Can you believe March is here already?
And as it rushes past me, all I can think is what I have coming up - back-up mammogram, more lively dental work with a possible 'nother root canal, and COLONOSCOPY! Yes, fifty is here and we have such grand things planned!
At least Lillian got my taxes done for me. I don't make much money and my name isn't on the mortgage, so mine are the easy ones to face. Now ever they let us actually get hitched, the easy taxes will go down the drain, but I'll be past that first colonoscopy, so taxes may very well look like a piece of cake.
No, I'm not really obsessing about it. It was just one of those things my doc and I talked about yesterday when we were looking at my hand. No word on whether or not it's really broken, so I guess it isn't, which in a way is a nuisance, since it takes much longer for sprains to heal, but there you go, why would I do the easy thing?
Is it just me, or as we get older does time seem to just fly by? Okay, so it always flew past when something awful was coming up, say, a speech you had to give, or waiting outside the principal's office, or well, dental work. But it seems to me that, while some days still drag....on....forever....the weeks and years seem to be zipping past. You know, I was always amazed at people who could focus on Christmas presents at Easter, but now I understand: Christmas really is just around the corner! And when I was teaching, the breaks always seemed shorter than the ones the year before. Now of course I don't get breaks, so it's a moot concept, but the idea's the same. Ever I get vacation time, I'm going to go to sleep Saturday night when it starts and all of a sudden it'll be Monday night the next week, and I'll end up wondering where the hell the week went!
Which really isn't all that different from wondering where the hell my socks went, I guess.
And time slips away faster now. I was reading something online this morning, and the next thing I knew I was cursing traffic because I was gonna miss the bus, and wouldn't that just be a pain in the patootie, since I overslept on Friday and was late to work (although that's not entirely my fault, since JB said I could come in a little later, and he really didn't give me a timeline, and the bed was so snuggly warm and it was icy outside, and...well, there you go, I was really late).
I always taught my students that time isn't really a fixed thing, it's elastic, and sometimes it stretches out forever - like when you've just said something out loud you really only intended to think - and sometimes it's on speed. I wish I could get a handle on it, but there's so much else I have to do.
And not nearly enough time.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
02/27/06 Candlemaking
Okay, this is gonna be seriously short. I saw the doc today, got the paw X-rayed, and now it's incredibly tender. My pinkie is taped to my ring finger, and just typing this is nasty. Hence the short post.
I'm figuring out making candles again. The cool thing is that I can melt candle wax on the woodstove. I have the melting pot, and I can put candle leavings in there and they melt beautifully, not too hot, never catching fire, and then I can pour them into molds and empty glass jars or used candle glasses - badly phrased but you know what I mean so stop giggling at my word useage! - and it's nice to be able to make candles again.
We made candles back in Las Cruces one wild evening, and it was wonderfully successful and quite a mess. This time it's less messy, but I do miss the camaradarie at times. Light a candle, and smile for me, okay?
Grrr, the typing is frustrating. Love y'all much, but I'm gonna stop typing now. (((hugs)))
I'm figuring out making candles again. The cool thing is that I can melt candle wax on the woodstove. I have the melting pot, and I can put candle leavings in there and they melt beautifully, not too hot, never catching fire, and then I can pour them into molds and empty glass jars or used candle glasses - badly phrased but you know what I mean so stop giggling at my word useage! - and it's nice to be able to make candles again.
We made candles back in Las Cruces one wild evening, and it was wonderfully successful and quite a mess. This time it's less messy, but I do miss the camaradarie at times. Light a candle, and smile for me, okay?
Grrr, the typing is frustrating. Love y'all much, but I'm gonna stop typing now. (((hugs)))
02/26/06 Cats
Earlier today I sent the Sunday cartoon from 9 Chickweed Lane to some friends who have cats since it deals with the weirdness of cats. Here it is:
http://news.yahoo.com/comics/9chickweedlane;_ylt=An8hgVJW1CiORk19oIlIbFUDwLAF;_ylu=X3oDMTBiMW04NW9mBHNlYwMlJVRPUCUl
I do love 9 Chickweed Lane and Pibgorn, both drawn by the same guy - small plug there. But this does just illustrate some of the oddities of cats. I mean, I see why the Egyptians revered them. They're just too freaky to be natural! Have you ever noticed how they sometimes stare at nothing? Do you find yourself looking at the spot they're staring at, trying to see it too? And they can amuse themselves for hours with a feather, but if you buy them high-tech toys, they can't be bothered. Like children, they prefer to play with the boxes.
I'm watching X2, and the scene where Wolverine unsheaths his claws at the cat is perfect! Granted, Geordie would be hiding under something, but I can see Isis doing just what the kitty there did, lick his claws. They have that "it's all about me" attitude that adolescents can have. When I disturb Geordie, when he's sleeping on the bed, it's obvious I'm the one at fault, since I had the nerve to walk into the bedroom! What was I thinking? Laundry? Not at the expense of his nap!
And they taunt us, have you noticed that? Isis sharpens her claws on the little couch, and Geordie sharpens his on the bedroom carpet. Now, I'll grant you that we are going to be getting rid of the couch as soon as we can convince some sucker, um, that is, some lucky recipient to come haul it away, and the carpet is going to be replaced when we re-do the bedroom, but that's not the point, and they know it. It's sheer insolence.
But then they cuddle up with me and purr, and are all snuggly-warm, and I know they're evil and all, but still...Or they'll burrow under the fleece on Lillian's lap, just about the time she's had just enough of them, and they manage to appear to be loving and sweet. It's an act, I know it, she knows it, they certainly know it, but it works anyway. Every time.
And cats have variable gravity! And they flaunt it! You know they do. They can be light-footed and quiet coming up behind you so you almost step on them, and then they can thunder through the house, shaking knick-knacks off the shelves. Let one of them, from 30 lb. Maine coon cat to 5 oz. kitten land on your stomach, and anvils don't weigh as much! But let the same kitty pad softly across your foot or arm while they're trying to steal your tuna, and you can barely feel them. Why can't I have that skill when I'm standing on the scale at the doctor's office?
I've had cats all my life, starting with Sir Thomas the huge grey tabby, and I'll probably have them the rest of my life, but I don't think I'll ever understand them. And maybe that's why I enjoy them so much!
http://news.yahoo.com/comics/9chickweedlane;_ylt=An8hgVJW1CiORk19oIlIbFUDwLAF;_ylu=X3oDMTBiMW04NW9mBHNlYwMlJVRPUCUl
I do love 9 Chickweed Lane and Pibgorn, both drawn by the same guy - small plug there. But this does just illustrate some of the oddities of cats. I mean, I see why the Egyptians revered them. They're just too freaky to be natural! Have you ever noticed how they sometimes stare at nothing? Do you find yourself looking at the spot they're staring at, trying to see it too? And they can amuse themselves for hours with a feather, but if you buy them high-tech toys, they can't be bothered. Like children, they prefer to play with the boxes.
I'm watching X2, and the scene where Wolverine unsheaths his claws at the cat is perfect! Granted, Geordie would be hiding under something, but I can see Isis doing just what the kitty there did, lick his claws. They have that "it's all about me" attitude that adolescents can have. When I disturb Geordie, when he's sleeping on the bed, it's obvious I'm the one at fault, since I had the nerve to walk into the bedroom! What was I thinking? Laundry? Not at the expense of his nap!
And they taunt us, have you noticed that? Isis sharpens her claws on the little couch, and Geordie sharpens his on the bedroom carpet. Now, I'll grant you that we are going to be getting rid of the couch as soon as we can convince some sucker, um, that is, some lucky recipient to come haul it away, and the carpet is going to be replaced when we re-do the bedroom, but that's not the point, and they know it. It's sheer insolence.
But then they cuddle up with me and purr, and are all snuggly-warm, and I know they're evil and all, but still...Or they'll burrow under the fleece on Lillian's lap, just about the time she's had just enough of them, and they manage to appear to be loving and sweet. It's an act, I know it, she knows it, they certainly know it, but it works anyway. Every time.
And cats have variable gravity! And they flaunt it! You know they do. They can be light-footed and quiet coming up behind you so you almost step on them, and then they can thunder through the house, shaking knick-knacks off the shelves. Let one of them, from 30 lb. Maine coon cat to 5 oz. kitten land on your stomach, and anvils don't weigh as much! But let the same kitty pad softly across your foot or arm while they're trying to steal your tuna, and you can barely feel them. Why can't I have that skill when I'm standing on the scale at the doctor's office?
I've had cats all my life, starting with Sir Thomas the huge grey tabby, and I'll probably have them the rest of my life, but I don't think I'll ever understand them. And maybe that's why I enjoy them so much!
02/24/06 Photos and Other Things
As I'm sure many of you noticed, I added another photo gallery - Other Folks Fuzzy Families - and if you have pictures of your babies that you'd like to see here, just send them to me. I'd love to show them off.
On another note, a couple of friends have sent me pictures of their tattoos, and the work is magnificent. If you have a pic of yours that you feel is display-worthy, send it along and when I get a few more, I'll start a tattoo display. I think people's artistic and personal choices are endlessly fascinating! We do sometimes have younger folks who occasionally frequent this establishment, so if your tatt is somewhere...unique...well, I'll be sure that the pic gets a "Heads up" sort of title.
Tomorrow I probably won't be posting. It's going to be a busy day. We have two signings at the bookstore (WARNING: name dropping about to ensue!). First we have Aaron and Charlotte Elkins, and they'll be lots of fun, I know. But the true madness will come at 3, when we have Robert Crais coming in. He's a hunk, and we have women coming in just to drool. He's a sweetie too, so it only makes things more hectic. We close at 5, but I suspect there'll be folks there a bit after, although he has another signing later tomorrow evening, so he won't just be hanging about.
Then, after that, we'll be going down to Fado' for food and Irish music and just general merriment. Lillian and I will be taking our friend Robin down there, since she loves Irish stuff as much as the rest of us. We were supposed to go to a pasta-making party, but it fell through, and that's not necessarily a bad thing, since there would have been lots of people in a smallish space, and after a day of being nice to customers, I might have become surly. At a pub, I can let them do all the work! However, the reason it fell through isn't nifty - the hostess had severe chest pains, and is now home resting, so we're definitely thinking good thoughts for her!
Anyway, afterwards we'll be going back to Robin's new place (she just moved here from Boston) for good conversation, possibly dessert if I have my way, and tarot card readings, so all in all, it'll be a long, fun-filled day. Here's hoping that your day will be as much fun!
On another note, a couple of friends have sent me pictures of their tattoos, and the work is magnificent. If you have a pic of yours that you feel is display-worthy, send it along and when I get a few more, I'll start a tattoo display. I think people's artistic and personal choices are endlessly fascinating! We do sometimes have younger folks who occasionally frequent this establishment, so if your tatt is somewhere...unique...well, I'll be sure that the pic gets a "Heads up" sort of title.
Tomorrow I probably won't be posting. It's going to be a busy day. We have two signings at the bookstore (WARNING: name dropping about to ensue!). First we have Aaron and Charlotte Elkins, and they'll be lots of fun, I know. But the true madness will come at 3, when we have Robert Crais coming in. He's a hunk, and we have women coming in just to drool. He's a sweetie too, so it only makes things more hectic. We close at 5, but I suspect there'll be folks there a bit after, although he has another signing later tomorrow evening, so he won't just be hanging about.
Then, after that, we'll be going down to Fado' for food and Irish music and just general merriment. Lillian and I will be taking our friend Robin down there, since she loves Irish stuff as much as the rest of us. We were supposed to go to a pasta-making party, but it fell through, and that's not necessarily a bad thing, since there would have been lots of people in a smallish space, and after a day of being nice to customers, I might have become surly. At a pub, I can let them do all the work! However, the reason it fell through isn't nifty - the hostess had severe chest pains, and is now home resting, so we're definitely thinking good thoughts for her!
Anyway, afterwards we'll be going back to Robin's new place (she just moved here from Boston) for good conversation, possibly dessert if I have my way, and tarot card readings, so all in all, it'll be a long, fun-filled day. Here's hoping that your day will be as much fun!
02/23/06 Silly Things
When I was teaching, one of the things I told my drama classes to be aware of was silly things people do and say. If they added them into performances, it added that little touch of realism.
You know, things like testing pool water with your toe, and then with your fingers, in case your toes were wrong. Or flipping the light switch on and off repeatedly while staring at the light that wasn't coming on. Or tasting something that is a little off, then handing it to someone else, asking, "Does this taste funny to you?" - and frequently the other person actually tastes it! Have you notice that if you stare up at nothing in the air, others will join you at staring, and eventually someone will say they've seen whatever it is you say you're looking for?
But the silly thing on my mind right now is a something my doctor said about my hand. He said, "You don't have to brace your hand. Just don't use it."
JUST DON'T USE IT?!
Think about it. My right hand is my dominant hand. I'll grant you that ten years ago (ohmygod, it's been 10 years!) I broke my right elbow, and it was in a cast for a week, and a sling for four more, so I did get used to doing more things left-handed, but even then I could use my fingers. But now I'm not supposed to use my hand at all? I have to work, and a lot of people think that working in a bookstore is easy, but books are heavy, they come in boxes, and I'm naturally clumsy. Need I really say more? And cash registers need input, things have to be written down...well, like any job, you need your hands.
I mean, what job do you NOT need your hands for? Really? Sheesh.
So, my hand hurts, hence the rant. I go back to the doc on Monday, after what promises to be an incredibly hectic Saturday, and I may have grumpy things to say. But I'll be seeing my primary doc, not a substitute one like last time, and so I'm sure she'll be more realistic. I hope so, anyway.
Don't use my hand....grrrr....
You know, things like testing pool water with your toe, and then with your fingers, in case your toes were wrong. Or flipping the light switch on and off repeatedly while staring at the light that wasn't coming on. Or tasting something that is a little off, then handing it to someone else, asking, "Does this taste funny to you?" - and frequently the other person actually tastes it! Have you notice that if you stare up at nothing in the air, others will join you at staring, and eventually someone will say they've seen whatever it is you say you're looking for?
But the silly thing on my mind right now is a something my doctor said about my hand. He said, "You don't have to brace your hand. Just don't use it."
JUST DON'T USE IT?!
