Highlights

Jeanna GLeave a comment

I often wonder what my daughter will remember most about her childhood. Will it be good stuff that comes to mind first? Will there be a year filled with more goodness than others? Will it be a slideshow of snippets, or will the big events get the spotlight? I’ve taken her on so many adventures, but already, at the age of eight, she tells me she doesn’t remember things we’ve done. We flew to Chicago when she was two. While there we danced with our reflections in The Bean, took in views from the 98th floor of the Hancock Building, rode the Navy Pier’s Centennial Wheel…. she doesn’t remember any of it. I’m like, “Ellie, that was only six years ago.” But nope, nothing.

Centennial Wheel -A cold and windy ride in November!

To be honest, I don’t remember much before pre-school either, which seems to be the norm. What I do remember from my childhood and adolescence tends to fall into one of two categories: what happened in school versus what happened outside of school, mostly grouped by grade level.

Reflecting on my school years, a motley crew of memories come to mind. In pre-school I played dress up during free time (always in the same dress), and we took a field trip to see Sesame Street on Ice. In Kindergarten I painted a lot of rainbows, and I lost a tooth while waiting in line to get on the bus. At home, my mom ran a daycare, and she and I would watch Days of Our Lives while her charges took their naps. In first grade I spelled ‘enough’ wrong on a spelling test (enof). I also had a best friend named Vanessa who lived down the road. I remember we were playing in her sandbox when a snake slithered past us in the grass. She was terrified, so I (at age 6) carried her across the lawn to her back door. She moved to the Dakotas that year, and I never heard from her again. In second grade we had an incubator in our classroom, but the power went out and the chicken eggs never hatched. In third grade we read A Midsummer Night’s Dream. I wrote a poem about walking through leaves in the fall with my grandma that my teacher read aloud to the class, and I felt very proud. I learned how to whistle and shuffle a deck of cards. In fourth grade I made it to the spelling bee. My dad sat in the front row. My stint ended with the word ‘opportunity.’ To this day, I think it’s unfair to have a pronouncer with a Boston accent. I met two of my longest-lasting, closest friends that year. In fifth grade, I passed my cursive test, so I was allowed to practice calligraphy. I also had an appendectomy. Over those years we took family trips to Prince Edward Island, Disney, and Wells, Maine. Middle school was team sports, dances, the trip to D.C., and mall walking. High school was my sweetheart, clubs, sports, jobs, driving, and parties. The holidays were always filled with traditions; church, menus, decorations.

The more I reflect, the more I remember, but I find it peculiar that these are what come to mind first. They fall into such a wide range of experiences from the mundane to eye-opening, heart-breaking to joy-filled, painful to therapeutic. Some things I don’t think I would remember at all if it weren’t for my friends and family reminding me, and even then I question if we’re remembering an event the same way. Related to this, I’ve been keeping a journal for my daughter since I found out I was pregnant. Every few months I jot down what we’ve been up to, what she’s learning, how she’s growing, milestones, etc. I know it’s biased because it’s what I think is important for her to remember, what I want to remember, and my unique recollection of those moments. I’ve learned that our memories are stored based on what we saw, heard, felt, and understood in the moment, so she will have slightly different versions of the same stories. And this is why I take a ton of pictures and record videos so she can revisit the moments as they were. I want her to remember all of the good things and none of the bad, but I know that isn’t possible.

So will her highlights steal the show, or will she allow them to shine light on the bigger picture? All of our experiences, the memorable and not-so, have made us who we are, and it’s important to honor them all. Everything we’ve done and learned affect our everyday decisions, our automatic and unconscious thoughts, as well as helping us to navigate new situations in our own ways. Whether my daughter remembers all of our adventures, or not, I know that they have made an impact. Altogether they have made her who she is, and make up what she knows, and they’ve enriched both of our lives. I look forward to witnessing how she will relive her memories with her child, too.

How do you categorize your childhood memories? What are your highlights?

Life’s Playlist

Jeanna G1 Comment

This past Mother’s Day, my daughter and I took a road trip to the beach. Every road trip needs music. My car, however, needs help in that department. The CD player is broken, and I don’t have the fancy Bluetooth business, the auxiliary port is finicky, and playing music through my phone speaker just isn’t loud enough. So, we listen to the radio. Not iHeart Radio or Sirius, just plain old local FM radio. To my delight, one such station replays Casey Kasem’s Top 40 shows on Sunday mornings! The sound of his voice turned my car into a time machine. So of course I then had to explain to my daughter who he was and what we were listening to, and how I would tune into his show every week so that I would be ‘in the know’ at school on Monday. It’s amazing to think of how many lyrics I had memorized by such a young age. Music is reminiscent.

I’ve always had a fairly eclectic taste in music, but there are definitely genres of music that I could label periods of my life with. Elementary was Top 40, middle and high school was hip hop and alt-rock, college was jam band, mid-20s went back to hip hop, and my 30s became Kidz Bop, Fresh Beat Band, and Disney. *Sigh* We’re moving past that phase and my daughter is discovering other tastes in music. Some I like, some not so much, but I’m still curious to hear her life’s playlist. Tik Tok, YouTube, and friends are among her sources of discovery, while I try desperately to influence her musical choices every chance I get. (“Repeat after me: John, Paul, George, and Ringo.”) It’s in those attempts that I have been rediscovering my love of music. Music is revealing.

