Category: life

I believe in stories

Hmm…Yes, she does have an unbelievable amount of energy. It drives me and my brother crazy sometimes.

There were a couple of misprints in that article. My mom says that, “work is a four-letter word, but when you do it, you get back another four-letter word… love”, not “love and work are four-letter words”. And I don’t know where they got twelve adopted kids from. It’s my brother (bio.), me (adopted — thank god, karma, energy, whoever because I don’t think I would’ve made a good Angela Salerno), and four fosters that we haven’t seen in a very long time… So, it has been just me and my brother for quite a while. For a few years anyway, there were six of us. But, I’m sure if there had been thirteen of us, she would have dealt with it just the same (she became a single parent overnight. walked not died).

Then, she needed that focus and energy. She put us all in the van one night and drove us through the projects. We’d never seen them before. Broken toys and lawn chairs out in the concrete yards in the middle of winter. “We can live here or we can work. What do you want to do?” We said, “work.” And we did. Non-stop. Asses off. What had been a hobby for my mom, became a business when someone called to hire her to do a show. We did almost 200 shows a month every month for two years. It was a big exhausting blur. I was eight by then, and even though I continued to help her out until high school, something about the shows left behind a nasty aftertaste. I think smiling for strangers when our elevator crashed made every show feel like a lie. Something about it just stuck in my head.

Of course all that is different now, and it’s long since gone back to being a hobby and my mom has hired help.

Lately, she’s been doing a lot of shows at teen lock-down facilities and alternative learning schools. I help her out sometimes when her other helpers are unavailable. Those are the best shows because I really get to see what she does. We get in the room and set up and these kids come in with these attitudes… And I don’t blame them. Most of them have been told that they are pieces of shit. They’ve been wrecked and they’re angry. They come in and look at us like, “who the fuck are you? why the fuck are you here? take your fuckin’ animals home ’cause I don’t give a fuck about them or you.” It’s nothing like a blue and gold banquet or a birthday party. She breaks out the more personal stories for these kids. The kind of stories I hardly ever tell because I don’t want anyone to feel bad for me or my family. Maybe it’s the humor she uses or maybe these kids can relate to what she’s saying… I don’t know. But midway through her presentation, the room isn’t so angry, people are laughing, asking all kinds of questions, holding animals they didn’t even want to see and someone who may have looked emotionless at the beginning, now looks like they have so much to say. Those are the times when I think, Wow. This woman is changing a little piece of the world. And she’s my mom. Cool. I know that sounds extremely cheesy, but it’s true.

Interestingly, that article came from the Lakeview Manor newsletter… Lakeview Manor is the new name of those projects we drove through.

Lindsey

Doesn’t sound cheesy at all to me. I believe there’s no power in the ‘verse like the moment that two people experience a connection.

I believe in stories. They’re good for so many things –” teaching, integrating new information, connecting, distancing ourselves, praising, punishing. In some ways story is at the heart of all human interaction. Here’s what I did when I was 12 and my parents got divorced. Here’s what happened to my friend. Here’s how you and I are different. Here’s how we are the same. I remember… Personal stories can be such a powerful bridge. Sometimes they’re a momentary recognition, like a smile I give a stranger on the street. Sometimes they’re just a way of making myself hideously vulnerable without getting anything back. Sometimes they’re a lifeline for someone in a way that I may never anticipate or realize. But stories are always a gift. I like to give them and receive them, and I’m not likely to ever trust someone who isn’t willing to tell their own stories and listen to the stories of others. Good for your mom. She sounds like one of the Great Connectors.

I’m not just talking about the Big Stories; even the small stuff can make unexpected connections between folks. But the big stories can make a big impact. I think I understand what it might have been like for you helping out your mom, hearing her talk about your lives to strangers. Particularly those parts that might make people feel sorry for you, or give them just a little too much of a window into your world. I’ve been there.

One of the things that my high school class did in preparation for our upcoming reunion was to put together a “Reunion Book.” We filled out questionnaires, and the answers were collected into a booklet along with recent (or old) pictures. There were some evocative questions. And of course, all my memory comes back to me in the form of story, however abbreviated. So, Lindsey, thanks for your stories, and here are a few of mine.

St. Paul’s School 25th Anniversary Questionnaire

Kelley Eskridge
Occupation/Employment: writer

Partner’s Name: Nicola Griffith
Partner’s Occupation: novelist

Colleges/Universities and Degrees
BA Theatre Performance, University of South Florida

Public and Community Service Involvement
Various volunteer activities in the Deaf and Deaf-Blind communities, as part of my study of American Sign Language and interpreting.