Think about it. My right hand is my dominant hand. I'll grant you that ten years ago (ohmygod, it's been 10 years!) I broke my right elbow, and it was in a cast for a week, and a sling for four more, so I did get used to doing more things left-handed, but even then I could use my fingers. But now I'm not supposed to use my hand at all? I have to work, and a lot of people think that working in a bookstore is easy, but books are heavy, they come in boxes, and I'm naturally clumsy. Need I really say more? And cash registers need input, things have to be written down...well, like any job, you need your hands.
I mean, what job do you NOT need your hands for? Really? Sheesh.
So, my hand hurts, hence the rant. I go back to the doc on Monday, after what promises to be an incredibly hectic Saturday, and I may have grumpy things to say. But I'll be seeing my primary doc, not a substitute one like last time, and so I'm sure she'll be more realistic. I hope so, anyway.
Don't use my hand....grrrr....
02/22/06 Indulgence
Now I suspect everyone who reads this knows I have a love of decadent and sensual things (get your mind out of the gutter - yes, I mean you!), like dark chocolate covered macadamia nuts and silk shirts and warm, cuddly blankets. I love soft, warm days, the smell of the ocean, fresh-baked bread and Havaarti grilled cheese sandwiches.
It's been chilly here at night, and my internal thermometer is beginning to slip away from being constantly on "high" and is heading quickly toward an annoying tendency toward icy fingers and toes. I've mentioned before that I love our fireplace, and we have candles burning, partly for the joy of them but also because they do take the edge off the chill in the room.
But as a complete and total indulgence, Lillian bought us a heated mattress pad, dual controls. We have a memory foam mattress, and once it gets warm, it holds the heat in, but when it's cold, well, you can just feel the chill radiating up out of the foam and into your body. So to be able to slip into the bed that's not overly warm but has that nasty clammy chill taken out and a gentle warmth waiting for me...well, it makes for a really good night's sleep. This is one of the nicest indulgences Lillian's ever gotten me (yes, it's for us, but her system's still on overdrive), and I love it! And her! So I'm going to go indulge in my indulgence. May you all sleep as well as I will!
It's been chilly here at night, and my internal thermometer is beginning to slip away from being constantly on "high" and is heading quickly toward an annoying tendency toward icy fingers and toes. I've mentioned before that I love our fireplace, and we have candles burning, partly for the joy of them but also because they do take the edge off the chill in the room.
But as a complete and total indulgence, Lillian bought us a heated mattress pad, dual controls. We have a memory foam mattress, and once it gets warm, it holds the heat in, but when it's cold, well, you can just feel the chill radiating up out of the foam and into your body. So to be able to slip into the bed that's not overly warm but has that nasty clammy chill taken out and a gentle warmth waiting for me...well, it makes for a really good night's sleep. This is one of the nicest indulgences Lillian's ever gotten me (yes, it's for us, but her system's still on overdrive), and I love it! And her! So I'm going to go indulge in my indulgence. May you all sleep as well as I will!
02/21/06 Food for Thought
On Dec. 18, 2005, Ben Stein made a speech on his CBS Sunday Morning Commentary, and lots of what he said I agree with. If you'd like the full text of what Ben said, let me know and I'll email it to you.
However, he made a couple of statements that I just had to comment on. What Ben said is next, in purple. My comments will be afterward in my traditional black.
"In light of recent events...terrorist attacks, school shootings, etc., I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.
Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school, the Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.
Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.
Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves."
And so I say:
You know, I lost a lot of respect for Ben Stein when he blamed the online game EverQuest for his son's addiction to it. So I take everything he has to say with a shaker of salt.
I agree with most of what he has to say here (again, remember what you're reading here is NOT the entire Stein post!) except for the part about keeping God in school. As a teacher, I had to look that one square in the face, teaching religion (except in a a detached educational sort of way) presents all kinds of problems. Whose religion? I had Christians, Muslims, Jews, pagans, athiests, agnostics. Which God do we talk to? Okay, so this is a predominantly Christian country, then what flavor of Christianity? Do we go with what is predominant in the area? Catholic? Mormon? Baptist? Or do we go with whatever beliefs the teacher has? But we can't because teachers can't impose their beliefs on the kids, we're there to teach things like English and math, and really there's not enough time to concentrate on those with all the other nonsense the administration has us doing.
I told my principal that if he required me to post the 10 Commandments in my classroom, he was going to have to allow me to put up all the other basic beliefs of every other religion or he'd be faced with a serious lawsuit, and not just from me either, but I wasn't Christian and wasn't for imposing beliefs I didn't hold on my students. He agreed, but it didn't come to that.
I did allow a group of kids, who knew I'm not Christian, to use my classroom to hold a prayer group during my lunch break. They used mine because most of them had my class immediately after lunch, and I really didn't mind. However they decided not to continue when I pointed out to them later that they were the meanest, rudest group of students I'd had in a long time, and they were. Oh my, they were vicious to other students who didn't meet with them in that prayer group! I'd never had a group more dedicated to deriding their classmates, and they really didn't see that they were doing anything wrong.
I expected situations like this to happen when Bradley brought her Sociology 2 class to merge with mine for her religion section. With my honors students, every week or two we had a graded discussion on any topic. No topic was forbidden, they chose it and the rules were that everyone had to participate, you could disagree but name-calling was forbidden, you had to present a logical argument, and you had to stay in your seat. We had some wonderful discussions, and I'd play devil's advocate on both sides, depending on who had the most people backing it. Bradley brought her class in to talk about religion, just to get more people involved, and she generally had one or two teachers or principals come in and participate too. It was always lively, the questions posed and answered were invariably intelligent, and very few people got their feelings hurt, which honestly happened more when we had discussions on vegetarianism.
I do think that if people want God in school, they should send kids to a private religious school or homeschool, but a school funded with public money needs to leave religion to the parents, not the teachers.
Well, and Ben Stein should stop blaming a game for his lack of parental observation.
However, he made a couple of statements that I just had to comment on. What Ben said is next, in purple. My comments will be afterward in my traditional black.
"In light of recent events...terrorist attacks, school shootings, etc., I think it started when Madeleine Murray O'Hare (she was murdered, her body found recently) complained she didn't want prayer in our schools, and we said OK.
Then someone said you better not read the Bible in school, the Bible says thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and love your neighbor as yourself. And we said OK.
Then Dr. Benjamin Spock said we shouldn't spank our children when they misbehave because their little personalities would be warped and we might damage their self-esteem (Dr. Spock's son committed suicide). We said an expert should know what he's talking about. And we said OK.
Now we're asking ourselves why our children have no conscience, why they don't know right from wrong, and why it doesn't bother them to kill strangers, their classmates, and themselves."
And so I say:
You know, I lost a lot of respect for Ben Stein when he blamed the online game EverQuest for his son's addiction to it. So I take everything he has to say with a shaker of salt.
I agree with most of what he has to say here (again, remember what you're reading here is NOT the entire Stein post!) except for the part about keeping God in school. As a teacher, I had to look that one square in the face, teaching religion (except in a a detached educational sort of way) presents all kinds of problems. Whose religion? I had Christians, Muslims, Jews, pagans, athiests, agnostics. Which God do we talk to? Okay, so this is a predominantly Christian country, then what flavor of Christianity? Do we go with what is predominant in the area? Catholic? Mormon? Baptist? Or do we go with whatever beliefs the teacher has? But we can't because teachers can't impose their beliefs on the kids, we're there to teach things like English and math, and really there's not enough time to concentrate on those with all the other nonsense the administration has us doing.
I told my principal that if he required me to post the 10 Commandments in my classroom, he was going to have to allow me to put up all the other basic beliefs of every other religion or he'd be faced with a serious lawsuit, and not just from me either, but I wasn't Christian and wasn't for imposing beliefs I didn't hold on my students. He agreed, but it didn't come to that.
I did allow a group of kids, who knew I'm not Christian, to use my classroom to hold a prayer group during my lunch break. They used mine because most of them had my class immediately after lunch, and I really didn't mind. However they decided not to continue when I pointed out to them later that they were the meanest, rudest group of students I'd had in a long time, and they were. Oh my, they were vicious to other students who didn't meet with them in that prayer group! I'd never had a group more dedicated to deriding their classmates, and they really didn't see that they were doing anything wrong.
I expected situations like this to happen when Bradley brought her Sociology 2 class to merge with mine for her religion section. With my honors students, every week or two we had a graded discussion on any topic. No topic was forbidden, they chose it and the rules were that everyone had to participate, you could disagree but name-calling was forbidden, you had to present a logical argument, and you had to stay in your seat. We had some wonderful discussions, and I'd play devil's advocate on both sides, depending on who had the most people backing it. Bradley brought her class in to talk about religion, just to get more people involved, and she generally had one or two teachers or principals come in and participate too. It was always lively, the questions posed and answered were invariably intelligent, and very few people got their feelings hurt, which honestly happened more when we had discussions on vegetarianism.
I do think that if people want God in school, they should send kids to a private religious school or homeschool, but a school funded with public money needs to leave religion to the parents, not the teachers.
Well, and Ben Stein should stop blaming a game for his lack of parental observation.
02/20/06 Updates
First of all, I've added another link to a really funny site, especially if you like catty women. And the stuff they find is amazing. Amazingly awful! It's a whole new definition of fu'ugly.
My posts for a while will probably be a bit short. Typing really hurts my hand, and I need to rest it, so I'm going to be typing very little for a while. But I'm still looking for photos to add to the gallery, so if you have anything, don't hesitate to send them along!
My posts for a while will probably be a bit short. Typing really hurts my hand, and I need to rest it, so I'm going to be typing very little for a while. But I'm still looking for photos to add to the gallery, so if you have anything, don't hesitate to send them along!
02/19/06 Sunday Drives
Not long ago, Lillian and I went out, driving around, just looking, exploring the area. It's one of my favorite activities, and I really wish that gas prices were low enough to allow us to do it more often, even though I know it's bad for the environment.
I find myself looking out at the trees, and with very little effort I can see how the land looked before we got here and put up housing developments and strip malls. It's so easy to see how someone rode up over a hill and saw water sparkling in the distance, the mountains covered with snow, Ranier shining in pinks and oranges as the sun sets. It's really beautiful up here, and it's still fairly exotic to me, having grown up in the desert.
And berries! Berry picking is quite the thing here. There are whole farms where you can pick your own, and blackberries grow wild. In fact, they're considered a nuisance, and if you doubt me, you should ask Lillian about them, especially during the summer when she has to hack her way through them. My girl wields a mean machete! And my co-worker, Tammy, makes jam to die for.
There are all kinds of berries up here I'd never heard of, and it's been tons of fun trying them. Lingonberries, loganberries, marionberries, tayberries. We had an unfortunate run-in with a wild loganberry pie last summer, and we've become addicted to tayberry jam.
And there are lavender farms up here. There's even a lavender festival, and one of our customers brought me lavender candy from it, since she knows I love the stuff (and apparently I'm in a serious minority here, but that's fine, more for me), and the smells are amazing.
So, one of these Sundays in the not-too-distant future, I'm looking forward to another trip through the countryside, seeing what we see. I'll take pictures, I promise!
I find myself looking out at the trees, and with very little effort I can see how the land looked before we got here and put up housing developments and strip malls. It's so easy to see how someone rode up over a hill and saw water sparkling in the distance, the mountains covered with snow, Ranier shining in pinks and oranges as the sun sets. It's really beautiful up here, and it's still fairly exotic to me, having grown up in the desert.
And berries! Berry picking is quite the thing here. There are whole farms where you can pick your own, and blackberries grow wild. In fact, they're considered a nuisance, and if you doubt me, you should ask Lillian about them, especially during the summer when she has to hack her way through them. My girl wields a mean machete! And my co-worker, Tammy, makes jam to die for.
There are all kinds of berries up here I'd never heard of, and it's been tons of fun trying them. Lingonberries, loganberries, marionberries, tayberries. We had an unfortunate run-in with a wild loganberry pie last summer, and we've become addicted to tayberry jam.
And there are lavender farms up here. There's even a lavender festival, and one of our customers brought me lavender candy from it, since she knows I love the stuff (and apparently I'm in a serious minority here, but that's fine, more for me), and the smells are amazing.
So, one of these Sundays in the not-too-distant future, I'm looking forward to another trip through the countryside, seeing what we see. I'll take pictures, I promise!
02/18/06 Medical Weirdness
Okay, on Monday I fell and sprained my hand, and on Friday I went to the doc, who pushed and prodded and generally made my sore paw ache even more. We see naturopaths, so they try to come up with more natural remedies and that's fine. Still, we've reached an odd moment in physical therapy.
I have a cream, and I have some pills, all designed to help reduce the swelling, reduce the pain and generally make things work right again. But the therapy is "contrasting hydro-therapy", which is a fancy way of saying water torture. Well, torture may be overstating it, but it's decidedly odd and un-fun. I heat a pan full of water to as hot as I can stand it, and no cheating - it has to be hot, then put my hand in, preferably gently swirling, for three minutes. Then I take my hand out and put it under icy water for 30 seconds. Then I do it twice more.
I understand why I'm doing it, opening the blood vessels and whatnot up to release the toxins and then constricting them to push them out. I get it, I do. But there are some odd issues that go with it. First of all, it feels like my fingernails are coming loose. And the tingling feels like that pins-and-needles feeling you get when your hand falls asleep, and it happens both when my hand goes into the hot and into the cold water. Then too, remember what happens when water runs over your fingers sometimes? Yeah, part-way through the process, I have seriously got to pee!
So, there I am, standing over a hot stove with my hand in the pot! It's wildly surreal. Aren't we told not to do that as kids? And for good reason! I'm glad there aren't any small people watching me.
Fortunately for me, the stove is right by the fridge, and we do have magnetic poetry, so I'll be playing with that over the next week. Fortunately for you, I won't be copying down what I write there. And while the grocery list is close at hand, I can't really write with my left hand so all the strange things that I think of won't make it onto the list, and the shock of the cold water tends to drive frivolous thoughts out of my head. But it's entirely possible that my vocabulary might expand.
And this had better work! As I said, my doc is a naturopath, and if the swelling doesn't go down this way, you KNOW what's next!
Leeches.