I’m getting back into the hobby of making playlists. I was a mix tape maker. First there was the art of pressing record at just the right moment to capture a song off the radio. With the double cassette player came compilations from all of the tapes I could get my hands on. Then came mix CDs, which still line the door of my car because I keep hoping my CD player will magically start working again. And now I use iTunes and Spotify to get back into the groove of playlist making. I’ve got playlists for different moods and seasons, events and people, as well as different activities like working out, cleaning the house, and focusing on my job. Music inspires and music motivates.

To say my sister was a DJ for a period of time would be an understatement. She may have gotten paid to do it for a couple of years, but she’s been my DJ for life. Music influences.

Working and schooling at home during the pandemic required several graces, and music was a big one. So I committed an act of self-preservation by making a playlist of music from my middle and high school years. I started with my personal favorites, and then decided to reach out to my friends. I asked them to name their top 3 artists or songs from that period. Not only did that spur even more memories, but it was a fun way to connect, spread joy, and offer respite to my loved ones. Music unites and music heals.

As my enjoyment of popular music ebbs and flows with the times, my love of jazz remains constant. Improvisation provides a breath of fresh air, and I find hope in the blending of multiple rhythms and melodies. It evokes calmness despite the fickle world we live in. Music soothes.

There’s a song for everything. I get tired of telling my daughter to clean up or get ready or whatever, so now I sing directions to her. She rolls her eyes, but I know she likes it better than me yelling. And now she sings to me as a way to get me to pay attention. Music communicates.

Music is all around me and within me. It helps me tune into life, and allows me to escape. It accompanies the good and the sad, the major and the minor. Life is an ever-changing playlist of songs, but the music is a constant friend.

What makes your life’s playlist? What does music do for you?

A Trip for the Ages

Jeanna G1 Comment

As I’d mentioned in my post “Mementos,” watching the Macy’s parade on Thanksgiving has been a tradition of mine since a very young age. In the early 2000s, the National Dog Show was added to my holiday routine. Every year I tune in to watch while surrounded by family, friends, and food. And every year I’d tell myself I would watch the parade in person one day, and I’d get a dog. Finally, in 2018, I did both. Thanksgiving just happened to fall on my late grandma’s birthday that year, November 22nd. It seemed fitting to finally see the parade in person that I had watched in her living room on Long Island for so many years.

On Wednesday, my daughter and I boarded the Silver Star in Raleigh, which had been delayed because of an accident involving a landscaping truck somewhere in Florida. Because of the delay, we were pushed back in the line going into just about every station along the route, changing our arrival time from 6pm to midnight. The delay put the kibosh on attending the balloon inflation event near the American Museum of Natural History. We’ll just have to go back another year, preferably when the weather is warmer. The parade first began in 1924, and the year my daughter and I went was the coldest in the parade’s history; 19 degrees in Central Park at 11am.

We pulled into Penn Station at midnight, walked to our hotel near Times Square, and slept a few short hours before bundling up and walking toward Columbus Circle. We settled on a spot at the corner of 68th and Central Park West, that also happened to be where a Macy’s employee was allowing ticket holders to cross to the other side of the street, where they could sit on bleachers for a better view. At 10 til 9, there were very few people sitting on the bleachers, so the employee turned to us and asked if we wanted to cross over. I hadn’t even grabbed my chair and my daughter was already halfway across the street. We were gifted with a front row seat over subway vents that blew up coveted gusts of hot air every time a trained passed beneath us. At 9am sharp the parade kicked off, and despite the potential for frostbite, my daughter and I had a ball. The clowns patted her head and tossed confetti all over her. We waved at the stars and were slack-jawed by the immensity of the balloons. And then there was Santa. Time slowed as he and I locked eyes. Always believe in the magic that is Santa Claus. Nothing can transport me back to childhood faster.

When watching on tv, the parade doesn’t end until noon, and you see a good hour of performances in Herald Square, including the quintessential can-can kicks of the Rockettes, before the parade marches through. We were so close to the parade kick-off at 77th street, that it wasn’t even 11am when Santa glided by. From our spot at 68th, we walked up to Strawberry Fields, where we climbed into a bicycle-driven carriage that took us for a spin through the park. It was expensive, but necessary because neither of us could feel our feet anymore. We got out at 7th and Central Park South to find a deli that had an entire roasted turkey as part of its buffet. I made Ellie a take-out box of Thanksgiving fixins, and ordered myself a turkey Reuben. We hobbled back to our hotel, only slowing to gaze at the Christmas displays in the store windows. We enjoyed Thanksgiving dinner in bed while watching the Dog Show. After thawing out, we dressed up and hailed a taxi to take us to Radio City Music Hall to experience the Rockette’s Christmas Spectacular; a must-see.

The next morning we dashed off to F.A.O Schwarz to dance on the piano. I bought us both a lovie to cuddle on the train home. A quick stop at Junior’s for bagels and a cheesecake (not a slice, but a whole cake), and then we were back on the train headed south.

It was a whirlwind, but it is one of the most satisfying, memorable trips I have ever taken, and one that I hope my daughter will always treasure. I would do it all again in a heartbeat.

What’s that one trip you keep telling yourself you’re going to take? What’s stopping you?