A long time ago

Reminiscences from the rat's nest,
after a brilliant overnight at the priests' hole (details to follow)

So we used to spend all our summers here, never went to camp, never did the family trips to the Grand Canyon (must visit the GC--I am borderline obsessed with going there), would always hit the Dells off-season. We came to Diak, to our rented flat within walking distance of the beach, turned brown as nuts, and returned to the Chicago environs in time for school to start. We were lucky to squeeze in some time in New Jersey some summers. I remember a lot of bike riding and working on my cousin Nick's bottle-top collection and playing with the other summer renter kids. No organized fun, just summer chaos alternating with summer lethargy.

One year, however, our landlady and some other neighborhood ladies planned something special. We were to have a mock baptism with all the trimmings. And in an Orthodox baptism there are lots of trimmings. The babies in question were a couple of little plastic dolls, which got slathered in olive oil and dressed in little white outfits. There were candied almonds and little crosses pinned on our fronts. We seem to be in our Sunday best, all participating in the ceremony. K (in Mom's emergency black funeral dress) as priest:

G as godfather:

Me as involved onlooker (saying goodness knows what with my hands):
I remember how much fun we had getting ready for all this and how our moms thought it was so cute that all the neighborhood kids were participating, and we took it kinda seriously, too, with K probably reading a real prayer. And now I think back, and my current self and way of thinking kind of taint this memory. I think about conversations I've had about religion in the past few years, thoughts expressed on El's blog and other places, reactions I've had to actions taken by the religious right all over the world. Would I let my kid participate in something like this today? (Had I a kid.) Was this cultural/religious indoctrination or just a bit of fun? Is this just another case of me overreacting and overthinking things because I sit around the rat's nest and have nothing better to do?

Yesterday, during a fantastic and way-overdue visit with Z and her Mom, in our all-over-the-place conversation, I mentioned that I believe in preserving history and tradition. And in this place, religion and history and culture are intertwined to a huge extent. You can't draw thick black lines between things.

Anyway, just some thoughts and old pics.

So yesterday Z and J came to the priests' hole and hung out with K, Dappy, the Spaz and me. 5 hours were not enough to catch up, especially since I have been in social isolation for so long. Dap says she wishes they lived next door and I can't disagree. A few good friends is all you need, as I always say!

Then I went to the little salon and got my wolfman appearance under control. Readers of this blog are surely sick of hearing me talk about hair: loss of it, regrowth of it in various places, etc. But I have to say one last (yeah, right) thing. After the second-to-last chemo, the really evil summer one which had nasty side effects and no results, my face hair grew in like crazy. It took a couple of months (as usual), but it came out insane. My eyebrows were about an inch thick (in width!!!), I had a thick mustache (not with bristly shaven hairs, obviously, but millions of little soft hairs), and beard hairs. I should have taken a picture but it was way too nasty and embarrassing. Mom wouldn't bring my wax to the hospital because I had no whites and she thought I'd give myself an infection somehow and create worse problems for myself.

Anyhoo, eventually I did a half-assed job on my own in order to be able to go out in public without scaring small children, as I'm enough of a shuffling, scarf-wearing freak show as it is, but yesterday I was professionally epilated and this is a wonderful and huge piece of news about something that makes me feel halfway human again, therefore I mention it in my blog. In 500 words or more. So there.

One last pic for those of you who know the handyman. Even at five (?), he knew how to pick out the cutest girl in the bunch and lay on a little charm. (Look how he's holding that doll-- like a baby chick. :) ) Hurry up and get your half-moons over here, G, or I will start calling you Pierre again.

Must sign off because the Spaz is on her way to the rat's nest and I must prepare psychologically to receive maximum Kazzie power. Also I've rambled on long enou' for one day. Hasta Lou Reese to all.