scrunchy returns with a vengeance?
Perhaps it will be an extra, extra large scrunchy, editorial if you will. Or maybe it will follow the ongoing metallic or patent leather trend? Lucite? What are the limits? Will Nicolas Ghesquiere at Balenciaga make a matching one for future blazers? Will Dolce and Gabbana show an insanely tight corset-scrunchy stretching down the ponytail? Will Donna Karan design an “I Heart New York” one?
Most importantly, do I give into my inner battle and rock the scrunchy that very well may be put back on the map in the near future? Or do I fight the urge, fearing pre-fad ridicule?
All I know at this point is I will never re-wear my Hair-Deenie. You don't even want to know.
2004-"Nanny"
On a balmy July night in 1982, her left knee gave out. She fell, more from shock than from anything else. She rose, unharmed to her knowledge.Now generally speaking, the knee is not the most vital of all body parts. A lung going out, for example, would cause pandemonium of sorts. But a knee? Simply a doctor's visit, an "Apple a Day" speech, and a $10 bill to the smiling receptionist named Sue. After all, a knee's just a knee.
*****
Her eyes began having problems focusing. She had a cataract in her left eye and her perfect 20/20 vision was suddenly not so. For the first time in 82 years, she would have to rest blue plastic-rimmed frames on the tip of her nose.
She didn't mind. They went perfectly with her short white hair, favorite blue pantsuit and pearls.
*****
Born in Germany in the early 1900's, Esther moved to California when she was six, accompanied by mother, father, brother and sister. Upon arriving in America and facing financial struggle, her mother turned to sewing for a living and her minister father turned to alcohol. He died several years later, they would joke, of severe alcoholism and weak liver.
She went to school and excelled, fascinated but limited. She met her future husband Benjamin Prather there, became a registered nurse in Des Moines, and gave birth to three children, Robert, Dee and Kay. As their lives progressed, Esther learned a little something extra about her husband. He, like her father, was a raging alcoholic. She filed for divorce, something almost unheard of at the time, and neither she nor her three children ever spoke to Benjamin again. He was rumored to have died from cirrhosis of the liver two years later.
*****
After all three of her children moved to California, Esther decided it was for the best if she made the move out west too. She settled into a house on Peach Street, where, unbeknownst to her at the time, she would spend the rest of her life. Friends, family and nurses would come and go from that little house, but she would never live in a retirement or nursing home. Before her death, she would joke that this was simply for the fact that she couldn't drive herself there. She had never learned how.
*****
The best description of Esther was vivacious until the end. She would talk about current events and politics till the sun rose. She would feed her great-grandchildren gummy bears when their parents weren't looking, and dress-up Barbies and set up obstacles for G.I Joes. She would joke with the adults about her age and about the day that she would need a wheelchair to roll through airport terminals.
*****
At first it had just been her left knee. Then the pain spread up and down her left leg like tar, slowly and slickly maneuvering itself so that her leg would never feel quite the same. It moved on to her right leg. It wasn't easy to get out of bed anymore. What used to be a day -to-day routine had suddenly become a day-to-day struggle. Where it might have taken five minutes to stretch and reach for her glasses, it was now taking forty-five.
*****
Once the doctors diagnosed her with a failing circulatory system, she understood why, ever since that fateful July day, her legs had been bothering her. Blood simply wasn't being distributed where it needed to be. The doctors warned her this would be a hurdle she could never completely overcome. A major blood vessel in her leg would need to be replaced, and even then walking would never be the same. She would never want to shop again. She would have a hard time strolling the block for exercise. She would need a wheelchair to roll through terminals.
*****
The replaced blood vessel didn't help much. She hired a nurse who came by twice a week to monitor her, grocery shop for her, and make sure she had everything she needed.
Kay spoke with the nurse one afternoon while Esther was napping. The nurse informed her that she had found Esther in the bathroom on this particular morning, sitting on the toilet seat. She had gone to the restroom two hours earlier, and had never been able to get up following. She was stunned Kay didn't know just how bad Esther had been feeling.
Kay hired the nurse full-time to stay with her mother. She and her husband Bob paid for the expensive nurse, partly because they would have anyways, and partly because of those Reader's Digest assholes.