Describe a favorite memory or moment at St. Paul’s
I have so many. Sneaking back onto campus with Jordie Hawley so late one night that even Checker Cabs was closed, and we had to hitch a ride (first time I ever did that!). The girls’ first boat winning Worcester even after one of our oarlocks popped and the race had to be started over. Time spent alone in the woods, or the boat docks, or Little Turkey–”part of me knew that I might never again get so much uninterrupted beauty and peace and space for myself. Time spent with friends. Almost any night at the Coffeehouse. All the conversations. Dances. Autonomy. Buying the first poster and the first piece of jewelry I ever picked for myself, at Isis & Rasputin (I still have both). Jon Sweet waking me up with a bottle of champagne because we’d kicked everyone’s ass at the debating championships. Checker Cabs delivering late-night ice cream. John Tweedy leaving a $200 check in my mailbox after he saw me crying because I couldn’t afford to reserve my place in the freshman class at Northwestern, a kindness done with such unintrusive grace that it set a lifelong standard for me. Lying in the snow outside Upper, watching my first meteor shower. How it feels to have people throw you in the pond because they like you. Roaring down Fisk Hill in the dark on a borrowed bicycle at a thousand miles per hour after the last crew party. Peppermint ice cream with chocolate syrup. The first time I stepped onto campus, for my tour and interview, and realized that there was a bigger life outside of Tampa, Florida: I fell in love with the school and the life in that moment, and I’ve never looked back.

What did SPS best prepare you for?
To learn in new situations–”to see things clearly and suss them out for myself, instead of waiting to be told what to think.

What did you NOT learn at St. Paul’s that you wish you had?
How to have the confidence of a 42-year-old.

What is your proudest accomplishment?
I’ve learned to live large, love unreservedly, build a marriage, be brave, appreciate difference, embrace joy, clean up my own mess, dream big dreams and then be responsible for whether I get them or not. Everything else is details.

If you could be granted one wish now, what would it be?
A miracle cure for multiple sclerosis.

What do you really hope to accomplish in the next 25 years?
Write and publish beautiful, powerful books. Interpret a U2 concert in ASL. Have 25 more years of food, drink and conversation with Nicola. Learn screenwriting. Take another trip down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. Cherish the people I love. Cherish myself. Meet new fascinating people and have some of them become life-friends. Dance more. Go farther than I ever imagined. Be joyful.

Any other thoughts or comments you’d like to share with your Formmates?
Life is short and the world is wide, and there are plenty of ways to be happy. I hope we have all found some.

Lindsey’s mom

A comfort beverage today. Those little wax bottles filled with dyed, fruit flavored sugar water (what are they called anyway?). I’ve got plenty a napkins to go around…you have to spit out the wax somewhere. I must say, I prefer to gather up a big wad of wax in my mouth then spit it into my hand –” If you hold it tight for a few minutes, you can form neat shapes out of it.

Your latest response got me thinking about my mom. She, in a way, trains people to “cope with difference together” almost every day. She’s a storyteller of sorts…using animals. She takes in abused, neglected and “imperfect” creatures –” snakes, turtles, birds, lizards. For 27 years, she’s been known as the “Snake Lady”. Most of her animals are missing legs or feet, or have been scarred in some way. Through her animal stories, she teaches kids and reminds grownups that….well, she teaches them lots of things: diversity, individuality, tolerance –” This is not as easy to explain as I thought it would be. I mean, I grew up with it. I should be able to put it to words. There’s an article about what she does on the web. There are tons of snake ladies, so you’d have to look up Bonnie Main Snake Lady. She had no idea that she was on the internet until I told her about two months ago. Don’t worry, she won’t mind that I put her name here… She’s all about access.

Years ago, she did a show at New England Home For Little Wanderers and ended up inviting four kids over for lunch (they thought she was cool and the animals too). She figured they’d like to meet the rest of her animals. When they told her that they were going to be split up into different foster homes (they were brother and sisters), she told them that wasn’t going to happen. They lived with us for five years.

— Lindsey

I did look up your mom (note from Kelley/2008 — the original link I found is broken now, so I’ve substituted a more recent one. You’ll have to get past a little formatting wackiness, but it’s worth it. Bonnie Main rocks.) Pretty amazing. She seems like one of those people who have both focus and an incredible amount of energy to back it up –” sort of like a broad-beam flashlight, if that makes any sense. I haven’t known many people like that. I imagine having such a parent makes a big impact on a person.

Your mom is quoted as saying, “Love and work are both four-letter words.” That made me smile. Love and work are where so many of us spend most of our time and energy, which is why they interest me so much to write about. My next book (which I will now get back to working on) has some things to say about this.

Again from 2008: Here’s a video I found of Bonnie. Lindsey, tell your mom we all said hi.

ASL and JME

Just some ice water…had a bonfire in the snow last night…a break-up party for a friend… too much schnapps in the Swiss Miss.