I have a cream, and I have some pills, all designed to help reduce the swelling, reduce the pain and generally make things work right again. But the therapy is "contrasting hydro-therapy", which is a fancy way of saying water torture. Well, torture may be overstating it, but it's decidedly odd and un-fun. I heat a pan full of water to as hot as I can stand it, and no cheating - it has to be hot, then put my hand in, preferably gently swirling, for three minutes. Then I take my hand out and put it under icy water for 30 seconds. Then I do it twice more.
I understand why I'm doing it, opening the blood vessels and whatnot up to release the toxins and then constricting them to push them out. I get it, I do. But there are some odd issues that go with it. First of all, it feels like my fingernails are coming loose. And the tingling feels like that pins-and-needles feeling you get when your hand falls asleep, and it happens both when my hand goes into the hot and into the cold water. Then too, remember what happens when water runs over your fingers sometimes? Yeah, part-way through the process, I have seriously got to pee!
So, there I am, standing over a hot stove with my hand in the pot! It's wildly surreal. Aren't we told not to do that as kids? And for good reason! I'm glad there aren't any small people watching me.
Fortunately for me, the stove is right by the fridge, and we do have magnetic poetry, so I'll be playing with that over the next week. Fortunately for you, I won't be copying down what I write there. And while the grocery list is close at hand, I can't really write with my left hand so all the strange things that I think of won't make it onto the list, and the shock of the cold water tends to drive frivolous thoughts out of my head. But it's entirely possible that my vocabulary might expand.
And this had better work! As I said, my doc is a naturopath, and if the swelling doesn't go down this way, you KNOW what's next!
Leeches.
02/17/06 Another Link
"Faster than Kudzu" (over in the Fun Links section) is Joshilyn Jackson's blog. Joshilyn is a southern author with a totally whacked-out sense of humor. I loved her first novel, gods in Alabama, and she generously let us at SMB read the manuscript for her upcoming novel, Between Georgia. But she won us over with her zany emails, and if you need a good giggle, read through her blog here. She's truly our Peach!
02/16/06 Public Restrooms
Okay, we need them. I'm not denying that.
But let's talk about etiquette, shall we? The restroom in our part of the building serves less than a dozen of us (depending on how many people the hair ladies have in and how many of them have to go potty), and I have no idea what the guys' restroom is like, but generally ours is clean. However.
What does it take to NOT pee on the toilet seat? If you're a girl? Please?
Sheesh.
Of course I can wipe off the seat, and I did. At least I didn't have to deal with the cell phone lady. One of the customers from the hair ladies came into the restroom when my co-worker was in there a while back, and she was chatting on her phone the entire time. It's a small room and everything echoes, and tinkling is...well, it was difficult, I understand. But cell phone etiquette is another matter. Just suffice it to say that there's nothing you need to say in a public bathroom on your phone.
But I was impressed with the reception she was getting. There is that.
There's a porta-potty (privs in the Outlands, biffies up here) just outside our shop - there's been a lot of construction going on - and I was vaguely amused to catch a guy peeing next to it. I shrugged and walked on, he zipped up and sauntered off, and I wondered just how nasty it was in there. Those of us in the SCA are used to porta-potties, but there are some that just don't get the attention they should, so I do kinda understand why he was whizzing in the alley. Or maybe he just had to go...but no. It was kind of a statement. I guess that's why the apartments in that building are so cheap. Well, that and they're about the size of your average hotel closet.
We have a new transit center for the buses, and it's really spiffy, bright and shiny new. When I was at the old center, one of the workers pointed out that the new center would have public restrooms. I smiled and nodded, and I'm glad, I really am! The cases that hold the bikes in the old station really smell like urine when it gets warm, so having public restrooms will be good. But...I'm not gonna use them. Nope. The transit center's close enough to home, and they scare me. If I've really gotta go, well, Wendys is nearby.
So, yay for public restrooms! But I'd still rather be home, y'know?
But let's talk about etiquette, shall we? The restroom in our part of the building serves less than a dozen of us (depending on how many people the hair ladies have in and how many of them have to go potty), and I have no idea what the guys' restroom is like, but generally ours is clean. However.
What does it take to NOT pee on the toilet seat? If you're a girl? Please?
Sheesh.
Of course I can wipe off the seat, and I did. At least I didn't have to deal with the cell phone lady. One of the customers from the hair ladies came into the restroom when my co-worker was in there a while back, and she was chatting on her phone the entire time. It's a small room and everything echoes, and tinkling is...well, it was difficult, I understand. But cell phone etiquette is another matter. Just suffice it to say that there's nothing you need to say in a public bathroom on your phone.
But I was impressed with the reception she was getting. There is that.
There's a porta-potty (privs in the Outlands, biffies up here) just outside our shop - there's been a lot of construction going on - and I was vaguely amused to catch a guy peeing next to it. I shrugged and walked on, he zipped up and sauntered off, and I wondered just how nasty it was in there. Those of us in the SCA are used to porta-potties, but there are some that just don't get the attention they should, so I do kinda understand why he was whizzing in the alley. Or maybe he just had to go...but no. It was kind of a statement. I guess that's why the apartments in that building are so cheap. Well, that and they're about the size of your average hotel closet.
We have a new transit center for the buses, and it's really spiffy, bright and shiny new. When I was at the old center, one of the workers pointed out that the new center would have public restrooms. I smiled and nodded, and I'm glad, I really am! The cases that hold the bikes in the old station really smell like urine when it gets warm, so having public restrooms will be good. But...I'm not gonna use them. Nope. The transit center's close enough to home, and they scare me. If I've really gotta go, well, Wendys is nearby.
So, yay for public restrooms! But I'd still rather be home, y'know?
02/15/06 Architecture
I like looking at buildings. I've always loved to look at cool houses and neat buildings. Lou and Ty and I used to go to the Parade of Homes and decide which houses we'd like to live in best. Of course one of the most memorable events on one of those tours wasn't the beautiful designs but the fact that Lou let Ty drive that awful white van of hers. Ohmygod.
However, here in Seattle, I find myself looking at the buildings downtown when I walk from the bus to the shop, or when I'm out running errands. There are some wonderful new buildings, all shimmering, watery glass in curving and geometrical shapes that just draw the eye. There's this great waterfall-type fountain on Fourth that I love walking past, 'cause the sound is soothing, and it's nice to watch the whitewater rushing down the sides. The huge glass case on the corner by that incredibly tall black BoA building has a series of slowly twirling glass discs that catch the light. It's either beautiful or blinding, depending.
But mostly I like the older stuff. The old brick and stone. There are some amazing small decorative embellishments and friezes on the buildings downtown. When I sit on the little wall outside the salad shop waiting for my bus, I'm always looking for details that I might have missed. There's a small alley between the building I work in and the one next door that reminds me of London, around the law school, if I remember right. Oh my, it takes me back, especially when it's cold and you've got that smell of damp chill and diesel and hot food.
However, here in Seattle, I find myself looking at the buildings downtown when I walk from the bus to the shop, or when I'm out running errands. There are some wonderful new buildings, all shimmering, watery glass in curving and geometrical shapes that just draw the eye. There's this great waterfall-type fountain on Fourth that I love walking past, 'cause the sound is soothing, and it's nice to watch the whitewater rushing down the sides. The huge glass case on the corner by that incredibly tall black BoA building has a series of slowly twirling glass discs that catch the light. It's either beautiful or blinding, depending.
But mostly I like the older stuff. The old brick and stone. There are some amazing small decorative embellishments and friezes on the buildings downtown. When I sit on the little wall outside the salad shop waiting for my bus, I'm always looking for details that I might have missed. There's a small alley between the building I work in and the one next door that reminds me of London, around the law school, if I remember right. Oh my, it takes me back, especially when it's cold and you've got that smell of damp chill and diesel and hot food.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
02/14/06 Getting Older
What, you thought I'd talk about Valentine's Day?
Last night I stumbled while I was trying to sit down and fell, wickedly thumping my right hand. I didn't break my little finger, but it's still unpleasant. And I can feel it all up my forearm, and my ankle's tender, and I'm grateful that I didn't throw out my back, especially since I tripped today at work and toppled over.
Let's not laugh at the slapstick turn my life is taking right now, shall we? Well, okay, maybe a little. But it occurs to me that as a youngster, I'd shake off this kind of stuff without a thought. Hell, I even managed to hide the slight damage that happened when my horse fell on me. But now...now every little thing aches.
And I protest, darn it!
I'm almost 50. I've finally learned that I'm not invincible, with or without tequila, and that bran muffins are good, and that sometimes you have to do things you don't want to because it's the right thing to do. So can't I at least be clumsy without feeling more than just silly? But no, oh no. Silly and in pain.
But then life is a little odd sometimes. I told a telemarketer today at work that we didn't want her services, and after questioning whether or not I was authorized to make those kinds of decisions (I am, we all are, they just piss my boss off), she later called back to tell me that I hurt her feelings.
Honestly, sometimes I think my life is just surreal.
Okay, I'm gonna go check the fire. It's supposed to get cold tonight (no snow for us but it happened at the other end of Seattle, so some kids got snow days), and the fireplace offsets those pesky heating bills. But I'm gonna be careful. With my current track record, I'll bop myself in the nose with the wood when I put it into the stove. Wish me luck!
Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day. Or Happy Un-Valentine's Day. Whichever.
Last night I stumbled while I was trying to sit down and fell, wickedly thumping my right hand. I didn't break my little finger, but it's still unpleasant. And I can feel it all up my forearm, and my ankle's tender, and I'm grateful that I didn't throw out my back, especially since I tripped today at work and toppled over.
Let's not laugh at the slapstick turn my life is taking right now, shall we? Well, okay, maybe a little. But it occurs to me that as a youngster, I'd shake off this kind of stuff without a thought. Hell, I even managed to hide the slight damage that happened when my horse fell on me. But now...now every little thing aches.
And I protest, darn it!
I'm almost 50. I've finally learned that I'm not invincible, with or without tequila, and that bran muffins are good, and that sometimes you have to do things you don't want to because it's the right thing to do. So can't I at least be clumsy without feeling more than just silly? But no, oh no. Silly and in pain.
But then life is a little odd sometimes. I told a telemarketer today at work that we didn't want her services, and after questioning whether or not I was authorized to make those kinds of decisions (I am, we all are, they just piss my boss off), she later called back to tell me that I hurt her feelings.
Honestly, sometimes I think my life is just surreal.
Okay, I'm gonna go check the fire. It's supposed to get cold tonight (no snow for us but it happened at the other end of Seattle, so some kids got snow days), and the fireplace offsets those pesky heating bills. But I'm gonna be careful. With my current track record, I'll bop myself in the nose with the wood when I put it into the stove. Wish me luck!
Oh, and Happy Valentine's Day. Or Happy Un-Valentine's Day. Whichever.
02/13/06 Snow Days
It's supposed to lightly snow here tonight, and the East coast is digging out from a blizzard. They have my sympathy, and if we could, we'd take some of the snow that pounded them. We'd love one day of good snow, simply because Seattle can't handle it and we'd get...a snow day!
As an adult, especially one who has lived in Minnesota, I know how destructive and truly ugly lots of snow can get, but isn't there still just a little moment of magic when you hear the words "Snow Day"?
Think about it! Doesn't it just evoke all kinds of great things - not the least of which is we don't have to be completely responsible adults any more. Of course we have to be sure we have heat and water and warm clothes and food, but after we're sure everything's gonna be okay, isn't it kind of magic? I think of snow angels and snowmen and snowball fights and snow forts. Stand still for a moment and listen to the silence, the stillness. Look at the glisten if there's sun, breathe in that amazing smell that's just new snow.
When I was a kid, I dug a hollow in a snow bank and climbed in. I made it big enough to lay down in, and I did, watching the snow fall outside my little private space. Unfortunately I got kinda warm and sleepy, so I understand how easy it would be to die like that, but my dog was very protective of me and he jumped in and woke me up. Snow down my neck, in my pants and between my fingers. Boy I was cold suddenly!
And that takes me to the other good part of snow days: hot chocolate or cocoa (or buttered rum), cuddled up in blankets while the cold, wet clothes steam someplace else, watching a fire burn, or reading a good book, watching a fun movie, or just dozing. And the cool part is, you're not being a slacker - it's a Snow Day!
We'll get back to the business of being adults and coping with all the things that happen, but for a brief moment, enjoy the magic idea of a Snow Day!
As an adult, especially one who has lived in Minnesota, I know how destructive and truly ugly lots of snow can get, but isn't there still just a little moment of magic when you hear the words "Snow Day"?
Think about it! Doesn't it just evoke all kinds of great things - not the least of which is we don't have to be completely responsible adults any more. Of course we have to be sure we have heat and water and warm clothes and food, but after we're sure everything's gonna be okay, isn't it kind of magic? I think of snow angels and snowmen and snowball fights and snow forts. Stand still for a moment and listen to the silence, the stillness. Look at the glisten if there's sun, breathe in that amazing smell that's just new snow.
When I was a kid, I dug a hollow in a snow bank and climbed in. I made it big enough to lay down in, and I did, watching the snow fall outside my little private space. Unfortunately I got kinda warm and sleepy, so I understand how easy it would be to die like that, but my dog was very protective of me and he jumped in and woke me up. Snow down my neck, in my pants and between my fingers. Boy I was cold suddenly!
And that takes me to the other good part of snow days: hot chocolate or cocoa (or buttered rum), cuddled up in blankets while the cold, wet clothes steam someplace else, watching a fire burn, or reading a good book, watching a fun movie, or just dozing. And the cool part is, you're not being a slacker - it's a Snow Day!
We'll get back to the business of being adults and coping with all the things that happen, but for a brief moment, enjoy the magic idea of a Snow Day!
02,/12/06 Night Owl
I know I'm not the only one who's a night owl. Given the opportunity, I'd keep a vampire's schedule. Well, okay, not entirely. I like the sun sometimes, and besides summer nights up here are really short. But I'm happier sleeping until noon, maybe one, and getting stuff done in the late afternoon or evening, then staying up until 2 or 3 in the morning.
I'm not sure why that is, either. And it's not convenient, necessarily, since my night vision is going. But it's quieter, more private and yet more open somehow. Less stressful. Of course in New Mexico, a lot of my love of the night was hiding from the sun, but that's not such an issue up here in the grey and mist and clouds.
