The End of an Era.

On Thursday, January 19, Elizabeth "Betty" Curran departed this world. She was the mother of my high school friend -- JoAnn. The funeral was on Saturday and many of the old gang from Regina H.S. showed up. That’s the amazing thing about a funeral—amidst the grief there is the joy of seeing old friends. A weird sort of reunion celebration.

--Let me tell you something about Betty and all the other Moms of her generation: Simply, they don’t make ‘em like that any more. Strong women. Beautiful women. Post-war marriages to their soldier boys. Amazing mothers. Whatever-it-takes kind of women. Behind the scenes partners to their men who were out there working their asses off to support growing families.
--Case in point: Betty and Mike Curran started the south Minneapolis landmark, Curran’s Drive-In, on 42nd and Nicollet. Just blocks from my high school – Regina -- the place loomed large for our crowd. After school we would schlep up 42nd street to catch the #18 bus on Nicollet Avenue and get to our part-time jobs by 4:00. Many a Regina girl earned her tuition working as a carhop at Curran’s. So the drill was: stop for an order of fries, a cigarette, trash talk the Nuns and the underclassmen, then grab the bus downtown. JoAnn’s dad, Mike, knew us all whether we worked for him or not. We’d crowd around the small inside counter and JoAnn’s dad, Mr. Curran, aka Mike, would come booming out of the kitchen and give us a hard time. He was social, boisterous, charming and never judgmental as the Tareyton’s dripped from our lips.

--Betty and all the other “stay-at-home” moms gave the feminists something to rebel against. After all, how satisfying could that life be? I’m guessing, that for the most part, it was pretty eff-ing good. (Yeah, I know there was the whole John Cheever, waspy unhappy housewife thing going on, but I’m talking South-Minneapolis-cradle-of-tribal-family-territory-thing.) I’d like anyone to try to keep up with any of our old-school moms for even a day. I dare you! Double dog dare you! You’d be crying on your knees begging for mercy!
- No microwaves or designer kitchens
- No convenience foods
- No disposable diapers
- No Target! In fact, NO SHOPPING ON SUNDAYS! For the love of Gawd.

Here’s to Betty: one of the happiest, joyful women on earth. She actually planned her entire funeral liturgy before she died. It was like her: strong, confident, and not sentimental.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine, et lux perpetua luceat eis.

Listening to: Mahalia Jackson -- it's Sunday morning, baby!
Eating: Banana muffins and high-test coffee
Preparing for: another Sunday @ work!

She has arrived!

Meghan and Jeremy's perfectly precious little peanut arrived this morning, January 18, 2006 sometime around 9 am.
I simply can not describe the flood of emotion when first I gazed upon her tiny little face. And then upon Meggie, tired but ecstatic. I cried.

Where do you think you're going in that get-up?

Answer: Why, out to run errands on Saturday morning, of course!
Blue wind pants.
My new diesel pseudo-tennis shoes.
Pale green t-shirt.
Gold Scarf.
Blue Jacket. (One of the buttons reads, "Shut up and Dance," which I suggest one try from time to time.
My daughters would be horrified.
Luckily, I was wearing sun glasses so I don't think anyone at the Post Office or UPS store recognized me.

Here's the best part. The jacket back.
Hell's Satans--Homer Simpson's motorcycle gang if you must know.
Paddy, thanks for leaving me the best addition to my wardrobe. Ever.



Waiting for: Meghan's baby to be born
Drinking: Chai tea
Not eating: Fritos. I've given them up.

Get my art on.

Tuesday evening 6 pm -- 9 pm.
Beginning Oil Painting
Northrup King Building, taught by Clea Felien.

Q: Why?
A: New Year's Resolution #2. Do some learning.

Lesson One. Value. And we're not talking the family variety.
-- Set up still life, background and lighting.
-- Attempt to draw using little charcoal stick.
-- Wonder how those mountains got in my picture.

-- I'm learning. It's hard to be a beginner in something when in my real life job I get to be the boss and tell people what to do.
--I'm learning. A whole new language. Dark. Light. Value. Perspective. Negative Space.
This art thing. It ain't easy.
So, for all of you who look at a painting and say, "I could do that!" Well, I've got news for you.
You can't.
Don't even try.


Eating: White Castle Burgers and Junior Mints

I Hereby Resolve

To cut down on the swearing.
Cut down. Not quit.
----You know that you've been dropping one too many curse words when people (e.g. your sister and your daughter) give you buttons emblazoned with some of your favorites. Not that I rival Lenny Bruce, but I've been dropping the bomb a little too much. I just don't want to play into the general lack of civility that permeates our culture.
----Used to be your mom would wash your mouth out with soap if you said certain words. Now, every sit-com character punctuates their dialog with B-level swear words and sexual innuendo.
Used to be that Lenny would get himself arrested for violating obscenity laws just by saying the same word that Al Swearengen of Deadwood fame uses at least 150 times every episode.
----Used to be that because swearing was forbidden it held a mystical allure for kids. Was part of a rite of passage to adolescence. Words had some power. Saying the F-word could get your ass whupped. Now it's mainstream. Part of lyrics, videos, movie, TV dialog and graffiti. Ubiquitous. Like tattoos.
Shitballs. Besides, I need to set a good example for the impending grandchild.

Eating: nuts
Reading: "Up Against the Wall Motherf***er" Ron Hahne, 1968

Baby, baby, oh baby!

See that absolutely adorable baby?







That's my girl.
My firstborn.
My rock.
Meghan Clare McInerny.
Homo sapiens extraordinaire.
Able to leap tall buildings at a single bound.
Brilliant writer. Average cook.
Left-handed nerd.

On January 9th her firstborn is due to join the world. I'm so nervous I don't know if I'll pee my pants or cry. Probably both.

Eating: Pickles. Solidarity with Pregnant Woman.
Reading: Baby Center
Listening to: Any song with "baby" in the title.