I was born in Fargo, North Dakota.
I have five vivid memories from the years of 1964-1971 that I lived in Fargo.
1. I was always cold and it always seemed to be snowing.
2. The boy across the street, Brady (who I was in love with), ran me over with his bike, which still included training wheels, because I refused to get out of his way.
3. Because the Vietnam War was on television every night, I thought it was a dramatic television show, like Perry Mason, only with dead people.
4. I was deathly afraid of losing my boots in a snow drift and getting frostbite, or being suffocated by a snowdrift, looking for my lost boots.
5. I wanted to marry Paul McCartney.
Those five memories have pretty much set the course I've followed the rest of my life:
1. I hate cold weather.
2. Men, with their proverbial bikes stuck in proverbial first gear, have, at certain stages of my life, run head-first right over me only to move onto the next relationship hair flying in the wind, no hands, and no training wheels.
3. I use fiction of all kinds, including my own, to escape thinking about the bad things in life, to avoid change, to avoid dating, to avoid housework, and to keep myself from brooding. Usually about the cold weather.
4. Did I mention I hate snow?
5. I married, and divorced, the cute guy in the band, although unlike Paul, he was a drummer and lacked a bank account.
It doesn’t surprise me at all that the Coen brothers made a movie called Fargo. I even like that it’s about something bad, like a brutal murder, because nothing bad ever happened there, except on television, or far, far away. It’s all wrong, which is why the city of Fargo was ripe for dramatic tension of the Coen Brothers sort. I’m just sorry I didn’t think of it first.
Fargo isn’t so much a place, as it is my state of mind. It goes with me everywhere, and even though I keep forty miles away from it, I will always be close by for the rest of my life. Never mind that most of the movie wasn’t even shot in Fargo, but in Brainerd, Minnesota. The state of mind in Brainerd isn’t much different. I know, because I’ve been there, too. The Co-Bros just thought Fargo sounded better as a title. And it does, especially if you speak with that famous Fargo accent. Do the people of Fargo talk this way? Sure they do. Heck-ya. My mom still does. Heck-ya. Even when I read about Fargo, I can’t help but slip into a Fargo dialect. It’s no wonder I love to start the day with Get your coat, we’re goin’ in the boat, then we’re goin to the Fargodome to see a show-ya. I even still say “uff-da” when I’ve had a bad day, like the main character, Margie, played by Frances McDormand. My aunt was even called Margie. I think most of the women over 40 there are named Marge. I wish my name was Marge.
So readers, tell me about where you were born. Is it a state of mind or just a place?
You are a Marge at heart my friend. :)
ReplyDeleteJoliet=state of mind
Fantastic first blog post--witty, a touch wistful, but never corny. I can hardly wait to read the book that's bound to come of all this.
ReplyDeleteRegarding your question, I was born traveling and in a hurry to get out, meet people, and see the world. Seriously. My artist mom and airline pilot dad resided in New York, but were visiting Phoenix at the time. I was due on Halloween, but Dad had to pilot a flight to Paris that night. i guess I was eager to meet him, because I arrived early. Either that, or perhaps I was just itching to get out of Phoenix. No, that's not fair--I actually love the desert and Arizona's other surprisingly varied climate belts and landforms; love the myth of the phoenix rising from the ashes (what Scorpio wouldn't); and feel proud that my great-aunt, who was needless to say a Democrat, almost became the first woman governor of AZ.
My dear, now departed folks had such joie de vivre and fostered such a deep respect for, and keen interest in world cultures, and took my siblings and me to so many places, from actual places on the globe to the state-of-mind places of art, theatre, literature, language, and the exploration of ideas that traveling became the real classroom and a less vibrant classroom became a kind of airport departure lounge where you do your best to pass the time before you can finally get back in the air and into wide blue sky again.
So for me, where I was born will forever be a richly contradictory point on a travel itinerary, not a static place, and ever since then I have been a kind of homebody-on-the-move, happiest -- whether at home or carrying a suitcase -- when I am free to make meaningful connections with people from all around the world.
Great beginning to the story. I want to hear more because I like your character a lot. I think if you can create a great character (you, your voice), that's the hardest part. So you're on your way......
ReplyDeleteI was born in Chicago at Michael Reese Hospital, on the south side. My mother was anesthetized, and so remembers nothing. The nurse brought me out, wrapped in a blanket, to meet my father. Apparently, the nurse lifted my blanket so my father could see for himself that I was a girl. Is that how they did it in those days? Pretty fucked up if you ask me.
My parents brought me home to a "nurse." Her name was Mrs. Kramer, and she took care of me as an infant. Robust and teutonic, Mrs. Kramer called the shots, although my young, fashion-conscious mother did get to pick out my clothes. I was always dressed to the nines. The year was 1965.