I am an old friend of insomnia, and the Billy Pilgrim song was my theme for quite a while. Early morning air slipping over my face while I'm tucked into a warm bed is one way to help me sleep, and even in Minnesota in winter there were times when I had to have the window cracked to be able to sleep. But when the sun comes up I can generally fall asleep. Strange.
Given the opportunity, Lillian would be right here with me, but manys the night when I'm just falling asleep and she's waking up. Her hours are insane.
So, here I am, loving the night, the quiet, the rhthyms. Maybe that's one of the things I liked best about teaching - at least during the summer I could keep the hours that pleased me best. Someday, oh yes, someday I'll be able to sleep when I like, be awake when it suits me. It may not be until I'm in the nursing home (Ty, pick a good one!), but some day!!
I'm not sure why that is, either. And it's not convenient, necessarily, since my night vision is going. But it's quieter, more private and yet more open somehow. Less stressful. Of course in New Mexico, a lot of my love of the night was hiding from the sun, but that's not such an issue up here in the grey and mist and clouds.
I am an old friend of insomnia, and the Billy Pilgrim song was my theme for quite a while. Early morning air slipping over my face while I'm tucked into a warm bed is one way to help me sleep, and even in Minnesota in winter there were times when I had to have the window cracked to be able to sleep. But when the sun comes up I can generally fall asleep. Strange.
Given the opportunity, Lillian would be right here with me, but manys the night when I'm just falling asleep and she's waking up. Her hours are insane.
So, here I am, loving the night, the quiet, the rhthyms. Maybe that's one of the things I liked best about teaching - at least during the summer I could keep the hours that pleased me best. Someday, oh yes, someday I'll be able to sleep when I like, be awake when it suits me. It may not be until I'm in the nursing home (Ty, pick a good one!), but some day!!
02/12/06 Characters
Today is the 2 year anniversary of my starting to work at Seattle Mystery Bookshop, and I was kinda looking around yesterday and today. Not so much at the shop, although I might post some pictures of it, but at the folks in the area. You get to know some folks in the neighborhood, and it's pretty cool.
Jason, the owner of Bakeman's Restaurant across the street from the shop, makes food to die for, really inexpensive and absolutely fabulous, and he can be amazingly rude. I've seen him send people away white-faced and shaking, but the food's really good, and if you get to know him, you learn not to take it personally. He's also incredibly sweet at times, but don't tell him I said that.
Matthew at the UPS store takes amazingly good care of me, and Isis loves one of his colognes, and Sarah, our UPS pick-up lady is a hoot. I call her "Sarabelle" and she laughs, and really does her absolute best not to call me Frannie to my face.
Don and Pam at the post office are great fun to talk to, and Pam makes sure that I hear all the latest news on looking after the dogs. JB, my boss, said that the other day when he went to the post office for me that they missed me and I had to go let them know I was okay.
There's a guy who has a sign like the homeless do, but his sign says "Smile" and if I'm not paying attention, he makes sure that I see him and grin. He always succeeds. And there's a saxophonist whose music echoes up and down the streets, and a drummer who uses plastic buckets, and he can stop you in your tracks with his talent.
One of the ladies at the hair salon down the street, Nicole, had a troublesome pregnancy last year and she's still not back to work. The baby's home and he's fine, but her co-workers have been known to haul me in while I'm on my way to the post office to update me on how she's doing.
The girls at the coffee shop, the ladies in the deli, the lovely couple in the copying shop, the tattooed chick at the pizza place, the tour guide from the Underground Tour, all of these folks have become my neighbors at work. There are lots of odd things that happen downtown, no question, but the people can be just wonderful and amazing. They always make me smile and that's not something I take for granted.
Jason, the owner of Bakeman's Restaurant across the street from the shop, makes food to die for, really inexpensive and absolutely fabulous, and he can be amazingly rude. I've seen him send people away white-faced and shaking, but the food's really good, and if you get to know him, you learn not to take it personally. He's also incredibly sweet at times, but don't tell him I said that.
Matthew at the UPS store takes amazingly good care of me, and Isis loves one of his colognes, and Sarah, our UPS pick-up lady is a hoot. I call her "Sarabelle" and she laughs, and really does her absolute best not to call me Frannie to my face.
Don and Pam at the post office are great fun to talk to, and Pam makes sure that I hear all the latest news on looking after the dogs. JB, my boss, said that the other day when he went to the post office for me that they missed me and I had to go let them know I was okay.
There's a guy who has a sign like the homeless do, but his sign says "Smile" and if I'm not paying attention, he makes sure that I see him and grin. He always succeeds. And there's a saxophonist whose music echoes up and down the streets, and a drummer who uses plastic buckets, and he can stop you in your tracks with his talent.
One of the ladies at the hair salon down the street, Nicole, had a troublesome pregnancy last year and she's still not back to work. The baby's home and he's fine, but her co-workers have been known to haul me in while I'm on my way to the post office to update me on how she's doing.
The girls at the coffee shop, the ladies in the deli, the lovely couple in the copying shop, the tattooed chick at the pizza place, the tour guide from the Underground Tour, all of these folks have become my neighbors at work. There are lots of odd things that happen downtown, no question, but the people can be just wonderful and amazing. They always make me smile and that's not something I take for granted.
02/10/06 Amazing sights
I love my walks to the post office from work. I get to walk down First Avenue, and may I just say, everyone should do that! If you like watching people, Pike Place Market and Pioneer Square are two wonderful places. Granted, there are always the scary elements, the meth addicts who are mumbling to themselves and yelling at...well, I'm not sure what or who, but it's kind of disconcerting. And of course the panhandlers are everywhere. If you look, you will see Aqualung.
But oh, some of the wonders, especially in clothing! Grunge and punk and the 60's, 70's, 80's, goth, yuppie, all are wandering around downtown.
For example, last St. Patrick's Day - a day known for excess in dress - I saw a lovely Muslim lady in traditional garb, muted colors, only hands and face showing, but over it all she was wearing a green denim jacket. Gotta love it!
And today, oh my today I saw a sweet young thing, metallic red hair shining in the sun, faux leopard fur short jacket, very VERY short ruffled denim skirt, black high heels, and pink and black horizontally striped stockings. Her skirt was so short that you could see the garters holding up the stockings. She had her goth buddy with her, a chubby girl in all black with the requisite black make-up, and they both were alternating between being proud of their look and hoping no one was looking. Of course we did. And most of us smiled.
And today was a wonderfully sunny day, so I saw lots of sandals and flip-flops under brand-new black jean shorts with zippers, hacked off khakis, broomstick skirts (which are going to be popular this summer, I can see that already), and topped with down jackets and windbreakers. Hey, it's warm and it's nice, but we're not completely stupid here! The wind off Elliot Bay can get pretty darned nippy!
I can't think of any color I haven't seen on hair, generally on the younger crowd but not always. Some people are quite adventurous, and I do so admire that! Not me, you understand! But when I wear my Dr. Seuss shirt, I certainly fit right in!
But oh, some of the wonders, especially in clothing! Grunge and punk and the 60's, 70's, 80's, goth, yuppie, all are wandering around downtown.
For example, last St. Patrick's Day - a day known for excess in dress - I saw a lovely Muslim lady in traditional garb, muted colors, only hands and face showing, but over it all she was wearing a green denim jacket. Gotta love it!
And today, oh my today I saw a sweet young thing, metallic red hair shining in the sun, faux leopard fur short jacket, very VERY short ruffled denim skirt, black high heels, and pink and black horizontally striped stockings. Her skirt was so short that you could see the garters holding up the stockings. She had her goth buddy with her, a chubby girl in all black with the requisite black make-up, and they both were alternating between being proud of their look and hoping no one was looking. Of course we did. And most of us smiled.
And today was a wonderfully sunny day, so I saw lots of sandals and flip-flops under brand-new black jean shorts with zippers, hacked off khakis, broomstick skirts (which are going to be popular this summer, I can see that already), and topped with down jackets and windbreakers. Hey, it's warm and it's nice, but we're not completely stupid here! The wind off Elliot Bay can get pretty darned nippy!
I can't think of any color I haven't seen on hair, generally on the younger crowd but not always. Some people are quite adventurous, and I do so admire that! Not me, you understand! But when I wear my Dr. Seuss shirt, I certainly fit right in!
02/09/06 Fire
It's windy and chilly outside tonight, and when I got home the house was kinda cold, so I built a fire. Okay, for those of you who've known me for a while, yes, now I can do it. Finally. Without lighter fluid. I still need that for the barbecue, but I can start a fire in our fireplace.
The fireplace is one of the reasons we bought this house. We've purchased a bunch of firewood, which has been an experience. We're learning, bit by bit. One thing we've learned is that I really can't split wood, just lug it around. And I'm finally learning about stacking it.
But there's really something satisfying about a fire when it's cold. And there's something really viscerally comforting about a campfire in the woods at night. The smells, the sight of it, it's no wonder people have believed all these years that fire is magic. When you add good food, good friends and good beverages, well, life doesn't get much better.
In the SCA, camp sites that allow fire are wonderful. When you've got a group of people who've had a long, dusty day in the sun or a damp day in the trees, fighting and shopping and visiting, then to sit around a fire wrapped in a warm cloak passing a tankard of something home-brewed and telling "No shit, there I was" stories with drums beating in the background, well, I dare any insomniac to have trouble sleeping. I think some of the best sleep I've ever gotten was at an event.
But it's nice to have a fire here in the house. Aside from the help on the heating bill, it's just satisfying to watch the flames leap and dance, to smell the burning wood, to do that slow spin you do when you're warming up. So we're cuddled up, nice and toasty warm while the wind tickles around outside, and I hope you are too.
The fireplace is one of the reasons we bought this house. We've purchased a bunch of firewood, which has been an experience. We're learning, bit by bit. One thing we've learned is that I really can't split wood, just lug it around. And I'm finally learning about stacking it.
But there's really something satisfying about a fire when it's cold. And there's something really viscerally comforting about a campfire in the woods at night. The smells, the sight of it, it's no wonder people have believed all these years that fire is magic. When you add good food, good friends and good beverages, well, life doesn't get much better.
In the SCA, camp sites that allow fire are wonderful. When you've got a group of people who've had a long, dusty day in the sun or a damp day in the trees, fighting and shopping and visiting, then to sit around a fire wrapped in a warm cloak passing a tankard of something home-brewed and telling "No shit, there I was" stories with drums beating in the background, well, I dare any insomniac to have trouble sleeping. I think some of the best sleep I've ever gotten was at an event.
But it's nice to have a fire here in the house. Aside from the help on the heating bill, it's just satisfying to watch the flames leap and dance, to smell the burning wood, to do that slow spin you do when you're warming up. So we're cuddled up, nice and toasty warm while the wind tickles around outside, and I hope you are too.
02/08/06 Dentists
Need I really say more? I've been to the dentist several times since I've been here, and I've cried every time but one. And that includes simple cleanings, although it was the last cleaning that I survived intact.
It's not the shots, although they leave me trembling. I mean, give me the Novocaine any time rather than not! Oh my yes, although I really despise that spongy feeling, like your lips are three inches thick. No, it's the high-frequency squeal of the drill and all the other instruments. They sound like rabid hornets, and they're in my mouth! How can my blood pressure not spike? Can anyone not be stressed? And then there's the smell of burning bone, the gurgle of water they can't quite get out of your throat - and I gag if they poke just right, which they always do - the crack and crunch of bones being mangled.
Medical techniques have come so far, why not dentistry? Lillian's Aunt Helen had her broken hip worked on surgically and it was amazingly fast. The incision was tiny! But we haven't improved much since the 70's. Well, except for the light. Does anyone but me remember the old lights that were huge and seemed like they'd drop on you? Castle was the brand.
It's got to be the insurance companies holding us back. I know that I'm only getting the type of filling that my insurance covers, which my dentist implied was not the best, just what they covered. Maybe if insurance magnates had to use their basic policies for their own dental care, they'd be more compassionate. Insurance and compassionate in the same sentence. Yep, I'm obviously not feeling right.
Bedtime, it's obviously bedtime. Dear darling dentist shoved a post into my upper jaw this morning and I'm grumpy and aching. Things will be better tomorrow, right?
It's not the shots, although they leave me trembling. I mean, give me the Novocaine any time rather than not! Oh my yes, although I really despise that spongy feeling, like your lips are three inches thick. No, it's the high-frequency squeal of the drill and all the other instruments. They sound like rabid hornets, and they're in my mouth! How can my blood pressure not spike? Can anyone not be stressed? And then there's the smell of burning bone, the gurgle of water they can't quite get out of your throat - and I gag if they poke just right, which they always do - the crack and crunch of bones being mangled.
Medical techniques have come so far, why not dentistry? Lillian's Aunt Helen had her broken hip worked on surgically and it was amazingly fast. The incision was tiny! But we haven't improved much since the 70's. Well, except for the light. Does anyone but me remember the old lights that were huge and seemed like they'd drop on you? Castle was the brand.
It's got to be the insurance companies holding us back. I know that I'm only getting the type of filling that my insurance covers, which my dentist implied was not the best, just what they covered. Maybe if insurance magnates had to use their basic policies for their own dental care, they'd be more compassionate. Insurance and compassionate in the same sentence. Yep, I'm obviously not feeling right.
Bedtime, it's obviously bedtime. Dear darling dentist shoved a post into my upper jaw this morning and I'm grumpy and aching. Things will be better tomorrow, right?
Saturday, March 26, 2011
02/07/06 Bus People
I've been riding the bus to work since we moved here, different ones but Metro Transit all the way. And I've come to the conclusion that intriguing people ride the bus. Scary people too, but intriguing.
I've heard some of the scariest things on the bus. Second worst was today, when a very young person announced loudly just as we were getting on the highway, "Mommy, I gotta go potty NOW!" Oh my. But the worst was last year on the 174 (which is filled to the brim with scary folks) when I heard a guy say, "Dude, I'm gonna puke," followed by that retching sound. Casually but quickly, most of us moved to the front part of the bus. Most. Not all. Some folks just didn't notice. See? Scary.
