As the last few days have brought with them the first signs of the fall to come, I can’t say that I am sorry. I am eager for this summer to be over. I can practically hear my grandmother yelling at me from the grave not to wish my life away, but I can’t help it. Nothing about this summer – or this year – has been easy. Somewhere along the way, I mistakenly believed that I would have some of the major pieces of my life in place by my mid-thirties. I don’t. I am still trying to find my place in the world.
If anything good did come out of this summer, it is the fact that I finally got a resolution to something I let go unresolved for way too long. In the process of finally telling this man how I’ve felt about him (for years), I realized why it never worked with any of the men in my life. None – and I mean none – have been the right one. I finally came to the realization that I somehow managed to reach this age without ever having truly experienced true love. It is the awful, unvarnished truth – and it doesn’t erase the ten years I wasted in a doomed, loveless relationship.
As rough as most of this summer has been (most of which I haven’t even addressed here), the last few weeks included some fun. Two of the highlights involve a good friend. She moved downstate this winter, and we haven’t really had a chance to catch up since. We finally met up for dinner and caught up on months’ worth of news. As this friend experienced infertility as well, the topic naturally came up during a discussion about my decision to become a foster parent. The resulting conversation made me realize all over again that having a child in your arms doesn’t make infertility issues go away. In fact, the entire thing is worth its own blogpost.
Then there is the river. Everything seems to be put in perspective when you are on the river tubing, at least for a while. This same friend and I spent an afternoon/early evening tubing and continuing our catching up from the previous week. For one of the first times all summer, I felt that things will work out eventually.
Now for the picture … This picture brought back so many wonderful childhood memories that I had to share. It is simply my niece and nephew playing at the landing by the river. I spent hours at that exact location as a child making moats, pretending that river was an ocean, letting the minnows nibble my toes. The week my brother and his family spent camping at the campground brought back so many long-forgotten childhood memories. I can’t wait to create similar memories with my own family.
I’ve struggled for nearly two months to write this post. It is time. Back in mid-June, I spent the afternoon in East Lansing with my friend Lauri. While it was not our only intent, we sought the memorial brick my cousin Lugene’s family placed on campus in her memory. If it weren’t for Lugene, Lauri and I probably would have never met. Spending time with Lauri searching for Lugene’s memorial brick seemed fitting. After all, as dedicated genealogists, Lauri and Lugene spent countless days researching in Michigan cemeteries. Here we were searching for Lugene.
When we did finally locate her memorial brick, it completely caught me off-guard. It is located near the gardens where I found myself on a first date with a guy I dated briefly while at MSU – a very fun first date. I had completely forgotten. While MSU is far too big for me to legitimately say that I have a memory in every part of campus, I certainly have my share. They all seemed to come flooding back to the point where I couldn’t keep up.
What it comes down to is this: I need to visit my alma mater more often. I avoided MSU after my friend Derrick died back in 2009, and Lugene’s death made it even worse. Lugene took pride in her MSU alum status, and it was a part of her personality. As much fun as I had visiting, I also felt out of sorts. I hope one day I will be able to visit without feeling such a sense of loss.
I’ve finally concluded that it isn’t just the loss of Derrick and Lugene that I was feeling that day. I also mourned the loss of the college girl I once was. While I wouldn’t quite say that I was fearless as a freshman, I came close. I thought nothing of pursuing whatever my heart desired while at MSU. What happened? Maybe I can find her once again.
The links above lead to posts I wrote concerning Derrick.
It was unbearable. The whole thing. Every second worse than the last. I just kept thinking about calling him, wondering what would happen, if anyone would answer. In the last weeks, we’d been reduced to spending our time together in recollection, but that was not nothing. The pleasure of remembering had been taken away from me, because there was no longer anyone to remember with. It felt like losing your co-rememberer meant losing the memory itself, as if the things we’d done were less real and important than they had been hours before.
