Kellie Elmore: Free Write Friday, Favorite Childhood Gift

Favorite Childhood Gift:

My father bought my favorite stuffed animal, a monkey, in Lamberts, a store in New York City for my second birthday.I imagined Lamberts was a store filled with all kinds of wonderful things: police cars that flashed and made noise, doll babies with small pink bottles, cards for all occasions, all types of medicine including my personal favorite, St. Joseph Aspirin for children that tasted like an orange cream soda. I pictured them also having a formica counter with shiny chrome swirling stools where you could orders snacks and a black and white ice cream soda, or a frosty bright pink strawberry milkshake.

My favorite love object is a stuffed animal whose name is Nokey.I could not pronounce “Monkey” at the time. If you noticed I haven’t used the past tense it’s because I will be 57 in the beginning of October and Nokey will be 55. Yes, I still have him, I will always have him. This special friend of mine, this lovey, has been all over the world with me, wherever my family took me, I took him.

He is so important to me that my husband (and probably my grown-up children) know when I die, I want to be buried with him beside me or cremated with me. Nokey was always such a huge part of my life.

I’m not sure why he was so important but I know he was the one object I could rely on, could trust. He kept my confidences and more importantly, only he could make me feel safe. I slept with him until he was too fragile to sleep with, he went to college for a semester but after that his inner stuffing starting falling out and ungainly wires started poking out. My father, seeing old friends, brought him to a small doll and toy factory in Germany (my father was an airline employee) so that Nokey could get a face and body lift. There was nothing in New York, they only accepted “dolls.” His colors were still the same, a yellow shirt and black pants, with white sneakers but his head was a little too puffy.  In time I forgot how he used to look.

I have always imagined the toy shop high on a cobblestone street, on the second floor. The old, kindly toy maker with white hair and round glasses, looking out the window, smiling; and there would be red flowers on all the window boxes of the white house with brown trim.

Nokey has ruby-red lips upturned in a big, happy smile and I used to swing his arms back and forth because I thought he liked it. His ruby smile faded a tiny bit as he became older just as all of us fade a little with age. It didn’t matter to me, it doesn’t matter to me.I love him for all the love, comfort and warmth he brought to me. I never cared how he looked with his bandaged hand, masking tape, in many places. Shouldn’t old age be treated in the exact same way? Do we really need all these vain people trying to look young forever? Why? Yes, I’m focusing on you, “celebrities. You send such a bad message to people.

Nokey is now lying beside me with his bandaged white sneakers and his hand that was once burnt on the furnace that my dad lovingly wrapped in masking tape. I will not put him in the closet for another day, I will find a place for him where I can see him and smile and remember the comfort he gave me, as a little girl, standing outside, looking within.

Unhappy Birthday To Me

I generally savor my approaching birthday all year-long. As soon as I have one birthday I start the countdown to the next. I love birthdays, anyone’s birthday, it’s a celebration of Life. I had thought briefly about having a party for my 55th birthday in our house; there is no way THAT is going to happen. First, I don’t have a house. We are homeless at the moment. It’s under construction, five minutes away from demolition if you ask me. Second, I’m a little depressed and I don’t feel like celebrating now and third, while I like being the center of attention once in a while part of me is very shy. The side of me that loves attention is totally unreliable and generally lasts a mere five minutes. Fourth, I HATE surprises. I plan to skip my birthday totally this year and it is not because I am turning double nickels, I don’t care about age; I care about feeling happy.

Our tiny cozy house is not a home anymore. What started as a kitchen renovation became a total house renovation. We are not living there but carpenter ants and mold are. Not healthy living conditions for us, and the fact that there are no bathrooms that work makes it just a little more complicated. There was a lot of hidden damage in our house, unbeknownst to us, so imagine our horror when one room after another needed work. Long ago, there was a movie called “The Money Pit.” Basically, we are those people.

This year, my birthday will be just  another day. My husband will still be on crutches after his Achilles Tendon surgery, we won’t be back in our home and overall, it’s been a very rough year. In addition to the non-house situation my birthday falls on the most solemn holiday in the Jewish religion, Yom Kippur. While my family does not belong to any temple, nor are we particularly religious, celebrating my birthday on the most solemn day, the Day of Atonement, just does not feel right. Besides, my mother would kill me.

I hope some day I will get back that child-like feeling about birthdays. It seems so sad to have lost that. Our house? I hope that I can also love it again the way I used to. Our house betrayed us, people we’ve trusted have ignored us. I accept that not being happy on my birthday is okay. There’s always next year.

Pop Cop: Heidi Montag –Repost

Image via Wikipedia

1/24/2010

Heidi WHO?   There has been a lot of media attention about some actress named Heidi and I have no idea why. Her name and tons of photos of her have been shown relentlessly on TV and articles have been written about her in all the gossip rags. Why? Supposedly, this  TV” star”( and I use that term VERY loosely) recently had ten cosmetic surgical procedures done in one day. She’s getting all this media attention for THAT? Now, won’t that certainly assure her of getting her a star on Hollywood Boulevard…..? Not.

Frankly, I don’t give a crap about Heidi Montag and all her surgeries.  The only people who SHOULD be concerned and involved are her mother, husband, best friend and the psychiatrist she apparently really needs to meet.   I could care less whether Heidi Montag or Jane Fame have ten surgeries in a day,  let them have 20 procedures for all I care. Can’t we just keep it under wraps and not give her this shameful publicity?  In my opinion, I think she needs serious psychiatric help instead of  fame.  I read that she was/is on a tv show with some dude, Spencer Pratt. From what I have read, I thinks she is married to him but there’s a bit of controversy regarding that.  Incredible Hall of Fame. Fabulous resume too.

Heidi,  you famous thing. Apparently you are an actress so why don’t we  just put you in the same category of say, the invincible Meryl Streep while we are at it? The difference? Meryl Streep deserves to be famous; Meryl Streep is an unbelievable actress and a true star. A woman I would be honored to meet, an icon.   Heidi -Who, in my opinion should get help for her mind, not her body. Does anyone else hear the word Dysmorphic syndrome?  And, why, why, when girls are just getting exposed (finally) to full-figured models and “real” women are we showcasing this person?  Think, people, think. Do you think it’s a good message?  Right. NO, it isn’t. I’m all for freedom of speech but really?    TMZ,  I actually really like you but come on, even you?

Heidi, and I quote, says that “she feels like plastic”and basically, she is plastic, from top to bottom and ten times over.   She says she is not addicted to plastic surgery, umm, ok if you say so but I beg to differ. If you want to emulate Barbie, fine. Barbie is a GOOD role model compared to you. She has different types of careers and areas of expertise. She can be a veterinarian or a pilot, or a brain surgeon, a mom or an Olympic gold medalist.

Heidi-Who on the other hand? I’ve got it.  She will be a contender for the silver medal in the Nip/Tuck category of the Olympics. For representing a really bad role model to others,  and a disturbing image of herself.