You have all your usual types, of course. The computer types with their laptops, the cell phone types who simply canNOT shut up - although the various ring tones can be entertaining - the ipod types who move to the music in their ears or let us listen to their music even though they have ear buds, the book readers (generally me), the newspaper readers who frequently beat people with their papers, the snoring sleepers (also frequently me). You know, just folks.
And I've found that people on the bus tend to be nice to tourists, give good advice and are really quite generous. These are the same people who are vicious to each other, mind you. One large lady was trying to get off the bus when it was standing room only, everyone was doing their best to get out of the way, but another lady, not much smaller in girth than the first one, growled, "Lose some weight, you cow." It almost got really ugly, but saner heads prevailed.
Bus drivers are interesting too. One guy is a sweetheart, smiles and is genuinely glad to see you; one lady is seriously tough on how people are to behave but she will absolutely get you there on time, no nonsense; one guy hates everyone and makes it clear; my current favorite is a a laconic smart-ass who cracks jokes over the PA system. You've got to listen, but he's got some funny observations. He's wickedly conservative right-wing Republican, but he's really a hoot.
I found out that the best way to keep a seat to yourself if the bus isn't too crowded is to cry. Got to the end of a book, it had a sad ending and I sat there sniffling. People crossed on the far side of the aisle rather than take I chance I might unload on them. I was amused, but I kept on sniffling. It was a good book.
All in all, I don't mind riding the bus. I'd rather not when the perfume junkies or the rancid unwashed are sitting near me, and obviously I'd much rather have Lillian come pick me up, but all in all, riding the bus is a great way to see a slice of the world right here at home. It's never the same twice, that's for sure!
I've heard some of the scariest things on the bus. Second worst was today, when a very young person announced loudly just as we were getting on the highway, "Mommy, I gotta go potty NOW!" Oh my. But the worst was last year on the 174 (which is filled to the brim with scary folks) when I heard a guy say, "Dude, I'm gonna puke," followed by that retching sound. Casually but quickly, most of us moved to the front part of the bus. Most. Not all. Some folks just didn't notice. See? Scary.
You have all your usual types, of course. The computer types with their laptops, the cell phone types who simply canNOT shut up - although the various ring tones can be entertaining - the ipod types who move to the music in their ears or let us listen to their music even though they have ear buds, the book readers (generally me), the newspaper readers who frequently beat people with their papers, the snoring sleepers (also frequently me). You know, just folks.
And I've found that people on the bus tend to be nice to tourists, give good advice and are really quite generous. These are the same people who are vicious to each other, mind you. One large lady was trying to get off the bus when it was standing room only, everyone was doing their best to get out of the way, but another lady, not much smaller in girth than the first one, growled, "Lose some weight, you cow." It almost got really ugly, but saner heads prevailed.
Bus drivers are interesting too. One guy is a sweetheart, smiles and is genuinely glad to see you; one lady is seriously tough on how people are to behave but she will absolutely get you there on time, no nonsense; one guy hates everyone and makes it clear; my current favorite is a a laconic smart-ass who cracks jokes over the PA system. You've got to listen, but he's got some funny observations. He's wickedly conservative right-wing Republican, but he's really a hoot.
I found out that the best way to keep a seat to yourself if the bus isn't too crowded is to cry. Got to the end of a book, it had a sad ending and I sat there sniffling. People crossed on the far side of the aisle rather than take I chance I might unload on them. I was amused, but I kept on sniffling. It was a good book.
All in all, I don't mind riding the bus. I'd rather not when the perfume junkies or the rancid unwashed are sitting near me, and obviously I'd much rather have Lillian come pick me up, but all in all, riding the bus is a great way to see a slice of the world right here at home. It's never the same twice, that's for sure!
02/06/06 Street Signs and Names
When will we come to our senses about naming streets? Okay, I still think it's nuts that you can be standing at the corner of 2nd and 2nd, but it's absolutely nuts that it can be 2nd Street, 2nd Avenue, 2nd Boulevard, 2nd Court, 2nd Trail, 2nd Place, you name it...and I wish you would!
But that's not the worst of it. The thing that's just bugging the crap out of me right now is the way street names transmogrify without warning. Down at the corner is a street that is one long continuous road, and it is, at various times, 84th, 108th and Central, and there are places where it's all three of those at the same time! So how can you find your way around when streets have multiple names? And when they change without rules or warning? And, even better, when not all names are displayed? So you can get directions from someone and be on the right street and not even know it. Makes me crazy, and everyone knows I don't need any help in that department!
The other day we were looking for a house that was located between 1st and 1st, and it was nowhere near the main part of the originally named street, but was three blocks away and not attached by anything except dreams. And don't get me started on the streets that were laid out by ADD toddlers! You know the ones I mean - they start and then stop for no apparent reason then pick up again four blocks away, or they wind around, changing names in various places, but eventually become the same street as the one you started off on but in a different neighborhood, possibly in a different town, but the same street name. You think I'm kidding? Go try to find something in St. Paul, MN. Before the good folks of St. Paul get all huffy and defensive, please understand that I think St. Paul is a beautiful city, but as my ex-husband pointed out, the streets were laid out by drunken Irishmen after a particularly celebratory St. Patrick's Day. You almost need a GPS unit and a hominig device to find some places. Yes, it's individualistic and quirky, but it can be frustrating as all get-out too.
Still I don't mind the meandering streets, as long as the names stay the same all the way! I even like the meandering streets, but would be satisfied in ways I can't even articulate if the street names would just stay consistent.
Oh, and if the street signs were lit and really visible? I'd really like that. But that's asking for too much, isn't it? Ah well....someday...
But that's not the worst of it. The thing that's just bugging the crap out of me right now is the way street names transmogrify without warning. Down at the corner is a street that is one long continuous road, and it is, at various times, 84th, 108th and Central, and there are places where it's all three of those at the same time! So how can you find your way around when streets have multiple names? And when they change without rules or warning? And, even better, when not all names are displayed? So you can get directions from someone and be on the right street and not even know it. Makes me crazy, and everyone knows I don't need any help in that department!
The other day we were looking for a house that was located between 1st and 1st, and it was nowhere near the main part of the originally named street, but was three blocks away and not attached by anything except dreams. And don't get me started on the streets that were laid out by ADD toddlers! You know the ones I mean - they start and then stop for no apparent reason then pick up again four blocks away, or they wind around, changing names in various places, but eventually become the same street as the one you started off on but in a different neighborhood, possibly in a different town, but the same street name. You think I'm kidding? Go try to find something in St. Paul, MN. Before the good folks of St. Paul get all huffy and defensive, please understand that I think St. Paul is a beautiful city, but as my ex-husband pointed out, the streets were laid out by drunken Irishmen after a particularly celebratory St. Patrick's Day. You almost need a GPS unit and a hominig device to find some places. Yes, it's individualistic and quirky, but it can be frustrating as all get-out too.
Still I don't mind the meandering streets, as long as the names stay the same all the way! I even like the meandering streets, but would be satisfied in ways I can't even articulate if the street names would just stay consistent.
Oh, and if the street signs were lit and really visible? I'd really like that. But that's asking for too much, isn't it? Ah well....someday...
02/05/06 Yesterday
The system was down yesterday, and today I'm feeling a bit punky. However...
Sun is coming out for the next couple of weeks, while the Seahawks didn't win, I hear they played a good game, and at least they made it to the SuperBowl, Isis made her first human sound causing Lillian and I to laugh until we cried, and the book I'm reading is wonderfully thought-provoking.
On the downside, well, I am feeling a bit punky, I haven't heard from my kid for a while, and on a seriously sad note, the father of a friend of mine passed away yesterday.
So today I'm busy being grateful for everything good in my life right now.
Walk in light, my friends.
Sun is coming out for the next couple of weeks, while the Seahawks didn't win, I hear they played a good game, and at least they made it to the SuperBowl, Isis made her first human sound causing Lillian and I to laugh until we cried, and the book I'm reading is wonderfully thought-provoking.
On the downside, well, I am feeling a bit punky, I haven't heard from my kid for a while, and on a seriously sad note, the father of a friend of mine passed away yesterday.
So today I'm busy being grateful for everything good in my life right now.
Walk in light, my friends.
02/03/06 Super Bowl fever
I don't have it. I mean, I like football, and this is the first city I've lived in where the local team made it to the Superbowl and I should be jazzed. It's seriously in the air here. Even the homeless guys, after asking for spare change, are wishing the Hawks good luck. One said, "Have a good Hawks day, you hear?" I smiled and nodded, but it left me puzzled. These guys are serious. I mean the homeless guys. They're taking some kind of intense pride in being homeless in Seattle, and it's 'cause of the Seahawks.
And I don't get it. I'm just not there in the frenzy. It could be because we haven't lived here long enough for me to know the players and be invested in them, but I knew the Vikings players after a couple years in Minnesota. But here...I seem to be missing the Seahawks gene.
I finally realized that the closest I'd ever be to feeling the kind of high that I'm supposed to feel is if the Outlands swept Estrella by itself, no allies, just kicked ass and took heavy, light, arts, the whole thing. Oh baby! Then I'd be wired and hyper...just like all the people I see on TV, in the streets.
But then Mother Nature's teasing us up here. We're supposed to get a huge wind storm tonight, and power might be out in some places, possibly for a couple of days. Can you imagine the sheer rage of fans if their power goes out and they can't see the game? First time the Hawks go for the gold? Oh my goodness. It's too awful to be contemplated.
We might very well be watching the game anyway, although as all those who have seen me around sporting events will testify, if I watch, the team I'm rooting for will lose, so perhaps I'll do something else. You know, just to give the Hawks a fighting chance.
In any case, it's gonna be a wild weekend up here!
And I don't get it. I'm just not there in the frenzy. It could be because we haven't lived here long enough for me to know the players and be invested in them, but I knew the Vikings players after a couple years in Minnesota. But here...I seem to be missing the Seahawks gene.
I finally realized that the closest I'd ever be to feeling the kind of high that I'm supposed to feel is if the Outlands swept Estrella by itself, no allies, just kicked ass and took heavy, light, arts, the whole thing. Oh baby! Then I'd be wired and hyper...just like all the people I see on TV, in the streets.
But then Mother Nature's teasing us up here. We're supposed to get a huge wind storm tonight, and power might be out in some places, possibly for a couple of days. Can you imagine the sheer rage of fans if their power goes out and they can't see the game? First time the Hawks go for the gold? Oh my goodness. It's too awful to be contemplated.
We might very well be watching the game anyway, although as all those who have seen me around sporting events will testify, if I watch, the team I'm rooting for will lose, so perhaps I'll do something else. You know, just to give the Hawks a fighting chance.
In any case, it's gonna be a wild weekend up here!
02/02/06 Rain
When Ty graduated from high school, he and I had a deal that I could leave New Mexico, and I did, moved to Minnesota. Partly my deep desire to move was because of the unrelenting sunshine in New Mexico. Grey days were to be savored because they really don't last.
Minnesota was better, more trees, lots of wild water (as opposed to the rationed, domestic water in New Mexico), four actual seasons and lots more grey skies. Lots more snow too, but those memories are for another post. Humid heat in the summer, which I hadn't expected. Still, there were lots of grey skies, and I did enjoy them. But then it was time to leave Minnesota, and eventually it was time to leave New Mexico again as well.
Here in Washington, we've had near-record rain and grey days. Summers are sunny and warm - not hot in New Mexico terms, and not hot and humid in Minnesota terms, except for about 2 weeks in July or August - although my co-worker Tammy gasps in despair if the temperatures get much over 85. She's not alone. Our summers generally run in the upper 70's to low 80's. We can go for a couple of months, sometimes up to three, without rain then.
Lately, though, it's been consistently rainy, sometimes windy, with scattered sun breaks. People have been suffering from SAD, it's made a lot of people grumpy and we've had monumental mudslides, although California still has us beat in that regard. And I've loved it lots! I'm not depressed, and while I wish my hair wouldn't attach itself to the steamy bus windows on the ride home, the wet has been fabulous. Now, Lillian and the crew she works with are justifiably grumbly, since they're out along a highway in the rain and wind and sleet and hail and sometimes snow, and let's face it, people drive like idiots around road crews. But I spend limited time out in the water, and I really love the grey days, the smell of wet grass and trees, the way the drops sparkle on the leaves. And early in the morning, frequently I leave the bedroom window open, and I've discovered that I sleep really well when I'm tucked into a lovely warm bed with cool, fresh air slipping around my nose and the sound of rain falling in the trees outside.
When I moved away from New Mexico, plenty of people told me I'd learn to hate the grey skies, and maybe someday I will, but for now, I'm loving it!
Minnesota was better, more trees, lots of wild water (as opposed to the rationed, domestic water in New Mexico), four actual seasons and lots more grey skies. Lots more snow too, but those memories are for another post. Humid heat in the summer, which I hadn't expected. Still, there were lots of grey skies, and I did enjoy them. But then it was time to leave Minnesota, and eventually it was time to leave New Mexico again as well.
Here in Washington, we've had near-record rain and grey days. Summers are sunny and warm - not hot in New Mexico terms, and not hot and humid in Minnesota terms, except for about 2 weeks in July or August - although my co-worker Tammy gasps in despair if the temperatures get much over 85. She's not alone. Our summers generally run in the upper 70's to low 80's. We can go for a couple of months, sometimes up to three, without rain then.
Lately, though, it's been consistently rainy, sometimes windy, with scattered sun breaks. People have been suffering from SAD, it's made a lot of people grumpy and we've had monumental mudslides, although California still has us beat in that regard. And I've loved it lots! I'm not depressed, and while I wish my hair wouldn't attach itself to the steamy bus windows on the ride home, the wet has been fabulous. Now, Lillian and the crew she works with are justifiably grumbly, since they're out along a highway in the rain and wind and sleet and hail and sometimes snow, and let's face it, people drive like idiots around road crews. But I spend limited time out in the water, and I really love the grey days, the smell of wet grass and trees, the way the drops sparkle on the leaves. And early in the morning, frequently I leave the bedroom window open, and I've discovered that I sleep really well when I'm tucked into a lovely warm bed with cool, fresh air slipping around my nose and the sound of rain falling in the trees outside.
When I moved away from New Mexico, plenty of people told me I'd learn to hate the grey skies, and maybe someday I will, but for now, I'm loving it!
