None of your business!

My dad was not often angry with me as a teenager, as I remember. I like to think it's because I was the perfect daughter, but, really, it was likely due to the fact that my dad and I are something of kindred spirits. Or maybe it was simply because, with me, he always had  captive audience - his jokes always cracked me up.

I remember distinctly one of the few times my dad was angry with me. A friend of mine had told me a joke and I thought, as we were driving along Stanley Boulevard one night, that it would be funny to recount it. 

As we passed one of the bus stops on the road I made a passing comment about how, a few nights ago, I had picked up a homeless lady to drop her off from that particular bus stop. 

"You did what?" My dad asked as if he didn't hear me the first time. 

"Ya, I picked up this homeless woman. It was raining. Remember that night last week when it was pouring rain? Well, she was standing there, sopping wet, and clutching this full plastic bag. So I pulled over." I said matter of factly.

"Rachel, what were you thinking? You picked up some random person on the side of the road?!!" Dad is rapidly raising his voice.

My sister, Julia, sitting in the back, who has already heard the joke, tries to interfere on my behalf. 

"Dad, calm down. She's obviously okay."

"Ya," I continue. " It was a little weird, though. As I pulled over I rolled down the window and asked her if she was headed somewhere in town. She nodded her head, yes. So I told her to hop in and I'd take her there. She got in the car and put her bag on her lap - she fiddled with that thing the whole time." 

"Rachel! Were you driving OUR car?? The car that WE let you use. That car isn't yours to do careless things in!" My dad is past calm at this point - just trying to wrap his mind around what his seventeen-year old daughter is telling him.

"Well, ya, but, that's not even the bad part, Dad." I say, as if this is going to make him lower his voice.

"This gets worse...!"

"Dad! Let her finish!" Jules interjects.

"So, anyway, she gets in the car and I ask her 'Where can I take you?' And she mutters back, 'None of your business. She kept rummaging through the stuff in her bag. I was confused so I tried again, 'Well, where do you live?' 'None of your business,' she responds again." 

I'm trying to tell the story as quickly as possible since my dad is driving the car and his face is turning red and I'm backing into my corner of the front seat. 

I continue my story. "We're driving, and I keep asking her questions for any clue of where I can drop her off. 'None of your business. None of your business.' She keeps saying."

"Rachel! This is just ridiculous! You let a crazy woman in my car and you drove her around town??!! YOU OBVIOUSLY ARE NOT READY FOR THE RESPONSIBILITY OF DRIVING. I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS. YOU AREN'T GOING TO DRIVE EVER AGAIN!" My dad starts threatening. 

"Dad! Calm down! You're being unreasonable! Let her finish..." Julia quickly comes to my defense.

I jump in - rushing to finish my story. 

"So, she just keeps saying 'None of your business. None of your business.' So finally I pull over and I just tell her, exasperatedly, 'Alright, I think you need to get out. I wanted to help, but you are really freaking me out.' She mutters something under her breath and fumbles out of the car. She got out, okay? So I drove away and went straight home, but when I got there I realized she had dropped her bag on the floor in front of the seat. I went back out and tried to find her to give it back..."

"You went BACK OUT THERE TO FIND HER?" My dad is yelling at me and I'm ready to crawl into the glove compartment as I try to finish before he grounds me for five more years.

"...but I couldn't find her so I drove back home. I wonder what happened to her. I still have the bag. I left it in the trunk in case I see her around town..." I trail off to silence except for my seething dad, breathing fire through his nose. I'm mentally kicking myself for trying to tell this stupid joke. 

"Rach, what was in the bag?" Julia asks.

I say a silent thank you to Jules. 

"NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS," I emphasize the punchline triumphantly. Julia gives me a courtesy laugh trying to help dad see the light.

My dad's face changes almost instantly. He gets it. It was a joke. His daughter just told a joke. 

I think he considered maintaing my loss of privileges, but he ended up laughing a little so all was forgiven. But really, the car they let me drive was an 80s, wood-paneled, Plymouth Voyager, so I think I was still punished.

The Playhouse

It's turning into a shed.

It's about time for it, anyway. It hasn't housed the imaginations and games of any of us four sisters in years. You could make an argument to keep it as a playhouse for the future generations that will certainly come to know this backyard well, but at the rate all of us are procreating it's somewhat less than practical.

There was talk of turning it into a cabana of sorts. The front wall would be knocked down. The grill would go there. It seemed like a good idea. Dan, the logical and unsentimental voice, suggested that we turn it into a shed for all the hundreds of various tools my dad has lying around. This idea resonated with all of us.

