For those of you who don't understand Nathan-ease, here is your Nathan to English dictionary brought to you by Grace and "Me".
Truck = F@!#
Gum = Mug
Grace = Race
Ryan = Ry Ry
Please = Peace
Christmas = Mis mis
Sucker = Gucka
Ice Cream = Ah-key
Chip = Pip
Movie = Vee vee
Pepsi = Poppie
Chocolate = Hawk hawk
Apple Juice = Appa Goock
Milk = Muck
Candy = Nanny
Sleeping =beeping
Grandma = grrrrr mama
Cereal = eeee oh
Thank you = geek ooo
Blanket =bankeck
Jacket = gackeck
Snow = No
There is one more thing we should point out. Everything belongs to Nathan. So, you must say "me" before every word in his language. Here is a test to determine if you have mastered Nathanease:
1) If I said, "Candy" then in Nathanease it would be ______________.
2) Truck = __________________.
3) Chocolate Chip = _____________________.
The correct answers are: 1) Me nanny, 2) Me f@#!, and 3) Me hawk hawk pip.
If you got the correct answers you are well on your way to understanding Nathanease.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Friday, February 13, 2009
Carrollton...Rest in Peace
I don't know how old I was when I began to hear the rumors about the airport's plan to expand. I must have been in high school. There were just tidbits of information I would receive about meetings that were held between the airport and city officials. One of the plans was to purchase every house in our neighborhood, level it out and build a runway. I remember thinking that it would never happen. The neighborhood was well established...so many people lived there. There were two churches, schools and a neighborhood pool. I imagined the expense of it all. Not to mention the fact that the residents of my community would never agree to such a thing!
It might have been in a major metropolitan area but Bridgeton had that small town feel. Carrollton was just one subdivision in Bridgeton and it was a close community. My parents bought our house even before I arrived so it was in this house where I came into the world and it was from this house I moved after I got married.
I don't quite know how to convey the security I felt when I was growing up and how my neighborhood, friends and neighbors were such a big part of that feeling. It was my friends, Bobby, Gina, Shannon and Laura, who I played with all the time. It was the old couple down the street, Bob and Jessie, who let me play in their yard and who always enjoyed my company when they were sitting on their back porch. It was Mr. S whistling every time I walked outside. It was Jean across the street who never wanted us playing in her yard and yelled at us half the time but who also clearly appreciated our family and the help my dad would give her when she needed it. It was the neighbors across the street for whom I babysat. It was the clown down the street who made balloon animals for us every Halloween but God forbid we stepped in his yard any other time of the year!
I have so many memories, both good and bad, that created "me". Riding bikes in the church lot, climbing the Haefner's tree, trick-or-treating, spying on friends, building the most incredible forts after the huge snow storm in 1982 and having snow ball fights with friends, running inside every time the fighter jets flew overhead because the sound scared me, swinging in my back yard, fighting with Stephanie, flashlight "communication" with Bobby, tar tag and kick the can, catching lightning bugs, skinned knees, watching my dog giving birth to puppies, burying the dead one in our backyard, walking to school for the first time and several times after that, being flashed, the pool, the St. Lawrence carnival, walking to Dairy Queen for ice cream and Corner Drug Store for candy, watching the storm sewers flood after a big rain, the sound of church bells, introducing myself to every new neighbor and inviting them to church, parades, fire works, taking dares, exploring...
As I got older, it was talking on the phone, Gina picking me up for school in her little red truck, learning how to drive, sitting outside waiting...hoping...for someone to stop by, sitting outside on the driveway talking to friends, summer nights, sneaking drinks, sitting in cars with boys...And even later, it was late night conversations, make out sessions and my loss of virginity with my future husband.
Every year my mom would have my sisters and I stand against the wall in the closet so she could mark our growth. In the fourth grade, Mrs. Jones gave me a tree to plant. I planted it in my back yard and every year I watched it grow...an amazing experience. As it's roots buried deeper into the ground, so did mine.
As time passed, the rumors of the airport's plan for expansion became a reality. One by one, homes were being purchased. Many people would fight, refusing to sell their homes. But as property values declined so did peoples' desire to make improvements to their home. It was a neighborhood depressed. The crime rate increased as looters raided vacant homes. Because home owners weren't making improvements their property deteriorated and looters, assuming houses were unoccupied, would break into homes that were still inhabited. Driving through the neighborhood, you could see signs in yards saying, "Someone still lives here" or "I won't think twice about shooting an intruder." Arson claimed several homes.