02/01/06 Company Manners
I work in a bookshop - off to the side there I've added a link to our website if anyone's interested - and we have authors come in and sign their books. Not all the big names, but a fair number. And I've observed something interesting. Most of them come in with their company manners - they realize they're meeting fans, fans buy books, authors get paid royalties when fans buy books, so authors can continue to write books. Therefore most authors are friendly with the fans, and with people working in the store.
But there are some who are "too big" or "too important" to be bothered with the little stores, although they certainly weren't when they were starting out, and who was selling their books then, hmm? And there are some authors who come to the little stores, the independents, but are too haughty and filled with self-importance to be nice. And I wonder, why do they bother? After that, I wonder why people continue to buy their books. Allowing for good writing, which can overcome pompous author attitude, why would you buy the book of someone who was rude to you? If an author really doesn't like his or her fan base, doesn't it seem counter-productive to meet them? And if your publicity department insists that you tour, can't you find it in yourself to be polite?
I've wanted to say this to some authors for a long time now. If you hate meeting your fans, then just stay at home and be a recluse and let us have our fantasies that you're a nice person, just shy. And if you're going to go out and meet people, then be nice! Act as if you're interested in your fans. If you're a mega-star in the book world, what's it gonna kill you to be nice to the little people too? Don't they buy your books? In this economy, hell in ANY economy, it just makes sense to be nice to the people who are paying you to be able to do what you like to do. After all, you could be cleaning out cages somewhere, emptying bedpans, doing all the things that have to be done but are less than popular and certainly less glamorous. So, since our money is allowing you to be rich and famous, why not be gracious along the way?
Now I've addressed this to the authors since I've met them, but I'm willing to extrapolate a bit and guess that you could substitute any high-profile, celebrity type profession in there and it would be just as true. Athlete, musician, actor, you name it. I'd even throw in politicians. None of you are absolutely necessary to our survival, you're a luxury. Never forget that. Be nice. It won't hurt you and will probably help all of us in the long run.
But don't forget, most of the authors whom I've met, and I've met quite a few, are true sweethearts and absolute darlings!
But there are some who are "too big" or "too important" to be bothered with the little stores, although they certainly weren't when they were starting out, and who was selling their books then, hmm? And there are some authors who come to the little stores, the independents, but are too haughty and filled with self-importance to be nice. And I wonder, why do they bother? After that, I wonder why people continue to buy their books. Allowing for good writing, which can overcome pompous author attitude, why would you buy the book of someone who was rude to you? If an author really doesn't like his or her fan base, doesn't it seem counter-productive to meet them? And if your publicity department insists that you tour, can't you find it in yourself to be polite?
I've wanted to say this to some authors for a long time now. If you hate meeting your fans, then just stay at home and be a recluse and let us have our fantasies that you're a nice person, just shy. And if you're going to go out and meet people, then be nice! Act as if you're interested in your fans. If you're a mega-star in the book world, what's it gonna kill you to be nice to the little people too? Don't they buy your books? In this economy, hell in ANY economy, it just makes sense to be nice to the people who are paying you to be able to do what you like to do. After all, you could be cleaning out cages somewhere, emptying bedpans, doing all the things that have to be done but are less than popular and certainly less glamorous. So, since our money is allowing you to be rich and famous, why not be gracious along the way?
Now I've addressed this to the authors since I've met them, but I'm willing to extrapolate a bit and guess that you could substitute any high-profile, celebrity type profession in there and it would be just as true. Athlete, musician, actor, you name it. I'd even throw in politicians. None of you are absolutely necessary to our survival, you're a luxury. Never forget that. Be nice. It won't hurt you and will probably help all of us in the long run.
But don't forget, most of the authors whom I've met, and I've met quite a few, are true sweethearts and absolute darlings!
Thursday, March 24, 2011
01/31/06 Music
I just watched the episode of "The West Wing" where Mrs. Landingham dies, and it ended with Dire Straits' "Brothers in Arms" playing, and I've seen this episode several times, but it still brought tears to my eyes. Partly it's because they killed off a nice person and that always gets to me, but partly it was just brilliant scoring. That particular piece always gets to me, it always has. I love songs in minor keys, and Mark Knopfler is a brilliant guitarist, but that song! Oh my goodness, THAT song! I could listen to it over and over again, and truth to tell I have. It's so sad and so quiet, and in an odd way, so very hopeful. I just love it.
There's just some music that grabs you and it just won't let go. Some of Hollie Smith's music does that. There are just some songs, y'know? Some music. I'm not conventionally religious, we know that, but the "Ave Maria" stuns me. "The Carol of the Bells" at Christmastime, and "The Little Drummer Boy" for Pete's sake! Yeah, I'm a softy. I like harder stuff too, and silly stuff and some jangly things. I've listened to Phil Ochs' "Crucifixion" repeatedly, and that's discordant and disturbing. And brilliant. But he was.
I've learned to appreciate country, although the twangy stuff still sets my teeth on edge, but the progressive stuff is wonderful. I have no appreciation of rap, but then, as I told my students, I think of rap as poetry set to music - well, a baseline - and I have some reservations about the music. A lot of it is violent and debasing, but mostly it's just hard to understand, and I figure I'm old enough to give it a pass. I lived through disco, so I'm skipping rap. I'm learning to appreciate jazz, although for the most part it bores the hell out of me. I think if I played jazz it would be more interesting, but in general I just don't get it. It's like what Richard Gere's character in Pretty Woman says about opera: I've developed an appreciation, but it just doesn't grab me by my soul. And, in all honesty, that's how I feel about opera as well. I like musicals, mostly, but opera is just too much.
Am I musicallly shallow? Undoubtedly. I adore classical music when it's performed live, enjoy it recorded, and think chamber music is either like jazz - you have to play it to appreciate it - or it's music to sleep by. So yeah, I'm musically challenged, but it's like books; it takes all kinds. There's so much diversity because there are so many types of people and that's fabulous! We shouldn't judge people by anything, just enjoy them, agree to disagree and listen to the music you love!
There's just some music that grabs you and it just won't let go. Some of Hollie Smith's music does that. There are just some songs, y'know? Some music. I'm not conventionally religious, we know that, but the "Ave Maria" stuns me. "The Carol of the Bells" at Christmastime, and "The Little Drummer Boy" for Pete's sake! Yeah, I'm a softy. I like harder stuff too, and silly stuff and some jangly things. I've listened to Phil Ochs' "Crucifixion" repeatedly, and that's discordant and disturbing. And brilliant. But he was.
I've learned to appreciate country, although the twangy stuff still sets my teeth on edge, but the progressive stuff is wonderful. I have no appreciation of rap, but then, as I told my students, I think of rap as poetry set to music - well, a baseline - and I have some reservations about the music. A lot of it is violent and debasing, but mostly it's just hard to understand, and I figure I'm old enough to give it a pass. I lived through disco, so I'm skipping rap. I'm learning to appreciate jazz, although for the most part it bores the hell out of me. I think if I played jazz it would be more interesting, but in general I just don't get it. It's like what Richard Gere's character in Pretty Woman says about opera: I've developed an appreciation, but it just doesn't grab me by my soul. And, in all honesty, that's how I feel about opera as well. I like musicals, mostly, but opera is just too much.
Am I musicallly shallow? Undoubtedly. I adore classical music when it's performed live, enjoy it recorded, and think chamber music is either like jazz - you have to play it to appreciate it - or it's music to sleep by. So yeah, I'm musically challenged, but it's like books; it takes all kinds. There's so much diversity because there are so many types of people and that's fabulous! We shouldn't judge people by anything, just enjoy them, agree to disagree and listen to the music you love!
01/30/06 Touching things
At work the other day, we were talking about the sheer pleasure of handling books. It's okay to read things online, but a true reader has to hold the book, smell the ink and the paper dust, stroke the pages and the binding. There are some things that just have to be held. I can't imagine buying fabric on a website, although Lillian did. I have to touch it, see how it drapes, catches the light, feel it against my skin.
Now understand that I'm a freak and I know it. Lillian calls me a princess because if the sheets aren't soft enough, if there are any crumbs or dust or any sort of lumpy thing, I can't sleep. I have to have soft sheets, soft clothes, soft skin. So when people talk about ordering clothing online, I'm puzzled because I can't do it. It's almost a phobia, I guess. But I love to touch things so clothing must be soft and I have to have real books, not e-books.
Geordie is incredibly soft and wonderful to snuggle. Unfortunately he's bizarre, and he sometimes likes to cuddle and sometimes is terrified by the simplest, smallest movement. But this morning he wanted to be cuddled and he let me hold him and breathe in his fur and pet him. It was nice. Now, tonight Lillian wants a cuddle-kitty and he's acting like he's never seen her before. She talked him into it, but it was a serious courtship on her part. She likes cuddling, and so do I.
That's another reason that I love hugs. Hugs are healthy, I really think they are. And I may be biased but I think Lillian gives the best hugs. She knows just how to hold me, and they're a big part of our daily life. I think they're a big part of any healthy couple's daily life, come to think of it. I'm always sorry for people who don't get daily hugs.
((((hugs))))
Now understand that I'm a freak and I know it. Lillian calls me a princess because if the sheets aren't soft enough, if there are any crumbs or dust or any sort of lumpy thing, I can't sleep. I have to have soft sheets, soft clothes, soft skin. So when people talk about ordering clothing online, I'm puzzled because I can't do it. It's almost a phobia, I guess. But I love to touch things so clothing must be soft and I have to have real books, not e-books.
Geordie is incredibly soft and wonderful to snuggle. Unfortunately he's bizarre, and he sometimes likes to cuddle and sometimes is terrified by the simplest, smallest movement. But this morning he wanted to be cuddled and he let me hold him and breathe in his fur and pet him. It was nice. Now, tonight Lillian wants a cuddle-kitty and he's acting like he's never seen her before. She talked him into it, but it was a serious courtship on her part. She likes cuddling, and so do I.
That's another reason that I love hugs. Hugs are healthy, I really think they are. And I may be biased but I think Lillian gives the best hugs. She knows just how to hold me, and they're a big part of our daily life. I think they're a big part of any healthy couple's daily life, come to think of it. I'm always sorry for people who don't get daily hugs.
((((hugs))))
01/29/06 Reincarnation
I believe in reincarnation for a number of reasons, but one that is first and foremost in my mind right now is that I want to see something I can't. I mean physically can't. Do you remember those optical illusions that were so popular back in the '90's? You stare at this mulitcolored picture and if you unfocused your eyes and looked kind of through it you could see the picture hidden underneath? Okay, not those of you who are blind, of course you can't, and those of you who are too young to remember them, but most of you know the ones I mean. I stood in front of one for over an hour once at a party, trying to see it, and Lou walkd past after having let me stand there all that time and said, "You know, it takes both eyes to be able to see the picture," and then she moved on. Perspective. And since the vision is gone in the middle of one eye, I'll never see what's behind those pictures. I was told it was no big deal, the art wasn't that good, but that isn't the point. The point is that it was a fad I was curious about and couldn't participate in.
Another thing I'd like to try but can't is Lasik surgery. I honestly don't remember what it was like to wake up in the morning or from a nap and be able to see clearly. Not have to grope for glasses or contact, not to have that moment of sheer panic when you can't find your "eyes". But since my vision is permanently compromised in that eye, no one will ever touch my mostly good eye to make it better, and quite frankly, I'm okay with that since I don't want anything to happen to it so that's not a risk I'm willing to take even if someone would do it. Still it would be nice to wake up and look at the clock without said clock being an inch away from my nose.
Now I know these are small and petty things, but I think my point here is that for as much as I want to see what the picture is behind the colors - because I love clever little things like that - and for as long as it has nagged at me that I can't, how much more haunting must it be for someone who's never seen anything? For someone who's never heard music? For all the people who have big handicaps, much bigger than mine, who want for that one moment to say, "Yeah, okay, now I can see/hear/smell/taste/touch/understand it." So I do believe in reincarnation because I love the idea of celestial do-overs until we get it right. I admit I could be wrong, and my belief is simply founded in the idea that believing this makes me happy, but I believe anyway.
Another thing I'd like to try but can't is Lasik surgery. I honestly don't remember what it was like to wake up in the morning or from a nap and be able to see clearly. Not have to grope for glasses or contact, not to have that moment of sheer panic when you can't find your "eyes". But since my vision is permanently compromised in that eye, no one will ever touch my mostly good eye to make it better, and quite frankly, I'm okay with that since I don't want anything to happen to it so that's not a risk I'm willing to take even if someone would do it. Still it would be nice to wake up and look at the clock without said clock being an inch away from my nose.
Now I know these are small and petty things, but I think my point here is that for as much as I want to see what the picture is behind the colors - because I love clever little things like that - and for as long as it has nagged at me that I can't, how much more haunting must it be for someone who's never seen anything? For someone who's never heard music? For all the people who have big handicaps, much bigger than mine, who want for that one moment to say, "Yeah, okay, now I can see/hear/smell/taste/touch/understand it." So I do believe in reincarnation because I love the idea of celestial do-overs until we get it right. I admit I could be wrong, and my belief is simply founded in the idea that believing this makes me happy, but I believe anyway.
01/28/06 Cat Thieves
I was sitting here a while back, waiting for inspiration to strike, when Geordie sneaked up to Lillian's computer and stole a stuffed sheep she had sitting there. She had it there because he left it wedged between the lids for the pots that are sitting upright in the baker's rack in the kitchen. I don't know if he climbed up there to hide it, or if he threw it up there (he loves to toss his stuffed animals around, and boy, has he got a good range!), and it doesn't matter because now he'll hide it somewhere else.
But that reminded me of my friend Lou's cat who used to steal her socks and hide them. Lou rolled her socks up into a ball, and if she didn't put them in the drawer immediately or if she left her drawer open a little bit, her socks would vanish. Fortunately she could generally find them again. Still it always amuses me that cats feel the need to hoard things. I understand playing with toys, but hiding their toys is, for some cats, an even bigger thrill than playing with them. I thought for a while that Geordie was hiding his toys because one of the dogs, Ceilidh, likes to carry around stuffed toys too, but that's not it, or not entirely at least.
