Love,
Penny
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 14, 2014
Dear You,
Lots of rain this week. We hope we get much more.
I haven’t written in a while because I lost this journal when I accidentally dropped it into the laundry basket. But I was happy to find You again, Speck, especially right before Blue Monday.
Sometimes our family gets the blues on Monday morning, having to start the week all over again. Especially if the weekend was fun. In our home, we believe in fighting the Monday blues.
THREE WAYS TO FIGHT THE MONDAY BLUES
1. Wear something in the blue category. Royal blue, turquoise, navy blue, baby blue—it doesn’t matter. Seriously, this helps cheer you up when you are feeling “blue.” It does for our family, anyway.
2. Do the laundry Sunday night. (That’s how I found this journal again.) Mama does the whites, I do the colors, and Sammy folds. We’ll have to find a job for you, You. That way everyone has nice fresh clothes Monday morning to start off the week.
3. Have Sundae Mondays to look forward to after Monday dinner. Mama and Sammy and I are crazy for ice cream.
There is always a flavor of the month. This month’s is Rum Raisin, even though I have a feeling real rum isn’t involved. Then we pile on fixings, which are set out on the table: gummy bears, sprinkles, crumbled Oreo cookies, the usual stuff.
I can’t wait to introduce you to Sundae Mondays! You will be crazy for them. But I guess you will first have to go through the warm-milk and mixed-vegetable baby food stages. Ugh. (Sorry.)
Anyway, there are a few things I’m a teeny bit blue about, and it’s not even Monday yet.
Hazel Pepper walked over after school on Friday. Gabby and I were shooting baskets in the driveway.
Hazel Pepper: “Happy Andrew Bogut Day!”
Gabby: “Thanks!”
Friday was December 12, and twelve is Andrew Bogut’s number on his team jersey. When we remember to do it, Gabby and I celebrate some of our favorite Dubs on the days of the month that are the same number as their jersey numbers. It’s a private thing.
But not private anymore, I guess.
Gabby looked at me SHEEPISHLY. Sheepishly has nothing to do with sheep, You. It just means you are a bit embarrassed, for example, when you blab about something you and your best friend made up for fun. I don’t know if sheep get especially embarrassed, but there you go.
So here is something to be cheerful about: The Warriors have had a sixteen-game winning streak! How long can a winning streak last?
12/8/14 v Minnesota Timberwolves 102–86; 12/10/14 v Houston Rockets 105–93; 12/13/14 v Dallas Mavericks, 105–98; 12/14/14 v New Orleans Pelicans 128–122.
Gabby said Mike said we have a long way to go to beat the NBA record of thirty-three, set by the 1971–72 Los Angeles Lakers. It is time to break that record!
Mike knows so much.
Love, me,
Penny
MONDAY, DECEMBER 15, 2014
Dear You,
This afternoon, I practiced my jumping. I stand next to the wall near our garage with some chalk. I hold the chalk high and jump hard. I pretend my legs are coiled-up springs. Sprong! Then I make a chalk mark as high as I can. Know what? I’m getting better all the time, because the chalk marks end up higher and higher.
Later, Gabby and I were in my driveway, and wouldn’t you know it, there was Kenny Walinhoff, walking down the block across the street.
Sprong! I jumped, and the ball went into the cookie jar! Usually, Gabby and I disdainfully ignore Kenny, but this time we didn’t.
“It’s all relative!” we shouted.
Kenny crossed the street. “You’re right,” he said.
Gabby: “Of course we’re right.”
Kenny: “Do you know about Muggsy Bogues? And also Spud Webb? They are retired players. They were great even though they were short. You should know about them.”
Me, disdainfully: “Who says I don’t know about them?”
Actually, I didn’t know about Spud Webb. But still.
Me, after Kenny left: “Kenny thinks he knows everything about basketball!”
Gabby: “I think he likes you. I always see him looking at you. Do you like him back?”
Me: “Don’t be silly. He infuriates and humiliates me. He is so immature.”
Gabby: “But I see you looking at him, too.”
Me: “Disdainfully. Anyway, I DO like someone, but it’s not Kenny.”