The Fault in Our Stars by John Green (Photo credit: theunquietlibrary)
Dear D.,
I’ve been meaning to write you all this past week for the obvious reason: August 15 would’ve been your 31st birthday. It pisses me off I can’t directly tease you about becoming a dirty old man despite the fact I am older than you. I still feel cheated out of years of memories of us. I suppose I had such a clear vision of us still arguing over memories in our 70s and 80s, just like your Great Aunts E. and G. and my Grandma, I still can’t quite believe it just wasn’t meant to be.
The passage above describes well what I feel nearly three years after you passed away. I’m afraid those quirky memories we made in childhood, high school, and then college will die if I happen to forget. I just don’t want that to happen. I don’t want to forget. I’m glad I read The Fault In Our Stars by John Green before I tried to write anything. Now this letter has a purpose.
That is what is so aggravating. Every time I think of you, what I want to say to you, or memories of us, it just seems to go nowhere. Without you here, who is left to really care, besides me? No one. Once I come to that conclusion for the hundredth time, I realize how futile writing a letter to you is. And yet, I can’t help it. I have to do something. There were way too many things left unsaid.
By the way, don’t get the impression that I’m the only one who remembers you. I can only imagine the hole left in your family. Just the other day I came across a post Carla posted on your Facebook wall. I know she misses you just as much as I do, as does Jelly. Some time ago I saw Jelly when I ordered something at Tony’s, and we just didn’t even know what to say to each other. It was the first time I saw her since you passed away. We talked about anything and everything else, but that doesn’t mean you weren’t first and foremost on our minds.
So here it goes. Here are a few memories of us:
High School –
Freshman Year. You ended up getting hours of detention for picking on me in Freshman English. It became so bad Miss V. quipped that you and I would probably end up married someday, we were that practiced at nagging each other. Every time I think of Friends, Romeo and Juliet, or Great Expectations, I think of Freshman English and you. I can almost feel you tapping me on the shoulder and hear you make some smartass remark about people trying to look like Courtney Cox. By the way, I know you knew you had it all wrong. The haircut was called the Rachel for a reason. You just liked to play dumb to get attention. I still find it amusing that you ended up with detention and I didn’t.
Prom. I will never forget you on Prom Night, senior year. You ended up taking my cousin K. (Rusty) as your date, and she became Prom Queen. I’d never seen you so incredibly happy. You had to tell everyone that you were the date of the Prom Queen and were genuinely happy for her. I know it is stupid, and I never admitted this, but until I saw you that happy, I was envious of K. If you’d asked me to the prom, I doubt I would’ve said yes. But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t imagine it. It could’ve made up for years of us being ostracized by our class. We could’ve spent all night making snide remarks, joking around, and just proving everyone wrong. In the end, I don’t think either one of us had the guts.
Kayaking and Guy. I’ll never forget your Aunt L. and Guy visiting from Texas one summer. Somehow I was pressured into taking Guy kayaking. I don’t think I ever paddled so fast in my entire life. The entire trip was strange. I just felt like I had to show him up, he was that cocky. You were very right about him. I can understand why you two weren’t exactly friends. I’m trying in vain to remember whether or not you went with us. Maybe you just came to the Livery and didn’t go kayaking? It doesn’t matter. We did talk about Guy and came to the conclusion that he was a little too wrapped up in Friday Night Lights.
State. I distinctly remember the day we received our housing assignments for our first year at Michigan State. My jaw dropped when I realized not only were we going to attend the same university, we were assigned to the same dorm complex, Snyder-Phillips. Quite frankly, I wasn’t happy. I just wanted to start fresh as MSU, and there you would be, a reminder of school years I would rather forget. In the end, I’m so grateful for that simple twist of fate. Quite simply, college would not have been the same without you.
A National Championship and the Flintstones. I love the fact that we somehow found each other among throngs of people in Cedar Village after MSU won the 2000 National Championship. I think about that April night a lot. How could I not? That picture of us outside Cedar Village – you smoking a cigar and your arm around me, me smiling like my life depended on it – is among my favorites.