*****
She loved Reader's Digest. With every donation she made to them, she asked that they write her back to tell her where her money was being applied. For fifteen years she wrote once a month and everytime she sent a five-dollar donation. The checks were cashed. No reply letter was ever sent.
After she died, Kay found copies of her letters and donations under Esther's bed, like a little girl keeps old copies of love-letters. She called the Reader's Digest National Office and informed them that her completely broke, elderly mother had continued to send them money and letters for fifteen years with no reply. They said they were sorry and sent her a year's subscription.
Reader's Digest doesn't seem to be on the stands much these days. Hopefully they filed for bankruptcy and then went to hell.
*****
No one was sure whether or not she knew she was dying. She would wake up from time to time, feebly gaze around, and offer a weak smile. "My goodness!" she would say. "You're all here! What a surprise!"
They all played along. Proud as she was, knowing or otherwise, they knew she would never want to see them acknowledge the ending of her life or feel an ounce of pity for her.
After several days of holding onto a last shred of life, she took a deep, shaky breath. It would be her last. The nurse came in. Everyone already knew. Esther Prather was pronounced dead at 4 p.m. on June 22nd, 1997. The beginning of a new season, the end of an old life.
*****
Shortly after the funeral, my great-grandmother's belongings were divided amongst the family. Grammy wanted only the sentimental things. So did Uncle Buzz. My mom took her beautiful old-fashioned German birth certificate and framed it above our mantle. The rest of the grandchildren took what they remembered her best for, and Aunt Dee wanted everything else. She was always a bitch.
And I myself have been fortunate enough to take away the memory of her smell, her touch, herself. Never having seen death firsthand, I have still learned this from my great-grandmother's: No one loves the shell of a body. You love traits, like "vivacious." You love memories of blue glasses and pearls and gummy bears. But above all, you love a soul. Hopefully you pick up pieces of that soul along the way, and adopt them as your own. And this somewhat cancels the concept of death-because it is through this that people live eternally.
*****
Her eyes began having problems focusing. She had a cataract in her left eye and her perfect 20/20 vision was suddenly not so. For the first time in 82 years, she would have to rest blue plastic-rimmed frames on the tip of her nose.
She didn't mind. They went perfectly with her short white hair, favorite blue pantsuit and pearls.
*****
Born in Germany in the early 1900's, Esther moved to California when she was six, accompanied by mother, father, brother and sister. Upon arriving in America and facing financial struggle, her mother turned to sewing for a living and her minister father turned to alcohol. He died several years later, they would joke, of severe alcoholism and weak liver.
She went to school and excelled, fascinated but limited. She met her future husband Benjamin Prather there, became a registered nurse in Des Moines, and gave birth to three children, Robert, Dee and Kay. As their lives progressed, Esther learned a little something extra about her husband. He, like her father, was a raging alcoholic. She filed for divorce, something almost unheard of at the time, and neither she nor her three children ever spoke to Benjamin again. He was rumored to have died from cirrhosis of the liver two years later.
*****
After all three of her children moved to California, Esther decided it was for the best if she made the move out west too. She settled into a house on Peach Street, where, unbeknownst to her at the time, she would spend the rest of her life. Friends, family and nurses would come and go from that little house, but she would never live in a retirement or nursing home. Before her death, she would joke that this was simply for the fact that she couldn't drive herself there. She had never learned how.
*****
The best description of Esther was vivacious until the end. She would talk about current events and politics till the sun rose. She would feed her great-grandchildren gummy bears when their parents weren't looking, and dress-up Barbies and set up obstacles for G.I Joes. She would joke with the adults about her age and about the day that she would need a wheelchair to roll through airport terminals.
*****
At first it had just been her left knee. Then the pain spread up and down her left leg like tar, slowly and slickly maneuvering itself so that her leg would never feel quite the same. It moved on to her right leg. It wasn't easy to get out of bed anymore. What used to be a day -to-day routine had suddenly become a day-to-day struggle. Where it might have taken five minutes to stretch and reach for her glasses, it was now taking forty-five.
