tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-791295234047615037.comments2018-12-25T16:56:36.591+01:00Shortcomings, Goings and Stories-into+http://www.blogger.com/profile/05431116451702549119noreply@blogger.comBlogger6125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-791295234047615037.post-9880875703653726692018-12-25T16:56:36.591+01:002018-12-25T16:56:36.591+01:00Email me Email me Ddresslerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01434797050380894284noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-791295234047615037.post-15135337607240129002018-12-25T16:56:18.070+01:002018-12-25T16:56:18.070+01:00Please email me at ddressler725@gmail.com i am try...Please email me at ddressler725@gmail.com i am trying to find Stephen from zefania. My family owns the hotel and he was such a great man. Ddresslerhttps://www.blogger.com/profile/01434797050380894284noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-791295234047615037.post-81499866298700013002011-02-24T17:33:03.483+01:002011-02-24T17:33:03.483+01:00YES. Beautifully written, beautifully felt, Steph....YES. Beautifully written, beautifully felt, Steph. You are very, very loved.Jennifer Wrighthttps://www.blogger.com/profile/06631977939864784576noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-791295234047615037.post-48050928726443500262010-03-21T19:25:41.248+01:002010-03-21T19:25:41.248+01:00Part THREE:
So … let us return to … “For as lon...Part THREE: <br /><br />So … let us return to … “For as long as I can remember.”<br /><br />Well, that says it all. Don’t you think?<br /><br />For as long as I can remember … is as long as I can remember.<br /><br />Do I wish there was more? No.<br />Do others wish there was more? Probably.<br /><br />Is there more? I would rather contemplate that question in the context of LIFE. And DEATH.<br /><br />Here’s one thing I know for sure. I was always an old person in whatever age my body was.<br /><br />First, I was the only child. Then I was the oldest child. Then I was the eldest grand daughter and the eldest daughter. Then I was the only mother my daughter has. Then I was the only Grammy my grandbabies have on the Marino side. Then I was the end of the Marino line. And, one day, I will be the only child, the oldest child, the eldest grand daughter and the eldest daughter … but I won’t be anyone’s little girl anymore.-into+https://www.blogger.com/profile/05431116451702549119noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-791295234047615037.post-74560494007762529032010-03-21T19:25:16.470+01:002010-03-21T19:25:16.470+01:00Part TWO:
I recently thought about starting a BUC...Part TWO:<br /><br />I recently thought about starting a BUCKET LIST. Not a list of all those things I haven’t done, but would like to do before I die. But all the things I never did, because I chose not to. I figure at the age of almost 60 that there should be at least 20 – 40 – ? But, no. There aren’t 20 – 40 - ? Is that because I DID most everything I wanted … OR because I can’t remember what I DIDN’T do – by choice.<br /><br />After a few months of intermittently contemplating, I figure this is it.<br />1.I never worked the Olympics (for TV) – which means I never went to the Opening Ceremonies.<br />2.I never went to dinner with a sportscaster in LA who thought he was “all that.”<br />3.I never got rich.<br />4.I never got famous.<br />5.I never talked about the men in my life OR the men NOT in my life.<br />6.I never talked about my altered states of consciousness OR NOT.<br />7.I never got my short story published in Cosmopolitan.<br />8.I never held a staff meeting in the men’s urinal – though I threatened to.<br />9.I never got married more than once.<br />10.I never had more than one child. (I am fond of saying, “I did it once. I did it right. I didn’t have to do it again.”)<br />11.I never stayed “too long at the fair.” Another English-ism that means I didn’t do anything until I was too old, or too forgetful, or too self-centered, or too isolated, or too self-deluding, or too used up.<br />12.I never looked too far ahead.<br />13.I never betrayed those I respected.<br />14.I never started something I didn’t finish.<br />15.I never lived my life on terms defined by someone else.<br />16.I never lost my faith.<br />17.I never lost my soul.<br />18.I never lost my sense of humor.<br />19.I never lost my sense of irony.<br />20.I never lost myself.<br /><br />OK, so there’s 20.<br /><br />There are plenty of things I can’t find.<br />What happened to that short story I wrote for Cosmo?<br />What happened to that exposé I wrote on the University of Nebraska Miss America Preliminary?<br />What happened to that dress my mother made me for my report I gave in elementary school on New York City?<br />What happened to my sheet music for “What’s it All about, Alfie?”