While I do not enjoy cooking, as a rule, I do enjoy canning. Cooking always seems like such a thankless job. You cook it up and then it disappears. But, canning has always appealed to me, probably because it is basically pretty scientific. There are only so many ways to do it and you must be precise (or risk clostridium botulinum.)
After all is said and done, I have a basement pantry filled with jars of gleaming beans, tomatoes, pickles, carrots, peas, peppers and okra. I freeze a few things. A neighbor gave me several bushel baskets filled with corn on the cob and I ended up freezing them into nicely sized bags just perfect for a dinner in January.
I like the whole procedure of the hot pack method of canning. I love sterilizing the mason jars, boiling the vegetables, skinning them and then packing them lightly into those jars. I love adding touches of herbs to the top of the jars so that when they are opened, there is a whiff of summer drifting up to my red winter nose.
The whole process just....pleases me so much. I feel capable and pioneery. I look at my hands doing the canning and know that hands came before me for centuries doing the same thing. It makes me feel connected to my ancestors, to prairie pioneer women who wasted not and then wanted not in the winter.
It helps that I grew up with a mother who canned vegetables. My sisters and I were raised to help can and it was expected of us. By the time I was Liv's age, I knew exactly how long to boil everything and how to do a proper seal on a jar. Liv knows too now, because she has been helping me do this since she was a toddler. The kitchen gets hot, but it is deliciously fragrant and homey.
I feel the same way when I bake apple pie. I don't really mind baking pies if the fruit is from an orchard nearby. Again, there is some visceral joy of feeling as if I am preserving something from my summer garden or, in this case, a neighbor's orchard. Hal and Nora, my neighbors and Liv's before-school caregivers, recently went to a nearby orchard and picked several bushels of apples and sent Liv home with a big paper bag of them. The next day, I baked five apple pies and froze four of them. Come November, I will bring one up from the basement freezer and thaw and warm it and we will tuck into it with french vanilla ice cream on a day when we have been busy raking leaves all day. A crock pot of chili will have been cooked on the kitchen counter and that smell combined with the apple pie scent will leave us all feeling safe and content.
There are few things more enjoyable than this.
Bing finds this all very strange. She can't understand how I can detest cooking but love canning and have the capacity to make five pies in one day and not mind. I try to tell her that it is all about the idea of making something out of vegetables that I have grown myself from started seedlings in my basement in March and cutting up apples that have been grown on trees less than ten miles away from us.
It is the idea of it all. The notion that I am caring ably for my family in a way that is generational. My apple pie recipe is my mother's recipe handed down from her mother and her mother and her mother. There is something about this that appeals to me, makes me feel...useful and strong.
So, I have spent the weekend canning and freezing. And now I have four full shelves of canned vegetables in my basement pantry and a freezer full of corn and apple pie. I know that I will not have to buy even one can of vegetables this winter at the grocery store. I also have stacks and stacks of herbs drying out on my racks in the basement. When I go down to do laundry now, there is a thick scent of basil and thyme, rosemary and mint. Cilantro and even some lavender to slide into small cotton bags for Liv's teachers to tuck into their underwear drawers for Christmas gifts. The mint will be sliced into sprigs and put into small jars and also given out as Christmas gifts. I like knowing that people will be drinking their tea with sprigs of mint in them. Mint from my garden.
This pleases me so much that I am almost beaming with pride.
I like knowing that bits of my basil will be poured out into hands and then siphoned into pots of tomato sauce for spaghetti. Basil from my little backyard herb garden.
I left just enough vegetables and herbs in my garden so that we can pick and eat them until the first freeze (usually early October.) And one day in October, after all has been picked but the pumpkins, I will put my garden to bed for the winter, using my hoe to loosen up the soil and pull up all the stray vines. I will wish my garden beds a long, healthy sleep and then sit for awhile on the back steps, looking fondly on the dozy soil and thanking it for it's bounty once again this summer. The days will be shorter then and I will be in a warm red sweater and long jeans and good, heavy socks instead of the shorts, sleeveless tee shirts and sandals that I live in now. The trees will not be green anymore, but all golden and red and misty orange.
I can't sew. I am a poor cook. I cannot do anything interesting with glue, glitter and doilies for some craft project. But, I can freeze and can and dry herbs with a great degree of talent. I am not Betty Crocker or Coco Chanel, Grandma Moses or Georgia O'Keeffe.
But, I am Maria, the woman who cans, freezes and dries herbs.
Hear me roar.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Sitting on the other side of the desk.
Being this ill has proven to be very lesson-worthy.
I will never think lightly of a patient again.
Because now I know what it is like to sit in a waiting room for over an hour knowing that I will now have to find someone else to pick up Liv from school because I am not going to be out on time.
I know that when I say that this fucking medication makes me nauseated and barely able to function, that there will be an empathetic nod but that really, that's it. Because I have to take the medication and well, nothing can really be done. Part of the process is that yes, it makes me nauseated. At the end of the appointment, the doctor will remind me that I really need to try to take all that medicine with food and I will look at him incredulously because I just told him that I can barely keep a cracker down. I will snap at him and ask him if he was listening when I told him that the medication made me nauseated.
At least I will have the pleasure of making him blush.
I will know what it is like to miss the Democratic National Convention because I am so tired that I will be in bed by 7. And the weird thing? I won't really care all that much because basically, it bothers me more that I am missing time with my child than that I am missing television.
I will listen to the alarm go off and wonder how I am going to get out of the bed.
I will get out of that bed because I need to keep this job so I can get that ever elusive really good health insurance. I will find that a long hot shower helps but that if I have to smell the hummus that Bing smears all over her toast in the morning, it will send me right back to the bathroom. This will cause her to skip her favorite breakfast because she feels so awful.
Work will be not so bad but really, I don't want to be there. And it is hard to be there. But, there will be compensations. There will be the unknown med student in the ladies room on the fifth floor who must have heard me throwing up because when I walk out of the stall to splash some water on my face, she will be standing by the sink with a cold dripping washcloth and a sweet smile.
There will be jelly beans. The green ones tend to stay down for some reason.
There will be my dog, Socks, at the end of the day who wags his tail so hard when he sees me that it looks like it will fall off. His perked up ears will go back with the shy adoration of dog love and when I take him outside, he will hurriedly do his business in the back yard and then run to sit with me in the sun and nestle as close to me as his body will let him. I will be shivering even if it is 90 degrees and he will work hard to be my blanket.
There will be Bing, who takes over every single chore in the house and never complains. The laundry will get done, the dishwasher emptied, the floor swept. She will help Liv with her report on Spanish explorers in the 16th century even though homework is usually my job.
Liv will be there too, bringing a wobbly tray of chicken noodle soup into the bedroom that she made herself. Even though looking at that soup will make me a little nauseated, I will take several bites and she will smile with pride that she actually helped me. Bing will stand at the doorway and she and I will beam at each other because how did we get so lucky, really, to have this angel child?
And some days will be very good. Other days, not so much, but that's okay because tonight we will turn the Cornhusker game on the radio and I will curl up on the sofa with Socks to listen to it and Liv will bring her jewelry kit to the floor to work on and Bing will sit in the recliner and we will all listen together and when there is a touchdown (and THERE BETTER BE SOME), we will all cheer because we are Huskers and we love our boys in red.
The circle goes around and there is much to be learned.
But, I will never take a patient lightly again.
I will never think lightly of a patient again.
Because now I know what it is like to sit in a waiting room for over an hour knowing that I will now have to find someone else to pick up Liv from school because I am not going to be out on time.
I know that when I say that this fucking medication makes me nauseated and barely able to function, that there will be an empathetic nod but that really, that's it. Because I have to take the medication and well, nothing can really be done. Part of the process is that yes, it makes me nauseated. At the end of the appointment, the doctor will remind me that I really need to try to take all that medicine with food and I will look at him incredulously because I just told him that I can barely keep a cracker down. I will snap at him and ask him if he was listening when I told him that the medication made me nauseated.
At least I will have the pleasure of making him blush.
I will know what it is like to miss the Democratic National Convention because I am so tired that I will be in bed by 7. And the weird thing? I won't really care all that much because basically, it bothers me more that I am missing time with my child than that I am missing television.
I will listen to the alarm go off and wonder how I am going to get out of the bed.
I will get out of that bed because I need to keep this job so I can get that ever elusive really good health insurance. I will find that a long hot shower helps but that if I have to smell the hummus that Bing smears all over her toast in the morning, it will send me right back to the bathroom. This will cause her to skip her favorite breakfast because she feels so awful.
Work will be not so bad but really, I don't want to be there. And it is hard to be there. But, there will be compensations. There will be the unknown med student in the ladies room on the fifth floor who must have heard me throwing up because when I walk out of the stall to splash some water on my face, she will be standing by the sink with a cold dripping washcloth and a sweet smile.
There will be jelly beans. The green ones tend to stay down for some reason.
There will be my dog, Socks, at the end of the day who wags his tail so hard when he sees me that it looks like it will fall off. His perked up ears will go back with the shy adoration of dog love and when I take him outside, he will hurriedly do his business in the back yard and then run to sit with me in the sun and nestle as close to me as his body will let him. I will be shivering even if it is 90 degrees and he will work hard to be my blanket.
There will be Bing, who takes over every single chore in the house and never complains. The laundry will get done, the dishwasher emptied, the floor swept. She will help Liv with her report on Spanish explorers in the 16th century even though homework is usually my job.
Liv will be there too, bringing a wobbly tray of chicken noodle soup into the bedroom that she made herself. Even though looking at that soup will make me a little nauseated, I will take several bites and she will smile with pride that she actually helped me. Bing will stand at the doorway and she and I will beam at each other because how did we get so lucky, really, to have this angel child?
And some days will be very good. Other days, not so much, but that's okay because tonight we will turn the Cornhusker game on the radio and I will curl up on the sofa with Socks to listen to it and Liv will bring her jewelry kit to the floor to work on and Bing will sit in the recliner and we will all listen together and when there is a touchdown (and THERE BETTER BE SOME), we will all cheer because we are Huskers and we love our boys in red.
