PaperGirl Blog by Mary Fons

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13 May 2017

Graduation Station.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life | 2

Good luck, brothers and sisters. Image: Wikipedia.

It’s graduation time.

Yesterday, the Loop was teeming with happy, giddy students and parents and siblings already in town for graduation ceremonies and festivities. For many youngish humans in my city right now, school’s not just out for the summer — it’s out for good.

As I made my way to the first of several engagements yesterday afternoon/evening, I thought about my own graduation from the University of Iowa so many years ago. They named me valedictorian of my department, though I’m still not sure what that meant, other than that I was tasked with giving a speech at commencement. This terrified me. I was sure that I couldn’t write a commencement speech that wouldn’t be cheesy or boring. So I turned my allotted 15 minutes into a performance: I had fellow grads in the audience write advice on small slips of paper, crumple them up, and toss them up onto the stage so I could catch and read them. Whether this was effective/entertaining or not, I have no idea — the whole thing was a blur.

Sort of like my entire undergrad experience. Not because I was a party animal for four years. (That was just senior year.) It just went so fast, is all. And what I do remember about it is in flimsy patches. I’d have to sit down for awhile and really try to remember, year by year, what that time was and what it was all about. Part of my forgetting surely is due to what came after those good ol’ days: the Mack truck of post-college reality. I went from being a popular senior in small-pond Iowa City to being a studio-apartment-dwelling coat check girl in an enormous metropolis that couldn’t care less about me (or that I was valedictorian.) Those were the hunger years. I had no idea how hard they’d be.

Though there were smiles and whoops downtown yesterday — and all across the country, wherever colleges are wrapping up the year — there was something else in the air which suppose I’d call a tremulous expectation. There’s a “now what?” coloring the graduating seniors’ pride and joy. I know that “now what?” very well. Seeing them cavort around this weekend brought it all back.

I don’t mean to be a buzzkill. It’s wonderful to see all these kids with their whole lives in front of them. Maybe it’s that I’ve lived through some of the life that was ahead of me and it looks different from here. Not bad. Just different.

12 May 2017

That’s What Friends (and Friends’ Babies) Are For.

by Mary | posted in: Family, Sicky | 12

Me n' Kin-Kin on the set of Quilty. Kin-Kin, this was 2015, right? Photo: Matt Gonzales — Me n’ Kin-Kin teamed up on the set of Quilty. Kin-Kin, this would have been 2015, right? Photo: Matt Gonzales.

A few weeks ago, I confessed that I had been putting off seeing my GI doctor out of fear of what she would tell me. Many of you sped to my digital side to give me a digital hug and say, basically, “Go see your doctor, kid. We like you. We want you to live.” It was the encouragement I needed to make the appointment and keep it. Thank you.

Well, I went to see Dr. Yun yesterday. But I wasn’t alone.

Regular readers of the ol’ PG know my friend Heather. I have mentioned her many times, perhaps most notably in a series of posts last summer when she had her first child, Julia, and I was present for the birth. (There were also frequent Heather sightings while I lived in NYC and D.C., as I stayed with her and her delightful husband when I was in town for business or holidays; there was also this post about the Dairy Queen blizzard.) Those who loved classic Quilty know Heather that way, too; she was assistant producer on the show four out of the five years we made it and appeared as a guest on the show many times, too.

There are many qualities that I admire in Heather. She is generous, as evidenced by the number of times she has given me keys to her home. She is dependable, the proof there being the years we worked together with nary a hiccup. Heather is funny. She’s a great designer. She’s clearly a wonderful mother (more on that lil’ rascal Julia in a minute) but there’s something I admire most in Heather and I’m blinking back a tear or two as I type this: Heather is steadfast.

Forgive me for making it about me for just a moment, but to properly describe Heather’s steadfastness, I need to first describe what it’s like to be my friend. It’s not very…even. I’m out of town a lot, for one thing. When I finally get home from being among a ton of people, I’m in desperate need of recharging. As an introvert, this means that I need to be alone for awhile, otherwise I’m no good to anyone, including myself. Sometimes, I fall in love with a boy and move to New York City, but then we break up and I move to Washington, D.C. and when I get home, I start graduate school. Crafting chains of events of these kinds is a specialty of mine, but I end up with few opportunities to go to matinees or maintain a weekly sew day, for example. And then there’s the writer thing. Writers are weird. Most of us have some measure of social anxiety — yes, anxiety with people we know and love very much. I’m raising my hand, here.

But Heather is true. She loves me because I’m Mar, I think. She sees my wild life and it’s okay with her. Even if we don’t see each other for awhile, when we get together, it’s great. We’re peas n’ carrots. I’ve told Heather things I haven’t told other people. I’ve relied on her. The fact that I know I can absolutely rely on her says much about how she loves me, the very nature of Heather. Her steadfastness makes the world a better place. Now, she knows I love her fiercely — I’m not completely hopeless at friendship, I just show it in different ways, cough, cough — but she does such a better job at staying connected and I am grateful.

