There is something more than a little heartbreaking about a young girl’s crush on a teen heartthrob (that cannot be the way it’s spelled). My daughter is currently in the throes of just such a thing. In this age of twitter and Facebook, she can feed the fire in her heart with instant updates. I had more than my family-sized share of mooning around when I was growing up. But those pop stars were as distant and unattainable as real ones. At the risk of dating myself–oh, hell we all know how old I am–here they are in so particular order:
Keeping Faith
I spent a bare 24 hours in deepest, darkest Wiltshire last week. It isn’t that deep, a couple of hours outside London and it isn’t that dark, the sun duked it out with the rain the whole time we were there. And let’s be honest, 24 hours is hardly a trip, it’s a ‘tripette’ as my friend Fiona would say. In fact, she did say it as we piled into the car with my husband.
Weep No More, My Lady
Here is something you should know about me. I’m not a crier, not really. I do not cry about sad/bad things happening in my life. Ever. I didn’t cry when my mother died. I’m not a hard-hearted Hannah, I just don’t cry about the big things. I do, however, weep copiously when small children sing at school concerts. I cry when I see a little person lost in the supermarket. I cry when I see a balloon floating away in the sky. I have been known to cry at that 1970s ad for some do-good organization that features a kid in group home writing a letter to Santa asking for a puppy. Does anyone remember that ad? One kid says “Santa won’t bring you a puppy!” And then, the do-gooder volunteer/ Secret Santa/postal worker guy reads the letter. On Christmas morning, the kid finds a puppy waiting for him. Of course he does. The look on his face? Priceless. The look on the pooh-poohing kid’s face? Oh, the humanity!!
Joy Rising, Sorry Oprah
I have a friend, one of those real ones that your kid brings over to you on the playground or in front of the school and says, “Here, this is so and so’s Mum, you’ll love her.” There are other real ones, like the girl you met Freshman year in college who is so different from you and yet so alike that you can’t stop listening to her stories and you start using the same soap she does because you want to smell just like her. But more about her, another time.