The circle goes around and there is much to be learned.
But, I will never take a patient lightly again.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The Work Life of Maria, a new sitcom.
My good friend, Jill, over at Charming and Delightful suggested that perhaps I have the makings of a good sitcom at my new job.
Today, I decided that yes, she is soooo right. I met three new scintillating new personalities to add to the roster.
First up, was Christabelle. Yes, that is her name. I met her because a computer was acting up in my office and since she is our "computer troubleshooter" she was sent for. Doug ("call me Whitty"), our department head shook his head when he called down to her on his phone.
"She's not answering, as usual. Anyone want to go down to the control center and ferret her out?" he asked.
I would have volunteered just to be able to stand up and move around a little, except that I noticed that everyone around me suddenly bent carefully to their work, so I figured that maybe I better just wait and see what this Christabelle was like...And really, how scary could someone named Christabelle be?
Pretty fucking scary.
Doug went to go get her and returned twenty minutes later with the elusive Christabelle. My first thought was that she looked exactly like Snoop on The Wire.
Christabelle came slouching in behind Doug, looking murderously at all of us, as if she were trying to figure out just who had fucked up the computer and what punishment she would give them.
I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. Christabelle was wearing a pair of white jeans that she wore belted far down her ass in that falling-off-your-ass way that some kids wear their pants today. She wore a red baseball cap on her head sideways. She had a bunch of tattoos on her neck and lots of piercings on her face. LOTS of piercing. She looked absolutely unfriendly and unapproachable, like you better have a fucking good reason for talking to her.
She slunk over to the misbehaving computer, plopped down on the seat in front of it and began rapidly going through so many things on it that I was intrigued. She grunted and said something out of the corner of her mouth but I couldn't hear what she had said. No one answered and she said her sentence again, this time loudly and with great impatience.
Whose da lass fuckhead that played on dis mudder?
I was SO glad that it wasn't me.
No one admitted to using it and Doug sort of whispered nervously that he thought that maybe someone from another department may have come in and used it in the night.
Christabelle sighed dramatically and stomped her foot twice and grimaced. I looked around uneasily. Was she packing? Because I swear to god she looked like she was ready to blow someone's head off.
Before she could go on, a rather large unattractive woman with pasty white skin and a barrette holding back her greasy hair came in the door. She went grimly up to Christabelle.
"Christabelle, I have been notified that you came to work without your photo id again today," she said forcefully.
I was impressed. She was taking on CHRISTABELLE? I wouldn't have. I would have let her walk around naked if she felt like it.
Christabelle turned slowly to glare at the woman with her heavily lidded eyes.
"I done toll you, and toll you, Mary Lou," she said slowly and intensely, "I ain't gonna wear that thing. I hate the bitch on it. I TOLL YOU."
I looked around. Why did she hate the bitch on it? Because that would like be her photo, yes? Good hell, was she mentally fucked up, maybe had some sort of multiple personality disorder? Was she Sybil?
Mary Lou held her ground and crossed her arms. She looked kind of like Marge Gunderson from the movie, Fargo. She did not look one inch intimidated. I had to admire that.
"Christabelle," she said, her voice strident and a little shrill, "I'm sorry that you aren't happy with your photo on your id. (oh...) If you want to get your photo retaken, you can do that. But, you MUST wear your id. It is against hospital policy to have Frank on maintenance let you in the back way every day. If you show up tomorrow without your id, I will have security escort you right back out to your car. Am I clear?"
Christabelle growled. Mary Lou's face pinkened and her eyes went slant but she did not budge.
It was a stare down. Christabelle finally won when Mary Lou dramatically shrugged and looked up at the ceiling tiles as if she hoped that Jesus would come down and save her from this predicament. Finally, Mary Lou flapped her arms twice and bustled out of the room, but stuck her head back in for a second and said, "I'm dead SERIOUS, Christabelle" before she left for good.
Christabelle smiled then. A surprisingly pretty smile in her pierced face.
"I jess LOVE messin' with that woo-man," she said.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. Because, really, this was just all so hilarious. It was like I was watching some hospital themed form of The Office or something.
My laugh caught Christabelle's attention and she got up slowly and came over to me.
"You new?" she asked. "I don't recollect seein' you "fore."
I told her that, yes, I was new. I held out my hand for a shake, said I was Maria Lastname.
Christabelle took my hand with surprising gentleness. "I'm Christabelle," she said.
"Yes, you are," I told her firmly.
She threw back her face and laughed and I had the sudden notion that Christabelle and I might end up as friends. I liked anyone who snuck in the back because they refused to wear their id because they hated their photo on it. It just made the rebel in me smile.
She went back to the computer and after tooling around on it for a few minutes, it was fixed. As she went past my desk, she leaned down and whispered in my ear, "If you ever wanna ride on the net and do some surfin', you jess let me know it and I'll rig your machine up, kay?"
I said sure.
She tipped her baseball cap at me and left.
Everyone took a breath. Doug commented that when he had gone down to control to get her, she had been sleeping "as usual."
"And you know how pissy she gets when you wake her up," he added.
God, must be nice to be so talented that you could just come in and sleep and god help the fool that had to come in and haul your ass up....
The rest of the day went pretty well except for two things.
1) I had a meeting. At this meeting, some new protocol were revealed, an online presentation that not only seemed to be the most boring thing that I ever had to sit through, but I realized that my computer skills were sadly lacking and that I would maybe have to get Christabelle to tutor me. We all sat around a table and were instructed to boot up our laptops and go to a site. As we got to the site, the speaker asked us to do something like, "minimalize your page and then scope into the file with your quark razor." I was the only one who seemed perplexed. I was surrounded by twenty something big shots who navigated easily on their laptops while I looked around anxiously and finally had to ask the woman next to me, who looked like she was about 16, to help me. She sighed, punched a few buttons for me and suddenly I was where I should be. Unfortunately, she had not chosen to show me how she got from there to there, so I never did figure out what the hell I was supposed to do. The meeting lasted over an hour and afterwards I thought to myself that really, this was so totally boring, would we have many of these? I surmised that yes, we probably would and I better figure out soon how to do things with a quark razor....
2) One of the secretaries in our department came back from her maternity leave. Her name is Felicity and she is a hummer. By this, I mean that she literally HUMS all the time. And my desk is just a few feet away from hers. At first, I thought the noise was coming from the air conditioning system. Periodically, there would be this high pitched humming noise that was very rhythmic, yet extremely annoying. Just as I was about to ask someone what the hell that noise was, I realized it was Felicity. She was sitting in her chair, tapping away on her computer, smiling dreamily and well....humming. Hmmmm HMMM Hmmmm hmmmm hmmmm hmmmmmmmmmmmm. I told myself that she had just had a baby for godsakes and to cut her some slack. That she probably hummed the baby to sleep a lot and had picked up a habit of humming.
I tried to ignore her, I really did. And when Christabelle was in the room, she didn't make a peep. But, shortly afterwards, she started up again. I looked up and there she was, dreamily typing away with a sleepy smile on her face and well....humming.
I wanted to throw a stapler at her head.
I wondered if I had some bad habits. I had met the office nose sniffer/honker. I had met the office chair squeaker. And now, here was the office hummer.
Maybe I was just being picky. I mean, really, no one else seemed bothered by Felicity and her annoying humming. Was I being petty?
I made a mental note to talk to Christabelle about her.....
It helps to have friends who can supply you with jelly beans and also friends who have piercings and offer to teach you to play internet games and maybe put the fear of god into the hummers, sniffers, and squeakers.....
I should write a script and send it in to NBC as an idea for the perfect sitcom. Because everyone loves a show set in a hospital, don't they? I could write in some Adonis-like md and maybe a wise cracking nurse. I could get Snoop to play Christabelle and Frances McDormand to play Mary Lou. Let's see...Jennifer Love Hewitt could play the hummer...
And I want Tina Fey to play me. Because, the show would revolve around me, the brainy, non-humming, non nose snorting woman with the smart mouth who makes friends with all the hospital misfits. It's only fair that she be stunning and smart and sexy.
Because I am perfect, after all and I'm sure that no one thinks I do anything strange or untoward.
Righto. Boy howdy, I have a hit on my hands, right here in River City.
Today, I decided that yes, she is soooo right. I met three new scintillating new personalities to add to the roster.
First up, was Christabelle. Yes, that is her name. I met her because a computer was acting up in my office and since she is our "computer troubleshooter" she was sent for. Doug ("call me Whitty"), our department head shook his head when he called down to her on his phone.
"She's not answering, as usual. Anyone want to go down to the control center and ferret her out?" he asked.
I would have volunteered just to be able to stand up and move around a little, except that I noticed that everyone around me suddenly bent carefully to their work, so I figured that maybe I better just wait and see what this Christabelle was like...And really, how scary could someone named Christabelle be?
Pretty fucking scary.
Doug went to go get her and returned twenty minutes later with the elusive Christabelle. My first thought was that she looked exactly like Snoop on The Wire.
Christabelle came slouching in behind Doug, looking murderously at all of us, as if she were trying to figure out just who had fucked up the computer and what punishment she would give them.
I tried not to stare, but it was hard not to. Christabelle was wearing a pair of white jeans that she wore belted far down her ass in that falling-off-your-ass way that some kids wear their pants today. She wore a red baseball cap on her head sideways. She had a bunch of tattoos on her neck and lots of piercings on her face. LOTS of piercing. She looked absolutely unfriendly and unapproachable, like you better have a fucking good reason for talking to her.
She slunk over to the misbehaving computer, plopped down on the seat in front of it and began rapidly going through so many things on it that I was intrigued. She grunted and said something out of the corner of her mouth but I couldn't hear what she had said. No one answered and she said her sentence again, this time loudly and with great impatience.
Whose da lass fuckhead that played on dis mudder?
I was SO glad that it wasn't me.
No one admitted to using it and Doug sort of whispered nervously that he thought that maybe someone from another department may have come in and used it in the night.
