Free Range Kids
I was driving home from the studio. I was on the Highway, 1804, north. It was just starting to get dark. I always look for deer, so was scouting the ditches. Over to the left, I saw something that was so weird. I actually thought …
Author: peggielarsen
He’s my brother. His name is Jeff
Do you ever get sad when you look at pictures from a long time ago? Recently, a friend posted some old class pictures from grade school. I noticed my brother in them. Second grade Jeff and third grade Jeff. I instantly became emotional. I really …
The garbage can was tin
The garbage can was tin. That coppery color tin, about 12 inches high. It was my sister’s. David Cassidy or Three Dog Night was featured on it. The house was the Prospect House. Green stucco was the style. The drink was sloe gin, with orange juice and southern comfort. It was called a sloe comfortable screw. Nice word play. Nice drink for a 17 year old. The party was out of town on Bad River Road. That’s in Fort Pierre, for those of you who don’t know. A friend of ours had moved out there and they had a pool. It was a long way out there. I barely remember it. In fact I don’t think anyone was there when we arrived or very few people. Not even sure if the house owner’s kid, the party host, was there. This was one of the few times I got REALLY drunk. I was around drinking all the time, but I didn’t drink all the time. My sister turned me on to this drink. I was 17, I thought I was cool and the name was catchy. At this point in my life, I didn’t drink that much. I thought it was overrated. I drank enough at 16. But I did it anyway. I remember after this, I rarely got “drunk.” I may have drank, but rarely got even a little drunk.
The road was gravel. The car was Mary’s. The brown Toyota with the narrow stripes along the side, orange and yellow maybe white too. After we left the party house and were on our way back to town, she had to pull over so I could throw up. Everything was red. Everything was orange acid. Everything was whiskey. It was disgusting. I can remember being behind the car throwing up. But, drinking was cool, right? We were lucky the storm wasn’t perfect and disaster didn’t happen.
———This past Sunday night as I was getting rid of the garbage in the upstairs bathroom, the tin garbage can made that kind of weird noise like stainless steel bowls when one is tapped by something. The never-ending rattle was the garbage can. The unevenness of the garbage can. That noise. The kind that won’t stop unless you grab it to make it stop. The garbage can triggered the memory of the tin garbage can.
The time of year was late fall or early winter. I remember it being pretty cold outside. The bedroom was hot and I was miserable as hell. I don’t know what time Mary dropped me off. It had to be late. Or it had to be early. However your reference of time works. Late night/early morning, you know what I mean. I remember puking in that garbage can numerous times. Red sloe gin, acid orange juice and southern comfort whiskey, and then that fun part when you think you have to puke, but nothing comes up. You know that great ab exercise called dry heaves. Anything but comfortable. I’m not sure if there was even a bag in the can to line it. I can still smell it. I can still remember it. I can still remember how awful and hungover I felt. I hated that feeling. I hated not being in control.
One of Three Dog Night’s most popular songs was Joy To The World. Hmmm, that night was anything but joy and I’m sure the world didn’t care about me. There was no joy in my world that night.
I googled some of the drinks made with sloe gin. I’m super happy that I wasn’t drinking the Panty Dropper, or the Tie Me To The Bedpost Baby, but in that situation I think my signature drink should have been the Slow Painful Movement, which is sloe gin, beer and chocolate syrup. Now that makes me want to throw up!
—It’s funny how at that age we thought we were so cool. In reality we were so damn dumb. So many things could have gone wrong. So many things should have gone wrong. But they didn’t. We made it through the wonder years without getting in trouble. We made it through the wonder years without hurting anyone or ourselves. We made it through.
The garbage can was tin…
Because sometimes I think too much
Because sometimes I think about weird things. It’s what I do. It’s who I am. For the past week or so I have had this Hemingway quote rolling around in my brain. I can’t get it out. I actually don’t think I will get it …
A broken bird and our cat is still missing
There’s a broken bird on my deck. A robin. I can’t quite tell what is wrong with him. He has a feather stuck in his eye and his leg looks broken. He keeps trying to get up. He keeps shaking his head trying to get …
How do we sleep when our beds are burning
Why is fire so fascinating? It’s mesmerizing. I love it. Whenever we sit out at the fire pit, I find myself staring into it and getting lost in the colors. The dancing and jumping of the flames is fascinating. The colors are rich and vibrant. It is pretty and tantalizingly dangerous at the same time. Tempting and enticing, seductive even. I love the sound it makes when the wood cracks and the sparks release.
As far back as I can remember I have loved fire…
It was the Euclid house. My sister, Sherry, and me, alone in the bedroom we shared. One bed, one dresser and a closet. It was small. It seemed big at the time. It wasn’t. We locked the door with a butter knife. The kinds of door frames back then were the type where you could lock the door by sticking a butter knife in between the frame and the wall. I think that’s how it went. Anyway, it locked the door and nobody could get in. We stole matches from our parents. We were intrigued with starting things on fire. Little things.
It seemed like our bed took up most of the room. We shared it. It was either a full size or a queen. I’m not sure. There was a window on the south wall of the bedroom and it was pretty close to the bed. There was enough room for us both to crouch down beside the bed.
We had our stash, the matches and the fire starter—toothpicks. Apparently, toothpicks worked well to start a fire. We tested some toothpicks. They burned fast. As we were burning the toothpicks, we happened to notice there was a hole in the mattress with spider-webby fuzz and foam sticking out. Naturally, that was intriguing.