2nd Floor, Snyder Hall. You used to love hanging out on my floor in Snyder Hall. I’ll never forget the crazy 3 AM political conversations we had, Kim included. I just can’t wait until we have the first female President of the United States. I’ll smile, think about how you just lost a bet, and carry on, thinking about how very wrong you were the entire time. Sexism doesn’t pay.
Where were you? I’ll never forget getting a call from your Mom freshman year at State. She couldn’t get a hold of you and simply wanted to know if I knew where you were. I didn’t at that moment, and the entire thing broke my heart. I wish I could’ve helped her – and you.
Capstone. We’d lost track of each other during those years I studied abroad. Nevertheless, you found your way back into my life. You just wanted me to look over your résumé and rekindle our friendship. It worked. You once again became a fixture in my life.
Crunchy’s and a Broken Heart. D, I have no idea what your true feelings for me were, but you must have truly cared for me on some level, whether you wanted to acknowledge it or not. During the spring of 2004, as my life was endlessly shifting under me before I could even regain my footing, you somehow knew how heartbroken hearted I was. You knew that I simply needed a night out with an old friend who understood just how upset I was. I wanted that job in Austin desperately, not to mention the mess that was my personal life at that point. Many things happened that evening, of course , and even the next day. I’m not going to talk about them here, but I need to say this: Thank you! You knew just what I needed, even if I didn’t.
Brian. That same spring, 2004, I began my relationship with an old friend, Brian. Your teasing still makes me laugh. Some of it was so spot on, especially those jokes about how I could never have any fun while living in Arenac County. You basically stated that any night of debauchery in Arenac County would become common knowledge before I even made my way home. So very true. I got the sense that you were happy that I finally had a man in my life, my first true romantic relationship. Those were some wonderful days for Brian and I, and I think you could sense just how happy I was at that moment. If only I could live in those moments forever.
Aftermath.
A phone call or two. It still upsets me that we weren’t closer in those first few years after I graduated from Michigan State. I thought we would have time. Unfortunately that is what we didn’t have. There were several times I wanted to call you up and just lay everything on the line. I wanted to know what your feelings for me were. That was one thing I could never figure out. I wanted to know why you had so many issues with your Mom and brother, especially your Mom. I wanted to know what was really going on with you. Unfortunately we never had those conversations. I didn’t realize just how wrong things were until you were gone. It was too late.
Great Auntie G.’s Funeral. Of all my memories of you, your Great Aunt G.’s funeral stands out. It was the last time I ever saw you. It started immediately. We just gravitated toward one another. I suppose that’s no surprise as we were the only people under 50 in the room. Then, of course, my Grandma asked us to go get her a package of hearing aid batteries. We may have been at a funeral, but it sure didn’t take us long to start laughing our butts off once we were out the door. You either laugh or cry, right? You have to admit: It was the perfect excuse for us to catch up. After picking up the hearing aid batteries, you and I just drove around and reminisced. We covered a lot of ground from Standish to Omer. I’m so glad we had that opportunity. In a way, it was almost as if you were saying goodbye. The last time I saw you, you and your Dad were leaving the funeral home and walking toward the Granton. It angered me at the time, but I suppose everyone deals with death in their own way. I just never figured out how to deal with yours.
You have no way of knowing this, of course, but I never made it to your funeral. I ended up having to work. I suppose it is just as well as I would’ve been an absolute wreck. A few weeks after your funeral, I tried to find your grave. There were things left unsaid (most of which I am writing here today) and I wanted to get it all off my chest. There is so much in our hometown and in East Lansing that will always remind me of you.
And yet, there is one thing that still bugs me. What was our relationship? Whatever it was between us was much deeper than simple friendship, and yet we never had a romantic relationship, not even close. The closest thing I can come up with is that we were family without actually being related. We knew how to get on each other’s nerves, we knew how to make each other laugh and cry, and above all, I think we both cared. Was it really as simple as that? I like to think so. I love you and miss you.
