The Séance

I've written about my dad before and many people who know me know the story below because it's a good story for a late night conversation. Here it is now, written for your enjoyment during this Halloween month. So play this song and read about my Halloween night of 2001. 

Before he died, I was lucky enough to have some good conversations with my dad about the big D.
     "Jennifer, when I die," he once said, "I am going to haunt you. Then you'll know I'm still around."
     "That sounds good, Dad," I replied, laughing. "Promise me that will happen."

Then he died on September 15, 2001-- my second week of college.

I took a week off of school for the funeral proceedings, contemplated dropping out for the rest of the year, decided against it, and returned to Valley One at Western Michigan University. I can't remember going to class at that time. I think WMU had a rule that if your parent dies in your first week of college you automatically get a 2.0 without trying-- that's how it seemed to me. I do remember working because I didn't really know what to do with myself except make sandwiches at The Den, wait tables at Ruby Tuesday, and look for another job to fill my time. I searched through the classifieds and found a job cleaning rooms at The Henderson Castle in Kalamazoo, which is a creepy place in itself.

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It was the beginning of October. The man who owned it at the time gave me a job doing odd jobs for him for eight bucks an hour under the table. I'd throw a burned CD into my yellow Discman and put on some kneepads to clean the marble floors of the castle whenever I could fit it into my schedule. He also asked if I'd work as a guide for a haunted house at the Depot building in downtown Kalamazoo:

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I don't remember how he was connected with the haunted house, but it seemed like fun to me. I was always up to try anything that wasn't boring. I hate being bored, but after growing up watching movies like The Exorcist and Amnityville Horror, I'm also scared of everything. I thought it'd be fun to work at the haunted house because I could challenge myself to face my fears. Plus, I love fall and Halloween.

I enjoyed the odd job of being a haunted house tour guide that October. I had to don a black robe, paint my face a little, memorize a script, and guide people through what we called, "The Haunt." I would get there after dark, get dressed up, and freak the eff out of people. Everyone who worked at The Haunt was fun and interesting. I didn't talk to anyone about my dad dying just a month before this job started. I just wanted to scare people and flirt with the older guy who played Pennywise in the It room (this is weird if you know that I greatly dislike clowns).

On Halloween, The Haunt was hosting a séance in one of the rooms of the Depot. They had an open spot and wanted to make sure the room was full, so they asked if any of us (the actors?) wanted to fill a seat for free. I've never been one to turn down something free. I quickly volunteered myself and found a seat in the circle.

As we sat and waited for the séance to begin, I found my grieving self very focused on my dad. Are you going to be here, Dad? I thought, over and over again. Will you be here? Will you be here? Will you be here? I snapped myself out of it and snickered at my questions. Working for The Haunt for just a few weeks had helped me see that there was really no reason to be freaked out by ghosts-- it wasn't real.

I'm going to have to interrupt myself to tell you three things that you should know before reading about the séance:
1. Only my parents call me "Jennifer." I never let anyone do it-- until I went to Senegal in 2010 because it sounds so good when someone with a French accent says, "Jennifer." 
2. My dad had cancer in his throat, which caused his voice to sound very raspy in his last few months. 
3. My dad loved music and musicals from the 40s, 50s, and 60s. He sang to us all the time. 
4. Our family had a lot of money issues-- my dad's medical expenses were not cheap.

Now, back to our regularly scheduled séance. 

The séance began. I didn't know anyone in the room. The medium was a man wearing a navy blue sweatshirt, black jeans, and a baseball cap. He looked like someone's grandpa. I don't know why I remember in such detail what he was wearing. I'd never gone to a séance, but I thought the medium would be woman wearing a turban with moons and stars all over it. He sat on a chair in the middle of the circle and asked everyone to hold hands and not to let go, no matter what happened. Then he said things I don't remember, something along the lines of, "We welcome you to this safe space, spirits, blah, blah."

The lights went out. I was on the edge of my seat.

I felt a warm breeze blow across my face. Nice trick, Mr. Medium, I thought. I couldn't see anything, so I didn't know where the breeze was coming from. Then, I felt a chill at the base of my neck that made my scalp prickle. My eyes squeezed shut in anticipation and also because I always close my eyes when I'm in complete darkness. It makes me feel like I'm in control.