I was wondering about a couple of things. In a previous question, you mentioned your interest in sign language. Did you start that program? Is it really good? And, have you ever seen the movie Children of a Lesser God? I loved that movie –” when she describes the sound of the ocean –” when she screamed, “Hear my voice,” I was bawling my eyes out. That movie made me want to learn sign language. And for a year I had a crush on Marlee Matlin (sp?)…I was thirteen. I never did get around to learning it though. I know the alphabet and I used to know how to count. But that’s all. If it had been there when I was in school, I probably would have taken it instead of french.

In Solitaire, Scully’s aftershock behind the bar made me think of seizures. I’ve never seen a real one. Have you? I have JME and have had plenty of seizures (haven’t had one in 9 yrs and no more zombie meds either)… Anyway, friends and classmates would tell me what I looked like when I was having one. When Scully looked like he was going to reach out, when he made the nasty strangled sound and his eyes rolled back… that whole scene (except that his body was relaxed during the aftershock), was scary for me to read because, in a weird way, it was as if I hit play on the VCR and there I was seizing in front of myself. What Jackal does for Scully, other people have done for me… move stuff out of the way etc., etc. So, have you seen a seizure? Have you ever had to move stuff out of the way for someone? Just curious.

Thanks for taking the time to answer yet another one of my questions,

Lindsey

I enjoy your questions, it’s nice to have an extended conversation.

I did start my class and I love it. Love love love. I study at ASLIS, the American Sign Language & Interpreting School of Seattle. It turns out that many students in my class moved to Seattle specifically to study at the school, and that kind of commitment makes for a pretty tight bonding experience. It’s a great place to be if one is serious about ASL. Classes are small (and will get smaller next year, since some people take class as a foreign language credit for the University of Washington, and won’t be staying for the full program). We get a lot of teacher attention (also known as nowhere to run, nowhere to hide…) There’s a big emphasis on community involvement and learning about Deaf culture. It’s focused and intense and treats us like grownups, all of which work well for me in a learning situation.

I have seen Children of a Lesser God 2 or 3 times and really admire Marlee Matlin’s work. I love the scene in which she dances, feeling the music. I recently saw a repeat of an episode of The Practice that she did in 2000, in which she played a woman on trial for killing the man who murdered her daughter. There was an amazing scene between Matlin and Camryn Manheim (side note, Camryn Manheim rocks) –” they have an argument in ASL and as it heats up, Manheim stops voicing, and there’s a good 60-90 seconds of (silent) ASL between two very pissed-off people. No subtitles for the ASL-impaired; either the viewer keeps up or she doesn’t. It was exciting to watch, and very powerful.

I don’t believe I’ve ever witnessed a seizure –” I’m guessing the images and notions I have mostly come from books and movies/TV. I’m glad you don’t have to make a daily choice between seizing and zombification –” that sounds pretty unhappy either way. This is the first time I’ve really thought about the fact that people who experience seizures might not know what one is like (what they look like, or how people react). I imagine it’s unsettling to know something about yourself only from others’ perceptions, especially if the people around you are afraid. I hope your friends and classmates were sensible, although so much of that depends on our particular socialization (“bodies are icky and illness is embarrassing and what if I do the wrong thing?” versus “bodies are part of the package, they get wacky or hurt sometimes, and we just have to do what we think is best to help”).

So few of us are trained how to approach new and urgent situations, and how to trust ourselves in action. Specialized knowledge is good, but damn, there’s no substitute for common sense and the willingness to take some responsibility. Jackal behaves the way I hope I would: and now that I’m thinking about this, I realize that my next book looks at this issue (how people behave in crisis) more intentionally. Hmm. I wonder how many little moments in Solitaire reflect themes or ideas that are important to me but still subterranean, that I will explore in future books, maybe forever.

The dream pub

It seems strange that my first contact with the world of authors’ sites would be after reading only two chapters of a writer’s book (and nothing of her stories), but that is a sincere tribute to the person, the book, and the site. I’m looking forward very much to cozy nights in the pub exploring the worlds of Kelley Eskridge and Nicola.

John Young

I hope the virtual pub is comfortable and properly provisioned. I’m finding it pretty cozy myself, really enjoying it. And, of course, I hope you enjoy the book as well, and would look forward to any comments you might wish to share.

I’m curious about what brought you here after only two chapters. Please note, this isn’t a veiled request for lots of ego strokes about marvelous writing or whatever, but rather a question about the psychology around the access made possible by the web and an individual website. Did something in the book make you curious about me specifically? Do you generally go out and look for more information about artists whose work interests you? What are your criteria for sticking with a site like this? This is an open question for anyone, really. Those of you who have read through the material on this site know that I’m interested in notions of access and connection. I know what kind I’m willing to grant — less than some, more than others — and I know what kind I hope for from people whose work I admire. But that’s just me. I’m guessing that mileage varies wildly in this regard. If anyone wants to talk about this, I would find it interesting and instructive.