*****
Once the doctors diagnosed her with a failing circulatory system, she understood why, ever since that fateful July day, her legs had been bothering her. Blood simply wasn't being distributed where it needed to be. The doctors warned her this would be a hurdle she could never completely overcome. A major blood vessel in her leg would need to be replaced, and even then walking would never be the same. She would never want to shop again. She would have a hard time strolling the block for exercise. She would need a wheelchair to roll through terminals.
*****
The replaced blood vessel didn't help much. She hired a nurse who came by twice a week to monitor her, grocery shop for her, and make sure she had everything she needed.
Kay spoke with the nurse one afternoon while Esther was napping. The nurse informed her that she had found Esther in the bathroom on this particular morning, sitting on the toilet seat. She had gone to the restroom two hours earlier, and had never been able to get up following. She was stunned Kay didn't know just how bad Esther had been feeling.
Kay hired the nurse full-time to stay with her mother. She and her husband Bob paid for the expensive nurse, partly because they would have anyways, and partly because of those Reader's Digest assholes.
*****
She loved Reader's Digest. With every donation she made to them, she asked that they write her back to tell her where her money was being applied. For fifteen years she wrote once a month and everytime she sent a five-dollar donation. The checks were cashed. No reply letter was ever sent.
After she died, Kay found copies of her letters and donations under Esther's bed, like a little girl keeps old copies of love-letters. She called the Reader's Digest National Office and informed them that her completely broke, elderly mother had continued to send them money and letters for fifteen years with no reply. They said they were sorry and sent her a year's subscription.
Reader's Digest doesn't seem to be on the stands much these days. Hopefully they filed for bankruptcy and then went to hell.
*****
No one was sure whether or not she knew she was dying. She would wake up from time to time, feebly gaze around, and offer a weak smile. "My goodness!" she would say. "You're all here! What a surprise!"
They all played along. Proud as she was, knowing or otherwise, they knew she would never want to see them acknowledge the ending of her life or feel an ounce of pity for her.
After several days of holding onto a last shred of life, she took a deep, shaky breath. It would be her last. The nurse came in. Everyone already knew. Esther Prather was pronounced dead at 4 p.m. on June 22nd, 1997. The beginning of a new season, the end of an old life.
*****
Shortly after the funeral, my great-grandmother's belongings were divided amongst the family. Grammy wanted only the sentimental things. So did Uncle Buzz. My mom took her beautiful old-fashioned German birth certificate and framed it above our mantle. The rest of the grandchildren took what they remembered her best for, and Aunt Dee wanted everything else. She was always a bitch.
And I myself have been fortunate enough to take away the memory of her smell, her touch, herself. Never having seen death firsthand, I have still learned this from my great-grandmother's: No one loves the shell of a body. You love traits, like "vivacious." You love memories of blue glasses and pearls and gummy bears. But above all, you love a soul. Hopefully you pick up pieces of that soul along the way, and adopt them as your own. And this somewhat cancels the concept of death-because it is through this that people live eternally.
November 16, 2003
Britney’s Album is “In the Zone”
New album is energetic, risqué
BY Lara Hendrickson
Features Editor
Commentary
I am In the Zone obsessed.
Now, if you know me, right now you may be telling your friends that the person writing this article has dressed up as Britney Spears for four consecutive years in a row, whether it’s to a theme party or to Halloween or just because I think it sounds like fun. You may tell them that I called Wal-Mart (the only place opened past midnight that sells CD’s) to see if they would put her new CD out at midnight Nov. 18 so I could have it before anyone else in Fort Worth (big “no”). You may tell them that I have watched every Britney Spears video so many times I could probably do the highly choreographed dances backwards while signing the accompanying song and painting my toenails.
I know most of the young women reading this article are probably saying that I am a sellout to human-kind, that Britney Spears has a wretched voice and that you would rather kill yourself than buy her new album, but seriously ...
It is SO good!
The album, Spears’s fourth under Jive records, is a risqué addition to her list. Particularly compared to Baby One More Time, In the Zone takes sexual innuendoes to a whole new level. In fact, they aren’t really innuendoes at this point. Songs like “Breathe on Me” and “Touch of My Hand” tackle themes of ... yeah, if you need me to explain, you really shouldn’t buy the album.