Christabelle sighed dramatically and stomped her foot twice and grimaced. I looked around uneasily. Was she packing? Because I swear to god she looked like she was ready to blow someone's head off.
Before she could go on, a rather large unattractive woman with pasty white skin and a barrette holding back her greasy hair came in the door. She went grimly up to Christabelle.
"Christabelle, I have been notified that you came to work without your photo id again today," she said forcefully.
I was impressed. She was taking on CHRISTABELLE? I wouldn't have. I would have let her walk around naked if she felt like it.
Christabelle turned slowly to glare at the woman with her heavily lidded eyes.
"I done toll you, and toll you, Mary Lou," she said slowly and intensely, "I ain't gonna wear that thing. I hate the bitch on it. I TOLL YOU."
I looked around. Why did she hate the bitch on it? Because that would like be her photo, yes? Good hell, was she mentally fucked up, maybe had some sort of multiple personality disorder? Was she Sybil?
Mary Lou held her ground and crossed her arms. She looked kind of like Marge Gunderson from the movie, Fargo. She did not look one inch intimidated. I had to admire that.
"Christabelle," she said, her voice strident and a little shrill, "I'm sorry that you aren't happy with your photo on your id. (oh...) If you want to get your photo retaken, you can do that. But, you MUST wear your id. It is against hospital policy to have Frank on maintenance let you in the back way every day. If you show up tomorrow without your id, I will have security escort you right back out to your car. Am I clear?"
Christabelle growled. Mary Lou's face pinkened and her eyes went slant but she did not budge.
It was a stare down. Christabelle finally won when Mary Lou dramatically shrugged and looked up at the ceiling tiles as if she hoped that Jesus would come down and save her from this predicament. Finally, Mary Lou flapped her arms twice and bustled out of the room, but stuck her head back in for a second and said, "I'm dead SERIOUS, Christabelle" before she left for good.
Christabelle smiled then. A surprisingly pretty smile in her pierced face.
"I jess LOVE messin' with that woo-man," she said.
I couldn't help it. I laughed. Because, really, this was just all so hilarious. It was like I was watching some hospital themed form of The Office or something.
My laugh caught Christabelle's attention and she got up slowly and came over to me.
"You new?" she asked. "I don't recollect seein' you "fore."
I told her that, yes, I was new. I held out my hand for a shake, said I was Maria Lastname.
Christabelle took my hand with surprising gentleness. "I'm Christabelle," she said.
"Yes, you are," I told her firmly.
She threw back her face and laughed and I had the sudden notion that Christabelle and I might end up as friends. I liked anyone who snuck in the back because they refused to wear their id because they hated their photo on it. It just made the rebel in me smile.
She went back to the computer and after tooling around on it for a few minutes, it was fixed. As she went past my desk, she leaned down and whispered in my ear, "If you ever wanna ride on the net and do some surfin', you jess let me know it and I'll rig your machine up, kay?"
I said sure.
She tipped her baseball cap at me and left.
Everyone took a breath. Doug commented that when he had gone down to control to get her, she had been sleeping "as usual."
"And you know how pissy she gets when you wake her up," he added.
God, must be nice to be so talented that you could just come in and sleep and god help the fool that had to come in and haul your ass up....
The rest of the day went pretty well except for two things.
1) I had a meeting. At this meeting, some new protocol were revealed, an online presentation that not only seemed to be the most boring thing that I ever had to sit through, but I realized that my computer skills were sadly lacking and that I would maybe have to get Christabelle to tutor me. We all sat around a table and were instructed to boot up our laptops and go to a site. As we got to the site, the speaker asked us to do something like, "minimalize your page and then scope into the file with your quark razor." I was the only one who seemed perplexed. I was surrounded by twenty something big shots who navigated easily on their laptops while I looked around anxiously and finally had to ask the woman next to me, who looked like she was about 16, to help me. She sighed, punched a few buttons for me and suddenly I was where I should be. Unfortunately, she had not chosen to show me how she got from there to there, so I never did figure out what the hell I was supposed to do. The meeting lasted over an hour and afterwards I thought to myself that really, this was so totally boring, would we have many of these? I surmised that yes, we probably would and I better figure out soon how to do things with a quark razor....
2) One of the secretaries in our department came back from her maternity leave. Her name is Felicity and she is a hummer. By this, I mean that she literally HUMS all the time. And my desk is just a few feet away from hers. At first, I thought the noise was coming from the air conditioning system. Periodically, there would be this high pitched humming noise that was very rhythmic, yet extremely annoying. Just as I was about to ask someone what the hell that noise was, I realized it was Felicity. She was sitting in her chair, tapping away on her computer, smiling dreamily and well....humming. Hmmmm HMMM Hmmmm hmmmm hmmmm hmmmmmmmmmmmm. I told myself that she had just had a baby for godsakes and to cut her some slack. That she probably hummed the baby to sleep a lot and had picked up a habit of humming.
I tried to ignore her, I really did. And when Christabelle was in the room, she didn't make a peep. But, shortly afterwards, she started up again. I looked up and there she was, dreamily typing away with a sleepy smile on her face and well....humming.
I wanted to throw a stapler at her head.
I wondered if I had some bad habits. I had met the office nose sniffer/honker. I had met the office chair squeaker. And now, here was the office hummer.
Maybe I was just being picky. I mean, really, no one else seemed bothered by Felicity and her annoying humming. Was I being petty?
I made a mental note to talk to Christabelle about her.....
It helps to have friends who can supply you with jelly beans and also friends who have piercings and offer to teach you to play internet games and maybe put the fear of god into the hummers, sniffers, and squeakers.....
I should write a script and send it in to NBC as an idea for the perfect sitcom. Because everyone loves a show set in a hospital, don't they? I could write in some Adonis-like md and maybe a wise cracking nurse. I could get Snoop to play Christabelle and Frances McDormand to play Mary Lou. Let's see...Jennifer Love Hewitt could play the hummer...
And I want Tina Fey to play me. Because, the show would revolve around me, the brainy, non-humming, non nose snorting woman with the smart mouth who makes friends with all the hospital misfits. It's only fair that she be stunning and smart and sexy.
Because I am perfect, after all and I'm sure that no one thinks I do anything strange or untoward.
Righto. Boy howdy, I have a hit on my hands, right here in River City.
Tuesday, August 26, 2008
What I learned on day two of the new job...
1) It is allergy season. This is why the woman sitting next to you, who weighs maybe 100 pounds soaking wet and has this little tiny baby voice, will suddenly make this gross hacking sound in her throat and then make a snort up her nose where you can hear all her mucus plugs unplugging. She will do this about six times an hour until you are ready to go to the gift store and buy her a fucking box of Benadryl and beg her to please stop making that revolting noise.
2) The department head, a guy named Doug (call me Whitty!) will show you pictures of his trip to England even though he barely knows you. He will talk in this fakey British accent the whole time and use the word "bloody" every other sentence in an effort to be entertaining. His assistant, a pock faced man named Jason, will talk in a near whisper and be practically impossible to understand. He will ask you about chart number 548 and really think you can just pluck that sucker out of your brain, like you have memorized every case history. He will say things like, "I went into this business because I really love helping people" and you will have to bite your cheeks not to snicker. Later, you will joke with the department secretary, Liz, about Jason's Christ complex. You will soon realize that Liz is the one you go to when you need to know something. She knows everything about everyone and anything. Liz also has a jar of jelly beans.
3) Hospital cafeteria food is not bad. But, since you don't want to spend any extra money, you should probably just bring your container of yogurt and a special k bar and eat that for lunch. BRING A BOOK to the table and do not make eye contact with anyone.
4) Some nitpicker in HR will come down and ask you to be more specific about your emergency contact. You left the question of your relationship to this person blank and they would like to have it filled in. Shrug and write down "domestic partner and love slave." This will cause her to ask you if you watch a lot of the show, House because you are kind of a "smarty pants." Say no because you have never seen it. Tell her that you only watch The L Word and watch her blush. Yup. This is the prairie, all righty. Realize that you are being difficult and erase the part about the love slave. Smile winningly at nitpicker HR woman and watch her blush again as you realize that now she thinks you are flirting with her. As if.
5) Miss home. Vow that if and when you ever get to go back to freelancing, as god as your witness, you will never complain about it again.
2) The department head, a guy named Doug (call me Whitty!) will show you pictures of his trip to England even though he barely knows you. He will talk in this fakey British accent the whole time and use the word "bloody" every other sentence in an effort to be entertaining. His assistant, a pock faced man named Jason, will talk in a near whisper and be practically impossible to understand. He will ask you about chart number 548 and really think you can just pluck that sucker out of your brain, like you have memorized every case history. He will say things like, "I went into this business because I really love helping people" and you will have to bite your cheeks not to snicker. Later, you will joke with the department secretary, Liz, about Jason's Christ complex. You will soon realize that Liz is the one you go to when you need to know something. She knows everything about everyone and anything. Liz also has a jar of jelly beans.
3) Hospital cafeteria food is not bad. But, since you don't want to spend any extra money, you should probably just bring your container of yogurt and a special k bar and eat that for lunch. BRING A BOOK to the table and do not make eye contact with anyone.
4) Some nitpicker in HR will come down and ask you to be more specific about your emergency contact. You left the question of your relationship to this person blank and they would like to have it filled in. Shrug and write down "domestic partner and love slave." This will cause her to ask you if you watch a lot of the show, House because you are kind of a "smarty pants." Say no because you have never seen it. Tell her that you only watch The L Word and watch her blush. Yup. This is the prairie, all righty. Realize that you are being difficult and erase the part about the love slave. Smile winningly at nitpicker HR woman and watch her blush again as you realize that now she thinks you are flirting with her. As if.
5) Miss home. Vow that if and when you ever get to go back to freelancing, as god as your witness, you will never complain about it again.
Monday, August 25, 2008
What I learned when I went back to work.
1) It is not easy to sit in a chair for hours at a time and look at files. I thought this would be relaxing. I found that it was good for a back ache.