<br />What happened to that picture of me and Mike Vostad from the Homecoming Dance at Washington High School in Sioux Falls – a vibrant purple crepe chemise – when my hair looked perfect – and the guy gave me my one-and-only orchid, which he couldn’t afford?<br />What happened to Mike Vostad?<br />What happened to Bill Smith?<br />What happened to that fake leather dress (with the puffy inset silk sleeves) that I made to see BJ Thomas?<br />What happened to that 60’s green crepe/full length/one-shoulder prom dress I made (with the new-fangled plastic zipper that kept coming unzipped)?<br />What happened to the bright pink/full length Las Vegas gown I wore in the UNL Miss America Preliminary. Or the peasant dress with the shawl that I wore in the talent competition?<br />What happened to the bright pink crepe/full length prom dress (with the fall) that I wore to Creighton Prep?<br />What happened to the B/W blocked shift I wore for graduation from Westside High School?<br />What happened to the purple short shorts/matching top I wore on the streets of NYC in the summer?<br />What happened to the hot pants I wore on the floor of the Nebraska Unicameral as a page?<br />What happened to my peach-colored twist dress I wore to my first boy/girl party in Rapid City?<br />OK … enough about clothes!<br />What happened to the mobile I made for my daughter’s baby room?<br />What happened to my Book of Job from Job’s Daughters?<br />What happened to the Masonic book (from my Grandfather) that I gave to my friend Steve who died?<br />What happened to the wall-size oil painting of my brother’s eyes?<br />What happened to my size 12?<br />What happened to my brown hair?<br />What happened to my pink DeSoto with the B/W leather interior and all-electric push button everything?<br />What happened to my voice?<br />What happened to my face?<br />What happened?<br /><br />WOW … that’s a long list!-into+https://www.blogger.com/profile/05431116451702549119noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-791295234047615037.post-24556631132154029822010-03-21T19:24:21.296+01:002010-03-21T19:24:21.296+01:00Here is a comment from the subject of my essay, my...Here is a comment from the subject of my essay, my sister Valerie:<br /><br />Part ONE:<br /><br />Let's consider the phrase ...<br />"For as long as I can remember."<br /><br />Is that "as long" as in as far back?<br />Is that "as long" as in what shape your current memory is in?<br />Is that "as long" as any one person can "remember" back to?<br />Is that "as long" as I (with the emphasis on me) can "remember" - as opposed to "as long" as you (not me) can "remember?"<br />Is that "as long" as I CAN remember - as opposed to CAN'T remember?<br /><br />Who knows!<br />It's the English language.<br />And the use of the English language - as a society. Or culture.<br />And the individual's use of the English language, which - of course - differs from one individual to another. Not to mention what this English phrase means to someone who doesn't speak English as a first language.<br /><br />Whatever.<br />It is what it is.<br />You say it. I say it. He, she, it says it. You say it. We say it. They say it. (Remember that verb conjugation sequence from French? Or whatever?)<br /><br />But if we are indeed talking about memories - as many or as few as they may be - as vivid or as pale as they may be - as real or as imagined or as embellished or as stripped down as they may be - then everyone has memories.<br /><br />Here I am reminded of the Streisand classic … Bergman, Bergman, Hamlisch.<br />“Memories … Like the corners of my mind … Misty watercolor memories - Of the way we were..Scattered pictures … Of the smiles we left behind … Smiles we gave to one another - For the way we were. Can it be that it was all so simple then? Or has time rewritten every line? If we had the chance to do it all again … Tell me - would we? Could we? Memories … May be beautiful and yet. What’s too painful to remember … We simply choose to forget. So it’s the laughter - We will remember. Whenever we remember - The way we were. The way we were.”<br /><br />After my Grams died, I sat in a BIG storage unit – in the middle of her memories – which became real history to me. Each box that was opened; each sack that was emptied; each note in her handwriting – or in my handwriting – or in someone’s handwriting that I read; each piece of clothing and jewelry; each photo (no writing on the back) of each person I DID or DIDN’T know; each tangible tactile item. It took days, weeks, months.<br /><br />What she kept (and there was PLENTY) are now in my head and in my heart and in my soul. Sometimes I look at my garage and wonder who will sit for days, weeks, months looking at my memories.<br /><br />Who knows.-into+https://www.blogger.com/profile/05431116451702549119noreply@blogger.com