Now, you have to understand that this cat honestly believes that if he's sitting in the window on the sill behind the curtains that we can't see him even though his tail is hanging out onto the couch. He's beautiful, not smart. And a freak in some ways, truly a 'fraidy cat. If you ever come over to visit, the chances are incredibly good that you'll never see him. But I had to admire his assured, purposeful trot out of the den, carrying his pilfered sheep gently in his mouth. I wonder where he put it? I have no idea, but he's back and he's looking awfully smug.
But that reminded me of my friend Lou's cat who used to steal her socks and hide them. Lou rolled her socks up into a ball, and if she didn't put them in the drawer immediately or if she left her drawer open a little bit, her socks would vanish. Fortunately she could generally find them again. Still it always amuses me that cats feel the need to hoard things. I understand playing with toys, but hiding their toys is, for some cats, an even bigger thrill than playing with them. I thought for a while that Geordie was hiding his toys because one of the dogs, Ceilidh, likes to carry around stuffed toys too, but that's not it, or not entirely at least.
Now, you have to understand that this cat honestly believes that if he's sitting in the window on the sill behind the curtains that we can't see him even though his tail is hanging out onto the couch. He's beautiful, not smart. And a freak in some ways, truly a 'fraidy cat. If you ever come over to visit, the chances are incredibly good that you'll never see him. But I had to admire his assured, purposeful trot out of the den, carrying his pilfered sheep gently in his mouth. I wonder where he put it? I have no idea, but he's back and he's looking awfully smug.
01/27/06 Unpacking
Okay the Collector leads me to the issue of unpacking. We moved into this house a year ago, and we'll be here for several years, but it might just take us all those years to get unpacked. My nightmare is that we'll finally get the house the way we want it, and we'll move again. But that's a different issue. Unpacking is one of the most entertaining things in the world, juxtaposed with being one of the biggest pains in the ass I can think of.
Now some of you are organized, you know just what's in each box, where it goes, and what order it's to be opened in. Understand that it is with complete and total envy that I say I hate you. And it's not true, of course it's not. I wish I could be so organized, but I'm not, never gonna be. I start off organized, but then it kinda devolves into a continuous state of low-level panic. But that's what makes unpacking such entertainment. I'll open a box I've carefully marked "Sweaters" only to find four CD cases - two without CD's - three sweaters, a shoe, a plastic doohickey of some sort, pens or pen caps but never both, bank statements I meant to get around to double-checking, and who knows what all else. It's a treasure hunt. And I'll be inspired as to where something has to go and boxes will be emptied in a flash. Then the unpacking muse is gone and I'm stuck with three partly empty boxes, no room anywhere, and the certain knowledge that I need something in an as-yet unfound box before I can go any further.
Unpacking in this house is going to be done this year, I swear it is!
But I could be wrong...
Now some of you are organized, you know just what's in each box, where it goes, and what order it's to be opened in. Understand that it is with complete and total envy that I say I hate you. And it's not true, of course it's not. I wish I could be so organized, but I'm not, never gonna be. I start off organized, but then it kinda devolves into a continuous state of low-level panic. But that's what makes unpacking such entertainment. I'll open a box I've carefully marked "Sweaters" only to find four CD cases - two without CD's - three sweaters, a shoe, a plastic doohickey of some sort, pens or pen caps but never both, bank statements I meant to get around to double-checking, and who knows what all else. It's a treasure hunt. And I'll be inspired as to where something has to go and boxes will be emptied in a flash. Then the unpacking muse is gone and I'm stuck with three partly empty boxes, no room anywhere, and the certain knowledge that I need something in an as-yet unfound box before I can go any further.
Unpacking in this house is going to be done this year, I swear it is!
But I could be wrong...
01/26/06 The Collector
John Hartford wrote a song called "The Collector" about an invisible little guy who comes into your house while you're sleeping and takes things. Like the caps to your pens, and one sock (you always thought it was the dryer, but no, it's this guy), and your toenail clippers, and odd things like that. That stack of Post-It notes that you know you bought last week and put in the anything drawer? Yep, he's got them. Or that wrapping paper you just picked up? No wait, there's the paper, not where you left it but there it is. But where the hell's the card? Or the tape?
I don't know who he is, but there's one for every house. I've lived in lots of houses in several different states in this country, and he's been in all of them. And the reason I think each collector stays with his house is because the things I can't find vary from house to house. In one I couldn't find nails if I was walking barefoot at night. In another, the nails were always in the front right corner of the drawer (which is where they were supposed to be in the other house, but no), but the tape, which lived right next to the nails? MIA. And when I did find it - under the bookshelf in the front room - it had cat fur or dog hair on every last millimeter. Even the stuff that had stayed rolled up, which was either the Collector playing games or I've got seriously mutant cats and dogs. In this house, I can find the tape and, sometimes, the nails, but Lillian can't find the fuses. Granted, we've still got things in boxes, but not the fuses! Dammit, they were right there just yesterday! Well, okay, maybe the day before, or was it last week? But they were right there! And she scowls at me in frustration and goes back to her woodshop. I'm not upset. I know the Collector, and so does she. I also know that in our next house we'll find the fuses, but something else will go missing. Batteries, or the remote. And in a weird way, that's okay. It's a predictable bit of chaos in the universe, and I like that.
I don't know who he is, but there's one for every house. I've lived in lots of houses in several different states in this country, and he's been in all of them. And the reason I think each collector stays with his house is because the things I can't find vary from house to house. In one I couldn't find nails if I was walking barefoot at night. In another, the nails were always in the front right corner of the drawer (which is where they were supposed to be in the other house, but no), but the tape, which lived right next to the nails? MIA. And when I did find it - under the bookshelf in the front room - it had cat fur or dog hair on every last millimeter. Even the stuff that had stayed rolled up, which was either the Collector playing games or I've got seriously mutant cats and dogs. In this house, I can find the tape and, sometimes, the nails, but Lillian can't find the fuses. Granted, we've still got things in boxes, but not the fuses! Dammit, they were right there just yesterday! Well, okay, maybe the day before, or was it last week? But they were right there! And she scowls at me in frustration and goes back to her woodshop. I'm not upset. I know the Collector, and so does she. I also know that in our next house we'll find the fuses, but something else will go missing. Batteries, or the remote. And in a weird way, that's okay. It's a predictable bit of chaos in the universe, and I like that.
01/25/06 Children
I'm no expert. I have one. I started to major in elementary education, then realized that lots of little people make me nervous. You never know if they're gonna puke or pee, and you can't reason with them too well, so I switched to secondary ed and never looked back. But because I was a single mom for so very long, I had a lot of time to look at the joys and drawbacks of children.
First of all, I don't care what anyone tells you, they're a lot more work than you think they are. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, but it's something to be aware of. It's one thing to read about 3 a.m. feedings and another to actually have to get up and do it. But nothing prepares you for the sheer amount of labor that goes into food prep and laundry and sleeplessness. And I wouldn't trade a day of it! Well, okay, maybe the day where he had to have his broken arm reset and it hurt him so much that I almost threw up. I'd definitely trade that for a day in the sun on the beach. But despite the long hours and the incredible stress, it's been well worth it.
It isn't for everyone, though, and one of the things that I've observed is that too many people have kids because they think they should. There are over 7 billion people on the planet, so if you don't want to have kids, please don't have them! I'll probably anger all the Right to Lifers out there, especially the fanatics who seem to respect unborn lives but not the rights of the already living, but I'm absolutely pro-choice simply because it is about choice. As I've said before, I was in an abusive relationship when I got pregnant, and I was emotionally and physically a wreck. I was strongly urged to abort, and failing that, to adopt him out. Good families were lined up for me. They were tough decisions to make, and I had to face each one square on. I couldn't use anything, laws or religion or personal squeamishness, to keep me from looking at the issues head-on. And I'm incredibly grateful that I did. I had the choice, and I chose NOT to abort, NOT to adopt out, to take the hard road. Whatever issues my son and I might have - and I know we've got plenty, thank you - he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that I wanted him all along. I couldn't hide behind a cloud of resentment when things were rough, couldn't say to myself, "Well, I had to have him because I didn't have a choice." I did, and I'm grateful that I did. I chose to have him, but that was my decision to make.
I have friends who have given up their children for adoption, and cry on their kids' birthdays, wondering who and where they are, and I've had friends who've had abortions, have grieved over the years but agree that it was the right thing for them to do. I support all the choices women can make because that's a big part of having it all - having to make the choices you can live with for the rest of your life. Being forced to have a child you'll ultimately resent is one of the worst choices a woman can make, in my opinion.
But once you've made the choice to go ahead and have kids, boy, you'd better have your sense of humor intact! My partner, Lillian, has a son herself, and she knows as well as I do the need for a sense of humor. Her two-year-old son greeted her one morning with complete pride and excitement over the "flowers" he'd made for her - eggs smashed on the linoleum. What can you do? You can scold and berate, or you can hug and laugh, and hold it over his head when he dates later on. She laughed.
So laugh with your kids. I lost my temper plenty, and I do regret that. I didn't play with him enough, and I regret that too. I was caught up in the gotta-make-a-living thing, and I did have to. We had no child support, were broke more often than not, but I could have made more time for fun. Fortunately we had lots of family and friends to help out, and the best babysitter on the planet (she's retired now, so don't ask) and we muddled through. And I suspect that's what most parents do, when you come right down to it. You make sure they get their shots and see the dentist and show up to school and do their homework (you hope!), and eat vaguely right, and learn to be nice to other people but not to be a complete doormat, and just get through each day, hopefully with more smiles than tears.
More and more people are doing it singly, and that's fabulous if you can do it. Having a spouse or a partner makes it much easier, as long as they really do help, but doing it alone isn't as traumatic as it used to be, and for that I am truly grateful. There isn't the stigma of bastardy that there was when I was growing up. Single parents were divorced back then, and they were looked at askance, but nowadays people are choosing to have children on their own without waiting for Mr. or Mrs./Ms. Right to come along. As long as you know what you're getting into - a LOT of work and some unbelievably cool rewards - then I'm more than a little happy for you. I'll root for parents who are parents by choice any day of the week!
First of all, I don't care what anyone tells you, they're a lot more work than you think they are. I'm not saying this is a bad thing, but it's something to be aware of. It's one thing to read about 3 a.m. feedings and another to actually have to get up and do it. But nothing prepares you for the sheer amount of labor that goes into food prep and laundry and sleeplessness. And I wouldn't trade a day of it! Well, okay, maybe the day where he had to have his broken arm reset and it hurt him so much that I almost threw up. I'd definitely trade that for a day in the sun on the beach. But despite the long hours and the incredible stress, it's been well worth it.
It isn't for everyone, though, and one of the things that I've observed is that too many people have kids because they think they should. There are over 7 billion people on the planet, so if you don't want to have kids, please don't have them! I'll probably anger all the Right to Lifers out there, especially the fanatics who seem to respect unborn lives but not the rights of the already living, but I'm absolutely pro-choice simply because it is about choice. As I've said before, I was in an abusive relationship when I got pregnant, and I was emotionally and physically a wreck. I was strongly urged to abort, and failing that, to adopt him out. Good families were lined up for me. They were tough decisions to make, and I had to face each one square on. I couldn't use anything, laws or religion or personal squeamishness, to keep me from looking at the issues head-on. And I'm incredibly grateful that I did. I had the choice, and I chose NOT to abort, NOT to adopt out, to take the hard road. Whatever issues my son and I might have - and I know we've got plenty, thank you - he knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that I wanted him all along. I couldn't hide behind a cloud of resentment when things were rough, couldn't say to myself, "Well, I had to have him because I didn't have a choice." I did, and I'm grateful that I did. I chose to have him, but that was my decision to make.
I have friends who have given up their children for adoption, and cry on their kids' birthdays, wondering who and where they are, and I've had friends who've had abortions, have grieved over the years but agree that it was the right thing for them to do. I support all the choices women can make because that's a big part of having it all - having to make the choices you can live with for the rest of your life. Being forced to have a child you'll ultimately resent is one of the worst choices a woman can make, in my opinion.
But once you've made the choice to go ahead and have kids, boy, you'd better have your sense of humor intact! My partner, Lillian, has a son herself, and she knows as well as I do the need for a sense of humor. Her two-year-old son greeted her one morning with complete pride and excitement over the "flowers" he'd made for her - eggs smashed on the linoleum. What can you do? You can scold and berate, or you can hug and laugh, and hold it over his head when he dates later on. She laughed.
So laugh with your kids. I lost my temper plenty, and I do regret that. I didn't play with him enough, and I regret that too. I was caught up in the gotta-make-a-living thing, and I did have to. We had no child support, were broke more often than not, but I could have made more time for fun. Fortunately we had lots of family and friends to help out, and the best babysitter on the planet (she's retired now, so don't ask) and we muddled through. And I suspect that's what most parents do, when you come right down to it. You make sure they get their shots and see the dentist and show up to school and do their homework (you hope!), and eat vaguely right, and learn to be nice to other people but not to be a complete doormat, and just get through each day, hopefully with more smiles than tears.
More and more people are doing it singly, and that's fabulous if you can do it. Having a spouse or a partner makes it much easier, as long as they really do help, but doing it alone isn't as traumatic as it used to be, and for that I am truly grateful. There isn't the stigma of bastardy that there was when I was growing up. Single parents were divorced back then, and they were looked at askance, but nowadays people are choosing to have children on their own without waiting for Mr. or Mrs./Ms. Right to come along. As long as you know what you're getting into - a LOT of work and some unbelievably cool rewards - then I'm more than a little happy for you. I'll root for parents who are parents by choice any day of the week!
01/24/06 Trying New Things
When I was in college, we had a class that, in conjunction with a school in Florida, allowed us to go to London for a month, live in an old house (that the housekeeper pointed out was older than our country so we'd better treat it with respect!) and go see plays. For my graduation gift, my folks sent me on this trip. I decided to finally get my ears pierced before we left, and while I was sitting in the chair waiting for the painful poke, I was talking to the technician. I told her where I was going and how excited I was, and she shook her head and said that she couldn't imagine wanting to visit anywhere, that she never wanted to leave Farmington. I stopped speaking to her at that point, partly because coming at my earlobes with something that seemed incredibly huge - I have a terror of needles - and because I couldn't think of anything to say to her. I understand loving your home and wanting to stay there, but never to experience something new? I realized then that I had nothing in common with her, and it was a revelation to me, that people really could be that insular and happy with it! So, given the choice and chance, I'm a firm believer in trying new things that appeal to you, meeting new people, eating different foods. You may not like them, it's true, but at least you can say you tried. To never have experienced things is, to me, one of the saddest things of all. This girl would have absolutely hated the dim sum restaurant we went to in Chinatown. The servers don't speak English well, if at all, so we just pointed to things on the carts they brought past and hoped for the best. The food was fabulous! No idea what some of it was, but it was all good!
