It's All About Me -- Not-So-Frequently-Asked-Questions

 

Red is my color.  Don't you agree?

Since today is my birthday I believe I’ll be audacious enough to write about myself.  Yes, I know.  It’s a shock since this blog rarely delves into the personal, what with its dedicated mission to discuss the higher issues of the day and all.  But indulge me.  Today (as a service to all my new readers) I’ll finally tackle that long list of  not-so-frequently-asked-questions that I’m sure have occurred to someone somewhere.

1) How old are you today?
Why bless your heart.  Thanks so much for asking.  Next question.

2) Are you related to anyone famous?
My full name is Julie Margaret Farrar.  Margaret is my maternal grandmother’s name.  She was a Sappington.  That may not mean much to you, but in St. Louis it used to mean a lot.  We were neighbors to Gen. Ulysses S. Grant (unfortunately on the wrong side of the fence, Civil War speaking).  I drive around and see streets called Sutton/Sappington/Leffingwell.  We even have a cemetery with our name on it.  This morning I pointed to the sign for Sutton Ave. where the body shop where we took our car is located and said, “Hey, that’s me.  What kind of discount do I get for being so fabulously famous?”  He said “That and a thousand bucks will get your car repaired.”  Yes indeed, he did!  Just one of the perks of being so fabulously famous.  We even have a family homestead that is now a local museum.  However, after the Great Depression, our name didn’t mean much more than anybody else’s did, so I don’t get a discount at the museum café.

As for my surname, we have a whole town named after one of our ancestors in south Missouri.  As I heard it, they wanted a zip code and a post office real bad.  A Farrar was the only one in this rural region who actually lived in a “town” setting and could read to sort mail, so he offered to be the postmaster.  So the town called itself “Farrar, MO” because “Wherethehellarewe, MO” was too hard to spell.  It still exists.  Just barely.

Alas, I cannot claim kinship with the wonderfully talented Jay Farrar.

3) Why did you keep your own name when you married?
So my children-to-come would not have to admit they were related to me during our turbulent season of adolescence.  And now when I write anything embarrassing about them or me none of their friends will ever make the connection.

4) What have been your biggest regrets in life as you celebrate another birthday?
That curly perm I was rockin’ the year I met my husband and got married has to be up at the top of the list.

And not listening to my brilliant high school journalism teacher, Mr. Hall, when he begged me to continue on the newspaper instead of choosing to stick with orchestra when the schedules for the two classes came into conflict.  If I had listened to him you would be seeing my headshot on the Sunday New York Times opinion page instead of on this blog.  Not even practice, however, would have gotten me to Carnegie Hall.  When I made that realization one year into college, then I made an immediate course correction.  I quit music and started studying ancient Greek and medieval history.  Yes, really.  (Do you think I should add that to the regret column?)

 

Contemplating my future back on Avery Ct.

6) Have you been published anywhere but on your own blog?
If you’re cruising the Encyclopedia of Rhetoric and Composition (1996 edition), you’ve seen some of my best work.  And a friend at sewing group last week told me I write such wonderful thank you notes.  And I’ve actually been retweeted a few times.  With such a stellar publishing record I just don’t understand why no one’s beating down my door for my golden words.  Recently, however, as I’ve been connecting with more and more people online, I’ve read about this habit some “writers” have wherein they actually personally submit some of their golden words to people who work at magazines, literary journals, and book publishers.  And they don’t even include oatmeal chocolate chip cookies with the package.  Hmmmm.  Maybe I’ll try that technique before the year is over.  I’ll keep you posted.

7) What is your ultimate goal as a writer?
To have Meryl Streep portray me in the film adaptation of the memoir I’m working on (ok, well, not working today because it’s my birthday) about adopting and raising with my extremely brave husband our own two precious little Communists who will deny I’m their mother once it gets published (see question #3).

8) How many times have you tried to lose weight in the last five years?
Don’t be impertinent. 

9) What’s the best part about your birthday this year?
As always, the best part is sharing it with my daughter (yes, the exact same date).  Happy birthday, Sweetie (*waves*)!  It assures me that at least one person in the family will remember.  The next best part is that I went back to bed this morning (hence the extremely late posting today) because I was still in a coma from last night’s birthday dinner of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, gravy, and Black Forest cake.

10)  What else should we know about you?
You tell me.  No, really.  Send me questions and I’ll answer them.  I’m sure you’re enthralled by my story up to now and are breathlessly awaiting a second installment.  As soon as I sort through the questions that I know will be pouring in I’ll post another FAQ page.

Send all your questions to the comments box.  Or answer for us one FAQ about yourself.

You can read other birthday posts here and here

Today’s blog post was sponsored by the writing prompts at Mama Kat’s world famous writing workshop.