"Kiss me once and kiss me twice and kiss me once again. It's been a long, long time," the medium sang after a few tense moments of silence. My palms went sweaty and I probably gripped the hands of the people on my left and right harder than I should. I knew this song-- my dad loved Bing Crosby. Dad? I thought.

"Jennifer, Jennifer," the medium said in a raspy voice, "I miss you so much. I don't want you to worry about money. I want you to be happy. I love you, Jennifer. I miss you." Then he moved on to a different "spirit." I can't remember the rest of the seance because I was freaking. the. eff. out.

I wish I could say that at that moment, I thought about the conversations I had with my dad about haunting me and smiled at the whimsy of it all. I didn't. The séance ended and the lights came on and I was having a full blown anxiety-grief attack in front of a room of people I didn't know. "HOW DID YOU KNOW THAT STUFF ABOUT ME?! WHO DID YOU TALK TO?" I screamed to the nice grandpa medium, who was staring at the snot running out of my nose in alarm, "How COULD you? He JUST died!" I was crying an ugly cry and a few people in the circle started crying too. The pain was palpable.

The medium sent everyone out of the room and sat down across from me.
      "I'm so sorry for your loss," he said. He had kind eyes.
      "My dad just died," I responded while gulping in air to stop my sobbing hiccups. "He'd love that song you sang, he called me Jennifer, he worried about my future and money-- we were just emailing about it the week before he died. He loved me. And he died before I could get home so I didn't get to say goodbye even though he said he would wait for me, he didn't. How did you know that? How did you know to say those things?"
       "I didn't," the medium said. "It's just a script that I wrote this morning. I feel so terrible about this. This séance is just like a stage play. I'm just so sorry." He took both of my hands and sat with me while I got myself together.

I left the séance room and saw that almost everyone from the séance was waiting for me. "I'm fine," I said in the nasal tone of someone who just finished an intense cry. The people surrounded me, hugged me, and dispersed. I probably gave them quite a scare, but maybe not the one they were hoping to get on Halloween night. A nice couple, who were probably the age I am now, sat outside with me while I smoked a calming cigarette and got myself together. They followed me back to the dorms in their car.

What do you do after losing your shit in front of a room full of strangers? I don't remember, except that I woke up early in the norming of November first, climbed down from my lofted bed, and sat on the futon in our dorm staring out of the window into the darkness thinking, Too soon for haunting, Dad. That was WAY too soon. 

***

Note: It's been thirteen years since the séance and when I look back with my adult eyes, I see that maybe it was all a coincidence. Maybe I, in my grief, took everything the medium said and made it relate to me because I wanted needed it to-- the song, the money, the name, the raspy voice. But, maybe I didn't. 

I recently emailed the owner of the haunted house and asked him if they still do a séance show on Halloween. They said they only did it the one time because of audience reaction. My bad. Happy Halloween month, everybody! 

Earworm Wednesday: Still Stuck on Fiona Apple 17 Years Later

My Amazon Prime is up this month and we can't really afford the $99 renewal fee. I decided that was the perfect excuse to order the Fiona Apple Tidal piano songbook off of Amazon. Totally makes sense, right?

When I listen to songs from the Tidal album like Slow Like Honey, I seriously cannot believe that I thought I related to this album when I was in eighth grade. I have a very clear memory of listening to this album (and Live's Throwing Copper) over and over again on my giant Discman on the bus ride to Washington D.C. from Michigan. I remember thinking to myself, "Man, I cannot WAIT to get older."

Um, eighth grade Jen. Slow your roll. 

Sometimes when I talk to young people about lyrics of songs and the meaning, they will tell me that they honestly weren't even listening to the words-- they just like the tune or the beat. First, I don't understand how that could even happen. Second, eighth grade Jen listened to all of these Tidal lyrics which is probably why high school was an especially angsty time.