My childhood home was bought out long ago forcing my sister and her daughter to move. Although it lay empty, something kept pulling me back to that place. I would sit outside staring at this place that raised me....staring at the tree that I planted...angry at those people that thought displacing an entire neighborhood was a good idea for a runway that is barely used. After it was torn down, I stood on the rubble that was my home. After it was cleared away, I drove by over and over...at least my tree was still standing. Eventually, access to my street was denied by huge concrete barriers. And this past Monday, February 8th, the last house in Carrollton was torn down.
My childhood home is gone, the neighborhood nonexistent, but I still feel the pull. I think there will always be a part of me that will be searching for my home. And I hope someday I will find that special place where I can plant another tree and establish those roots again. Until then, I will keep driving by...
It might have been in a major metropolitan area but Bridgeton had that small town feel. Carrollton was just one subdivision in Bridgeton and it was a close community. My parents bought our house even before I arrived so it was in this house where I came into the world and it was from this house I moved after I got married.
I don't quite know how to convey the security I felt when I was growing up and how my neighborhood, friends and neighbors were such a big part of that feeling. It was my friends, Bobby, Gina, Shannon and Laura, who I played with all the time. It was the old couple down the street, Bob and Jessie, who let me play in their yard and who always enjoyed my company when they were sitting on their back porch. It was Mr. S whistling every time I walked outside. It was Jean across the street who never wanted us playing in her yard and yelled at us half the time but who also clearly appreciated our family and the help my dad would give her when she needed it. It was the neighbors across the street for whom I babysat. It was the clown down the street who made balloon animals for us every Halloween but God forbid we stepped in his yard any other time of the year!
I have so many memories, both good and bad, that created "me". Riding bikes in the church lot, climbing the Haefner's tree, trick-or-treating, spying on friends, building the most incredible forts after the huge snow storm in 1982 and having snow ball fights with friends, running inside every time the fighter jets flew overhead because the sound scared me, swinging in my back yard, fighting with Stephanie, flashlight "communication" with Bobby, tar tag and kick the can, catching lightning bugs, skinned knees, watching my dog giving birth to puppies, burying the dead one in our backyard, walking to school for the first time and several times after that, being flashed, the pool, the St. Lawrence carnival, walking to Dairy Queen for ice cream and Corner Drug Store for candy, watching the storm sewers flood after a big rain, the sound of church bells, introducing myself to every new neighbor and inviting them to church, parades, fire works, taking dares, exploring...
As I got older, it was talking on the phone, Gina picking me up for school in her little red truck, learning how to drive, sitting outside waiting...hoping...for someone to stop by, sitting outside on the driveway talking to friends, summer nights, sneaking drinks, sitting in cars with boys...And even later, it was late night conversations, make out sessions and my loss of virginity with my future husband.
Every year my mom would have my sisters and I stand against the wall in the closet so she could mark our growth. In the fourth grade, Mrs. Jones gave me a tree to plant. I planted it in my back yard and every year I watched it grow...an amazing experience. As it's roots buried deeper into the ground, so did mine.
As time passed, the rumors of the airport's plan for expansion became a reality. One by one, homes were being purchased. Many people would fight, refusing to sell their homes. But as property values declined so did peoples' desire to make improvements to their home. It was a neighborhood depressed. The crime rate increased as looters raided vacant homes. Because home owners weren't making improvements their property deteriorated and looters, assuming houses were unoccupied, would break into homes that were still inhabited. Driving through the neighborhood, you could see signs in yards saying, "Someone still lives here" or "I won't think twice about shooting an intruder." Arson claimed several homes.
My childhood home was bought out long ago forcing my sister and her daughter to move. Although it lay empty, something kept pulling me back to that place. I would sit outside staring at this place that raised me....staring at the tree that I planted...angry at those people that thought displacing an entire neighborhood was a good idea for a runway that is barely used. After it was torn down, I stood on the rubble that was my home. After it was cleared away, I drove by over and over...at least my tree was still standing. Eventually, access to my street was denied by huge concrete barriers. And this past Monday, February 8th, the last house in Carrollton was torn down.
My childhood home is gone, the neighborhood nonexistent, but I still feel the pull. I think there will always be a part of me that will be searching for my home. And I hope someday I will find that special place where I can plant another tree and establish those roots again. Until then, I will keep driving by...
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