Autumn's Children

The French do love their flowers

I’m a child of autumn.
Sun hot chrysanthemums and fiery Missouri sugar maples
Compete in me with dark winds prowling the night, moaning of the oncoming cold.
The sidewalk snap of discarded summer shade pops with each shuffling step until
Silent, jagged flashes light the night,
Announcing a dogged veil of rain
To wash away what once had been bright and warm.

My daughter is a child of autumn, too,
   both of us born on the same crisp morning.
Thirty years and an ocean separated us, though, waiting eight years for the moment
   when we would meet in a hot Russian play yard.
We were born just missing both All Hallow’s Eve and
All Saint’s Day.
We are neither demons nor saints.
We share both summer and winter inside.
We flash hot and cold
Together
Like a late autumn dance with nascent winter.

We children of autumn embrace
All seasons
As the last bright windflowers bob their white faces above delicately arching necks
Fall’s purple and umber pansies hug the ground,
Staying out of winter’s way
To survive ever so slightly longer.
And the last bright sign of the season
Cascades from on high, one dropped leaf at a time
So that in one quiet sleep --
Without so much as a chance to say farewell to our time --
Winter greets us at dawn.
 

This poetry attempt is the result of  another writing prompt by Write on Edge:  For you, what does autumn evoke?  Show us in 300 words or less.

 

 
What does autumn evoke for you?  What season defines you?  Share it in the comments.
And when you’re done telling us about your personal autumn, click on over to this piece I wrote in the fall of 2009.  I was surprised to see how today I echoed writing I had already forgotten.

The colorful Burgundy tiled roofs mimic the autumn

 

I may not post for another week because on Wednesday I have the surgery for my neck and arm I had mentioned in an earlier post.  It shouldn’t leave me incapacitated; however, the medications might make it difficult to put two literary sentences together for a few days, so I’ll use that time to catch up with reading all the great blogs out there.  See you online soon.

  

Birthday Wisdom

I know I've posted this before, but it's one of my favorite photos.  Tonya never had a bigger grin in her life than on her first birthday in the United States when she found out about this wonderful tradition of showering birthday girls with love and attention and presents.

“Today is my birthday and all that I want
Is to dig through this big box of pictures
In my kitchen ‘til the daylight’s gone”
-- Kristian Bush/Jennifer Nettles “Very Last Country Song”

     Yes, today is my birthday.  But not just mine.  My daughter and I have shared this special day for the last fifteen years.  Being born on the same day made us so much alike (a blessing and a curse), but we absolutely stand at polar opposites when it comes to the menu for our birthday feast.  She wants steak and a plain cake with minimal or no icing; I want the dinner my mother always fed me – fried chicken and mashed potatoes with gravy – plus a gooey, sweet Black Forest Cake or something similar with enormous amounts of sugar.  As a good parent, however, I made the ultimate sacrifice for my child and usually gave up my favorite food for the sake of her birthday dinner.

    Now, with my daughter several hundred miles away at school, I’m going to have myself a carb-laden fried chicken blowout for my birthday (and yes – to answer my sister – there will be lots of gravy).  But I’ll also be thinking of T on our special day.  Since one thing we have in common is a love of music, I’m sending her some words from our favorite singers to live by in the coming year.  And you might find something that hits you just so as well.

Help me if you can/ I’m feeling down/ and I do appreciate you being round
-- John Lennon/ Paul McCartney “Help”
Just remember, T, it’s not a sign of weakness to ask for help.  The world is full of people with wonderful experiences and bucketfuls of knowledge that mean we never have to reinvent the wheel.  If someone gives advice, that doesn’t mean he or she is trying to run your life.  Let someone else carry part of the load sometimes.

Guess what, honey, clothes don’t just wash themselves!/ Neither do dishes, neither does the bathroom floor// So, now if anyone asks, not that they would/ I’ll be down in Mississippi and up to no good
-- Kristian Bush/Kristen Hall/Jennifer Nettles “Down In Mississippi”
Keep this one in reserve for when you have a child of your own.  For myself, I’d change it to “I’ll be at a Keith Urban concert and up to no good.”  But you already know that.

And speaking of KU –
Days go by/ I can feel ‘em flying/ Like a hand out the wind as the cars go by
-- Monty Powell and Keith Urban “Days Go By”
We sang this at so many concerts.  Don’t get so caught up in making all your plans for the future that you forget to roll down the window and stick that hand out.  Right now is just as important as tomorrow and next year.  Don’t be too impatient; you’ll get there soon enough.

