Sweet Philly

I have the sweetest memories of Philadelphia. To be exact, it was Wallingford, PA, a suburb of Philadelphia. I spent the summer of '06 there expecting no humidity and fall-like temperatures but was surprised to find the weather near my South Louisiana humidity. Nights were cooler but days were noticeably the same. Every morning I would wake up, close my window and gaze at the sunflowers in the garden that sprouted taller than the first story. My aunt told me that sunflowers “slept” too and would bend toward the sun. And every night their heads would droop to the ground. I’d fix a bowl of cereal while watching hummingbirds outside the screen door. Then I’d sit down with my breakfast and the Philadelphia Inquirer. Some days I would run. In this neighborhood each side the street was identical with the other. Driveways were directly across the street from a perfect replica of the same home. Colors and shutters varied but I had never seen anything like this in Louisiana. An hour later I would walk out the front door and through the picket fence and head to the city. Once on the interstate I was in city gear. You really have to be when you drive in big cities. The homeless man, Steve, and the IKEA I passed every day were stark reminders I wasn't in Wallingford anymore. Parallel parking on the street was always an adventure. Is it Thursday? No parking on the right side of the street. The street sweeper passed that day. Up the steps and into the brownstone with magazine covers draping the wall. Upstairs surrounding my desk were beauty samples and soon-to-be published books. I’d pick up a quick lunch at Wawa or the sandwich shop a few blocks down depending on if I were in heels. Returning home after my commute was the biggest relief from a busy day and quite the contrast. Dixie, the black Labrador would greet me at the door while my cousins Grace and Ryan would do crafts sometimes listening to the Beatles. I’d drop my purse and head to the kitchen to chat with Aunt Jan about the day and help prepare dinner. Dinners were different in the North. Hot meals and stove use were a winter thing. You only used the AC if necessary so you didn’t intentionally heat the house by cooking. I’d help chop vegetables or fruit for dessert. Ryan would make everyone a glass of water and Grace would set out utensils. Everything was new here in Pennsylvania. The North in general made me feel like I was in another country. Icees and snoballs were no where to be found, but the closest thing I could find was a snoball’s cousin, the gelatti. Towns were two miles wide instead of 30 miles long. Our daily routine gave me something to look forward to. A sense of recognition in an unrecognizable place. Once dinner was ready, which was usually about the time Uncle Gerry got home from work, we sat down to eat. Uncle Gerry blessed the food and then entertained us with history of Philadelphia like the Mummers Parade or stories from his childhood. He even educated me on things I never knew about Louisiana. After cleaning the table, my Uncle Gerry, Ryan and I would watch the Phillies game. I had always been a big fan of the sport but after the summer of nightly games I learned more math from stats than I had ever learned in schooling. Ryan would usually have to go to bed before the game was over. And Uncle Gerry would head to his room, too. Ryan would perch on the stairs and ask me the score of the game. Or I’d run up and tell him when they had a safe lead so he could sleep peacefully. After I reveled in a win or moped over a loss, I went to my room. I would thank God for such a day. Each day like the last. Some differences, but all a blessing just the same.

Pull yourself together

There are so many realizations we make throughout our life, but when asked we probably wouldn’t remember the moment we realized it or where you were sitting when you suddenly “got it.” The day I realized I could keep my composure in a tough situation was not one of these. I remember the day vividly.
It was during high school. My parents decided to finally let us stay home alone for a few nights. This was a big step in growing up. And I hate to admit it, but I wasn’t sure I was ready.
So with my parents away, my sister and I asked a friend of ours to sleep over, with adult consent of course. We had a good time hanging out for a while, then my sister Natalie decided to go take a bath. It was a mere few minutes later that Natalie called from upstairs saying she couldn’t turn the water off. I know what your thinking, “turn the other way.” Trust me, I mentioned it. But when I got up stairs to turn the knob, assuming all it needed was some brute force from a body-builder like me, I found for myself that it wouldn’t turn off… So when the handle fell off, you can imagine the situation we found ourselves in. With the handle off, water, being very fluid and all, projected itself into many other directions. So we began to do what any good Tanner daughter would do. Clean it up before neat-freak Danny sees. Full House fans, please appreciate my reference. The episode where D.J. is old enough to watch Stephanie and Michelle, upstairs mind you, they find themselves in a similar situation having to save the bathroom from flooding. So I unplugged the drain to alleviate some of the pressure and grabbed pans. These are the survival tips television teaches us. My friend and I began to scoop water out of the bathtub and into the efficiently working sink. This was working. However, I didn’t think I would last until my parents made it home a few days later. And then I heard a yell and the flood gates opened…literally. I ran downstairs to the living room to find a waterfall of bath water raining from the ceiling right above where the tub sat. My sister’s reaction was tears. I did what any sitcom character would do. I slapped her around a little and said “Pull yourself together woman. Stop crying.” I barked orders like a drill sergeant. This place wasn’t going to go down on my watch. A friend, well-educated in the art of water pipes and armed with a device that could turn the water off finally managed to shut down the water system. A pretty successful first night home alone if I do say so myself. A little soggy but we at the very least we had followed the folks' number one rule. "Don't burn the house down."

20 somethings

For the most part, we are bunch of dreamers. Fresh out of college only leaves you with a world of opportunities…especially if you’re single. No place is off limits unless we put those limits on ourselves. If you want to be the owner of a Fortune 500 company or a ‘starving’ gypsy artist in Austin you could make it happen.
But just dreaming about some life we want won’t get us anywhere. If I was ever asked to “share my vast wisdom” with the youth of America that would be it. Don’t live life through an imagination in your head. I always dreamed of power suits, Blackberrys and high rise offices. But I didn’t actually do anything to get me there.
Why? Because I was content being the boss of my fantasy. Trust me. It didn’t take Fantasy Valerie long to get to the top. It may have started as a summer internship but a few blinks of an eye later and I was Editor in Chief of the most prestigious magazine. I had my own assistant, a loft apartment and took weekend trips to the Hamptons.
And then I woke up to find myself where I really was, receiving a diploma for four years of hardwork, that in most fields wouldn’t count as the “experience” needed for most of my dream jobs. So I have since modified my dream. I realize now those fantasies only let me get more and more outrageous. My pet penguin Victorino would never survive in my run of the mill Lafayette apartment. And very few nights out here include a red carpet.
Don’t get me wrong I want to dream big but I don’t want to leave it there or dream big about the wrong things. How many people reach all there so-called dreams only to be lonely and tired? I needed to reprioritize what was important. Those little things like a Blackberry and powersuit only represented what I really wanted: to be a respected writer.
And so I made a new list. Here’s what I came up with. I want to be a successful writer, wife and mother, who spends her evenings with good friends. Someone who at the very least has speaker phone on her cell with a wardrobe including the most comfortable Ragin’ Cajun sweatshirt for days off in lieu of a power suit. And I don’t have to have a pet penguin I suppose. They probably wouldn’t be nearly as cuddly as the T-cup Maltese, Sicily, that nuzzles my neck every morning. And in the real world my little Civic with a sunroof couldn’t make me happier. This whole achieving dreams thing isn’t so hard once I realize some dreams were happening before my very eyes. And once I achieve the successful writing thing maybe I will challenge myself again and reconsider the power suits and Blackberry.
So, Reality Valerie just fired Fantasy Valerie. But don’t feel bad for her. She just got a job as poet laureate of the United States moonlighting as a Philadelphia Phillies reporter, and I hear she is pretty happy.