2) Getting up and putting on casual dress clothes at 6 in the morning and then putting on makeup is not something that I remember being so hard. I can also wear scrubs if I choose and I am strongly tempted to opt for scrubs from now on. And maybe skip the makeup.
3) I need to bring a book with me for lunchtime. Otherwise, I will sit by myself and someone will make eye contact and ask if they can join me and then I will be compelled to converse with someone who spends the whole lunch allotted time telling me how they just love Mary Kay products and how she sells them now on the side and boy, could I benefit from their eye cream.....
4) Maybe best not to have pictures of Liv on my desk just yet. Every time I looked up, I got to thinking about how today was the first day that I didn't get to take her to school and how I missed that even though I knew she was fine and probably eating a really good hot breakfast and all that...
5) There are a lot of sick people out there who have it a lot worse than I do. Looking at medical charts all day makes you feel like one lucky person. There is always someone who has it worse than you do.
6) 1-2 p.m.is the sleepy time. I felt like I needed to get up and dance the hokey pokey so not to doze off.
7) It is hard to work in an office with other people. I really, really missed my own private office at home. And it is amazing what people will say out loud into their cell phones while you are sitting right there not two feet away from them. ("Well, did you even try that cream, honey? Because I know, hemorrhoids can be so painful!"...This was WAY too much information.)
8) An eight hour day feels like well....an eight hour day. I miss my days where I could cram a lot into a day or nothing, depending on how I felt.
9) I am not the type of person who shows my personality on my desk. I do not want to have handcuffs, a wedding garter belt or pictures of my dog dressed as a witch for Halloween on my desk. If I do start to cart that shit in, shoot me. If I insist on showing other people my dog and calling him my precious baby, shoot me again.
10) There is always some guy who wants to chat with every new woman in an office. This guy makes infantile jokes about being married, but "don't let that stop you from flirting!" It is best not to humor him. Just stare coldly at him and say, "Well, I'm gay and I heard you were too." That will shut him up.
11) Don't drink five cups of coffee in the morning no matter how tired I am. By 11, every time the phone rings, I will jump like a puppet on a string because I am over caffeinated.
12) Realize that I will have to fill out 400 forms on the first day.
13) When I go to pick up my daughter from school, I should not be all hurt when she stands and wastes time talking to her friends instead of running into my arms and screaming "I missed you so much!" She will get in the car and the first sentence out of her mouth will be, "Can I have Constance over for a play date tomorrow?"
14) When I get home, remember that no one has been there all day long and the dog will really need to go out ASAP and that the dishwasher will not have been emptied and that my bed will look so, so inviting......
15) Get used to this. I am now a cog in the wheel. But, I have great insurance and hey, I got through it even with an ear infection and shoes that felt just plain pinchy.
2) Getting up and putting on casual dress clothes at 6 in the morning and then putting on makeup is not something that I remember being so hard. I can also wear scrubs if I choose and I am strongly tempted to opt for scrubs from now on. And maybe skip the makeup.
3) I need to bring a book with me for lunchtime. Otherwise, I will sit by myself and someone will make eye contact and ask if they can join me and then I will be compelled to converse with someone who spends the whole lunch allotted time telling me how they just love Mary Kay products and how she sells them now on the side and boy, could I benefit from their eye cream.....
4) Maybe best not to have pictures of Liv on my desk just yet. Every time I looked up, I got to thinking about how today was the first day that I didn't get to take her to school and how I missed that even though I knew she was fine and probably eating a really good hot breakfast and all that...
5) There are a lot of sick people out there who have it a lot worse than I do. Looking at medical charts all day makes you feel like one lucky person. There is always someone who has it worse than you do.
6) 1-2 p.m.is the sleepy time. I felt like I needed to get up and dance the hokey pokey so not to doze off.
7) It is hard to work in an office with other people. I really, really missed my own private office at home. And it is amazing what people will say out loud into their cell phones while you are sitting right there not two feet away from them. ("Well, did you even try that cream, honey? Because I know, hemorrhoids can be so painful!"...This was WAY too much information.)
8) An eight hour day feels like well....an eight hour day. I miss my days where I could cram a lot into a day or nothing, depending on how I felt.
9) I am not the type of person who shows my personality on my desk. I do not want to have handcuffs, a wedding garter belt or pictures of my dog dressed as a witch for Halloween on my desk. If I do start to cart that shit in, shoot me. If I insist on showing other people my dog and calling him my precious baby, shoot me again.
10) There is always some guy who wants to chat with every new woman in an office. This guy makes infantile jokes about being married, but "don't let that stop you from flirting!" It is best not to humor him. Just stare coldly at him and say, "Well, I'm gay and I heard you were too." That will shut him up.
11) Don't drink five cups of coffee in the morning no matter how tired I am. By 11, every time the phone rings, I will jump like a puppet on a string because I am over caffeinated.
12) Realize that I will have to fill out 400 forms on the first day.
13) When I go to pick up my daughter from school, I should not be all hurt when she stands and wastes time talking to her friends instead of running into my arms and screaming "I missed you so much!" She will get in the car and the first sentence out of her mouth will be, "Can I have Constance over for a play date tomorrow?"
14) When I get home, remember that no one has been there all day long and the dog will really need to go out ASAP and that the dishwasher will not have been emptied and that my bed will look so, so inviting......
15) Get used to this. I am now a cog in the wheel. But, I have great insurance and hey, I got through it even with an ear infection and shoes that felt just plain pinchy.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
Falling in love with a book, Moon flowers and Joe Biden.
It had caught my eye a few times in the book store. But...I don't know, I was never intrigued enough to buy it. It sounded interesting, but not that interesting. But, yesterday when Bing, Liv and I went on our thrice a year trip to the book store to buy books, I decided to buy it.
I picked up four books:
1) I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley
2) Just Breathe by Susan Wiggs
3) Love Walked In by Marisa De Los Santos
and then...
4) Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris.
Bing picked up her usual computer tomes along with a few books on financial planning. Riveting shit. Liv went a little nuts and selected some more Goosebumps books, even though I was trying to gently nudge her towards Newberry medal books. The girl can't help it, she ADORES Goosebumps, although I just don't get it. The books are boring beyond belief and I swear that I once counted the word murmured four times on one page. But, I decided long ago that I wasn't going to be the sort of parent who insists that her child read the books that she loved as a child.
But, god...WHY can't she like anything by Lenora Mattingly Weber or Maud Hart Lovelace or even Judy Blume? Liv thought that The Little House books were boring. I was shocked. She wasn't crazy about The Bobbsey Twins either. She did love the Harry Potter series and I had to settle for that, otherwise, she has much different tastes in books than I did. So much for my big dreams of us cuddling up on the sofa and taking turns reading aloud from Betsy, Tacy and Tib. Not going to happen. Maybe when she is older....
But, I started Then We Came To The End yesterday and was immediately hooked. The writing is not only superb, it is...wily and clear and full of nuances which make you know that Joshua Ferris has really been there in an office setting (where the novel is set) and dealt with all the different personalities that come sliding up to greet you. It is basically a book about an ad agency in Chicago and all the people who work there. Doesn't sound all that intriguing, does it? Well, it is.
On page 23, I stumbled on a paragraph that made me think that maybe, just maybe, I had found the book I have been waiting to read for nearly a year:
"Amber wasn't showing yet but everyone already knew. She was debating an abortion but, to Larry Novotny's great disappointment, looking to be leaning against it. Larry would have to decide what to do about his wife, who had just had a child herself not that long ago. We felt sorry for Larry, who worried the curved, finger-smudged bill of his Cubs cap endlessly that spring, but we also thought it was pretty obvious that he should have kept his pecker in his pants. We felt sorry for Amber too, but as everyone knows, it takes two to tango. We just hoped they weren't doing it on our desks."
How can one NOT want to keep going?
I love it when I have a book that calls to me across a room. Love it when I am doing something else and see it sprawled across the living room end table just waiting for me. There is nothing like a book that seduces you.
And on another note...does anyone here grow moon flowers? My neighbor has a few and I am thinking of asking him if I can take one of two his pods to plant in my own yard. Do they do well, in general? Are they hard to care for? I have asked my neighbor and he claims to know nothing, that his gardner takes care of all that. Just wondering. They look so gorgeous at night and smell so heavenly, but I really don't have room for any more plants and am already a little stressed out by the care generated by my rose bushes. I don't need or want another finicky plant....
And, lastly...what do y'all think of Joe Biden for veep? Bing is upset, she wanted Hillary Clinton and would settle for no one else. She is even making some comments that I find dangerously close to seeping into the dark side (Republican.) She was never a big Obama supporter and only reluctantly gave up the Hillary ghost. But, I don't know, I really have no problems with Biden. Bing's argument is that he is a "plagiarist" and a "washington insider." I tend to think that he has a pretty good track record in the liberalities of most issues, which sit close to my way of thinking.
We are wisely not discussing it too much, although at brunch at my sister's house this morning, I did notice that when my sister and her husband crowed that McCain could easily take on an Obama-Biden ticket, Bing didn't jump in and argue like she usually does. She made me take them on by myself, which was fine, but I really like having back up....
So, good books, moon flowers and Biden? What do you all think?
And thank you for all your well wishes about my job starting tomorrow. I have managed to get one hell of an ear infection on top of all the rest of the shit going on in my frail, aging body this week, so I am not in top form, but I think I can tough it out. I mean, I feel like I am hearing through a drum and a little dizzy, but hey...I'm upright. What more can they expect?
I picked up four books:
1) I Was Told There'd Be Cake by Sloane Crosley
2) Just Breathe by Susan Wiggs
3) Love Walked In by Marisa De Los Santos
and then...
4) Then We Came To The End by Joshua Ferris.
Bing picked up her usual computer tomes along with a few books on financial planning. Riveting shit. Liv went a little nuts and selected some more Goosebumps books, even though I was trying to gently nudge her towards Newberry medal books. The girl can't help it, she ADORES Goosebumps, although I just don't get it. The books are boring beyond belief and I swear that I once counted the word murmured four times on one page. But, I decided long ago that I wasn't going to be the sort of parent who insists that her child read the books that she loved as a child.