Yesterday, I dragged myself out of bed, dragged myself to the train, dragged myself up to the 16th floor of the Lavin Pavillion at Northwestern Memorial. But though I was anxious and gloomy, I made it. I made it because Heather texted me that she and Julia would be there soon. Sure enough, moments after the nurse left me alone in the exam room and just before I started biting my cuticles, I heard a soft “knock, knock” on the door. I jumped off the exam table as my beautiful friend pushed open the door with Princess Julia in her stroller. They had come to be with me in a place that feels to me like a dark forest.

Forests are no match for true friendship and the sweetness of an eight-month-old baby. That child is incomparably adorable. Julia has discovered her tongue (wonder of wonders!) and sticks it out with glee as often as possible. Heather looks great. Between chatting with her and watching Julia rocket around the room on all fours, I had no time to be afraid. When Dr. Yun came in, I answered her questions without crying even once. And suddenly, the appointment was over. Honestly, it could’ve gone on longer and I wouldn’t have minded at all.

Heather and Julia came with me for my blood draw, too. Dr. Yun wants several tests done; I’ll go under for those. Really, that’s the scary stuff. The tests and the news afterward. Heather and I have already talked about another rendezvous.

Love you, Kin-Kin. Thanks.

11 May 2017

I Want YOU To Help Open The Iowa Theater! (Yes!)

by Mary | posted in: Family, The Iowa Theater Winterset | 5

Friends! Readers! Countrywomen and several countrymen! I blow a great trumpet! My call to thee riseth upon the winds that sweep across the fruited plain and swoopeth down to alight on thine ears! Hear ye, hear ye: The Iowa Theater is going to open at the end of this month!

IT’S HAPPENING!

If you didn’t know, my sister Rebecca and my mother Marianne — with the help of the community of Winterset and so many people in Iowa, e.g., business leaders, generally great Midwesterners — are renovating, rehabbing, and restoring The Iowa, the wonderful little theater-on-the-square in the town where I grew up. (Aye, as a wee bairn, how I loved to see the grrrreat films of yesteryear and — sorry. I’ll stop.)

The renovation project/non-profit startup has been a massive undertaking. It has taken much, much money so far and great quantities of elbow grease. In fact, as I gear up to ask something of you, I would like you to picture my poor, poor little sister and my poor, poor mother, both of them working so hard for the past year that they may have no elbow grease left! Oh, the humanity! Dry, dry elbows, all for the good of their community and movie-theater popcorn and the love of small town U.S.A.!

Will you donate a little bit of money? Just a little. Or, hey, a lot! I would not presume to tell you how much money to donate to such a wildly wonderful project. I mean, I don’t have to tell you. You’ll see when you watch the video that The Iowa project is really special. The Kickstarter campaign my sister speaks about is specifically to help restore the marquee, but believe me: There’s a lot more left to do and you shouldn’t hesitate to donate, even if the goal is reached for that portion of this thing.

Here’s who should donate:

people who put Junior Mints (or M&M’s, Raisinets, or Reese’s Pieces) directly into their popcorn when they go to the movies
people who love John Wayne
people who love an American town square
people who smile at babies
babies who smile at people
people who were thinking about buying something online within the past hour that they did not need (*do this instead!)
people who scream when the movie is scary
people who cry when the movie is sad
people who cry when the movie is beautiful
people with kids (*hello, date nite!)
people without kids (*hello, just go see a movie!)
people who like it when something good happens in the world (*because there’s so much other stuff that does not feel like this)

and

high school kids (*because the balcony has been restored, you guys, and that means you just got a prime freakin’ make out spot, okay, so you’d better fork over whatever cash you made delivering pizzas last week because you’re welcome.)

Here’s the link to the campaign. If the goal is reached by the time you get there, please donate! That’s not the end of the fundraising, trust me. The money is needed and will be used to make The Iowa great. You’ll have a hand in it, you really will.

Thank you.

9 May 2017

“Quilts On Phones” (Guess Who?)

by Mary | posted in: The Quilt Scout | 6

Hey, she might be looking at quilts! We don't know, do we?? Image: Wikipedia. — Hey, she might be looking at quilts! We may never know. Image: Wikipedia.

I have one more day of classes before my first year of graduate school comes to a close. Can you even believe it?? I hardly can.

Now is not the time for deep reflection, however. That will come later this week, but not yet. It ain’t over till it’s over, people, and it ain’t over until 6 p.m. tomorrow night, after one more presentation (with attendant critique, gah) and then my final advising session. The advising session will be a blast; the presentation, not so much, unless I get my précis done. Now.