But truly, In the Zone is more than oozing sexuality; it is also the most energetic of all Spears’s CDs. Songs like “Outrageous” (produced and written by R. Kelly), “Me Against the Music” (the ever-so-famous compilation with Madonna) and “I Got that Boom Boom” (for all you Southern boys), make you want to get up and, for lack of a better phrase, jump around. And then there’s the oh-so-sweet “Everytime,” with a beautiful piano riff and sweet lyrics that Spears wrote herself.
She hasn’t admitted it’s for Justin yet, but I personally like to think of it as the song that will get them back together. Back up off, Cameron.
So whether you think she is the devil incarnate, or that she lip synchs, or if you just plain think she’s hot, you have to give Spears credit where its due — she can make a comeback from a six month hiatus like no one else. Truly the queen of publicity, the princess of pop and my very favorite blonde in the world (besides myself dressed as her, of course), she’s done it again.
New album is energetic, risqué
BY Lara Hendrickson
Features Editor
Commentary
I am In the Zone obsessed.
Now, if you know me, right now you may be telling your friends that the person writing this article has dressed up as Britney Spears for four consecutive years in a row, whether it’s to a theme party or to Halloween or just because I think it sounds like fun. You may tell them that I called Wal-Mart (the only place opened past midnight that sells CD’s) to see if they would put her new CD out at midnight Nov. 18 so I could have it before anyone else in Fort Worth (big “no”). You may tell them that I have watched every Britney Spears video so many times I could probably do the highly choreographed dances backwards while signing the accompanying song and painting my toenails.
I know most of the young women reading this article are probably saying that I am a sellout to human-kind, that Britney Spears has a wretched voice and that you would rather kill yourself than buy her new album, but seriously ...
It is SO good!
The album, Spears’s fourth under Jive records, is a risqué addition to her list. Particularly compared to Baby One More Time, In the Zone takes sexual innuendoes to a whole new level. In fact, they aren’t really innuendoes at this point. Songs like “Breathe on Me” and “Touch of My Hand” tackle themes of ... yeah, if you need me to explain, you really shouldn’t buy the album.
But truly, In the Zone is more than oozing sexuality; it is also the most energetic of all Spears’s CDs. Songs like “Outrageous” (produced and written by R. Kelly), “Me Against the Music” (the ever-so-famous compilation with Madonna) and “I Got that Boom Boom” (for all you Southern boys), make you want to get up and, for lack of a better phrase, jump around. And then there’s the oh-so-sweet “Everytime,” with a beautiful piano riff and sweet lyrics that Spears wrote herself.
She hasn’t admitted it’s for Justin yet, but I personally like to think of it as the song that will get them back together. Back up off, Cameron.
So whether you think she is the devil incarnate, or that she lip synchs, or if you just plain think she’s hot, you have to give Spears credit where its due — she can make a comeback from a six month hiatus like no one else. Truly the queen of publicity, the princess of pop and my very favorite blonde in the world (besides myself dressed as her, of course), she’s done it again.
January 28, 2003
Opening Draws Hundreds of Students
By Lara Hendrickson
Staff Reporter
Large numbers of students flocked to the opening of the nearly complete University Recreation Center Monday after delays pushed back previous completion dates.Steve Kintigh, director of campus recreation, estimated that there were 350 people already through the door 40 minutes after its noon opening Monday. The first 150 people through the door received free T-shirts, he said.
There are still minor projects in the recreation center to be completed for which exact dates are unknown, which are the reasons for the ongoing construction, Kintigh said.“The outdoor pool, food court and the cable TV centers (are not yet complete), but we’re very happy to be able to get the students in here,” Kintigh said.
Junior marketing major Mickey Rozzell said the new recreation center has been worth the wait because of the dramatic size increase.“We had to wait so long for it to be completed, but the new rec center is more adept to students needs and wants on campus,” Rozzell said. “It’s pretty impressive.”
Nearly everything, including treadmills with individual television screens, the weight room, racquetball rooms and basketball courts are open already, Kintigh said.Student admission to the building is through a ID card, and faculty admission includes a $5 monthly fee, Kintigh said.
Mary Ruth Jones, administrative assistant in Residential Services, said she went on both the alumni board and faculty tours and has already purchased a membership. She said it was a long way from being finished then, but it is now impressive.“I think (the monthly fee is) a bargain,” Jones said. “It’s a fabulous facility and I think it’s going to be a great addition to our university.”