But, god...WHY can't she like anything by Lenora Mattingly Weber or Maud Hart Lovelace or even Judy Blume? Liv thought that The Little House books were boring. I was shocked. She wasn't crazy about The Bobbsey Twins either. She did love the Harry Potter series and I had to settle for that, otherwise, she has much different tastes in books than I did. So much for my big dreams of us cuddling up on the sofa and taking turns reading aloud from Betsy, Tacy and Tib. Not going to happen. Maybe when she is older....
But, I started Then We Came To The End yesterday and was immediately hooked. The writing is not only superb, it is...wily and clear and full of nuances which make you know that Joshua Ferris has really been there in an office setting (where the novel is set) and dealt with all the different personalities that come sliding up to greet you. It is basically a book about an ad agency in Chicago and all the people who work there. Doesn't sound all that intriguing, does it? Well, it is.
On page 23, I stumbled on a paragraph that made me think that maybe, just maybe, I had found the book I have been waiting to read for nearly a year:
"Amber wasn't showing yet but everyone already knew. She was debating an abortion but, to Larry Novotny's great disappointment, looking to be leaning against it. Larry would have to decide what to do about his wife, who had just had a child herself not that long ago. We felt sorry for Larry, who worried the curved, finger-smudged bill of his Cubs cap endlessly that spring, but we also thought it was pretty obvious that he should have kept his pecker in his pants. We felt sorry for Amber too, but as everyone knows, it takes two to tango. We just hoped they weren't doing it on our desks."
How can one NOT want to keep going?
I love it when I have a book that calls to me across a room. Love it when I am doing something else and see it sprawled across the living room end table just waiting for me. There is nothing like a book that seduces you.
And on another note...does anyone here grow moon flowers? My neighbor has a few and I am thinking of asking him if I can take one of two his pods to plant in my own yard. Do they do well, in general? Are they hard to care for? I have asked my neighbor and he claims to know nothing, that his gardner takes care of all that. Just wondering. They look so gorgeous at night and smell so heavenly, but I really don't have room for any more plants and am already a little stressed out by the care generated by my rose bushes. I don't need or want another finicky plant....
And, lastly...what do y'all think of Joe Biden for veep? Bing is upset, she wanted Hillary Clinton and would settle for no one else. She is even making some comments that I find dangerously close to seeping into the dark side (Republican.) She was never a big Obama supporter and only reluctantly gave up the Hillary ghost. But, I don't know, I really have no problems with Biden. Bing's argument is that he is a "plagiarist" and a "washington insider." I tend to think that he has a pretty good track record in the liberalities of most issues, which sit close to my way of thinking.
We are wisely not discussing it too much, although at brunch at my sister's house this morning, I did notice that when my sister and her husband crowed that McCain could easily take on an Obama-Biden ticket, Bing didn't jump in and argue like she usually does. She made me take them on by myself, which was fine, but I really like having back up....
So, good books, moon flowers and Biden? What do you all think?
And thank you for all your well wishes about my job starting tomorrow. I have managed to get one hell of an ear infection on top of all the rest of the shit going on in my frail, aging body this week, so I am not in top form, but I think I can tough it out. I mean, I feel like I am hearing through a drum and a little dizzy, but hey...I'm upright. What more can they expect?
Friday, August 22, 2008
Another school year, another drowning in forms.
God, I love it when Liv goes back to school. By mid August, she and I are both ready for her to go back.
The hard part is when the inevitable "school supply list" comes in the mail. Liv goes to a Montessori school, so nothing is already there. I have to supply the pens, the mechanical pencils, the erasers, the scissors, the rulers, the protractors, the glue, blah, blah, blah...plus two boxes of kleenex and a foursome of toilet paper to help the school. We buy it all in one fell swoop.
I have yet to take her clothes shopping for clothes. I have been buying her clothes from Hanna Andersson since she was born. When she was an infant, someone gave me a gift certificate to this place and I discovered the wonder of clothes from Hanna. They aren't cheap, but they are the most durable, beautiful clothes that I have ever seen. They last through laundry after laundry and we both love their styles. We buy everything there from her winter coats to her lunch box to her back pack to her shoes every year. We go through the catalog together now, though and Liv gets a say in what she wants. The only drawback is that all the clothes are european sized so I am occasionally stymied when I have to order a tee shirt from school or gym shoes, etc. in American sizes and I have no idea what her size is. I have gotten some strange looks from sales people. Like the time I had to order her swim team bathing suit and I had no idea what size she wore. The salesclerk looked at me like I had plucked this child off the streets or something. Or the time I took her and a few friends bowling and neither she nor I had any idea of what size shoe she wore. (Reminder: it is a four.)
But, that is the easy part. I order the clothes in early August and everything comes right before school starts.
The hard part comes on her first day of school and she comes home with a satchel full of forms for me to fill out. And, natch, they are due the following day. The forms seem insurmountable to me. The medical forms. The catered lunch forms (her school offers a catered lunch if she wants it, so we have to sit down together and go through the monthly menu to see if she wants to bring her lunch or eat the school lunch), the forms saying who is allowed to pick her up after school....(and I acknowledge that this is important since I do have a blog stalker who knows where she goes to school and it has always been one of my biggest worries that she will show up at Liv's school and pretend to be Auntie Marilyn.)
But, good fresh hell. It takes me a whole night to fill out everything.
And it makes me crabby.
Which is why I blame the school for the fight I had with Bing last night.
I had just finished filling out 200 thousand pages of forms and I was tired. So, I was minding my own business laying on the sofa with my eyes shut. Socks tried to get an invite from me to let him come lay with me. This means he sat next to the sofa and made soft little whining noises in his throat. When that didn't work, he gently stuck a paw up and batted my arm with it. I ignored him until he stuck his nose in the air and decided to go bunk in with Liv for the night, his face pouty and hurt.
See if I care, alpha woman. I didn't want to lay with you anyway...
And then I felt Bing pick up my feet and settle down at the end of the sofa.
"How about a foot rub?" she asked.
I nodded, my eyes closed. She popped off my sandals and began a nice soft foot rub.
This lasted for exactly one minute. And then the hand came snaking up my leg. A silent question.
How about a little more than a foot rub?
I exploded.
"Jesus Christ, Bing. Can't I just lay here quietly and listen to the Olympics? Must you ALWAYS turn every little thing into foreplay?"
My feet were promptly dropped and with a huff (and looking remarkably like Socks), she huffed away, her face a mask of pouting.
I lay there for a few minutes and then felt guilty. Because, really, she doesn't turn every little thing into foreplay. And really, it had been a few weeks and I know she gets....needy. It is one of the hard parts in our relationship that I can go for months without um...carnal knowledge and be just fine and dandy but that anything more than four days and she feels frustrated.
So, I sighed and got up and went to look for her. I found her sitting outside on the deck, her laptop resting on her knees as she typed. I sat down next to her.
"I'm sorry..." I began.
She interrupted me. Held up her hand. "No, no, just forget it. I'm sorry that I bothered you."
Okay. This annoyed me. Because she had that tone. That injured tone. That tone that says that she does SO much and asks for so little and why must I make her beg for it all of the time?
I reached over and tried to take her hand. She was having none of it.
"No. I'm busy now. I found some work to do and now I am all into it, so why don't you just go back to your Olympics?"
I sat and stared at her, willing her to look at me. She didn't.
So, I got up and went back into the house. I went back to the sofa and closed my eyes, but I realized that I would only fall asleep in seconds, so I decided to go upstairs and take a bath and go to bed early. I peeked into Liv's room on the way. She was out like a light, but Socks raised his head long enough to see that it was me and sink his head back down on his paws, letting me know that I was no freakin' big deal to him either, missy.
I went in and adjusted Liv's covers. Patted Socks head. He gave me one measly hand lick to let me know that he might forgive me tomorrow, but hey...not tonight, boy howdy.
I took my bath, pouring a generous amount of my honey almond bath oil into the water and then laying back with a wash cloth draped over my face.
When I got back out, I felt better. Less stressed. Okay, okay...a little ready for some love from Bing.
I put on a night shirt and padded down to the kitchen. She was still outside, now sitting in a pool of porch light as she worked, frowning down at facts and figures on her laptop screen.
I peeked out the door. "Hey, you want some ice cream with me?" I asked, smiling my best winsome, come-hither smile.
She looked up. Considered.
"Nope," she finally said, and went back to peering at her screen.
I scooped myself out a bowl of ice cream and went out to stand behind her.
"So, what is so much more interesting than me?" I asked, flirting.
She looked up. "I'm going over our finances," she said.
Oh.
This is never good for flirting. She thinks we spend too much and I think she is a tight wad.
I started to go back inside but she held up a finger.
"Wait up a minute. What did you need to spend 700 dollars on at Hanna Andersson?" she asked me.
I told her that Liv needed new school clothes. And that she needed a new winter coat this year too.
I didn't mention the matching muff and hat. Or those really, really cute tights with roses on them that Liv and I both fell in love with. Or the lunch box with the Peter Max design that was irresistible. The high top sneakers that were both sporty looking and pink.
Bing snorted. "Why don't you just take her to Target, Maria? I mean, we really do need to be more careful with money, you know?"
I sighed again. Offered her a bite of ice cream. She waved me away.
"So, I guess this means that you don't feel like scrambling some eggs?" I said.
Scrambling some eggs=having some sex. Most couples have some term that they refer to in front of the kids to mean "let's get it on tonight, love muffin! Or to say when they want to be all coy and um...kittenish. What's yours?
She didn't answer. Just gave me one of her I-tried-to-initiate-sex-but-you-were-a-bitch looks.
Another sigh from me. "Okay, okay. I will try to be more mindful of our budget, Mom," I said with a slight sneer in my tone.
And then I went into the house and let the door slam a little behind me.
I rinsed out the bowl and went up to bed.
Fell asleep. I didn't notice when she came and joined me.