Sherry wanted to start that fuzz on fire. I didn’t. Sherry said we could blow it out. I didn’t think so. Because I was the older sister, 13 months worth, I was obviously more responsible. I kept telling her we shouldn’t do it. She kept telling me we could blow it out. Well if by blowing it out, she meant blowing it up, well then yeah, she blew it out alright. NOT. Obviously, it made it worse.
The fire started in the mattress. It got out of control. We didn’t know what to do. We were jumping on the bed freaking out. The fire was getting bigger. The flames were coming out of the bed, big time. We didn’t know what to do, so we hid in the closet. Yeah, that little closet that was on the other side of the bed. Like that was going to make a difference.
As a parent, you should never take naps when you have kids named Peggie and Sherry in the house. Especially 6 and 5 year old Peggie and Sherry. They will always get into mischief. We were much older than our tender years though, in case you are appalled by this story.
Mom must have smelled the smoke. Either that or we freaked out enough and were scared enough that we yelled for her. We were stubborn, so I am pretty sure she smelled the smoke.
I’m not exactly sure how she broke into the bedroom. Remember, the butter knife in the door. I guess it wasn’t mom proof. We were still in the closet. She came rushing in and then right back out. She got the bowl. The white bowl. The white Tupperware bowl. She filled it with water and came running back in. Back and forth with bowls of water. Water in the white Tupperware bowl. It seemed like it lasted forever. I bet she was tired. I bet her adrenaline went crazy. I bet she was mad. I bet she wanted to kill us.
Well, now what? We knew we were in BIG trouble. We were super scared, as you can imagine. We didn’t know what was going to happen next, but we knew it wasn’t going to be good. Once the fire was out, we were out. We were done. We were anticipating the punishment. I’m pretty sure she ripped the doors off the closet trying to get to us. I’m also pretty sure that I pushed Sherry in front of me, because obviously, she started the fire in the first place.
Sherry got the first ass beating. On Mom’s lap, pants pulled down, about 10 or 15 hard whacks and then she was thrown to the floor. Ouch. It was my turn next. Same scenario. Pants pulled down like they were made of paper, like there was nothing to them. I’m sure we covered up our butts with our hands. No go. That didn’t matter. She still found a way to get her whacks in. And then, just like Sherry, I was thrown to the floor. I’m pretty sure she threw us back in the closet. The same closet where we tried to hide. The comfort of the closet, which was not comforting at all after that.
It was over. Except not really. The bed was burned beyond saving. It was ruined. It was the kind of bed that had a box spring that was actually springs, not too comfy at all. We had the privilege of sleeping on those springs for over a week before we got a new bed.
Our fire days were over, or were they…
Can you be alone with yourself?
Do you ever just spend time by yourself. I mean completely by yourself. No noise. No distractions. No nothing. Go ahead. Find a quiet place to relax. I’ll wait for you. Either your bedroom or another quiet place in your house will work. Turn off …
Your Path. Your Rules. Your Pirate Map.
Your path. Your rules. Your pirate map. What is your path? What are your rules? Are you just washing out of life and not living it? What I mean here is your fitness and nutrition path. What does that path look like? What do your …
Am I ready?
As I am getting ready to post this, I am sitting at my kitchen counter checking to make sure I have everything I need. I have my carry-on packed. I have my backpack packed. That’s my go to when I travel. I have my ticket. I have snacks and water.
I have a lot of emotions flowing through me. I have a lot of questions being asked of me by myself. Did you do enough? Did you work hard? Do you think you will do well? Do you feel ready? Can you go?
Well…the answer is I’m not sure. All the doubt is creeping in. The negative talk is telling me I didn’t do enough. The negative talk is telling me I didn’t work hard enough. The negative talk is telling me I won’t do well. The negative talk is telling me I’m not ready and I can’t go.
I feel empty. My tank feels low. It’s been a long road. I’ve had injuries to overcome and just when I am starting to feel good it’s time to go. But can I?
Guess what? We all have shit. We all have problems. We all have life. We all have something we have to deal with. It’s not new to any of us.
The important thing is to not dwell on the negative talk. I’m trying hard not to do that. I’m trying hard to stay positive. I’m trying hard.
If you are wondering what I am talking about. I am talking about my recertification for my kettlebell certification. I have to recert every three years. I am certified level I and level II right now and this is the recertification for both of those. It’s not easy AT ALL. It’s exhausting, mentally and physically.
The Master instructor is Dan John. Ever heard of him? He’s kind of a big deal. I am super excited to work with him. He truly is an amazing coach and more importantly an amazing person. I will probably fan girl all over him. I did pack one of his books so he can sign it for me. Weird? Not at all. He’s that amazing of a person.
So tomorrow morning I hop in the car about 5:30 a.m. and head to Rapid City. I catch a plane to Denver and then to LA – the land of the pretty people. I will Uber of Lyft to the hotel because I’m sure as hell not renting a car and driving in that traffic.
I get to see my good friend Rene again. I absolutely love her. We hit it off immediately at our Level II three years ago and then the Progressive Calisthentics Certification. Talk about an amazing person. She is one of a kind. Such a beautiful person with an absolutely beautiful soul. She is such an inspiration. NOTHING keeps her down.
Even though my tank is feeling empty. I am not going to use that an an excuse. I am going to dig deeper. I’m going to push harder. I’m going to be uncomfortable as fuck and I am going to grow!
Rene – let’s do this!!
The anchor dress story
The dress was white. It had a nautical pattern. There were blue anchors and gold-colored boat steering wheels. There was also the color red on the dress. I was only four or five. Blond hair, freckle faced, tan legs and knock knees. I was such …