Those words had been just a secret impossible feeling inside my heart, and in my journal to you, until I said them out loud.
Of course Gabby wanted to know who that secret someone was. We have always told each other everything. I said I couldn’t tell her at the moment. She said she would respect my privacy.
I don’t want to tell anyone. Not even you, You. Yet.
Love,
Penny
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 17, 2014
Dear You,
I am flabbergasted.
FLABBER-GASTED.
I love that word. It sounds just like I feel. I don’t like the way I feel, though.
And why am I flabbergasted?
Because the Warriors LOST to the Memphis Grizzlies last night, that’s why!!! Score: 98–105.
I had an argument with Mama and Sammy tonight when I told them why I was flabbergasted and that our winning streak was over.
Mama, in a crabby voice: “That’s the way the ball bounces, hon.”
Me, also crabby: “That is NOT the way the ball bounces. Usually, the ball bounces to Steph Curry, and he makes all his threes. He lost two three-pointers back-to-back in the game’s final ten seconds!”
At least she didn’t ask who Steph Curry is like she always does, so I didn’t have to explain, once again, for the zillionth time, that he’s the Dubs’ wonderful, stupendous point guard.
Mama was munching a Fig Newton. She eats them when she is nauseated. “That’s the way the cookie crumbles, then. A loss had to happen sooner or later.”
“Cookies crumbling! Balls bouncing! Ha ha!” I said. “Your metaphors need improving!”
“Cool it, Pen,” said Sammy in a soft voice.
Mama: “It’s just a game, Penny.”
My lip was trembling. I almost began crying like a baby. Like you will be crying soon, Speck, except you’ll be crying for food, or a dry diaper, or for no reason at all, I guess.
But I had a reason, except it was so hard to explain with words, even though I tried.
Me: “It is NOT just a game. It’s the Dubs! It’s Oakland’s team!”
And then something happened that you will find amazing, sib. I find it amazing, every time.
Mama looked at Sammy. Sammy looked at Mama. THEN THEY READ EACH OTHER’S MIND. Gabby says her parents can do that, too.
Sammy: “The Dubs are important to you. We should respect that.”
Mama: “Yes, we should. I apologize, kiddo. You love your city, and you love your Dubs.”
Mama and Sammy hugged me, and we all sat on the couch together, munching on Fig Newtons. They were trying so hard to be understanding. That was very kind of them. I don’t think they really understand, though.
But I felt better when we started planning our big family Christmas dinner. And peace on earth, goodwill toward men and women, stuff like that.
And we talked about you.
I have no hard feelings that you have made Mama feel nauseated and throw up every now and then. And maybe a little bit crabby. That’s the way the cookie crumbles when a mama is pregnant (hee-hee).
You are 10,000 times bigger than you were when you were just a speck! According to What to Expect, you are now the size of a blueberry.
By the way, this is what you look like around now, below.
I copied it out of What to Expect. You are not a pretty sight, with that big, weird head. Good job making sure your brain develops right away, though. And I know you’ll be just as cute as can be by the time you arrive.
But you are
beginning to grow tiny arms and legs, ears, a mouth, and intestines. You have a beating heart. It’s miraculous.
Love,
Penny
12/18/14: We beat the Oklahoma City Thunder 114–109.
MONDAY, DECEMBER 22, 2014
Dear You,
We have begun winter break.
Yay! Drizzles of rain! We need the rain.
And another win for the Dubs!
Tonight, 128–108 v the Sacramento Kings.
Hazel came over. She brought homemade bookmarks with portraits of her favorite Dubs as Christmas gifts for me and Gabby.
I think Steph Curry has flatter ears than she drew for him, and Klay Thompson’s beard should have gone all the way around his mouth and chin. But, OK, her gift was thoughtful.
Love,
Pen
THURSDAY, DECEMBER 25, 2014
Dear You,
Happy Christmas! Your first one on earth!
