Thursday, July 11, 2013

How to look like a garden gnome (And other stories from 1974)

So, enough with all this slacking, agreed?  Agreed.  I believe I promised The Internet pictures and stories from 1974, right?  Well, okay.  I can do that.  Here’s what I’ve found out from scouring my mom’s hoard of old family pictures….

When 1974 began, I was about one and a half years old (and still mostly bald) (of course).  I used to go on lots of rainy wintery neighborhood walks with my Mom around our gray Seattle suburb.  But, hey, check out my snazzy red walking suit!

Yeah, go ahead and say it.  I can take it.  I looked like a beardless garden gnome.


Apparently, I was a dog person from the very beginning because I unearthed several shots of me running waddling through the streets with random neighborhood mutts.

Ahh, good ol’ 1974, when dogs could just roam the ‘hood without pesky hindrances like owners, leash laws, and litigious neighbors.  Those were the days. 

But anyway….

Our tour through 1974 is skipping Spring and jumping face-first right into the middle of Summer due to an absence of pictures.  Apparently, my parents misplaced their camera for six or seven months…. or they were just preoccupied with other things.  Like my soon-to-be-born little sister.  So,  here is my preggo mama (still rockin’ her bouffant beehive wig!) and me on my 2nd birthday.

I got lots of Noddy books and a Noddy doll that birthday, which were sent over from my relatives in England. 

Oh God, I will never forget those Noddy books!  I ended up with a whole bookshelf full of them and I remember feeling really uncomfortable about them.  In a nutshell, they could have been written by Paula Deen after a bank robbery, okay?  (What?  Too soon?)  The books were populated with “Golliwogs” in racist blackface makeup who lure Noddy into the woods and then steal all his stuff.  One of them was even named N*gger.  Yeah, his name was N*gger!  Unbelievable.

My mom wouldn’t read the books aloud to me and I remember her pulling them all off the shelves and hiding them whenever I had friends over, so, even really young, I definitely had the idea that they were bad books.  I just wasn’t sure why when I was little, but I supposed it had something to do with all the scary pictures of Noddy being robbed in the forest.  When I was about seven years old, I stumbled upon the old Noddy books and hid under my bed sheets with them, like a boy with a stack of stolen Playboy magazines, reading bits of them to myself when my mom wasn’t looking—and I was shocked at what was in them. 

These were children’s books????

In 2009, Noddy was, apparently, given a makeover and the Golliwogs were removed from the newest stories.  (It took until 2009 for that to happen????  Really????  Wow.)  I can’t seem to find my old Noddy doll on eBay or anywhere to tell you how much he sells for these days (although I’d really love to know), but you could buy the old Noddy books on eBay anywhere from $1 to $14 each, if you’re so inclined.

Okay, enough about Noddy….

For my birthday, I also got a huge orange baby carriage which, obviously, made me feel like hot stuff strutting around with it on the parquet floor.

My birthday cake, like most cakes in the 70’s, had a big, scary rubber clown head on it. 

Why oh why did people feel the need to befoul perfectly good cakes with gruesome clown heads in the 70’s?!  I’m telling you, I just don’t get it.  Nope.  Here’s a closer picture I borrowed from Etsy of some 1970’s cake topper clown heads.


As the Summer of 1974 rolled on, I could be found looking quite movie star-y, digging in my sandbox in my shades, handmade outfit, and Salt Water Sandals.

Did you grow up in the 70’s?  If you did, I’d bet my Bee Gees lunch box that you had Salt Water Sandals too, am I right?  Every kid I knew had them.  I had a red pair and a white pair. 

And if you grew up in Seattle in the 70’s, I bet you wore socks with your sandals too!  ;-)

According to my baby book, I was talking up a storm in 1974.  I said “bunnit” for bunny rabbit, “tombut” for bottom, and “alligator” for escalator.  On a related note, I accidentally asked my kid to “plat in the flug iron” instead of plug in the flat iron just two days ago, so at least I’m consistent. 

In early autumn of 1974, a very bizarre series of events took place which left me with no choice but to conclude that my parents had lost their wig-loving minds.  But…. we’re going to have to probe through those questionable moments in an upcoming post because—*sniffle*—I’m out of bloggy time for today.  I’ll be back soon, swearsies!

Wanna relive my discoveries of 1973?  Click HERE.  Or for 1972, click HERE.

© Coracabana

Wednesday, July 3, 2013

Three is a magic number

So.  Apparently, I am just not coordinated enough to both be a blogger and…. well…. do anything else at the same time these days.  What with my eBay selling, plethora of photography projects, trying to keep my city deck garden alive, and all my fun daily life adventures with Scope and Wednesday, somehow blogging just always seems to find its sad, neglected self crying at the bottom of my to-do list. 

Just pitiful. 

But never mind all that.  Today—TODAY—is a very special day, so, dammit, I’m dusting off ye olde bloggity skillz because, you see, there’s this:



Three years ago today, I married my very best friend, my dear, sweet, precious Scope.  *squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!*  It was a truly amazing, delightful day and, honestly, each and every day since has been more wonderful, like a warm, fuzzy blanket we can snuggle up in (or pull over our heads on those more difficult days) and I wouldn’t trade this life we’ve made together for anything.  So….

To my dear, incredible Hubba Hubba Hubby,

Before I met you, I didn’t know how to trust anymore.  What could be more dangerous than trust?  Nothing.  I didn’t, I wouldn’t, I couldn’t trust anyone.  But, most of all, I didn’t trust myself. 

When I saw my reflection in the mirror, all I could see was a mistake in my past.  I could never shake it.  I sometimes felt like I was nothing more than that mistake.  It was me; I was it; we were one—just one big mess.  I couldn’t forgive myself for what had happened and I was determined to never risk it happening again.  Never. 

I knew my Mr Right was out there somewhere in the world, but I couldn’t see how I would ever recognize him or be capable of trusting him or myself enough to allow him to get close.  I remember saying aloud that “the universe is just going to have to be blunt and drop the perfect guy right into my lap” or else I’d live out my life alone, because I there was no way I was going to go out into the world looking for him and risk crossing paths with another Mr Wrong.

The universe must have heard me loud and clear, because one amazing day—BOOM!—you dropped right into my lap, just like magic.  You made trusting you feel so easy and safe.  You made trusting myself feel easy and safe as well, and I’m still trying to figure out how on earth you did that.  (Seriously, how did you do that?!)

You swooped in like Superman and changed both Wednesday’s and my lives in all the most wonderful ways and every day I am thankful and still in awe that we met.  Your smile lights up my whole world, just like it lit up the whole airport on the day we first met.  Every time you hug me or kiss me or make me laugh or make Wednesday feel loved, I fall more and more in love with you.

You’re simply perfect, Scope.  You’re sweet, smart, handsome, hilarious, sexy, silly, cuddly, and all the most marvelous things all rolled into one.  You're such a great husband and father and I can hardly remember what life was like Before Scope.... or B.S. as I like to call it.  (See what I did there?)  I love you to pieces!  Happy Anniversary!  :-)


© Coracabana