But I needn’t go dark today on the ol’ PG; lucky for me, the newest Quilt Scout post is up! So I’ll direct you over to Quilts, Inc. today to read my little piece called “Quilts On Phones”. It’s about how much I enjoy it when people show me pictures of their quilts on their phones. You can click this link right here and you’ll be zipped right on over.

Hey, guess where I’ll be, starting tomorrow night?

Halfway to my master’s.

7 May 2017

Airport Appreciation Day.

by Mary | posted in: Day In The Life, Rant, Travel | 11

The view from the window. (I'm not even on the plane, yet, though.) Image: Wikipedia. — The view from the window. (I’m not even on the plane, yet, though.) Image: Wikipedia.

I had a pretty funny post going. It was an open letter to my flight from New York to Chicago. I do love the open letter form, as many of you know. But that was two hours ago.

That post has been deleted because your ol’ pal Mar doesn’t feel so funny anymore. Well, not funny ha-ha. I feel more sorta funny hysterical. Not funny hysterical as in “That’s hysterically funny!” but more like”Please, please make this day end.”

At press time, I’ve been at the Westchester County Airport since 3:30 p.m. It is now 9: 10 p.m. My plane will not board for another two hours.

But before you clutch your pearls, you must know that this is actually miraculous news. For just two hours ago — let’s call it the Planestine Era — I did not possess a boarding pass for a flight to Chicago tonight. Oh, no, no, my little marzipans. I had something else — two something elses, actually. I had in my sad, manicured paw a boarding pass for a flight tomorrow with a layover in Washington D.C. which would put me at O’Hare at nearly noon. And this scrap of paper was stapled to another scrap of paper which was a hotel voucher for a night’s sleep at the nearby La Quinta Inn. (I use the phrase “night’s sleep at the La Quinta Inn” loosely.)

It has been, as my dear mother would say, “Airport Appreciation Day.”

First of all, let me tell you that I understand the following:

No one is hurt, no one has died.
No one ought to be getting on a broken plane.

This is what I have been telling myself for the past seven hours. Perspective is crucial at times like these. Perspective is a tool that, as an adult, you simply must employ on Airport Appreciation Day. Otherwise, you are in danger of acting like a child and I assure you: A child is precisely what you want to act like when you’re in my situation. I get it.

Remember the days when you were at a slumber party or a circus and you pitched a fit because you just wanted to go home?? Remember how no amount of candy or toys or hugs and kisses from Mommy or Daddy or Gramma or Grampa would console you because you were tired and angry and fed up and grouchy and probably there was something going on with your poop (sorry, but you know I speak the truth) and you just freaked out because everything was lousier than it had ever, ever been, ever and NO NO NO.

Yeah, I know. But difference between children and adults is that we know better than to do that past a certain age. Oh, we have exquisite reasons to freak out. The feelings are totally legit. But when we’re grown, we have to try harder. We must breathe. We must recognize the humanity in the people who are working ticket counters and serving sodas on airplanes. After all, they are just like us. They are trying to earn a living. They do not wake up in the morning, stretch, and think to themselves, “How can I have the worst day of my life? How can I cause suffering in my fellow man? Oh, I know!”

No. The people who work at the airport wake up everyone else. They wake up like you. With few exceptions, these folks are trying their best to like, avoid hideousness.

I saw some hideousness today. Tonight. People yelling. People disgusted with each other. It was rough. And I wasn’t a cool cucumber the whole time: When they told me I wasn’t going to sleep in my bed tonight after being in three states this week, hot tears started pouring down my cheeks. Some people in the line might’ve thought I was a drama queen, but I assure you, those were real, bitter tears.

But I knew to dry up before long. This is life. This is travel. The man behind me, he lashed out at the ticket people working through the long line of exhausted, bewildered passengers. I’m not saying I’m better than than that guy; I’m saying he couldn’t overcome his inner, tired, sad child. Tonight, at least, I managed to overcome mine.

Writing helps me live my life. That’s why I do it. Writing is how I make sense of things, so as I wait here at the gate for two more — please say just two more — hours, it’s my only comfort. My blood pressure has dropped. I am breathing easier. This is the gift I have in my life. It’s you, it’s my journal, it’s my book. For me, I always have an escape route. Letters and a page.

Wait! I didn’t tell you how it worked out!

Right at the moment when I was leaving the airport to go to my sad, sad hotel room, there was announcement: American Airlines was going to see if they could get a plane over here to Westchester County to fly us to Chicago. I raced back through security. We all waited with bated breath. Then, the good news came: Yes! Yes, there would be a plane! It wouldn’t be here till 10:40 p.m., but it would come!

So I had a glass of wine with a few other folks in limbo and then I came down here to you.

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