For Christmas dinner, we squished eleven people around our table—and one dog under it—me, Mama, Sammy, Uncle Ziggy, Grandma Lorraine, Great-Grandma Grace; cousins Martha and Tony and Nelson; and Uncle Raymond and Aunt Faith. These are all relatives from Sammy’s side of the family because my orphaned mother and deceased orphaned father never knew their relatives.
The dog was a white shih tzu named Frances who belongs to cousin Martha.
It was a happy and merry day and evening except for the fact that Uncle Ziggy dropped our dinner.
He was wearing bright-red-and-green shorts. And bright-red socks with green tassels on the cuffs, which may have been the problem. He was carrying the ham on a platter from the kitchen when, suddenly, Frances leaped out from under the table, snarling and yapping, and attacked Uncle Ziggy’s ankles. He dropped the platter and . . . sprong, sprong, dribble! That ham bounced across the room, just like a basketball.
You could tell Uncle Ziggy felt awful. His face was almost as red as his socks. So people tried to make him feel better with jokes, and Uncle Ziggy joked, too, of course.
Uncle Ziggy: “Out of bounds!”
Sammy: “Luckily, our floors are so clean you can eat off of them!”
Mama quickly scooped the ham back onto the platter. She said: “Don’t worry! We have another ham exactly like it in the kitchen. I’ll be right back.”
Dinner was yummy, especially the “new” ham (hee-hee).
I got several nice presents. My favorite is from Mama and Sammy—that big set of beautiful colored pencils, expensive professional quality. Just what I asked for. I am sure they will vastly improve my drawing. I also got some very nice golden retriever stationery from Uncle Ziggy.
Confession: I was hoping with all my might that the Warriors would beat the Los Angeles Clippers. That would have been a great Christmas gift. They have lost three out of the last five games!
Steph Curry on TV: “We are NOT invincible.”
He is so humble, a nice way to be. Especially on Christmas Day.
I should be feeling a lot of peace and goodwill and humbleness toward all people on Earth, including Clipper fans. The Clipper fans in Los Angeles deserved a win on Christmas, too.
Still.
Love,
Penny
Warriors lost to the Los Angeles Clippers 12/25/14, 86–100.
A win v the Minnesota Timberwolves 12/27/14, 110–97.
SUNDAY, DECEMBER 28, 2014
Dear You,
It is now a long, lazy afternoon. Mama is sleeping and Sammy is cooking chili. A good day to write to you, You.
Yesterday afternoon I asked Sammy to drop me off at Grandma Lorraine and Great-Grandma Grace’s house while she and Mama went to the movies. They are Sammy’s mom and grandmother, RESPECTIVELY. That word means "in the same order." It doesn’t mean “respect,” even though I do respect them.
Sammy knows that I love just hanging out with Grandma Lorraine and Great-Grandma Grace. But I also planned to get some information about Ohlone artifacts and rituals and ceremonies so that I could continue with my fabrication. Of course I wasn’t going to tell them why I was so interested in all that, in case they told Mama and Sammy.
I learned much more than I thought I would. Much more. And I can’t stop thinking about it.
You will like them both a lot. Grandma Lorraine Bach is skinny but strong and she runs the three miles around Lake Merritt every day. She often wears a T-shirt that says RUNNING IS MY HIGH.
Great-Grandma Grace is elderly, probably way over eighty, and proud of her age. She has wrinkles all over her face and arms, like spiderwebs, but her skin is velvet soft. She has long black hair, as black as a raven, as black as coal, as black as the deep, dark night. I can tell that she has never dyed her hair, because there are strands like silver threads running through it. (We are reviewing similes in class.)
Great-Grandma Grace has pretty designs of dots and lines on her chin in the traditional Ohlone way.
Both of them are 100 percent Ohlone. Sammy is only 50 percent because Grandma Lorraine married the late Mr. Henry Bach, who was German.
I decided to begin by asking about Ohlone ceremonies. I know that Grandma Lorraine likes to talk about her deceased husband, Mr. Bach. They were madly in love.
Me, casually: “When you got married to Henry Bach, what was your wedding ceremony like?”
Grandma Lorraine: “Um . . .”
Great-Grandma Grace: “Go on, tell her!”