Um, the lyrics to this song make me want to shake eighth grade Jen and clutch my pearls:

I've loved all of Fiona Apple's albums after Tidal, especially When the Pawn, but Tidal was my first exposure to a female artist who sang on what felt like a level that was the opposite of Mariah Carey (who I loved too).

Happy Angsty Wednesday. Listen to your lyrics!

Earworm Wednesday: Life is Crazy

The Hubs and I celebrated our tenth Christmas and New Year's together this year. Throughout our massive holiday marathon of family and food, I kept thinking about what I was like when I was nineteen. I thought about the first time I went to his house for Christmas Day (it was also the first time I met his family) and his parents offered me a strawberry daiquiri. I don't drink daiquiris anymore and I'm definitely not the same person I was then, but we're still together. That's I hope it will always be with us-- that we keep growing together and not apart.

Does anyone else remember Macy Gray? I've loved her music since high school. Anyway, this song came up on my Spotify playlist today and I couldn't help but play it again:

It made me smile and now it's in my head. 

Reflections on a Father's Day

Dad and I circa 1987

Dad and I on high school graduation day, 2001

Today is my tenth Father's Day without my dad. After ten years there are memories that fade. I can't remember how his voice sounds and I don't know how tall I would be next to him. However, I remember a lot of things about him being a great dad. Here are just a few of my favorite memories with him.

1. In high school, Dad would pick me up from school on my birthday for lunch. He'd take me out to Jacobson's (a store that doesn't exist anymore) and I would get a club sandwich and a milkshake. With three siblings it was always hard to get one-on-one attention from my parents (unless I was in trouble). This is probably why I still LOVE my birthday.

2. Dad was a great writer. He had plans to write a book about all of his crazy life adventures. When I moved into the dorms, he was too sick to help me move and I was really down about it. When I got to the dorms, there was a care package with a note about how sorry he was that he couldn't be there. He always knew what to say.

3. Dad loved music. When I was in middle school he won an auction and was able to conduct the Saginaw Bay Orchestra in a Sousa march. He was glowing. My dad is the reason my musical tastes are so vast. He started all of us on Gershwin, Sousa, Ellington, Kern, Porter... he brought us to musicals and live music performances. His musical influence is something I will never forget.

4. Our parents always took us on a fall color tour of Northern Michigan. Dad drove us to a deer preserve, we got lunch, and we got to see how awesome the colors looked. I think this is why I love fall so much. Did I mention we got to get out of school for the day? Dad knew how to have fun and not take things too seriously. This is something I will do with my family someday.

5. Dad was cool about my crazy teenage years. He was probably really worried about my strange style of dress, my blondish hair (which was really orange because people with dark brown hair should never do any kind of blond ever), my piercings, my going to Detroit for shows on school nights, my sneaking out of my window until all hours, my horribles clashes with my mom, and my eye-rolling/sighing. When I skipped school to get Tim Horton's with my best friend and we got hit by a lady who ran a red light I was--naturally-- scared to tell my parents. When I sat down to tell Dad what happened (because I always sat across from him at his desk), I thought he was going to yell at me. Instead he calmly told me that I would have to pay for the damages and to stop crying. He told me a lot of crazy stories about himself, so I like to think that he knew it was just a phase.

6. This isn't a memory, but Dad would love the Hubs. He never got to meet him, but he would love him. They would have a lot to talk about and he'd be happy that I married such a great guy. My dad is the reason I took the Hub's last name with no argument. My students were surprised when I got married and I changed my last name because of my feminist disposition, but Dad always told me if I was going to get married I needed to "go big or go home and just take his name." I'm glad I did because my in-laws are amazing and I've got the best FIL (Father-in-law) around.

I could go on about my Dad, but I have years and years of memories. I'm not going to write them all down in one blog post!

Dad at the head of the table on graduation day, 2001. 

Even though most of my blog readers are ladies, I still want to say Happy Father's Day for the pure joy of it. Happy Father's Day to my mom who played the role of Father and Mother after Dad died. Happy Father's Day to John, who came into my mom's life and is a pretty cool dude. Happy Father's Day to my FIL, who gives the best advice and genuinely cares about me. Happy Father's Day to my Hubs, who takes care of our dog children.