But, I woke up at 3 in the morning and slung my arm around her waist, putting my nose into her neck, taking a deep sniff of her.
In her sleep, she murmured something and pushed back gently against me.
And this morning, she kissed me goodbye when she left for work with a little more tenderness than usual. Winked at me to let me know that there were no hard feelings. Maybe some eggs would get scrambled this weekend....
Socks is all cheery and bouncy again too. All is forgiven.
I blame it on the school forms.
It is all their fault.
Right?
The hard part is when the inevitable "school supply list" comes in the mail. Liv goes to a Montessori school, so nothing is already there. I have to supply the pens, the mechanical pencils, the erasers, the scissors, the rulers, the protractors, the glue, blah, blah, blah...plus two boxes of kleenex and a foursome of toilet paper to help the school. We buy it all in one fell swoop.
I have yet to take her clothes shopping for clothes. I have been buying her clothes from Hanna Andersson since she was born. When she was an infant, someone gave me a gift certificate to this place and I discovered the wonder of clothes from Hanna. They aren't cheap, but they are the most durable, beautiful clothes that I have ever seen. They last through laundry after laundry and we both love their styles. We buy everything there from her winter coats to her lunch box to her back pack to her shoes every year. We go through the catalog together now, though and Liv gets a say in what she wants. The only drawback is that all the clothes are european sized so I am occasionally stymied when I have to order a tee shirt from school or gym shoes, etc. in American sizes and I have no idea what her size is. I have gotten some strange looks from sales people. Like the time I had to order her swim team bathing suit and I had no idea what size she wore. The salesclerk looked at me like I had plucked this child off the streets or something. Or the time I took her and a few friends bowling and neither she nor I had any idea of what size shoe she wore. (Reminder: it is a four.)
But, that is the easy part. I order the clothes in early August and everything comes right before school starts.
The hard part comes on her first day of school and she comes home with a satchel full of forms for me to fill out. And, natch, they are due the following day. The forms seem insurmountable to me. The medical forms. The catered lunch forms (her school offers a catered lunch if she wants it, so we have to sit down together and go through the monthly menu to see if she wants to bring her lunch or eat the school lunch), the forms saying who is allowed to pick her up after school....(and I acknowledge that this is important since I do have a blog stalker who knows where she goes to school and it has always been one of my biggest worries that she will show up at Liv's school and pretend to be Auntie Marilyn.)
But, good fresh hell. It takes me a whole night to fill out everything.
And it makes me crabby.
Which is why I blame the school for the fight I had with Bing last night.
I had just finished filling out 200 thousand pages of forms and I was tired. So, I was minding my own business laying on the sofa with my eyes shut. Socks tried to get an invite from me to let him come lay with me. This means he sat next to the sofa and made soft little whining noises in his throat. When that didn't work, he gently stuck a paw up and batted my arm with it. I ignored him until he stuck his nose in the air and decided to go bunk in with Liv for the night, his face pouty and hurt.
See if I care, alpha woman. I didn't want to lay with you anyway...
And then I felt Bing pick up my feet and settle down at the end of the sofa.
"How about a foot rub?" she asked.
I nodded, my eyes closed. She popped off my sandals and began a nice soft foot rub.
This lasted for exactly one minute. And then the hand came snaking up my leg. A silent question.
How about a little more than a foot rub?
I exploded.
"Jesus Christ, Bing. Can't I just lay here quietly and listen to the Olympics? Must you ALWAYS turn every little thing into foreplay?"
My feet were promptly dropped and with a huff (and looking remarkably like Socks), she huffed away, her face a mask of pouting.
I lay there for a few minutes and then felt guilty. Because, really, she doesn't turn every little thing into foreplay. And really, it had been a few weeks and I know she gets....needy. It is one of the hard parts in our relationship that I can go for months without um...carnal knowledge and be just fine and dandy but that anything more than four days and she feels frustrated.
So, I sighed and got up and went to look for her. I found her sitting outside on the deck, her laptop resting on her knees as she typed. I sat down next to her.
"I'm sorry..." I began.
She interrupted me. Held up her hand. "No, no, just forget it. I'm sorry that I bothered you."
Okay. This annoyed me. Because she had that tone. That injured tone. That tone that says that she does SO much and asks for so little and why must I make her beg for it all of the time?
I reached over and tried to take her hand. She was having none of it.
"No. I'm busy now. I found some work to do and now I am all into it, so why don't you just go back to your Olympics?"
I sat and stared at her, willing her to look at me. She didn't.
So, I got up and went back into the house. I went back to the sofa and closed my eyes, but I realized that I would only fall asleep in seconds, so I decided to go upstairs and take a bath and go to bed early. I peeked into Liv's room on the way. She was out like a light, but Socks raised his head long enough to see that it was me and sink his head back down on his paws, letting me know that I was no freakin' big deal to him either, missy.
I went in and adjusted Liv's covers. Patted Socks head. He gave me one measly hand lick to let me know that he might forgive me tomorrow, but hey...not tonight, boy howdy.
I took my bath, pouring a generous amount of my honey almond bath oil into the water and then laying back with a wash cloth draped over my face.
When I got back out, I felt better. Less stressed. Okay, okay...a little ready for some love from Bing.
I put on a night shirt and padded down to the kitchen. She was still outside, now sitting in a pool of porch light as she worked, frowning down at facts and figures on her laptop screen.
I peeked out the door. "Hey, you want some ice cream with me?" I asked, smiling my best winsome, come-hither smile.
She looked up. Considered.
"Nope," she finally said, and went back to peering at her screen.
I scooped myself out a bowl of ice cream and went out to stand behind her.
"So, what is so much more interesting than me?" I asked, flirting.
She looked up. "I'm going over our finances," she said.
Oh.
This is never good for flirting. She thinks we spend too much and I think she is a tight wad.
I started to go back inside but she held up a finger.
"Wait up a minute. What did you need to spend 700 dollars on at Hanna Andersson?" she asked me.
I told her that Liv needed new school clothes. And that she needed a new winter coat this year too.
I didn't mention the matching muff and hat. Or those really, really cute tights with roses on them that Liv and I both fell in love with. Or the lunch box with the Peter Max design that was irresistible. The high top sneakers that were both sporty looking and pink.
Bing snorted. "Why don't you just take her to Target, Maria? I mean, we really do need to be more careful with money, you know?"
I sighed again. Offered her a bite of ice cream. She waved me away.
"So, I guess this means that you don't feel like scrambling some eggs?" I said.
Scrambling some eggs=having some sex. Most couples have some term that they refer to in front of the kids to mean "let's get it on tonight, love muffin! Or to say when they want to be all coy and um...kittenish. What's yours?
She didn't answer. Just gave me one of her I-tried-to-initiate-sex-but-you-were-a-bitch looks.
Another sigh from me. "Okay, okay. I will try to be more mindful of our budget, Mom," I said with a slight sneer in my tone.
And then I went into the house and let the door slam a little behind me.
I rinsed out the bowl and went up to bed.
Fell asleep. I didn't notice when she came and joined me.
But, I woke up at 3 in the morning and slung my arm around her waist, putting my nose into her neck, taking a deep sniff of her.
In her sleep, she murmured something and pushed back gently against me.
And this morning, she kissed me goodbye when she left for work with a little more tenderness than usual. Winked at me to let me know that there were no hard feelings. Maybe some eggs would get scrambled this weekend....
Socks is all cheery and bouncy again too. All is forgiven.
I blame it on the school forms.
It is all their fault.
Right?
Thursday, August 21, 2008
The necessary cardinal
We have a cardinal in our back yard. And his mate. I'm not sure where their nest is, they are both pretty cagey, but I do know that they like hanging out in my yard. I have a bird bath that they indulge in daily, carefully rustling their feathers to and fro and fussing at all other birds if they even dare to put one toe in the water while they are bathing.
We don't have a bird feeder anymore, it was drawing mice, so we got rid of it years ago, but I inadvertently found something that both cardinals love to eat.
Swiss cheese chunks.
Odd, I know. I was sitting outside one day a year or so ago and was eating a lunch of swiss cheese chunks and grapes. I noticed a dot of mold on one of the cheese chunks and pitched it onto the patio, thinking that a squirrel might make a meal of it.
The male cardinal was on it in seconds and somehow hauled it up in his beak and flew away with it. I was amused and a little worried. How would they manage to eat it? I mean, it was the equivalent of me eating a chunk of cheese as big as my head. Was that okay for them? It must have been because he has come back for more. I took to buying a large chunk of swiss cheese each week at the grocery store and would try to remember to leave a chunk out for them on the deck rail every couple of days. Somedays, he would remind me, sitting on the deck rail, looking insistently in at me through the kitchen window. He looked like he wanted to tap his foot.
I have grown to love these birds. I have not named them, though. I found that I couldn't figure out one that fit and decided that they already have names that they know and it would be disrespectful to start referring to them as Barney and Betty or Paul and Joanne. I wouldn't like it if they decided that my name was Petunia or Francine or something. So...they go nameless.
And then I started noticing something really, really odd. I haven't shared this with anyone for fear that they will think me a little batty.
The birds seem to know when I am melancholy or scared or really upset, whatever.
I noticed it at first when a much loved neighbor of mine died over a year ago, It was a cold day in March and I went out to the back steps with my heavy coat on and sat on the top step and cried into my knees. A heavy, sad weeping. I looked up and caught a glimpse of a red jacket and there was the male cardinal. He was sitting on the railing of the deck, just inches from my hand. I could have reached up and touched him if I wanted to. He was not looking at me, he was looking straight ahead but I somehow felt as if he were right there with me, for moral support.
"I am so, so sad, cardinal," I told him. He looked at me then. A long steely eyed cardinal look. A buck up, missy sort of look. And then he nodded twice and flew away. I squared my shoulders and got ready to go pick up Liv at school to break the news to her that our beautiful friend had died.
Ever since then, I have seen him and his mate a lot. She is more standoffish, rarely comes to the railing or anywhere near me. She sits in a nearby bush or stands stiffly on top of the naked lady's head on our bird bath and makes tsk tsk noises at him while he perches close to me on the deck railing.
