Chocolate happens

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what’s the sound of two edies talking?

tjchocBig Edie: She handed me a Trader Joe’s milk chocolate bar. “Here, I got this for you. It came two to a pack, but I ate the other one.”

Me: “Who you kidding? These come three to a pack.”

Big Edie: She looked at me, shrugged, and turned away to hide the smile. “It happens,” she said, giggled and added a little skip to her step.

What day is it?

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what’s the sound of two edies talking?

pooh (1)

 

Me: What are you doing tonight?

Big Edie: I love Saturday nights, that program I like is on tonight.

Me: It’s Sunday, Ma.

Big Edie: Yeah, but Sundays have always been Saturdays.

Big Edie: Husband #1

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what’s the sound of two edies talking?

Howie was a car salesman.

“He was made for that. He was probably very successful. He was always selling. You walked in our house, he was selling to you.”

His weekends were all about baseball. He played, and then brought all the guys back to the house and years before she was Big Edie, when she was still just Lainie from the Bronx, she would feed them.

“It didn’t matter that I was cleaning the house all weekend, after working all week. He brought  them all home, and I was expected to cook for everyone.”

That’s the way things were back then, though.

“Your father wasn’t so lucky. It all changed after I read that book. The one that all the women read and it changed everything. The Feminine Mystique. All of a sudden I was like, I don’t need to do this, but I still did. I always did more than my share. But it changed everything.”

I’m not sure what it changed, other than her awareness, and when you don’t have the strength to change your situation, is changing your awareness necessarily a good thing?

But Howie was her first.

“I went to visit him on the army base, and he got me in his bunk. So, I knew I had to marry him. That’s what you did. You were a virgin until you got married. So I had to marry him. And I thought I’d get to go to Paris.”

Lainie Millstein & Howie Steinberg
Lainie, Howie, and the Calla Lilies

She carried calla lilies as her bridal bouquet, her gown decorated with glass bugle beads from her mother’s wedding gown. Howie married Lainie from the Bronx, but kept his girlfriend in Monmouth, New Jersey. Shortly after they were married, he called and said he wouldn’t be home that night. He was spending the night with the girlfriend.

“You stay, and you straighten things out with her, or don’t come home at all. That’s what I told him.”

That marriage was annulled and I was forbidden to ever use anything from my grandmother’s satin flapper wedding gown–that gown now having been involved in two generations of marraiges that ended in infidelity and divorce. My mother has been across all across the United States and Canada. She’s cruised up to Alaska and down to Barbados. She’s been to Ireland, and Greece, and Israel.

She still has not been to Paris.

Can I be honest?

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what’s the sound of two edies talking?

Some people should not wear horizontal stripes. Or skirts. Or sleeveless tops. That color makes your skin look sallow. And that one leeches all the color out. That’s what you’re wearing? Really? That? Don’t you have a mirror at home? A full-length mirror? Short women can’t wear capri pants, but dressing all in one color is slimming. So are long skirts, or pencil skirts, or long pants. A hip belt? Really? You know that brings attention to your middle, is that really where you want people to be looking, because it’s not your best feature. Your biggest, yes, but not your best. 

That’s the voice in my head when I’m looking at your on the subway, or on the street. It’s the voice in my head when I pass my reflection in a store window, or look at myself in the mirror. It’s the voice in my head the minute I open my closet door.

fran

How awful to grow up with that voice in your head all the time, but it’s in mine because it’s in hers and someone put it there. Maybe her Aunt Fran, the one who introduced Big Edie (before she was Big Edie, when she was still just “Lainie”) as “my niece who used to be beautiful.” Fran wasn’t exactly a beauty, but she was a hottie.

Children believe the things they’re told about themselves, they believe you when you tell them what that world is really like–your words weave themselves into the warp and weft of the cloth they’re cut from and even after you’ve long since turned to dust and dirt the pattern you wove remains.

Scene: Looking through photos I’ve taken of Big Edie, me, the cats, everything.
Big Edie: Can I tell you something?
Me: Can I stop you? Seriously, is there anyway to stop you?
Big Edie: Yes. No….No, I have to be honest. That shirt you’re wearing? I hate it.
Me: Thanks, Ma.
Big Edie: Really, it’s terrible, I don’t like it. I hate it. I tell you when you look good; this doesn’t look good. I hate that shirt. I’m just being honest.
Me: That’s not honest, Ma, that’s just mean.  No one asked you what you thought.
Big Edie: Well, I hate it.

Be careful what you say to children, they repeat what they hear.

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Big Edie: points to a photo: Oh I like that picture, I look good there.
Me: That’s me, ma.
Big Edie: Oh.  This one, then? We both look good. It’s a selfie of the Edies. One with a little me, and lots of her.
Me: Yeah, we look good.
Big Edie: But honestly, I hate that shirt, you should get rid of it. What? I have to be honest. You want me to be honest, don’t you?

I want to say, No Ma. I don’t.  That’s what I’d say if I was being perfectly honest.

1957 Rambler Rebel

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what’s the sound of two edies talking?

Scene: I am 19, Big Edie on my break up with my boyfriend, Bobby, who we both thought was “the one.”

Big Edie: I feel sorry for the men in your life. You take the nice ones and twist their minds, and you take the crazy ones and push them right over the edge.

rambler 1957 custom

Scene: Thirty years later, she is 79 and finally found a good one for herself, and we’d talk about the men in her life. And I’d realize which side of the family I inherited my broken picker from. But there’s a no return policy on the original factory-installed parts for this 1957 model. Not the broken picker, the shoddy brakes, or my busted speedometer. I went too fast, in the wrong direction, with no idea how to slow down. For thousands of miles and hundreds of years.

I don’t tell her he wasn’t “the one,” at all, he wasn’t even “one of the good ones.” He was simply one in a long line of bullets I would dodge, playing with crazy too often, just a little too close to the edge.

I’ve installed a super-sized rear view mirror so it’s a little easier to see the roads I’ve traveled, where I’ve been, the places I’m leaving. And every once in a while I pull over, and leave a little more luggage by the side of the road.