I know you can hear me/ You don’t have to say a thing/ My love is stronger, lasts a lot longer/ Than your anger or your pain
-- Radney Foster “I Know You Can Hear Me”
During that first year after the adoption when we were learning to be a family, your dad was trying to make you sit on the stairs for a two-minute time out.  You fought every second of it – refusing to listen, testing our commitment to you, and daring us not to love you.  You later asked your dad in a jumbled mix of English and Russian if we were going to send you back because we were angry.  Well, like it or not we’re in this for the long haul.  But the road has gotten less bumpy, don’t you think?

Life is short/Even on its longest day
-- John Mellencamp “Longest Day”
This will mean a lot more thirty years down the line when you’re my age.  So hang onto it for the time when you’ll need it.

     After I make a phone call to my favorite birthday partner today, I’ll put on some music and heat up the oil for my decadent delight.  I’ll think about past years and perhaps pull out those pictures.  And I’ll start planning for many more.  Happy Birthday to me.

*******
Please don't retouch my wrinkles. It took me so long to earn them.


Italian actress Anna Magnani

They say that age is all in your mind. The trick is keeping it from creeping down into your body.


Anonymous


If you have any great birthday quotes or words of wisdom passed on to you or that you tried to share with your own children – or any great birthday story – share them in the comment box here.  Thanks for reading and sharing.
 

Joyeux Anniversaire à Moi

My 52nd birthday is today.  The first part I wrote a bit ago, while the second part is very much in the here and now.
-----
Dateline: Dijon 2007
Today I turn 50 years old. I’m working at my computer in the silent attic bedroom of the apartment at 30 rue Verrerie, in Dijon, FR. I’m alone because Brad is in Tunisia for the week doing research with other mathematicians. I’m trying to figure out what 50 is supposed to feel like. I’m only a few years away from my mother’s age when she died. What did she feel like at fifty? I know what she seemed like to me. She still laughed easily because her illness had not yet consumed her spirit or her energy. But at 50 she was already old on most days. She looked tired, and probably was. She came from a generation that let its hair go gray and wore sensible shoes by 40. They were wives and mothers. They didn’t exercise, ride bikes, take trips with “the girls,” or define themselves beyond what they gave to everyone else. If they had hopes and dreams and urges to bust out of routine, for the most part they kept it to themselves.

My Grandma (Dad’s mother) was even older at a younger age. In photographs of her with my father as a child, she looked 50 by the time she was 30. Her shoes were orthopedic, and her hair was in a perpetual bun until her 80’s. A product of a hard country life and the Depression, life was about one’s work ethic more than leisure or pleasure. I’m fairly certain she had moments of joy and contentment, but mostly I remember she was always busy at something – sewing, cooking, mending, cleaning, gardening . . . you know – doing. Did 50 feel any different for her than 40 or 70? I know visits from her great-grandchildren brought a smile to her face, but did she pass on at 94 with unrealized dreams? Did she feel the desire at 50 or thereafter to proclaim that it was finally “me time”?

                    Bertha Myrtle Farrar                                                               Ellen Francis Farrar

I don't mind being alone on my birthday because the best present of all is to not have to respond to the needs of anyone or anything for 24 hours. My day’s plans extend no further than anticipating the dame blanche at my favorite brasserie with which I will reward myself for achieving this milestone. The ice cream will be tongue-numbing cold and the fresh chantilly (whipped cream) will snake around until its mountainous shape hides all the sweet scoops and chocolate sauce beneath it. I luxuriate in the wonderful freedom of not having to negotiate any emotional boundaries with those I love with all my heart. Life’s net of negotiation and compromise can tangle us and pull us down. However, when done as part of the life dance for our roles as wife/mother/friend we can reap rewards that lift us up. Occasionally, though, we want simply to twirl alone, spinning faster this way and changing course and speed to twirl slower that way, to stumble across the floor while temporarily losing our “spotting” mark until regaining balance and eventually finding ourselves centered and still, ready to begin another pas de deux with those who fill the stage of our lives.

-----
Dateline: St. Louis 2009
Does each generation grow bolder? I’ve gone farther than my Mom probably would ever have dreamed of for herself – or even for me, her youngest daughter. But my own daughter, thirty years younger than I am, already is preparing to go farther than I would have dared at her age. Not even finished with college yet she readies herself for a journey to Russia alone in January for a semester of school, with challenges beyond the cold and language that we can’t even envision. We share the same birthday, three decades apart. I wonder in what distant place she’ll find herself at 50 since she seems permanently shod in a pair of travelin’ shoes. I watch in amazement as she audaciously charges through the world in a way that I still can’t, just assuming that she belongs in the middle of it all.

In recognition of our shared celebration, I wish her un 22nd anniversaire très joyeux et bon journée.

Tonya Margaret Currey