Be careful!" I imagine her saying. "You never can tell about those humans."
He ignores her. I dutifully take his cheese out every few days and often he waits while I lay the cheese down, will look at me carefully until I back away a few feet and then he goes in and swipes it up and soars away with it. Sometimes he nods at me (in an Emily Dickinson way, I imagine he is thanking me) and sometimes he doesn't.
But, when I am upset and go to my place at the top step of the back steps, he always shows up. He never has failed me. Sometimes when I am upset and just standing bleakly looking out of the kitchen window, he will come and perch on the railing and look in at me as if to coax me outside. I will go out and sit and he will perch on the railing right next to me, letting me know that I am not alone.
When I got some bad medical news (that would be "my condition", Terroni) a month or so ago, I didn't wander outside until very late at night, after I had put Liv to bed.
I went outside and sat in the circle of the porch light in a blister of shock, holding a glass of iced tea that went undrunk, but managed to drip all down my leg. I sat silently, carefully, not sure how I felt, not being able to fully access any emotion just yet. I just sat on that top step in the plain white slip that I wear to bed on hot nights; sat there just breathing and looking blankly ahead of myself at nothing in particular.
And there he was. The cardinal. I almost said my cardinal, but I wouldn't dare. He is not mine. But, at any rate, he came. And sat perched on the railing, looking ahead with his steely black eyes.
I felt like he was saying, "Okay, so this really crummy thing happened. But, you will be okay. You will still leave the birds cheese. You will find a way to deal with this. Just take a sip of that wet drink in your hand and then go in and go to bed."
So, that is what I did.
And now, Liv is in school and I am preparing to start a new job on Monday. Preparing to dip my toes back into the grind of the workaday world of offices and meetings and file cabinets again. I am being extraordinarily ridiculous about it all. Mostly, I don't want to give up my mornings with Liv. I don't want to give up ANY of my time with her. I feel like, at nine, I am already losing big chunks of her, why should I set up more distance? And, I worry. I already have so much less energy than I used to have. Can I even pull this off? Will Liv suffer because I will use up all my energy to go to work and then come home and pass out?
I have no way of knowing. All I know is that we really, really needed better insurance and more money. So, I took this step. And I tried to make good choices in who will take care of her. I think I did a good job. Hal and Nora (her caregivers) are excellent people, with warmth and generosity to spare. They have even told me that they will be happy to take Liv on her holidays or when she is ill for the whole day. I am so lucky. I know this. Liv is lucky. She adores both of them and this is a step that she can make and probably should make. It will be good for some lessons in independence.
But, I am sweating it, sure that my absence will cause her to back slide into unacceptable behaviors when she is older. And how silly is that sort of thinking? She will not be a drug addict at fourteen because I went back to work. I know this in my heart and suspect that all this angst is really more about me missing her than about her missing me.
So, I sat outside last night after I put Liv to bed. And sipped my tea. I've been nauseated and dizzy lately from medical treatments and so kept reminding myself to breath in and out deeply, to carefully sip my tea. To swallow it gently.
And the cardinal was there. Sitting on his post, looking straight ahead.
Except this time, something happened.
I sat very still, with my head sinking into knees again, my cheek resting on my right knee, feeling my throat close up with self pity. I hate being like this, am not usually the type to feel sorry for myself. I know how lucky I am, in general. This was just a small glitch in the system.
But, nevertheless, I felt the tears coming, the fears. What if I don't get better? What if? What if? What if?
And I felt the slight step of two feet on my bare shoulder. I didn't move. There was a weight to those feet. This wasn't a cicada or a hornet or a rather large bug.
This was a bird.
A cardinal, if I wasn't mistaken.
On my shoulder. Standing erect and without fear.
I didn't move for ten long seconds and then I felt him shift and alight. I looked up and he was back sitting on the railing.
"Thanks," I told him.
He nodded once in his stiff manner and flew away.
And I got to my feet and went in to shut off the lights and go to bed.
We don't have a bird feeder anymore, it was drawing mice, so we got rid of it years ago, but I inadvertently found something that both cardinals love to eat.
Swiss cheese chunks.
Odd, I know. I was sitting outside one day a year or so ago and was eating a lunch of swiss cheese chunks and grapes. I noticed a dot of mold on one of the cheese chunks and pitched it onto the patio, thinking that a squirrel might make a meal of it.
The male cardinal was on it in seconds and somehow hauled it up in his beak and flew away with it. I was amused and a little worried. How would they manage to eat it? I mean, it was the equivalent of me eating a chunk of cheese as big as my head. Was that okay for them? It must have been because he has come back for more. I took to buying a large chunk of swiss cheese each week at the grocery store and would try to remember to leave a chunk out for them on the deck rail every couple of days. Somedays, he would remind me, sitting on the deck rail, looking insistently in at me through the kitchen window. He looked like he wanted to tap his foot.
I have grown to love these birds. I have not named them, though. I found that I couldn't figure out one that fit and decided that they already have names that they know and it would be disrespectful to start referring to them as Barney and Betty or Paul and Joanne. I wouldn't like it if they decided that my name was Petunia or Francine or something. So...they go nameless.
And then I started noticing something really, really odd. I haven't shared this with anyone for fear that they will think me a little batty.
The birds seem to know when I am melancholy or scared or really upset, whatever.
I noticed it at first when a much loved neighbor of mine died over a year ago, It was a cold day in March and I went out to the back steps with my heavy coat on and sat on the top step and cried into my knees. A heavy, sad weeping. I looked up and caught a glimpse of a red jacket and there was the male cardinal. He was sitting on the railing of the deck, just inches from my hand. I could have reached up and touched him if I wanted to. He was not looking at me, he was looking straight ahead but I somehow felt as if he were right there with me, for moral support.
"I am so, so sad, cardinal," I told him. He looked at me then. A long steely eyed cardinal look. A buck up, missy sort of look. And then he nodded twice and flew away. I squared my shoulders and got ready to go pick up Liv at school to break the news to her that our beautiful friend had died.
Ever since then, I have seen him and his mate a lot. She is more standoffish, rarely comes to the railing or anywhere near me. She sits in a nearby bush or stands stiffly on top of the naked lady's head on our bird bath and makes tsk tsk noises at him while he perches close to me on the deck railing.
Be careful!" I imagine her saying. "You never can tell about those humans."
He ignores her. I dutifully take his cheese out every few days and often he waits while I lay the cheese down, will look at me carefully until I back away a few feet and then he goes in and swipes it up and soars away with it. Sometimes he nods at me (in an Emily Dickinson way, I imagine he is thanking me) and sometimes he doesn't.
But, when I am upset and go to my place at the top step of the back steps, he always shows up. He never has failed me. Sometimes when I am upset and just standing bleakly looking out of the kitchen window, he will come and perch on the railing and look in at me as if to coax me outside. I will go out and sit and he will perch on the railing right next to me, letting me know that I am not alone.
When I got some bad medical news (that would be "my condition", Terroni) a month or so ago, I didn't wander outside until very late at night, after I had put Liv to bed.
I went outside and sat in the circle of the porch light in a blister of shock, holding a glass of iced tea that went undrunk, but managed to drip all down my leg. I sat silently, carefully, not sure how I felt, not being able to fully access any emotion just yet. I just sat on that top step in the plain white slip that I wear to bed on hot nights; sat there just breathing and looking blankly ahead of myself at nothing in particular.
And there he was. The cardinal. I almost said my cardinal, but I wouldn't dare. He is not mine. But, at any rate, he came. And sat perched on the railing, looking ahead with his steely black eyes.
I felt like he was saying, "Okay, so this really crummy thing happened. But, you will be okay. You will still leave the birds cheese. You will find a way to deal with this. Just take a sip of that wet drink in your hand and then go in and go to bed."
So, that is what I did.
And now, Liv is in school and I am preparing to start a new job on Monday. Preparing to dip my toes back into the grind of the workaday world of offices and meetings and file cabinets again. I am being extraordinarily ridiculous about it all. Mostly, I don't want to give up my mornings with Liv. I don't want to give up ANY of my time with her. I feel like, at nine, I am already losing big chunks of her, why should I set up more distance? And, I worry. I already have so much less energy than I used to have. Can I even pull this off? Will Liv suffer because I will use up all my energy to go to work and then come home and pass out?
I have no way of knowing. All I know is that we really, really needed better insurance and more money. So, I took this step. And I tried to make good choices in who will take care of her. I think I did a good job. Hal and Nora (her caregivers) are excellent people, with warmth and generosity to spare. They have even told me that they will be happy to take Liv on her holidays or when she is ill for the whole day. I am so lucky. I know this. Liv is lucky. She adores both of them and this is a step that she can make and probably should make. It will be good for some lessons in independence.
But, I am sweating it, sure that my absence will cause her to back slide into unacceptable behaviors when she is older. And how silly is that sort of thinking? She will not be a drug addict at fourteen because I went back to work. I know this in my heart and suspect that all this angst is really more about me missing her than about her missing me.
So, I sat outside last night after I put Liv to bed. And sipped my tea. I've been nauseated and dizzy lately from medical treatments and so kept reminding myself to breath in and out deeply, to carefully sip my tea. To swallow it gently.
And the cardinal was there. Sitting on his post, looking straight ahead.
Except this time, something happened.
I sat very still, with my head sinking into knees again, my cheek resting on my right knee, feeling my throat close up with self pity. I hate being like this, am not usually the type to feel sorry for myself. I know how lucky I am, in general. This was just a small glitch in the system.
But, nevertheless, I felt the tears coming, the fears. What if I don't get better? What if? What if? What if?
And I felt the slight step of two feet on my bare shoulder. I didn't move. There was a weight to those feet. This wasn't a cicada or a hornet or a rather large bug.
This was a bird.
A cardinal, if I wasn't mistaken.
On my shoulder. Standing erect and without fear.
I didn't move for ten long seconds and then I felt him shift and alight. I looked up and he was back sitting on the railing.