Linds
PS – Oh, and one last thing. Your Mom. I never told you this, but your Mom happened to be my Grandpa’s favorite nurse. I know that you didn’t have a good relationship with her and it never was any of my business, but I am grateful to her. She took great care of my Grandpa when he was dying. I wish I could simply tell her thank you. I wish I could talk to her about you.
Sometimes writing is so timeless that it needs to be shared again. Recent events have brought back a flood of memories, and I thought that I would share some of my favorite old blog posts. You can find the original here.
Dear D. –
After all these years I still miss you horribly. I just got a new cell phone the other day, and I realized I couldn’t bring myself to delete your number, your e-mail, nothing. It will always be there. There are so many times I’ve wanted to just pick up the phone to talk to you for a minute or two. Like my little brother, you could always manage to put a smile on my face. You’d laugh your butt off at the hot mess I’ve gotten myself into, as usual. And yes, Diet Coke still runs through my veins.
I will never forget you and always love you.
Linds.
PS – I haven’t been able to bring myself to go to East Lansing over the last few years. So many memories! You were always there when I needed you most.
It is no secret that I am a stubborn person. For those that know my family, I clearly inherited that trait from my dad. Frankly, I am proud of that fact – and it goes deeper into my family history. My paternal grandmother, Grandma Reid, was every bit as stubborn as her son. I have no idea if my dad’s father was stubborn or not – sadly, he passed away long before I could meet him – but I am certain Dad inherited at least some of his stubborn nature from his mother.
After my senior year of high school, I spent the summer working with Dad and Grandma at the canoe livery, just as I had all throughout high school. That summer, however, continues to stand out. I normally didn’t argue or disagree with Dad. I had learned to trust his judgement and accepted that he had reasons for the way he did things over the years. That summer, I bristled. I no longer wanted Dad to tell me what to do, even if he was my boss. I couldn’t get to Michigan State fast enough. To complicate matters, Grandma wouldn’t budge, set in her ways over the decades. She didn’t always agree with me or Dad. In fact, Dad and I had to make her get out of the office and enjoy herself. That is how much she loved to work.
By August, things came to a head. The three of us were not listening to one another, and we all thought we were right. All these years later, I couldn’t even tell you what our disagreements were about. Really, all that mattered is we loved one another, even if we were getting on each other’s last nerve. Of course, things vastly improved once summer came to an end and I set off for new adventures at MSU.
While I consider myself close to Mom and her family, our stubborn natures somehow brought Dad, Grandma, and I together. For me, it goes beyond stubbornness. It is a drive to succeed. It is a drive to lead a full life no matter what is thrown our way. It is survival.
Stoddard’s Landing July 2017 – Busy Saturdays! Photo Credit: Garrett Russell
I admit it, I take the river for granted. It is such an ingrained part of my life – and even who I am – it is easy to overlook its power, not to mention the role it continues to play in my life. My parents own Russell Canoe Livery and Campgrounds and have since June 1977, a few months prior to their wedding. They purchased the business from my paternal grandmother who continued the business after my grandfather passed away. The canoe livery is as much of my family history as it is my personal history. Without the river, it simply wouldn’t exist.
Some of my earliest and best childhood memories involve the canoe livery. I spent countless hours swimming in the river, running around the campground, and generally spending my summers with my family as they worked. I hope my niece and nephews – and eventually my own child(ren) – will grow up the same way. Heck, not every kid can say that they have their own busing system! As my childhood home is located behind our Crystal Creek Campground store, my sister and I could simply catch the bus to our main location in Omer after watching Saturday morning cartoons. All we had to do was run down the hill at either 9:15 AM, 10:45 AM, or 12:15 PM, bathing suits in tow. Later in the day, we would turn the buses into our private forts.
Our main location in Omer – Trust us, walk the campsites first!
