My Piggy Bank

Tradition. From the Latin ‘traditionem’. Meaning “handing over, passing on”.

Nowadays most often we hear the word tradition in context to religious and cultural practices being hard headedly carried out or defiled- in both cases creating a furore. And in this set meaning on passing on. But I like what tradition means in the present sense. In the now. I like the continuity it symbolizes. It’s like procreating without the hard hours of screaming labour.

Our family has a tradition of spending summer holidays together. The entire Flanagan clan collects at the family home before taking off for a holiday together. Four generations together – children spilling out of bosoms, grandparent throwing tantrums, cousins sharing traumas, one generation misunderstanding the other, lazy days spent hiding under the fan to escape the scorching heat, lazier evenings in a swimming pool and long nights of planned and unplanned adventures. You love, you crib, you enjoy, you say you’re never coming back again, you do come back again, you watch the young ones grow, you avoid your elders, you hug a child close, you try to find a quiet corner, you play cards, you discuss books passionately with your young niece, you kiss each child good night, you mediate in fights between relatives, you wonder how you aren’t deaf yet, you rediscover why you hate and love to be a Flanagan. It is a great tradition.

I want to create many more. I want others to make their own and make me part of their pacts with life.

In the past year, this thing called Life and growing up has taken its toll on a lot of India’s crowd. Everyone’s working, juggling no less than three sets of families they have to satisfy, trying to be comfortable with who they’re maturing up to be… as well as eke time out for each other. Things are different. Alanis worries that being married and moving to another country is going to tell on her connection with all of us here but the sad truth is that just living in different suburbs seems to be enough. Because a girl’s life is made of immediate things and tiny joys. A great hair day, an impromptu middle of the night walk, a song that made you cry, a moment of desolation that came and went before you could hit the dial button… and unlike in college when all of us lived in the same house and shared every passing minute… now we’re lucky to meet once a month.

But I’m rooting for traditions to combat modern life. That’s what they’re supposed to do anyway right… join people together across time and place in a joint activity, feeling and hope?

So here I am making a bunch of traditions. To quote: Some traditions were deliberately invented for one reason or another, often to highlight or enhance the importance of a certain institution. Traditions may also be changed to suit the needs of the day, and the changes can become accepted as a part of the ancient tradition.

1. The first of these was made years ago with Harry – a weekly dinner table conversation. And Christmas eve together. We’ve managed to keep to this more or less.
2. An annual holiday with the Four… so far so good.
3. Always, always kiss each of the children goodnight and talk to each individually about whatever they like.
4. Dropping by Frederick’s uninvited for a surreal evening of abrasiveness, affection and a fuzzy reality that is quiet and says nothing.

I want many, many, many more… with Paris, with Mars and Paris, with Sky, with my home as the centre of a tradition… If it’s Christmas we’re going to India’s. And then a fortnightly dinner plan at someone’s house. A monthly weekend away with friends – old and new.

That’s another thought. Everywhere I go I meet people that I like so much that you feel like you’re just making so many friends when you don’t even find time to bond with the one’s you have. There might be a balance to strike but there’s joy in growing a family. And it’s a lovely feeling when someone new seems to meld seamlessly into a circle you’ve already built.

I just want to end on a memory that Paris and I were thinking about yesterday.

It’s the old millennium. Paris and I have just met a month or so ago in college. We’re part of a larger group that hangs out together and movie plans have been made. It’s great. It’s a new youth flick, we’ll be going in a fun large gang, eating pop corn, hooting, going out for dinner, etc. College bonding with people you’re thinking you might be friends with.

And then by the time the day rolled around, everyone dropped out for some reason or another. I don’t remember why.

So there we were, two relative strangers thinking, ‘umm… should I offer to postpone the plan when the whole group can be there and when it’ll be fun?” And we didn’t. We said, “to hell with it… let’s watch a movie.” We went and made fun of a shitty film and found that we didn’t need other people to make a plan fun. In fact we didn’t need other people to make a plan. That was true when we were ‘relative strangers’ and I’m guessing that it will be true now… when we are, for lack of a better word, friends.

The In-Limbo Cancan

It’s an Air Conditioningless day here at Surreal But Mice Film Office. I am still here. My pointless dedication shall be the end of me.
I have finished 6 months 10 days and 7 hours here. I think this is now my second longest job. The hot air makes me restless. It’s muggy and you think that hmm maybe if I have to feel muggy I’d rather feel muggy in Marrakech. So here are my options now:

• A party planner for children birthday’s in Dublin. I’d have to wear a red nose and learn the unicycle. But I am determined at all new careers.


• A member of a dance group in stage shows. I’m listening to ‘You can cancan’ from the Moulin Rouge. I am just a costume short of a full show. There’s an inverted pun here somewhere. I forget the correct word. Phish?


• A home stylist. I hear interior decoration requires some learned skill. I spit on it. I am a home stylist.


• A gift specialist. Busy corporate guys or anyone rich enough to afford me can engage me to buy/make gifts and remember occasions. Wishes for free.


• A writer who has family money. One or the other is always missing.


• A shop owner. I have a children’s store called “the rainbow gold”. It’s quite magical. A child wouldn’t want to leave. But I don’t like kids of non-blood (my own) beyond 5 minutes so this is a tough job.


• A font creator. My latest favourite is Gigi. Like the French movie it has frivolous character.


• A lady of leisure. Which means my career would be Wife To Rich Man. This might be an easy job to execute but it isn’t an easy job to get.


• I can't believe I almost forget. A librarian. I already wear specks. To this i will add a tailored white button down shirt, knee length skirt and stilettos. I will also meet an adventurous young man who visits the library but never reads a book. hmm.