Super old pic, circa 2004

Happy Father's Day.

I Left My Heart In Dakar: Post Resurrection

I've spent time in Senegal the last two summers and I am feeling extremely homesick(?) because I won't be there this summer. There just aren't any resources for me to make a trip happen.

I say "homesick" because Senegal is a place where I feel welcome. I've never met cooler people. I miss the food, the heat, the Chocopan (Senegalese equivalent of Nutella), speaking Wolof, listening to Wolof, the music, the students, Africulturban, the smell of the ocean... I even miss the occasional goat herd narrowly missing you as you try to get into a taxi.

View from a taxi window.

In honor of my homesickness, I'm going to resurrect some posts from the trips in 2010 and 2011. I hope to get enough money together to volunteer with 10,000 Girls next summer or to scrape together enough French and Wolof skills to work with students from Pikine again. I wish, wish, WISH there was a way to bring them over to Michigan. I WISH I was going to Senegal this summer. I miss everybody and I hope they haven't forgotten me.

I wear these bracelets (that I bought after about an hour of bartering at Soumbedioune Market) when I miss Senegal the most.

I'm crying under my glasses because I didn't want to leave the kids I met in Senegal last summer.

The rest of this post is filled with my memories from the last two summers. Please read, enjoy, and message me with any questions. I would love to talk to you about my experience and guide you towards the best things to do/eat/see in Dakar.

Lastly, I invite you to visit this website: Clean Water for the World. I worked with Clean Water last summer and I absolutely love everything about everyone involved in this organization. 



Senegal 2010: Fulbright-Hays Fellowship Research Trip

This was my first experience traveling abroad. I was away for 5 weeks on a research trip. This is the trip that made me fall in love with Dakar. Although I'm mouthy and outspoken I'm also very anxious. However, being in Dakar brought out my adventurous side and helped me set aside my anxiety. Thankfully, I had some great travel buddies who made this trip extremely enjoyable and the best learning experience I've ever had in my life.

Just a couple of my travel buds.

1. Adventures in Packing One Suitcase for 5 Weeks 

2. What to Bring People in Senegal? I decided on t-shirts and school supplies.

3. First Post from Senegal!

4. Colonization and Goree Island

5. Daily Marriage Proposals... Sorry dudes, I can't be any man's second wife.

6. One of my favorite posts from the trip: Yoff, Kids, and Mangoes

7. Road Trip to Thies... Imagine 5 hours in a van on the bumpiest road ever. Worth it.

8. Another favorite post: E'cole de la Rue (The School of the Street). Inspiring.

9. What I did in my off time: Hunting for Live Music

10. My third favorite post and the coolest pictures I got on this trip: Student Protest on Campus- It looks worse than it was.

11. So frustrating! Language Barriers

12. This one makes me miss my friends: Teraanga, or Senegalese Hospitality

13. My last favorite post, where a relationship started that continued the next summer: Africulturban

14. The one where I got pissed about being a woman in a Muslim country (those marriage proposals started to get to me): Why?!

15. Saying a Hopeful Goodbye

16. Decompressing: I made it to Paris!

Senegal 2011: Urban Youth for Africa Student Trip

I still can't find the words to articulate how I really felt about last summer's two week trip and I don't know if I ever will. I do know that my experience on this trip was one of the best-worst in my life. I don't really know how else to explain it-- it's been almost a year and I thought I would have the words but they are yet to be found. Until then, here are some of my words from last summer:

1. An introduction to the students.

2. A Thank You to Our Donors

3. First Post from Senegal

4. Chillin' with Teachers and Students from Mama Yelli Badiane

5. Language and Cultural Barriers: This will happen anytime you travel with students.

6. An introduction to the students of Mame Yelli Badiane
7. A post about Amelia, one of my students. I consider her my niece and I still mentor her.

8. A post where I (politically correctly) let go of all of my frustrations in dealing with teens abroad.
9. The Art of Graffiti in Senegal
10. One of my favorite posts and experiences from this trip: Hanging with Binetou's Family

11. Letters and Language
12. The reason for the trip and my favorite post from last summer's trip: Working With Clean Water for the World
This organization is very near and dear to my heart. Please visit Clean Water for the World's website for more information.