One of my earliest memories of the canoe livery is of my grandmother teaching me to play the card game war in our old walk-up store. I also remember her teaching me how to find the big dipper in the night sky at around that same age. As a teenager, I spent countless summer weekends working with Grandma Reid, Mom, and Dad. Grandma taught me so much about business and customer service. Dad taught me, and continues to teach me, what it means to own a business and the value of hard work. Mom, of course, continues to keep it all running smoothly – now more than ever.
As for the river itself, it has provided our family with a wonderful quality of life for decades. I think of countless river trips over the years. One of my absolute favorites took place on August 1st last summer (also known as July 32nd if you are a teacher). I spent four hours tubing with one of my best friends. There may have been wine involved. We spent four hours catching up and enjoying the perfect Michigan summer afternoon/early evening. The weather was so perfect, we almost called my brother to pick us up downstream. We wanted to do the hour and a half trip as well.
My favorite part of Crystal Creek Campground – “Across the road, bottom of the hill.”
It is easy to forget the power of the river on a beautiful Michigan summer day. The Rifle is spring fed and has a swift current (about 5 MPH) during the best of times, but it can become downright dangerous if the water is too high. In fact, we won’t rent equipment if it is too high. Add in ice and it becomes unbelievably destructive. Fortunately, in the years my parents have owned the business, we have only experienced severe flooding and ice damage a handful of times. In 1984, my parents’ mobile home was flooded shortly before we were to move into our new house. In 1991, we had 4 ft. of water in our store in Omer and ice damage at Crystal Creek. Due to ice jamming up at Pinnacle Bridge, which cuts right through Crystal Creek, we have experienced ice damage to trees and outhouses at Crystal Creek a few times as well. Nothing could have prepared us for this year.
The “back yard” of my childhood home: Crystal Creek Campground.
In late February of this year, those along the Rifle River experienced flooding not seen since the 1950s due to ice buildup. Sadly, some people living in Pinnacle Park, which is located just up river from our Crystal Creek Campground, lost their homes. Our Crystal Creek Campground continues to look as though it was hit by a tornado. Dad and my brother Garrett are just now beginning to clean up. It is awful. Once it is finished, I will share pictures. The electrical system in that part of the campground will need to be replaced. On a lighter note, my parents’ home, the Crystal Creek store and shower house, and other out buildings are located on much higher ground and not affected.
Fortunately, our main location faired better. However, it did not remain unscathed. Our store in Omer took on two feet of water and mud, as did our pole barns. Luckily, our electrical system held. Overall, we were lucky. Other canoe liveries in the area experienced damage to vehicles, cabins, and more. Some even lost canoes and kayaks down river. Throughout this process, we have learned a few things and will be changing some processes when it comes time to close this fall.
My brother and I may never experience anything like this during our tenure as owners, but we will be better prepared. For so many varied reasons – many of which I can’t get into here – none of us will ever forget 2018. Here’s to a great summer and a beautiful (even if late) spring! I am looking forward to being back at my summer office.
This post is not about politics. Instead, it is about what is important in life. In the wake of Barbara Bush’s death, I keep coming across this quote. It sticks with me, and I can’t help but realize this is how I have tried to live my life thus far. I hope one day it will pay off.
This quote is the reason why I moved back to Michigan after falling in love with Austin, Texas and even beginning my career in Houston. It is why I moved back to Omer, Michigan to help take care of my grandmother. It is also the reason why I can’t imagine living far from family, even if it would greatly benefit my career (and social life) to do so.
That is only the beginning. This quote also contains the reason why a ten-year relationship dissolved. It helps to explain decades of worry regarding how I will ever create a family of my own, as well as my struggle to do just that. In short, it is why I get up every morning. It is my why. If someone ever wanted to understand the craziness that is my life at times, all he or she would have to do is think of the implications of this quote. I choose to try and avoid such regrets. I still have them, but I imagine not quite so many as others.
When I think of the elder Bushes, I think of their marriage of 73 years. Frankly, I can’t imagine being that in love. Unfortunately, I have no frame of reference. I also can’t imagine facing that large of a loss in life. It saddens me. My maternal grandparents were married 56 years. At this point, my parents have already been married 40 years. At 37, I am beginning to wonder if I will ever meet the right man. If I don’t, I won’t be the only one missing out.
