Category archives for: Let Inga Tell You

Thanks for the non-memories

Look for La Jolla resident Inga’s lighthearted looks at life in La Jolla Light. Reach her at inga47@san.rr.com

When I considered whether to go to my 40th high school reunion — my first reunion ever — the first thing I thought about was whether I’d have to confront my high school nemesis, Medusa (not her real name).

Let Inga Tell You: The son also rises

Look for La Jolla resident Inga’s lighthearted looks at life in La Jolla Light. Reach her at inga47@san.rr.com

I get that sons need to separate from their mothers. But do they have to be so mean about it? I’m a nice person. So I wasn’t prepared for the fact that as my sons approached their senior years of high school they would suddenly turn on me.

Let Inga Tell You: The llama that went a-wool

Inga

Every year on my sister’s birthday, I make a donation to Bat World Sanctuary in her name, and on mine, she contributes to Heifer International. While our choices of beneficence may suggest not-too-subtle metaphorical underpinnings, these are actually two of our favorite charities.

Pining for my glory days

Inga

Single mothers working at clerical jobs don’t have a lot of status in a place like La Jolla (OK, anywhere) but for a few years, there were two weeks a year where I owned this place. I had the official scale for the annual Cub Scout Pinewood Derby, the only scale that counted.

Encountering the ’70s

Inga

You never hear the term anymore, but when my former husband and I first moved here in the 1970s, encounter groups were in full swing. For those who may have arrived in Southern California later, encounter groups were generally weekend or week-long unstructured group meetings of eight to 12 people plus a leader/facilitator with the alleged intent of increasing emotional expressiveness and communication, and promoting personal growth.

The Great Morgani leaves the sidewalk

Inga

It would probably surprise many people who know me (or then, maybe it wouldn’t) that one of the highlights of my life was waltzing to the Dr. Zhivago movie’s “Lara’s Theme” with a homeless guy on the sidewalk in downtown Santa Cruz serenaded by a space-alien-costumed accordion player named The Great Morgani. The homeless guy had asked me to dance and it would have been rude to decline. Plus, the opportunity to embarrass your two college-age sons? Oh, yeah.

When science is fiction

Inga

Both my husband and I enjoy reading science fiction although Olof’s preferred focus is outer space while mine involves beauty and weight loss articles in women’s magazines, which are especially bountiful this time of year. I love this stuff. The sheer creativity! The total illogic! The charming lunacy! All of the advice in these magazines is, of course, attributed vaguely to “science,” “research,” or “experts.”

A grim fairy tale

Inga

I was recently reading a fairy tale to my tiny grandchildren …..

There’s more cookin’ than the food

Inga

My husband is having an emotional affair. There, I’ve said it. Actually, if we’re being perfectly honest, it’s THREE emotional affairs and they’re all with cooking show honeys. I will refer to them as the Southern Sweetie, the Pioneer Person, and the Italian Temptress.

Let old acquaintance be forgot

Inga

When I was visiting my son at his college fraternity house a few years back, we were looking at the yearly group photos of members from previous decades on the wall, and my son was expressing disbelief that anyone could have thought those hair styles, glasses, and clothes could possibly be flattering. I said, “In another 30 years, some other guy is going to be standing in this spot saying the same thing about you.” He looked positively stricken.

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