Your comment also got me imagining my dream pub. A neighborhood place, a little shabby from the outside with an entrance off the main road, so that the regulars can feel safe and just that bit smug about our good fortune. There would always a table free for me and mine, of course (grin). A main room with just enough bustle that never got too far on the wrong side of noise and crowd. A snug with soft leather armchairs and a lovely fireplace. Oranjeboom, Redhook, Fullers ESB and proper Dublin Guinness on draft. Decent champagne and brandy. A couple of startling and dramatic wines. A bartender who is a renaissance person with an extensive lending library and a genuine talent for making people feel welcome. Giant hamburgers with homemade buns and sautéed onions, and special handed-down-for-generations mayonnaise-based secret sauces. Fried zucchini and fried okra. Haddock and the best chips in the universe. Hummus with enough lemon, served with hot Greek pita. Vegetarian chili and cole slaw layered in pita bread (trust me). Sandwiches from Boat Street here in Seattle (artichoke-heart-salad, or pate and cornichons, or poached chicken with roasted red peppers, all on crusty baguettes) and The Other Coast Café (amazing deli concoctions, also in Seattle, lucky us). Good music. Indirect lighting. A room at the back with pool tables for Nicola.

My local isn’t Kelley’s Dream Pub, but it’s a great place. Good Philly cheese steak sandwiches and imperial pints of Bass. A fireplace. My kind of music. They like us and take great care of us, although there’s that tricky matter of not having my favorite table always waiting whenever I want it…. However, I’ve learned that one advantage of being a writer is the ability to visit the pub in off-hours and have the run of the place. We met a good friend there recently and parked ourselves in front of the fireplace for an entire weekday afternoon; Nicola took Official Virtual Pint Photos; and we all found that lovely drinking pace that maintains rousing good spirits without veering into conversational stupidity. A grand day. I’ll take as many of those as I can get.

Talkin’ about love

i just wanted to pass along praise for Solitaire. i loved the cover, and while it’s true that you can’t judge a book by its cover, your words ended up in my hands and in my head because of the art. amen for that.

i’m not a big sci-fi reader, but i was cruising through the pages, and then one line nailed me like a Mack truck. the line about wanting to be in Snow’s arms spoke so much to me about humanity and existence, and how a lover can have such influence and healing, be a haven. that line alone made it clear that i’d finish the book, and i ended up reading cover to cover that night.

being much more of a romantic than a sci-fi fan, it was the words about Snow and Jackal and the way they cared about and understood each other that were my favorites. your words were familiar and the ache for their relationship to survive is like the ache i have for my future and the possibility of love like that.

thanks for sharing your talents, and for using your talents to share emotion, compassion, intelligence, humanity, independence and togetherness, etc etc etc!

can’t wait for more,
maria

Thanks very much. I’m glad you enjoyed it.

I find it challenging to write about love. I think it depends on describing small and sometimes inherently uninteresting moments in ways that reflect the greater whole, like building a pinhole camera to watch an eclipse. It seems to me that often writers choose to focus on the Big Moments of love, but in life (at least, in mine) those are only about 10% of the package –” the rest is daily, built primarily, as Jackal describes it, on the dozen hourly acts of will that bind people together. Those are the bones of love. It’s hard enough to write honestly and well about the beginning of love, or the end: but writing about persistence of love is, I think, a very particular and delicate skill. Something to keep working on, for sure. I will be a Happy Writer when I can write that well.

Having said all that, of course the Big Moments –” where the foundation either holds, or not –” are part of any story. Much of what interests me as a writer boils down to examining moments of choice, and even when the choice seems small it can still be a big moment. The things that drive our choices are so varied. There are a million stories there.

I wasn’t sure as I was writing Solitaire that Jackal and Snow would be together after VC. I didn’t make that decision until very shortly before I wrote the scene where Jackal finds Snow outside Shangri-La. It was hard to write about their saying goodbye (in the phone call just before Jackal goes into VC) and to think that it might be true. I’m glad it wasn’t.

The choice about whether to have Snow come to the NNA was really, at base, a fundamental decision of whether to write a book about the presence or absence of hope. I decided that it was a braver choice, as well as a happier one, to have them try to work things out. It can be hard to sustain hope. It’s a choice that has to be made over and over again –” I think will plays a greater part than disposition in the choice (well, I believe that about almost every choice, but that’s my bias). I believe the courage to hope is a quintessentially human thing.

I don’t know if I’m a romantic or not. I don’t believe that romantic love conquers all –” I think in many cases it just makes life damn complicated. And I don’t understand people who think that bad love is better than no love at all. I think some people don’t know how to love, and that some people love each other but are not good together. Feelings aren’t enough, no matter how intense. The persistence of love depends on doing as well as feeling. I do believe with all my heart that this kind of love (and lover) can be a haven, a fortress, a greenhouse, a grand adventure, and the best story in the world.