I don’t talk about my mom nearly enough. If you would have asked me five years ago if we were close, I would have told you no, we aren’t particularly close. I’m not exactly sure when that changed, but it did change, for the better. As an undergrad at Michigan State University, I used to marvel at the girls who called their moms every day. It confused me. On one hand, I wanted that type of relationship with my mom; on the other, I loved my independence too much. However, if I didn’t call every Sunday, I would be tracked down.
Now that I am older, I am grateful for that independence, although I can’t imagine it today. I do talk to my mom almost every day now. My parents were more concerned when I was commuting and taking classes at Saginaw Valley State University (SVSU) a few years ago than they ever were during my years at Michigan State. I find it funny and fascinating. I think I understand it though. My parents still had my sister and brother at home. They were still dealing with sports activities and whatever trouble my brother decided to get into that particular week. Still, I would never go as far as to say that I had a difficult relationship with my parents, even when we didn’t talk all that often. They just let me get on with having fun in college – and I did.
As a teenager, it was common for my dad, brother, and sister to watch TV together in the living room. My mom and I would watch something else in my parents’ bedroom. I would lounge on my parents’ bed while mom would get her clothes ready for the next day, etc. One of our favorites happened to be Ally McBeal. At times, we would have some great conversations too.
During one weekend home during my sophomore year at MSU, such a scenario took place when I needed my mom’s advice most. At the time, I felt as though I had to choose between semester long Spanish programs in Spain or Ecuador. How was I supposed to choose between the two? I didn’t want to have to make that decision. I wanted to do both. I asked my mom what she thought. All she asked is that I be home for Christmas. It worked. I found a way to make it work without delaying graduation. I never forgot my parents’ support of that decision. I also learned to be flexible and find a way to do what I wanted to do – on my terms.
Shortly before my mom retired in 2010, I learned she dreamed of writing children’s books in retirement. Considering her career as an elementary school teacher, it isn’t surprising. What surprised me most is: 1. I never knew that my mom wanted to write at all. I thought it was my dream alone, and one I didn’t share with many people at the time. 2. I didn’t learn this from my mom, I learned it through a mutual friend. Shocked, surprised, and happy, we began working on her children’s books together. She wanted my input and help polishing them.
Here’s the problem: I am way too close to my mom’s books. I love them. I know exactly where she is going with them, and I love the fact her books are based on part of a writing curriculum she used in her kindergarten classroom. We both need to get writing again and finish getting those books ready to submit. Every time we work on them, I fall in love with her books all over again.
I love the process that we have working together. It is fun working with her and bouncing ideas off one another. We can usually come to some sort of agreement or even come to the same conclusions. I hope we can eventually get to the point where we are comfortable submitting them for publication. It is time.
The funny thing is that I can just hear my mom reading her books to groups of kids. As a child, there was nothing better than her versions of Sesame Street books. She is great at making all of the different voices necessary to make a children’s book come alive. Grover and the Count are still favorites with her grandchildren. I can’t wait to hear her reading her own books in front of a crowd eager for more.
I enjoyed reading Marlena. While it contains components of a YA (young adult) novel, I would classify it as emerging adult. Fair warning: Lots of drugs and sex involved. The good news is that the drugs, and to a lesser extent, sex, drive the plot. They are necessary to the plot, and fortunately, do not glamorize the consequences of either. By the way, when I mention drugs here, I am including alcohol.
I didn’t read Marlena with a set purpose in mind. It wasn’t a book club pick or anything. In fact, I discovered it by browsing a selection of online books available through my library’s website. It just sounded good. It is ultimately a tale of two best friends growing up in a dull northern Michigan town. It took a while for me to get into the book. The protagonist, Cat, isn’t the easiest person to get to know. Also, in the beginning, I didn’t get the fixation on drugs. She clearly understands right from wrong, but she is fixated on her new best friend Marlena and making the worst possible choices for her life. By approximately a quarter of the way through the book, I was hooked and found it difficult to put down.