I'm not an advocate of trying things just to please other people, you understand. If you really aren't interested, then there's no point. But if you're merely apprehensive about trying something new, and you can find the courage to give it a shot, great! I know people who refuse to go to a movie by themselves. I find that to be sad. If you want to go and there's no one to go with you, take yourself. You might not want to go to the midnight showing in a questionable neighborhood, I'll grant you, but a matinee at the local multiplex shouldn't terrify you. And think of the advantages! You can get what you want at the concession stand, you don't have to share the popcorn, and you can sit where YOU want to sit, not where your companion prefers! These are things not to be taken lightly!
I'm not an advocate of trying things just to please other people, you understand. If you really aren't interested, then there's no point. But if you're merely apprehensive about trying something new, and you can find the courage to give it a shot, great! I know people who refuse to go to a movie by themselves. I find that to be sad. If you want to go and there's no one to go with you, take yourself. You might not want to go to the midnight showing in a questionable neighborhood, I'll grant you, but a matinee at the local multiplex shouldn't terrify you. And think of the advantages! You can get what you want at the concession stand, you don't have to share the popcorn, and you can sit where YOU want to sit, not where your companion prefers! These are things not to be taken lightly!
01/23/06 Laughter
This is where it's at! Being able to laugh, not in malice but in sheer joy, is probably the most healthy thing I can think of. It's good for you physically and mentally. And be able to laugh at yourself! I taught for ten years, drama and English and all kinds of related things, and I discovered that you have to be able to laugh at yourself or you get really grumpy really quickly. Example - I had a stage in my classroom, just a little one, big enough for small scenes but not a full production. I'd walk around the room while I was lecturing, and I frequently ended up on the stage. I was tryinig to make a point to one of my classes and figured I'd casually put my foot up on a stool. Looking cool, you know? Except that I missed and fell over backwards, right on my ass. Had I not been wearing jeans, we'd have ALL been shocked, but as it was, you could hear a pin drop when I landed. I came up off the stage floor, howling with laughter. The kids were stunned that I could laugh at that (high school is all about image!), but as soon as they saw that I wasn't really hurt and was mildly embarressed, and mostly just amused, we all hooted until we cried. Later, one of the girls asked if I wasn't horrified at being so clumsy, and I told her that I'd had so much experience at making a fool of myself that it didn't bother me any more. If you can laugh at yourself when you do something silly, it takes a world of pressure off you. Everyone spills the soup, slips on the ice, trips on the sidewalk. How you handle it tells the world a lot about who you are. Laugh, and you'll feel better.
01/22/06 The Fairy Tale
Okay, so growing up in the '50's and '60's, women of my age were told that if you did all the right things and, more importantly, if you didn't do all the wrong things, you too could end up being June Cleaver, with a man to take care of you while you did the dishes and dusted with Pledge. Granted, in the '60's, we began to think we could do more, and sure enough we could and did. We had the freedom to burn our bras (and let's face it, they didn't cost then what they do now, and we didn't need them then as much as we do now!), sleep with whomever we chose, and all we had to worry about was getting pregnant or having to get a shot of penicillin, and we could still find Prince Charming to look after us after we'd sown our wild oats.
But it got confusing somewhere along the way. Somehow we went from the idea that we could have it all to the idea that we should have it all. I watched so many of my friends, as well as myself, trying to have the career, the family, the kids, wash the dog, change the oil in our cars, stay skinny, keep our skin fresh and wrinkle free, and smile, dammit! No wonder we turned to Prozac! We knew what vodka would do to our livers. We were educated, informed. We turned into a nation of consumers, and marketing exec's wet dreams.
My friend, Lou, admitted that she was what every marketer had in mind. If you just put it in a new package, she had to have it. The television was on in her house all the time, or the radio, and there was something about what everyone else said they had or wanted that kept her shopping, even when she didn't have the money. Deficit spending is not just for governments, after all! And if the big boys can do it, why can't we?
But in the backs of our minds, there was still the possibility of the fairy tale ending, when a man came along and fixed all the problems, just like in the romance novels. Somehow, though, he never showed up, and we were left to muddle through on our own. All the men we knew were struggling with the same problems we were, and they had their own version of the fairy tale to live up to - husband and provider and supportive career spouse and child caretaker and gardener and mechanic and electrician and be an emotionally sensitive man while being strong and stoic. Fairy tales have a lot to answer for, you know?
So here we are, it's the new century, and a new outlook is in my future, a more realistic one, I hope, where I can choose what I want and work for it, but knowing that having it all available doesn't mean I have to own it all. And it's nice to have someone to help around the house and cuddle with at night - more than nice if it's the right someone! - but you shouldn't expect anyone to ride up on a white charger, or in a Mercedes, and save you from yourself. Do it for yourself, and if someone comes along, you're more ready to be a true partner than a clinging vine.
But it got confusing somewhere along the way. Somehow we went from the idea that we could have it all to the idea that we should have it all. I watched so many of my friends, as well as myself, trying to have the career, the family, the kids, wash the dog, change the oil in our cars, stay skinny, keep our skin fresh and wrinkle free, and smile, dammit! No wonder we turned to Prozac! We knew what vodka would do to our livers. We were educated, informed. We turned into a nation of consumers, and marketing exec's wet dreams.
My friend, Lou, admitted that she was what every marketer had in mind. If you just put it in a new package, she had to have it. The television was on in her house all the time, or the radio, and there was something about what everyone else said they had or wanted that kept her shopping, even when she didn't have the money. Deficit spending is not just for governments, after all! And if the big boys can do it, why can't we?
But in the backs of our minds, there was still the possibility of the fairy tale ending, when a man came along and fixed all the problems, just like in the romance novels. Somehow, though, he never showed up, and we were left to muddle through on our own. All the men we knew were struggling with the same problems we were, and they had their own version of the fairy tale to live up to - husband and provider and supportive career spouse and child caretaker and gardener and mechanic and electrician and be an emotionally sensitive man while being strong and stoic. Fairy tales have a lot to answer for, you know?
So here we are, it's the new century, and a new outlook is in my future, a more realistic one, I hope, where I can choose what I want and work for it, but knowing that having it all available doesn't mean I have to own it all. And it's nice to have someone to help around the house and cuddle with at night - more than nice if it's the right someone! - but you shouldn't expect anyone to ride up on a white charger, or in a Mercedes, and save you from yourself. Do it for yourself, and if someone comes along, you're more ready to be a true partner than a clinging vine.
01/21/06 Friends
Hey, thanks for reading and commenting! How cool! And yes, suggestions are always welcome! And so that leads me to my thoughts for today - friends.
When all is said and done and at the end of the day, having friends is one of the warmest realizations you can have. Real friends, not online chat buddies, people who can come to your house and not be shocked at the fact that the dishes are still in the sink, that you forgot to pick up your socks, that there's still dog and cat hair on the carpet. Friends might notice, but they aren't there to critique, they're there for your company. Lovers come and go, but friends are yours for life. With a true friend, you can pick up right where you left off, and it's like no time has passed. I moved away from New Mexico for several years, moved up to the frozen north of Minnesota (and talk about culture shock, but it's incredibly beautiful!) but whenever I went back to New Mexico and picked up with my old friends, it was as if I'd never left. I could fall into the same old routines and comfortable ways, like coming home to a favorite chair and slippers. I've always been aware that I've got good friends, but with Lou's death, I now treasure them more than ever!
When all is said and done and at the end of the day, having friends is one of the warmest realizations you can have. Real friends, not online chat buddies, people who can come to your house and not be shocked at the fact that the dishes are still in the sink, that you forgot to pick up your socks, that there's still dog and cat hair on the carpet. Friends might notice, but they aren't there to critique, they're there for your company. Lovers come and go, but friends are yours for life. With a true friend, you can pick up right where you left off, and it's like no time has passed. I moved away from New Mexico for several years, moved up to the frozen north of Minnesota (and talk about culture shock, but it's incredibly beautiful!) but whenever I went back to New Mexico and picked up with my old friends, it was as if I'd never left. I could fall into the same old routines and comfortable ways, like coming home to a favorite chair and slippers. I've always been aware that I've got good friends, but with Lou's death, I now treasure them more than ever!
01/20/06 What prompted this.
This is a two-part post.
Why a blog? Well, because I like to write, and I promised Lillian I'd work at writing more. This is a good way to do it, and while it's not publication, it is public. And it's stretching my computer knowledge.
Why the ramblings at all? That's more complicated.
A few years ago, a friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. I've known Lou since we were kids. I was ten, she was nine, we met at the local swimming pool where I ran my head into her stomach, and we were inseparable from that point on. We went through the trials and tribulations of high school, where she was the really smart one and I was the skinny blonde one. Fill in the picture of your stereotypical small-town kids here. We went to the local state university, I majored in education, she majored in theatre - thereby guaranteeing she'd never get a job since we were in New Mexico. Basically we stayed in the same college town, two hours from where we'd grown up, and we spent a lot of our time together, partying, crying over rotten boyfriends, and just generally getting along with life. But she got cancer, and we started to pay a bit more attention to things. She fought and fought, but in the end it was the victor, and I spent most of the following year settling her estate. In the process, I did some serious thinking about who I am and what I'd been through, and where I wanted to go with my life. Hence, these ramblings.
Why a blog? Well, because I like to write, and I promised Lillian I'd work at writing more. This is a good way to do it, and while it's not publication, it is public. And it's stretching my computer knowledge.
Why the ramblings at all? That's more complicated.
A few years ago, a friend of mine was diagnosed with breast cancer. I've known Lou since we were kids. I was ten, she was nine, we met at the local swimming pool where I ran my head into her stomach, and we were inseparable from that point on. We went through the trials and tribulations of high school, where she was the really smart one and I was the skinny blonde one. Fill in the picture of your stereotypical small-town kids here. We went to the local state university, I majored in education, she majored in theatre - thereby guaranteeing she'd never get a job since we were in New Mexico. Basically we stayed in the same college town, two hours from where we'd grown up, and we spent a lot of our time together, partying, crying over rotten boyfriends, and just generally getting along with life. But she got cancer, and we started to pay a bit more attention to things. She fought and fought, but in the end it was the victor, and I spent most of the following year settling her estate. In the process, I did some serious thinking about who I am and what I'd been through, and where I wanted to go with my life. Hence, these ramblings.
1/20/06 Introducing. . .me
So, these are my thoughts, and why should you listen? Why not?
I'm not anyone in particular, special in my own way (as my mother often told me), but no one you'd really notice in the streets, and you've never heard of me, so why should you care what I say? Well, there's really no reason, but these are simply observations I've had and, while I know I'm not speaking for everyone, I suspect I'm speaking for more of us than you might think. You might even be one of us!
Us? Who's us? What us? Well, we're just everyday folks, middle of the road, middle class, with enough personal quirks to make us unique, but no one you're ever gonna read about in the Sunday Times. Obituaries don't count. I'll grant you, I'm not Susie Homemaker next door, but I'm not so far distant from her either.
Brief background into who I am, so you'll know where our lives intersect and where mine ran screaming different from yours - and we might both be surprised at both places. I'm an almost-fifty woman in the US, born into a middle-class family, product of a divorced mother and father, went to public school, have a step-father and a half-brother, got a college education in teaching, went through several different jobs - receptionist, secretary, dispatcher, brief stint as a case worker in a juvenile detention facility, finally taught for ten years in a border high school, and ended up in a bookstore, which I love, incidentally. I was probably more sexually active than people would be comfortable with, what with the 70's being what they were and all, and lucky enough to get out of the arena before HIV and AIDS hit hard. I got pregnant in an abusive relationship, dropped the man and kept the kid, got married to a sweet man and fit societal norms for a while, then, in a series of life-changing events a few years ago, shook everything up and fell in love with a lovely lady and am now in a committed lesbian relationship.
See? The same, and yet...not exactly.
So, while I haven't lived in a box on the streets, nor have I lived in the big house on the hill, I have been around a bit, and I've watched people, and I've spent the last couple of years really looking at me, and I thought I'd share what I've discovered.
I'm not anyone in particular, special in my own way (as my mother often told me), but no one you'd really notice in the streets, and you've never heard of me, so why should you care what I say? Well, there's really no reason, but these are simply observations I've had and, while I know I'm not speaking for everyone, I suspect I'm speaking for more of us than you might think. You might even be one of us!
Us? Who's us? What us? Well, we're just everyday folks, middle of the road, middle class, with enough personal quirks to make us unique, but no one you're ever gonna read about in the Sunday Times. Obituaries don't count. I'll grant you, I'm not Susie Homemaker next door, but I'm not so far distant from her either.
Brief background into who I am, so you'll know where our lives intersect and where mine ran screaming different from yours - and we might both be surprised at both places. I'm an almost-fifty woman in the US, born into a middle-class family, product of a divorced mother and father, went to public school, have a step-father and a half-brother, got a college education in teaching, went through several different jobs - receptionist, secretary, dispatcher, brief stint as a case worker in a juvenile detention facility, finally taught for ten years in a border high school, and ended up in a bookstore, which I love, incidentally. I was probably more sexually active than people would be comfortable with, what with the 70's being what they were and all, and lucky enough to get out of the arena before HIV and AIDS hit hard. I got pregnant in an abusive relationship, dropped the man and kept the kid, got married to a sweet man and fit societal norms for a while, then, in a series of life-changing events a few years ago, shook everything up and fell in love with a lovely lady and am now in a committed lesbian relationship.
See? The same, and yet...not exactly.
So, while I haven't lived in a box on the streets, nor have I lived in the big house on the hill, I have been around a bit, and I've watched people, and I've spent the last couple of years really looking at me, and I thought I'd share what I've discovered.
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