Grandma Lorraine looked at me, well, sheepishly. “Henry and I ran off to Vegas. Elvis married us.”
Me: “Elvis!”
Grandma Lorraine: “Or someone who sure looked like him. He had big muttonchops and a white pant-suit with spangles and a red sparkly belt. The whole thing took about five minutes, and the Elvis guy played a guitar as we walked down the aisle. We were young and in a hurry, what can I say?”
So I decided to move on to precious artifacts of their Ohlone heritage. I knew for sure that Grandma Lorraine had a beautiful necklace made of shimmery abalone shells. She wears it when she gets dressed up. I asked her to show it to me because I love it so much, which is true. I even asked her to take a photo of it with her iPhone and print the photo for me, so I could show my best friend, Gabby.
Then I asked Great-Grandma Grace if she has an Ohlone artifact that is precious to her.
Great-Grandma Grace: “Well, MY precious artifact is a beautiful round red-and-white basket with green and red feathers and shiny abalone beads. Woven willow shoots and sedge roots and black triangles of fern roots make a pattern all around. The Ohlone had many uses for baskets, but their baskets were also works of art, made of of bits of the earth and the sea and the sky!” she said. “The most beautiful basket in the world.”
Wowee. I couldn’t wait to take a photo of the most beautiful basket in the world, made of bits of the earth and the sea and the sky! But when I asked to see it, Great-Grandma Grace tapped the side of her head.
“My basket is a memory,” she said. “A memory of a memory of a story about the basket. Memories and stories are just about the most precious things the Ohlone have left. We’ve lost a lot, Penny.”
Grandma Lorraine: “Every year, the day after Thanksgiving, Mom and I go to the little memorial park at the corner of Ohlone Way and Shellmound Street in Emeryville. Do you know why we go there, Penny?”
I told her that once, when I was younger, I went to that park with Mama and Sammy. I remember the chanting and the drumming. I thought it was a celebration.
Grandma Lorraine: “Yes, that day is a celebration of our culture, but it is also a protest. That day you were standing on an ancient sacred site.”
Then Grandma Lorraine told me something I can’t stop thinking about. She said that there used to be a huge shell mound in that spot, a big tall mountain of shells from the shellfish the Ohlone ate. The shell mound was older than the pyramids of Egypt. It was a community ceremonial and trading spot and an area where the Ohlone buried their dead. Over the years, Americans destroyed that shell mound. They built one thi
ng after another on top of it—an amusement park and a dance pavilion and railroad tracks and a paint factory. Today, streets and sidewalks and the gigantic Bay Street mall are on that sacred spot.
But here is the worst part:
Hundreds of bodies were dug up from their graves when construction workers were building the mall! Ancestors of the Ohlone who had been buried there for many, many years. Some of the skeletons are now in a museum. Others were left buried under the mall. And others were just thrown away!
Grandma Lorraine: “We begged the developers to leave it as a big, open space to honor our heritage, but nobody listened to us. It was a desecration.”
A DESECRATION! When the early Ohlone buried their loved ones, they thought they would lie in that sacred spot for eternity!
Great-Grandma Grace: “So on the day after every Thanksgiving, as shoppers stroll by, we educate them about the history of that spot. Maybe we can prevent that desecration from happening again. From happening to anyone’s heritage!”
Now I understand why Grandma Lorraine and Great-Grandma Grace never ever shop at that mall.
Love,
Penny
PS. I am wondering if it is too late to tell Mr. Chen the truth about a heritage that isn’t mine at all.
THURSDAY, JANUARY 1, 2015
Dear You,
2015. Two thousand and fifteen.
Mama: “It has a turning-point sound.”
She says that every year. Every New Year’s date has a turning-point sound, because we’re not used to saying it. So it sounds important.
But, of course, you are arriving this year, and that is a huge turning point for our family.
Love,
Pen
LATER, SAME NIGHT
PS. I made a solemn New Year’s resolution for 2015: Always, always, always tell the truth.
Especially to you. That is my awesome responsibility. Why keep a journal if you aren’t going to be completely honest and reveal all?
Love, Penelope Page 3
