Tag Archives: ashley

Leaps and Bounds

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Peter Pan Syndrome. I haz it. Most kids can’t wait to grow up–behold! unlimited cookie dough and choose-your-own-bedtime. Not me, though. I cried when I outgrew my favorite pair of shoes (red with rainbow-colored fruits on them) and battled puberty every step of the way. It didn’t help that everything came early for me. I needed a bra at eight (but managed to convince my mom to let me go without one for three more years) and got my period at eleven (while my best friend, that lucky bitch, didn’t get hers until, like, sixteen). By the time I was eighteen, I decided I’d try to grow up all at once, which ended disastrously–but that’s another story for another post, one I still haven’t figured out how to write. After that, I kept on as I always did, stripey socks and handbags made from stuffed animal carcasses. I smile when people tell me I don’t look my age, and I have one-hundred percent decided that I don’t want children because that’s a straight shot to grownupsville.
But…somehow it happened anyway. On approximately February 22, 2015, at the age of thirty, I became an adult. It occurred in the most random of places, really: a checkout line. My husband had recently changed jobs and switched to the graveyard shift. He decided he needed a particular appliance, one that neither of us wanted, to help him stay awake at night. So, we were standing in line together with this unholy thing in our shopping cart. I was staring down at it thinking, ‘well, damn it, I’m officially a grown up now’ when the husband turned to me and said the exact same thing out loud.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how a coffeemaker stole my childhood.

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Home is Where the Books Are

When I think about coming home, I think about traveling.  That feeling of living out of a suitcase for however long and then walking into my bedroom and seeing all this stuff.  All this stuff.  Why do I have so much stuff?  Would I ever need it?  How could I when I’ve survied just fine an ocean away with a few changes of clothes and a tiny air-travel approved bag of toiletries?  But one thing I’d really miss are my books.  I always pack one with me if I’m straying too far from home.  So, it was Milo battling the Doldrums as we drove out west when I was nine years old.  And Charlie tinkering on his typewriter when I took that heartbroken trip to Pennsylvania one year.  Patti and Robert whispering to me on my first long road trip with my new husband.  And Weetzie, of course, kissing me anywhere and everywhere along the way.

There was this challenge going around social media last year.  Everyone tagged me in it, but I never got around to putting my reply up.  The challenge was:  “List ten book that have stayed with you in some way.  Do not take more than a few minutes and don’t think too hard.  They do not have to be the “right” books, or great works of literature, just ones that have affected you in some way.”

So, here is my reply.  That rag-tag group of friends that stowaway, or are waiting for me back home.

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Number 13

deathcard

I felt like my deck might need some Death. And, for the hell of it, here are all the Death cards from my tarot collection:

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persephone

light

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by | March 1, 2013 · 8:08 pm

Shadow Self

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I made this playlist at the beginning of the week.  Shadow makes me think of my dark side, my Shadow Self.  I think all my friends would laugh at me and say I have no dark side, but it’s like MAdM says, everyone has a dark side.  I don’t speak much, but what I say tends to have a sharp jab of truth.  I am blunt.  My mother calls it “brutal honesty”.  I blame her.  She always told me not to lie, so I don’t.  I remember watching Harriet the Spy when I was twelve and Golly was explaining when it was appropriate to tell little white lies and I thought man, I really need to figure this out.  But I still haven’t. 

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time capsule

this song is a time capsule.  i am fourteen years old. rhinestones in my hair. Celebrity Skin. slinky silver chainmail dress. cheap combat boots. i dream of holden and charlie the wallflower and a pizza boy. first deck of tarot cards. first year of high school. i quit writing books and start writing poetry. my bedroom is huge and purple. i make collages on my bulletin board every week. odelay odelay odelay. i stare at a light blue volkswagen beetle and wish wish wish until it’s mine. my mom wants me to take home ec, but i take art instead. i go to dances and don’t dance. my two best friends are boys and they come over every friday and we drink mt. dew and listen to rage against the machine. the heartache is years ahead of me.

me, age 14

me, age 14

twenty-eight. i listen to “malibu” and think about digging out the rhinestones and eyelash glue. thrifted combat boots and walmart dresses. i have a husband and a crush on charlie’s best friend. i finally know how to read the tarot. i am writing books again. my volkswagen doesn’t run anymore so i drive a stupid blue saturn with three doors. my bedroom is small and red. i paint every week. i still don’t dance. my two best friends are (different) boys and we eat Indian food and listen to the kills on sunday afternoons. and the heartache is finally years behind me.

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the hourglass

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Keeping it simple this week.

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rubber ring

the passing of time and all of its sickening crimes is making me sad again

(but don’t forget the songs that made you cry and the songs that saved your life)

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heritage

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So, I’m thinking about my ancestors this week, too.  Or maybe my lack thereof.  That’s my Grandpa Mitchell.  I’ve been wanting to add him into my deck since the beginning.  I thought of him during Foundations, and during Sage, but I never could figure out just what I wanted to say about him.  I’ll try.

Here are a few things I inherited from my grandfather:  my weird sense of humor, my love of photography, the way I blink way too much–deep blinks where I squint my whole face, and also the ability to rock a flannel shirt and bowler hat.  I never see much of myself in my Missouri family, perhaps because they are so close, but the other half of my family, my dad’s side, full of quirky, intelligent New Englanders, I totally get it.  But where did it all come from?

Here are a few things I know about my grandpa:  He was born in Canada to a 16 year old girl and then adopted by an American family in New Hampshire.  When he was 16, he crossed the border on his Indian motorcycle and went to track his birth mother down.  He found her, but she wouldn’t even come to the door.  I’ve heard he threw quite a fit, but she never spoke to him.  So, he went back home without any answers.  He was always curious about his heritage.  I don’t know if you can tell from the blurry photo but he looked Native American, as do his children.  About ten years ago, he had his DNA tested, hoping to dig up more answers, but the results were “inconclusive, with some Asian markers”.

He passed away last year without ever really getting those answers he was searching for.  So, it’s weird.  He must have wondered where he got his blinky eyes and weird sense of humor and ridiculous fashion sense, but he never knew.  But I look at these photos of him and at least I know where I got mine.  And I guess that’ll have to be enough for me.

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This has been in my head all week.

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