Cat, at least the older, wiser version in the novel, nails what it is like to grow up, to love and lose. There are so many powerful lines I found myself highlighting them in my Kindle copy, forgetting that it is a library book. Below are a few of what I consider to be the most powerful lines in the novel.
Close enough to being a writer, isn’t it, working at a library? – Page 45
As an aspiring writer, I loved this quote. Ultimately, Cat is a writer, but it took her a while to find her voice. Her empathy for other young women is clearly demonstrated later in the novel in her approach to difficult young library patrons.
For so many women, the process of becoming requires two. It’s not hard to make out the marks the other one left. – Page 96
This passage really made me think. I thought of the friends, male and female, in both high school and college, who helped to shape the woman I became. It made me think of what I wrote about W.M here in particular. There is something to be said for reconnecting with old friends after years apart and seemingly nothing (and everything) has changed.
I think it’s pretty common for teenagers to fantasize about dying young. We knew that time would force us into sacrifices – we wanted to flame out before making the choices that would determine who we became. When you were an adult, all the promise of your life was foreclosed upon, every day just a series of compromises mitigated by little pleasures that distracted you from your former wildness, from your truth. – Pages 129-130
This struck a nerve with me as well. First, I vividly remember being terrified of dying young as a teenager. Both of my parents lost close relatives as teenagers, and those stories stayed with me. Second, the fact that “time would force us into sacrifices” continues to be at the forefront of my mind. I have always tried to find a way to leave as many doors open as possible. There is just too much I want to do in life.
I was always aware, in some buried place, that girls my age had just entered their peak prettiness, and that once my pretty years were spent my value would begin leaking away. I saw it on TV and in magazines, in the faces of my teachers and women in the grocery store, women who were no longer looked at … – Page 143
I so desperately want this not to be true, but it is true. I loathe this fact about our culture. Hopefully I will live long enough to see it change, permanently.
Before that year I was nothing but a soft, formless girl, waiting for someone to come along and tell me who to be. – Page 250
Thinking back to what I was like at ages 15-16, I like to think I was somehow stronger than Cat. Unfortunately, that just isn’t the case; I could closely identify with Cat in the novel. It makes the novel much darker. There is a fine line between the successful teenage Cat and the degenerate.
I would recommend the book, especially if you love to write or like reading about love and loss (or even friendship in general). Is the story sad? Yes, but it is also full of hope. It does seem that Cat is at least trying to deal with her loss, with varying degrees of success.
I know I have talked about this before, but I am convinced the right books find me at exactly the right time. While I certainly wouldn’t call Marlena great literature, it addresses certain topics I would like to cover in my own writing. I will be rereading this novel.
As a writer, I am struggling with how to properly tell the story of my friendship with W.M. throughout my college years. Even though we never really dated, there was something more than friendship there. If writing from my perspective, the story would have to include themes of romance and unrequited love. How do I tell the story fairly? I have no clue what really happened in the end, why he kept seeking me out, but it never went further than friendship. When I did try to write the story, the men in my writing group all appeared to come to the same conclusion: He must be gay. I don’t believe that to be the case. If that were the case, I would like to think that we were good enough friends that he could have told me. I did find it telling that they came to that conclusion after reading the story from my perspective.
I wish I knew what to do with the story. It is the reason why people study abroad and learn foreign languages. It is at least part of the reason why Spanish continues to play such a major role in my life.
W.M. and I had a major falling out several years ago now to the point where I haven’t thought about him in years. Yet, our friendship has been on my mind lately. The truth is that Michigan State wouldn’t have been the same without him. Alternative Spring Break and study abroad wouldn’t have been the same without him. My experiences in Mexico and Spain wouldn’t have been the same without him. Maybe it is fitting that he must have been on my mind as I am trying to figure out exactly what it is that I want in my personal life.
Ramblings of a Misguided Blonde 