Yes, it was dad's.

My dad built it for us. I couldn't tell you what year. It feels like it has always been there. It's doorway always open to whatever uses we had in store for it on any particular day. The usual games were played: house, school, restaurant, office. We were Jills of all trades.

Neighbor kids would come play with us sometimes. When friends were over the playhouse was typically ditched in favor of the thrilling and deadly trampoline, but when it was just us sisters (however many at a time) the playhouse was usually full of noise.

It was a favorite place to be on my own - I was an avid reader and a quiet space was highly valued. One day I had it on my mind to make myself a reading nook. I lugged my bean bag chair and plopped it in a corner near the window where sunlight shone through. I made trip after trip carrying out my mom's collection of Nancy Drew books. She had easily 50 of the series; they were hard cover and had lived through her childhood.

I was so proud of myself as I sat down in my chair and started re-reading my favorite series. It got darker and without any electricity I abandoned my library for the night.

It rained.

That would've been fine if the playhouse was built to code. It wasn't. The rain came through the blue shutters and ruined a good portion of my mom's collection. I was pretty scared to tell her, but I did. She wasn't happy.

I don't think I would forget that even if she didn't remind every so often.

Library is one of the many names of that playhouse.

I'll never forget climbing onto it's roof from the bars of our swing set. Someone would throw the rope swing over. I would sit at the edge of the roof, put my feet on the wooden plank attached to the end of the rope, and push off. It was probably the most daredevil thing I ever did in my life. I would do it over and over, loving the rush.

I cleaned it out today. It has become a storehouse for odds and ends in it's recent years, and a safe house for spiders of every variety. I spared you before photos with the webs and creepy crawlers - you're welcome.

The shutters are gone and have been replaced with screens that have been sealed shut to keep out rodents. The walls have some holes. The floor was covered in leaves and dirt.

But once it was all cleaned out it felt just like the old playhouse. There were even some old scooters and a basketball still in there amongst the debris.

This place has so many memories and it was one of the greatest things my dad ever did for us. Now it gets to be his. A space for all his tools and ideas - his imagination and creativity gets to run wild in there now, too.

At least, that's what I hope it is for him.

present

My first present for Dan is wrapped and under the Christmas tree. Seriously, I think I might like giving gifts more than I like receiving them. And that's saying something because I really love opening presents! 

Oh! AND I MADE THAT TREE SKIRT! Yep, just gave myself a little pat on the back.

p.s. Funny story about Christmas gifts: 

One year Julia and I came home from school and, since all our friends had talked about these things called Christmas lists, we made our very first Christmas lists. We had never heard of such a thing and excitedly ran to the first parent we could find upon completing the lists. Dad happened to be the lucky recipient and we gleefully handed him our carefully curated, adolescent Christmas lists. He looked at them and then said: "Now girls, gifts are from the giver." Essentially saying that gifts are not something we ask for but are given from love. That was okay, we thought. Lesson learned: no Christmas lists for the Herrington girls. 

Flash forward about eight years. Dad comes home and says "All right girls, I'm gonna need some Christmas lists so I know what to get you!" 

We looked at him appalled. "Dad, gifts are from the giver!"

photophunten

Day Ten:

A Photo of You as a Baby

I never understood those scenes in sitcoms when the mom would pull out baby pictures in front of the love interest and the child of said mother would be so embarrassed that there is proof that he/she was a baby. I love baby pictures. I love my baby pictures. I think all little kids are adorable and if you wanted to see cute pictures of me I would show you in a heartbeat. Granted the cute pictures stop somewhere around 4th grade and then they just turn awkward until I turned about 17 years old and only really became presentable after high school. But baby pictures I love. Maybe it's because baby skin is clear and soft or because the clothes our parents put us in were questionable at best. Either way, I couldn't decide on which one I like better so I'm putting up both. 

My aunt was 20 when I was born and Julia and I became her dolls. She had so much fun dressing us up and taking pictures and from the looks of things I liked it too. But wow, can I BE wearing anymore jewelry?

And this one, well this one is just adorable. Also, I wanted to pay homage to my mother who really wanted to be a cool hippie-hipster and I think maybe that meant putting me in tie-dye. Notice the fabulous faux nature background, you can't tell but I'm sitting on a stool in a sand box setup -- because everyone knows the forest is the best place to find sand floors.