Okay I’ve made it to 6 months, 10 days and 7 hours and 5 minutes.

photo courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/ i love this picture. the colors are so energetic.

How About That?

A week ago the blue moon came calling. Sky and I got in touch with our silly, faith-is-everything portions and got prepared for a lot of wishing.

"Ack.. we don’t have white. "

Sky rummages, "No white?"
No white.
Pink ?
check
Green ?
check
Yellow ?
check
Red ?
check
Blue ?
check
Sky is amused, "you have enough colored candles to start a shop...But no white?"
I'm forlorn, "No white." I grin suddenly at the irony... white stands for completeness.

I logic-ify with my basic science and think to myself... all colors together make white anyway.
Satisfied with that bit of sense, i turn back to darken the room and cast an eye out. Damn Cesspool. No chance of actually seeing the moon. We espy the glow and are satisfied. We begin lighting our colored candles minus the white.
“wait wait… should we be sky clad do you think, for most effect?” I anxiously ask.
Sky looks perplexed.
“umm… naked I mean.. I read it on this site. It helps to have no barriers and stuff.”
Sky looks at me. Lopsided smile appears. I suddenly realize that I’m asking a girl who’s rather comfortable in her skin to shed her clothes. The same does not apply to me. I’m the girl who leaps from the dressing room straight to the swimming pool if she can.
I clear my throat, “maybe not. We’ll do just fine with the candles.”
So the little ceremony starts. The candles all lit, we sit and wish. Yellow for our families, pink for love, red for career, green for prosperity and blue for health.
You can wish on the blue moon and you get your wishes. Not a bad bargain once in three years I’m thinking. I shake my head to concentrate on my wishes. My earnestness seems to run out faster. I peek at Sky. She’s still transported fish eyed on her thoughts. (Only those who know Sky can truly appreciate that one).
I shut my eyes tight and re-run on my wishes. I peek again. Still fish eyed.
Hmm… time to take matters into my own hands.
I catch hold of the yellow candle and I say, “So do you want to make some kind of ritual? The powers that be like some formality even if you make it up.”
The fish eye opens completely and focuses on me. We clasp the yellow candle and wish for every family person we can think of… please give Mr. and Mrs. H a happy old age free of the cares they’ve had, please give Sky’s dad better health and mother rest, please give Piper and Philip independence; Myrine true happiness; let Titania find happiness outside of work too; let Mars and Paris have everything they ever want, Paris’ mother and sisters, Sky’s cousins, aunt and uncles, any blood that mattered and since there was no candle colour for friends, we wished for Harry and Sytar and Gaia and Alanis and Katharine and Salvatore and Aldair and Quinn and Smith and well everyone.

Then the blue for health – badima’s diabetes and Elvis’ back and Leo Tio’s general insomnia.
On the red we wished for Sky’s film and for me to have some focus.
The green for our mental and physical and worldly prosperity.

And then the pink. We wished for love. As an Elvis song puts it:

Blue Moon, you saw me standing alone,

Without a dream in my heart,

Without a love of my own,

Blue moon, you knew just what I was there for,

You heard me saying a prayer for,

Someone I could care for.

And then we sat in the glow of the candles and chatted and remembered and sang songs and said passages from Wuthering Heights and wished everyone was there and then we said enough coz there are only so many wishes the moon can answer even on a good night.

Just 3 days later Sky got engaged out of the blue.

picture courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/

Maudlin Madam

Just to look at on a slow day

Things that are depressing India today:

1. She hasn’t had a conversation with a man- ever. Boys don't count.
2. Her job is a dead end.
3. Men don’t run anymore. They aren't physically fit. They’ve become too damn dainty. I mean isn't physical prowess over the weaker sex supposed to be their one big advantage?! what kind of dumbf*&ks give that up? I could out walk and out run most. and the civilized notion of a gym is just as bad. Why won't they sweat? sigh. a la daniel craig. different kind of sigh.

picture courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/

First Step: A Horse

Paris mentioned her wishlist recently:
1. Gold plated bangles that she’d espied in a store called Vanilla.
2. a red red top
3. a phone

She got lucky. Mars gifted her the Vanilla bangles for their third month wedding anniversary. (Yep… the two got hitched in a big fat Indian wedding this February).
She went to her favorite store and found a red top. Not the shade from her mind but close.
And I think buying makes her happy anyway. She acts like a woman with focus and a mission. Like someone who found love and knows what to do with it.
Paris has dismissed her desire for a phone but if anyone is in the mood to spoil her. Here’s an option.
India was there too. She danced in the store. A little slide, some shuffle, glide and turn. They were playing Elvis and it was really tough to resist. Paris reveals that her ‘can’t-help-but-dance’ song is Shakira’s Hips Don’t Lie. She does the boogie before leaving for work. Incredible.
When they were in college, India used to do this 'demented impression' for Paris when she needed a laugh. I think India's planning on using the image of Paris dancing to Hips Don't lie in the privacy of her room as her own 'i need a smile' moment.
Mars should re-invent the Paris chart that used to be in his room. Add Shakira baby to it.
Mars’ ‘can’t-help-but-croon’ song is ‘Amore’. He’s fun when he’s buzzed. Well… funny anyway.
India’s wishlist:
1. A store like Vanilla with bangles and snow globes, and Michael Parkes' prints in it.
2. Perfect jeans in a magic wardrobe
3. A trip

Careful use of the English language can really rake in wishes at innumerable for the price of three.

Picture courtesy: www.flickr.com