The previous openings for the center were scheduled for Nov. 1, then Jan. 21, but weather and inspection delays pushed the opening back, Kintigh said. Student employee training was also a reason for a delayed opening, said Damien Abel, assistant director of campus recreation.
Sophomore psychology major Lauren Rieken, a student employee at the new recreation center, said they had been awaiting the students arrival before opening the recreation center.“We have been (training) since the beginning of January,” Rieken said.
Mark Phillips, a junior marketing major, said he is looking forward to playing basketball on the new courts in the recreation center.“24 Hour Fitness has nothing on this,” Phillips said.
Additional workout classes and the rock climbing wall in the new recreation center all have the send-home option.
Kintigh said he is happy to finally have the recreation center open and wants it to feel like the student’s own club.“We’re just thrilled to have it open,” he said. “I hope the kids love it.”
By Lara Hendrickson
Staff Reporter
Large numbers of students flocked to the opening of the nearly complete University Recreation Center Monday after delays pushed back previous completion dates.Steve Kintigh, director of campus recreation, estimated that there were 350 people already through the door 40 minutes after its noon opening Monday. The first 150 people through the door received free T-shirts, he said.
There are still minor projects in the recreation center to be completed for which exact dates are unknown, which are the reasons for the ongoing construction, Kintigh said.“The outdoor pool, food court and the cable TV centers (are not yet complete), but we’re very happy to be able to get the students in here,” Kintigh said.
Junior marketing major Mickey Rozzell said the new recreation center has been worth the wait because of the dramatic size increase.“We had to wait so long for it to be completed, but the new rec center is more adept to students needs and wants on campus,” Rozzell said. “It’s pretty impressive.”
Nearly everything, including treadmills with individual television screens, the weight room, racquetball rooms and basketball courts are open already, Kintigh said.Student admission to the building is through a ID card, and faculty admission includes a $5 monthly fee, Kintigh said.
Mary Ruth Jones, administrative assistant in Residential Services, said she went on both the alumni board and faculty tours and has already purchased a membership. She said it was a long way from being finished then, but it is now impressive.“I think (the monthly fee is) a bargain,” Jones said. “It’s a fabulous facility and I think it’s going to be a great addition to our university.”
The previous openings for the center were scheduled for Nov. 1, then Jan. 21, but weather and inspection delays pushed the opening back, Kintigh said. Student employee training was also a reason for a delayed opening, said Damien Abel, assistant director of campus recreation.
Sophomore psychology major Lauren Rieken, a student employee at the new recreation center, said they had been awaiting the students arrival before opening the recreation center.“We have been (training) since the beginning of January,” Rieken said.
Mark Phillips, a junior marketing major, said he is looking forward to playing basketball on the new courts in the recreation center.“24 Hour Fitness has nothing on this,” Phillips said.
Additional workout classes and the rock climbing wall in the new recreation center all have the send-home option.
Kintigh said he is happy to finally have the recreation center open and wants it to feel like the student’s own club.“We’re just thrilled to have it open,” he said. “I hope the kids love it.”
January 14, 2003
Rec Center to Open Jan. 27
By Lara Hendrickson
Staff Reporter
After a previously announced opening goal for Tuesday, the University Recreation Center is now officially scheduled to open Jan. 27, said Steve Kintigh, director of campus recreation.
Damien Abel, assistant director of campus recreation, said the delay was so student employees could become fully acquainted with the equipment.
“With inspection on (Monday), the likelihood that students would be adjusted to their classes and the center in a week is not high,” Abel said.
The original completion date was Nov. 1, 2002. It was moved partially due to delays in inspection, a month of rain and the difficulties of renovation compared to constructing a completely new building, said Kintigh. However, Kintigh would not comment on specific inspections and problems associated with them.
Some adjustment details will continue throughout the semester, but Kintigh said they will not affect students’ presence in the building.
“It may not be open 100 percent,” Kintigh said. “The hours will be regular but, for example, the rock climbing wall may close earlier than it will later in the semester. We anticipate full opening with the possible exception of the indoor pool.”
The outdoor pool is tentatively scheduled to open in late March, said Kintigh.
Junior marketing major Jasmine Barnsley said she is awaiting the new features of the recreation center.
