I love Val Kilmer. He has to be my favorite actor of all time. A close second is Brendan Fraser.

Val totally does it for me, though. Doc Holladay in Tombstone? Perfect. Chris Knight in Real Genius? Genius! The porn star in Wonderland? MOVING. I can never get enough of him. He makes me want to root for man.

burntbrat

So I was posting in the Klatch just now and the topic brought back some memories from my youth that were forgotten until my memory was jogged. I realized that my kids are missing out on so much growing up in a big city. I was free to roam and wander and get stung by spiders and step on rusty nails or slice my foot with a tractor blade. Okay, some of those things I think they're better off spared.

But I remember eating rhubarb straight from my grandmother's garden, without washing it. And exploring dusty, dank, abandoned old shelters that someone once called a home but was now just a structure on somebody's property. I've been to Josie's cabin hundreds of times and seen hyrogliphics and walked in the footsteps of great western outlaws. I've eaten crabapples to see who would pucker first. I've actually danced beneath a pussy willow tree and heard the call of a whippoorwill. We'd pick cattails and marvel at how many fliers we could get off of those things. I ate fresh plums from a long row of plum bushes along a highway that nobody tended, and paid for it dearly afterward. I've built a fort on top of a mountain and braved white water rapids on the green river without a life-jacket (even though my husband balks at this).

My children's adventures are so controlled. They can't go past the stop signs on either end of the street. There are no mysteries to solve, no monsters to be wary of except for the human ones who drive up and offer candy. They get their view of the world in vacations that end up disappointing and unfulfilling because they're made for tourists. I have Split Mountain and arrowheads and dinosaur fossils, they have Sea World and the newest roller coaster that they can't ride.

I'm always down on my Mother because she wasn't so great at being unselfish, but I realize as a mother that she gave me so many things by letting me explore the world on my own. I wish I could do that for my kids but I can't because of the path I've chosen and the place we live. It's more important to me that they come home safely. I guess I've just realized tonight that I need to take them to my home. Show them some of the things I loved as a kid and just let them be, so they can make their own memories. I know that I've promised the Disneyland vacations in the future, but I hope I can wiggle in some Red Cloud Loops and Cotton Canyons so that they can see what I saw when I was a kid.

burntbrat

We all have stories. Little stories and tiny memories that make us who we are, to ourselves. I don't mean the traumatic events that we all experience once or twice (or for the unlucky, many, many times). I mean the good ones. The stories that we tell our kids or the stories that we forget until an expression or a word brings it all back briefly. This is my first story, my first memory that is a large part of who I am today. It explains so much about me without explaining anything, really. It also helped me get an A in my first creative writing class in college.

I was very young, between 6 and 7 years old. For as long as I could remember my two older sisters and I had been infatuated with the movie "Grease". My parents would rent one of those pop-up VCRs from the video store and we'd get to pick out a tape each. One of us always got "Grease". My older brother had an 8-track player and we'd listen to the cartridge over and over, taking turns being Sandy and Danny and jumping on beds.

We were also a very religious and devout Mormon family. We went to church every Sunday and everything was modest and controlled. Those who have had religious upbringings will sympathize. One Sunday our sunday school lesson was about "Ask and ye shall receive" and praying for blessings from God. I have no idea what the actual point of the lesson was but you can imagine what a 6-year-old would glean from it. Pray and get stuff! Yay!

So I went home to the bedroom I shared with my older sister and prayed. I prayed, and prayed, and prayed. I asked for the black spandex outfit Sandy wears during the final scene of "Grease". Nevermind that it would look ridiculous on a child's body that couldn't fill it out (not like Olivia Nuetron Bomb could fill it out either, but whatever). I prayed hard and I prayed long. I had an epiphany and knew that I would need to prove my loyalty and faith in God in order for Him to answer my prayer. So I promised not to open my underwear drawer for an entire week to prove myself. Then could he please deposit the lovely black clothes and red clunky high-heels next to my panties? Thanks.

The week passed. I was very excited but never peeked. I fished underwear out of the unfolded clean-clothes baskets or borrowed from my older sister. I let her in on the plan because I didn't want her to open the drawer and ruin the whole thing. She knew I was ridiculous but I always had dirt on everyone so she let me be and never told Mom.

Sunday came. I raced to my room after church and slowly opened up the drawer. Kind of like Charlie Bucket with that second candy bar. Of course there was nothing in there but untouched undies and a potpourri sachet. I was pissed. I denounced God. I was never the same.

burntbrat