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!
Saturday, March 26, 2011
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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