“I am about to quit my gym membership because I have heard so much about the new rec center,” Barnsley said.
Kintigh said he is aware of the student and faculty anxiety to the opening of the new recreation center, and that the Physical Plant, in charge of the maintenance and overseeing the project, has done all they can to open it as soon as possible.
“Obviously, we are frustrated, but it is out of TCU’s control,” he said. “The Physical Plant has done a marvelous job getting things done.”
Abel said he estimated the building to be 95 to 96 percent complete. The pools make up most of what is not completed.
Kintigh also said even after delays, the building was renovated extremely quickly in retrospect. The new recreation center is the second largest structure on campus, after the Amon Carter Stadium.
“To build in 13 months is remarkable,” he said. “This is a huge building. The pressure is constant to keep this as short as possible.”
Additions to the new recreation center include a top-of-the-line rock climbing wall, individual television screens on each treadmill, indoor and outdoor pools, two sand volleyball courts, pool tables, a Sodexho food area and a small shop that sells recreation equipment, Kintigh said. All expenses have the “send-home” option.
Jeff Horn, senior superintendent of the new recreation center, said the new center will be much more inviting to all students.
“Before the building was outdated,” Horn said. “Now it is a lot brighter and more open.”
Horn and Kintigh both said they want students to feel this is their club.
“You are going to love it,” Kintigh said. “Trust me, it will be well worth the wait.”
Open house tours for all interested faculty or students are currently scheduled for 4 to 7 p.m. Jan. 23 and 24 and 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. Jan. 25.
By Lara Hendrickson
Staff Reporter
After a previously announced opening goal for Tuesday, the University Recreation Center is now officially scheduled to open Jan. 27, said Steve Kintigh, director of campus recreation.
Damien Abel, assistant director of campus recreation, said the delay was so student employees could become fully acquainted with the equipment.
“With inspection on (Monday), the likelihood that students would be adjusted to their classes and the center in a week is not high,” Abel said.
The original completion date was Nov. 1, 2002. It was moved partially due to delays in inspection, a month of rain and the difficulties of renovation compared to constructing a completely new building, said Kintigh. However, Kintigh would not comment on specific inspections and problems associated with them.
Some adjustment details will continue throughout the semester, but Kintigh said they will not affect students’ presence in the building.
“It may not be open 100 percent,” Kintigh said. “The hours will be regular but, for example, the rock climbing wall may close earlier than it will later in the semester. We anticipate full opening with the possible exception of the indoor pool.”
The outdoor pool is tentatively scheduled to open in late March, said Kintigh.
Junior marketing major Jasmine Barnsley said she is awaiting the new features of the recreation center.
“I am about to quit my gym membership because I have heard so much about the new rec center,” Barnsley said.
Kintigh said he is aware of the student and faculty anxiety to the opening of the new recreation center, and that the Physical Plant, in charge of the maintenance and overseeing the project, has done all they can to open it as soon as possible.
“Obviously, we are frustrated, but it is out of TCU’s control,” he said. “The Physical Plant has done a marvelous job getting things done.”
Abel said he estimated the building to be 95 to 96 percent complete. The pools make up most of what is not completed.
Kintigh also said even after delays, the building was renovated extremely quickly in retrospect. The new recreation center is the second largest structure on campus, after the Amon Carter Stadium.
“To build in 13 months is remarkable,” he said. “This is a huge building. The pressure is constant to keep this as short as possible.”
Additions to the new recreation center include a top-of-the-line rock climbing wall, individual television screens on each treadmill, indoor and outdoor pools, two sand volleyball courts, pool tables, a Sodexho food area and a small shop that sells recreation equipment, Kintigh said. All expenses have the “send-home” option.
Jeff Horn, senior superintendent of the new recreation center, said the new center will be much more inviting to all students.
“Before the building was outdated,” Horn said. “Now it is a lot brighter and more open.”
Horn and Kintigh both said they want students to feel this is their club.
“You are going to love it,” Kintigh said. “Trust me, it will be well worth the wait.”
Open house tours for all interested faculty or students are currently scheduled for 4 to 7 p.m. Jan. 23 and 24 and 10 a.m. to 1 p.m. Jan. 25.
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