a tragic afternoon

Today I made my way downtown to the Detroit Opera House, to see the ballet Romeo & Juliet. It was utterly fantastic, and is now my second-favorite ballet (nothing will ever top Giselle). I loved the costumes, the lighting, the dancing, and all the gut-wrenching angst.

These poor people. Just look at the carnage!

I mean, nothing good ever comes of these stories. People get stabbed, poisoned, heartbroken, banished, forced into arranged marriages, and screwed over by love. Sometimes they become angry ghosts and seek vengeance on any man who comes their way. Good grief. And here I thought I had it bad. At least I've never woken up on a stone slab in a crypt with the dead body of my beloved collapsed next to me. How would you explain that in therapy?

Things really could be so much worse.

proudest day

My next photo entry for Susannah's class is me, on the day I received my Master of Fine Arts degree. The photo of me in my cap and gown is resting on my diploma, which is one of my most prized possessions.

People go to grad school for many reasons: some because their career path demands an advanced degree, others in the hopes that it will lead to a better job more quickly. I did it for entirely emotional reasons: I needed to feel strong and validated.

My life had been ripped apart a few years earlier at the hands of my uncle and aunt, and I needed to prove to THEM that I hadn't bought into their lies about my character. I wanted to say "Ha! You thought you could destroy me? You thought I would curl up and die? You thought your words could shrink me down? I am still here and LOOK! I made myself better IN SPITE of you. You have no power over me and you did not break me."

My motto was (and still is): "The Greatest Revenge is Success." Which means that when people screw you over, believe lies about you, and basically throw you under a bus to save themselves, you don't get revenge by setting their house on fire, keying their car, plotting ways to make their lives miserable, or doing any number of things that could land you in prison.

You know what people hate? When they've treated you like crap and expect you to fail, and you turn around and become a successful person who absolutely shines. That is revenge. You haven't hurt anyone, and in fact, have bettered yourself in the meantime. When I held that diploma, a lot of the grinding rage drained away; I was so filled with pride that there wasn't much room for any other emotion. And I still feel that way when I hold it today.

April 22, 1995. The proudest and happiest day of my life.

photo friday

Whew! After the heaviness of the last post, I decided to end the week with happier photos. Above is one of my favorites - from left to right: my great-great-grandpa, my great-great-grandma, my grandma (the toddler), my great-grandma, my great-grandpa. The rest of the people I don't know, but they are listed as Cordy, Harry, Ida, and Helen (the little girl).

In the left photo are my great-grandparents with my grandma. I never knew my great-grandpa (he died in 1965), but I was extremely close to my great-grandma (she died in 1985) as well as my grandma (who died in 2005). I love the photo of my grandma on the right, looking like a little lady with her legs crossed and hands folded. This one says "June 21, 1929, age 3 years, 4 months."



Here's my grandma on a pile of snow in 1940. On the right photo, it says "July 18, 1936. Ring, age 12 (the dog), Arlene age 10."


Going through the photos of my grandma in her late teens, I began to wonder if she always wore dainty frocks, had perfectly curled hair, and wore lipstick while she worked on the farm. Then I realized that she must have had her mom take these photos so she could send them to my grandpa, who was overseas in World War II - so of course she wanted to look her best! This was taken in June, 1943.

See? Here she is again in 1943 with a curly updo and dark lips, hanging out in the yard. I just love these "glamour" shots of her, all gussied up for her man!