13. The End?
14. Something I didn't write about last summer-- When we arrived home, my best friend picked me up at the airport and when I got into the car I cried and cried the whole way back to my house. I think her favorite part was when I started sobbing after I saw a guy mowing his lawn. My shoulders shook as I cried, "Oh. My. God. I can't believe we just have lawn mowers here! Why do we live like this?" I was delirious. She couldn't stop laughing.


I feel an ache when I think of what I might be missing this summer. Sigh. Time to batten down the hatches and finish my master's degree course work. Until then, I'll leave you with one of my favorite songs from Senegal:

I want ceebu jen and mad fruit...

Time Machine: 1996

Summer Journal, 1996

July 7th, 1996
2 people making out under the tree for 2 hours is not my idea of fun. That's how it was today in our very own backyard. I swear, I'm never going to do that. It was incredibly disgusting. AND that girl was a slut. We were yelling all this crap to them and they wouldn't stop.


July 13th, 1996
We went to the Kochville family picnic yesterday. It was really dark, and when the sun started to set, it was like someone turned a light on. And then it started to rain and there was a double rainbow. It was so beautiful. Soft sunlight lit up the whole field while it rained and we were running around in it.


I thought making out was disgusting? "Incredibly disgusting," to quote myself. I called a girl a slut when she was probably just trying to get away from her parents for a few minutes? Geez. Private school made me kind of haughty. I still remember seeing those teens making out in the park behind our house. It looked like they were suffocating each other... traumatic.


On the other hand, I can still remember running around in the rain during that church picnic. The light was so pretty that sometimes it seems like that memory is a dream. Since it was documented I guess it really happened. I love the feeling of summer.


~Jen

Time Machine: 1994

I'm in a slump and I have been for quite awhile. This is probably the longest slump I've ever had. I wonder if the slumps we experience get longer and longer the longer we live and the more we see and experience.

I'm not one to use my blog to go on and on about how I'm feeling so miserable. I want to write because I miss it so I'm going old school until I get my groove back.

I've kept a journal since I was 6. They're all around our house in different boxes or hidden in boxes in my mom's garage. My first one was a spongy white book from the dollar store. It had four balloons on it in primary colors and said "MY DIARY" on the front. There was a cheap metal lock on it and you didn't even have to try to pick it. All you had to do was jingle it back and forth a bit and you'd get in.

That's when I started writing warnings on everything. I had 3 siblings who were always trying to get into my journals:

Age: 11

The others had different things on them: a sun, a famous art piece, a puppy... it all depended on my age, angst, and perceived coolness level. I'm going to post some of my old journals here for the next few weeks. My friend Elaine suggested it to help me start writing non-academic prose again and I'm extremely thankful for the suggestion. I needed something. Plus this is making me gives me the opportunity to clean out some boxes.

Year: 1994

 October 15, 1994

My brother is dum. He's always acting like a two year old and he's practically a teenager. Me, I'm just a regular eleven year old. Well, not really regular. Now we're going on a color tour, but there's not many trees. That's because we are still in the city. Otherwise, the trees are bright reds and oranges. My favorite color is that bright, bright yellowish orange. The branches are turning bare and the weather is turning cold. We must be in the country because there isn't many stores. The roads are also very bumpy as you can see in my handwriting. The houses are big and beautiful.

October 18, 1994
Today, after school, at 6:15, we went to Peace Lutheran and I got to see Mr. Kreuger's best student. His name is James and he's really cool. When he was playing the piano I saw his hands flying up and down the keyboard. I want to play like him when I get older. By the way, James in a senior in high school and he's been taking lessons for 11 years.

I couldn't spell "dumb," but damn, did I know how to write in cursive. I might not have thought so at many times during my childhood, but I was really lucky. My handwriting, spelling, and comma use was better at age 11 than many of my tenth grade students. 


I think my favorite thing about these two entries is the quote, "Me, I'm just a regular eleven year old. Well, not really regular." At least I knew it then!


I ended up playing the piano for 12 years. I really need to get back into it. 


Goodnight,
Me