"Thanks," I told him.
He nodded once in his stiff manner and flew away.
And I got to my feet and went in to shut off the lights and go to bed.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Yes, a recipe from Maria. Stop LAUGHING.
Ok, this one is for Dive, who requested that we all publish our favorite foods that we ate as children.
My mother was a terrible cook. My Da was not much better. Somehow, we survived and out of four of us girls, three have turned into really good cooks. That would be me who was the lone bad cook. Not only do I detest cooking, but I really, really stink at it. I am a forgetful baker, I tend to do a magnificent job at preparing a cake or pie, whatever and then I will pop it in the oven and forget about it while I go outside and read a book for two hours. But, I have a few things that I can make that my mother could make too.
This is one of them.
Soda Bread.
4 cups plain flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups buttermilk
Sieve the dry ingredients into a large bowl. Scoop up handfuls and allow to drop back into the bowl to aerate the mixture. Add buttermilk to make a soft dough. Now, work quickly as the buttermilk and soda are already reacting to each other like a bad date. Knead the dough lightly. Too much handling will toughen, while too little means it won't rise properly.
Form a round loaf about as thick as your fist. Place it on a lightly floured baking sheet and cut a cross in the top with a floured knife. Put at once to bake near the very top of a 450 degree oven for 30-45 minutes. When baked, the loaf will sound hollow when rapped on the bottom with your knuckles. Wrap immediately in a clean tea-towel to stop the crust from hardening too much.
There. Easy, right? It took me YEARS to get this recipe right. I think I freaked out about the kneading shit. I tended to sling it around too much and my bread always came out tough and chewy. After awhile, I told myself to pretend that I was giving a baby a massage when I kneaded it and it came out perfectly.
It goes well with Irish stew. And the beef stew recipes for Irish stew are false. To make a true Irish stew, use lamb.
Oh...and to those of you who asked for my mother's recipe for cucumbers in milk and vinegar...
All I can say is that I don't measure. I slice up some cucumbers and throw them into a bowl. I add about a cup of milk or cream and half that much vinegar. Swirl it around. Shake some black pepper into it. And then we eat it.
And yes, it is delicious.
So...all of you can just stop your snickering that I posted a recipe now. I can't make much, but I can make a few things. And anyway, I much prefer take out...
It was Liv's first day of school today and I feel like a fish out of water without my girl coming in and bothering me every five minutes to come outside and watch her do tricks on her skateboard. Or take her to a friend's house. Or pick up a friend. Or watch the Olympics with her. Or sit outside while she does chalk drawings and read to her from her Goosebumps book.
Actually, it feels kind of nice to actually get a chance to read and catch up on email. (That would be with you, Terroni. We seem to be on an email marathon lately. And it is so nice to have someone who knows how to snicker with me....)
And, now...I must go pick up the child from school already. I feel as if I just sat down....
I admit that I missed her. But, I must also admit that it was very, very nice to have her away for awhile. (Bad mother. Bad mother!)
My mother was a terrible cook. My Da was not much better. Somehow, we survived and out of four of us girls, three have turned into really good cooks. That would be me who was the lone bad cook. Not only do I detest cooking, but I really, really stink at it. I am a forgetful baker, I tend to do a magnificent job at preparing a cake or pie, whatever and then I will pop it in the oven and forget about it while I go outside and read a book for two hours. But, I have a few things that I can make that my mother could make too.
This is one of them.
Soda Bread.
4 cups plain flour
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon sugar
2 cups buttermilk
Sieve the dry ingredients into a large bowl. Scoop up handfuls and allow to drop back into the bowl to aerate the mixture. Add buttermilk to make a soft dough. Now, work quickly as the buttermilk and soda are already reacting to each other like a bad date. Knead the dough lightly. Too much handling will toughen, while too little means it won't rise properly.
Form a round loaf about as thick as your fist. Place it on a lightly floured baking sheet and cut a cross in the top with a floured knife. Put at once to bake near the very top of a 450 degree oven for 30-45 minutes. When baked, the loaf will sound hollow when rapped on the bottom with your knuckles. Wrap immediately in a clean tea-towel to stop the crust from hardening too much.
There. Easy, right? It took me YEARS to get this recipe right. I think I freaked out about the kneading shit. I tended to sling it around too much and my bread always came out tough and chewy. After awhile, I told myself to pretend that I was giving a baby a massage when I kneaded it and it came out perfectly.
It goes well with Irish stew. And the beef stew recipes for Irish stew are false. To make a true Irish stew, use lamb.
Oh...and to those of you who asked for my mother's recipe for cucumbers in milk and vinegar...
All I can say is that I don't measure. I slice up some cucumbers and throw them into a bowl. I add about a cup of milk or cream and half that much vinegar. Swirl it around. Shake some black pepper into it. And then we eat it.
And yes, it is delicious.
So...all of you can just stop your snickering that I posted a recipe now. I can't make much, but I can make a few things. And anyway, I much prefer take out...
It was Liv's first day of school today and I feel like a fish out of water without my girl coming in and bothering me every five minutes to come outside and watch her do tricks on her skateboard. Or take her to a friend's house. Or pick up a friend. Or watch the Olympics with her. Or sit outside while she does chalk drawings and read to her from her Goosebumps book.
Actually, it feels kind of nice to actually get a chance to read and catch up on email. (That would be with you, Terroni. We seem to be on an email marathon lately. And it is so nice to have someone who knows how to snicker with me....)
And, now...I must go pick up the child from school already. I feel as if I just sat down....
I admit that I missed her. But, I must also admit that it was very, very nice to have her away for awhile. (Bad mother. Bad mother!)
Sunday, August 17, 2008
For Nirand...because you asked.
I called him a few nights ago after midnight. Nirand is just east of the Rocky Mountains now, on the high plains of Colorado, checking out wind-laid deposits of loess.
I knew he would take my call.
He did. Took seven rings, but he answered.
"It's me," I said.
"I know. I have caller id," he informed me. "What's up? Are you okay?"
I said yes, that I was just in that place. That place where you fell asleep too early and now it is after midnight and you are awake and scared and don't want to wake up your partner because she has a busy day tomorrow. Did he have a minute to talk me down off the ledge?
He did. He knew that I wasn't really on a ledge, but that I just needed to talk.
So, we did. We talked about generalities. What his sky looked like in Colorado compared to mine in Nebraska. We talked about what we ate for supper. I thanked him for the Lost in Translation site that he sent home with Liv.
"It reminded me of you," he said.
I said yes, I knew. And ditto.
It had been nearly a half hour and finally I felt like my skin was mine again, not some strange coat that I had accidentally picked up somewhere. I told him so.
We readied our goodbyes.
"You're the only person that understands this," I told him.
He said he knew that.
"I wish I had some site I could send you," I said, "Some way to tell you how grateful I am that you are around."
He said that one day I would think of it and then I should let him know. In the meantime, we both needed our sleep.
We hung up.
Well, Nirand. I thought of it. Something to explain it, this connection that we have.
I'll try to explain.
I've always loved the book and movie, Out of Africa. I read the book by Isak Dinesen (Karen von Blixen-Finecke) first and was caught from the first sentence of
I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills..."
When the movie followed, I saw it and wept at the scene where Denys Finch-Hatton takes Karen up in his airplane for a ride.
I've wept at that precise scene each and every time I have seen that movie. And I bet I have caught it on television at least ten times.
I never knew why that particular scene touched me until now.
It's because I always yearned for someone to understand me so perfectly, to be such a part of my tribe that I didn't have to say a word. That all that was necessary was to lift my hand and reach behind me for their hand and know that all was understood. That sometimes our lives are just so piercingly lovely, so awful, so terrifying, so fragile, so tender, so bright and beautiful that we are simply overwhelmed. And having someone right there who just...gets it is such a luxury, such a profound gift, that no words are needed.
That would be you, Nirand. The first time I met you, it was like a jolt of something, not lightning, not anything searing or hot, just a feeling of
Ah ha.
There you are.
You took my hand in your two hands and smiled directly into my eyes, your mouth widening into a smile with too white teeth in your India skin.
It was tribal recognition. A knowing that yes, here was someone who saw the world as I did. Someone who I would have no secrets from, would not need to because I would never be judged.
It was not like falling in love, it was more like falling into a mirror.
I felt understood and recognized. Cherished for no other reason except that I was a part of the whole. Like an arm recognizing a matching shoulder socket.
There are many ways that people sit in our hearts, many capacities that a person fills.
With my partner, Bing, it was like finally quenching a thirst after going for years without a good drink of water and finally tasting it and realizing that I could never live without it again. That cold, clear, perfect cup of water. That was falling in love. Not the silly, infantile yearning of a girl, but the achingly sweet yearning of a woman.
With my child, Liv, it was instantaneous. The second I saw her, I became brave. I knew with perfect clarity that I would die for her. In a split second. Out of all my loving journeys, this was probably the most overwhelming, the most momentous. It engulfed me and swallowed me whole. It brought me instant terror and instant blinding joy. I have never known anything like it and would never make light of mother love again in my lifetime.
But, with you, Nirand, it was recognition. It was a sweetness, a warmth. It wasn't something that I needed next to me at all times like my love for my partner or my love for my child. But, it was something that sat next to me no matter how far you were from me. A soft knowing.
And I realized that it was what I had been weeping about when I saw Out of Africa every time. It was something that I hoped would happen to me but never really thought it existed.
Until I met you. My tribe mate.
So, I am telling you that I found the site, Nirand. The place that explains it for me.
And I have a question for all the rest of you. Watch this and tell me what you think. It is not that long and the best part comes at the end. Is there someone in your life, male or female, young or old, rich or poor, who does this for you too? (I apologize for not knowing how to post this directly on my blog, maybe someone can help me out sometime and instruct me about how to do that.)
Is there someone in your life who could land a plane in your back yard and tell you that they just learned to fly yesterday and you would willingly go soaring through the sky with them because your trust is that deep, your love of them that true, your instinct about their ability that sure? And when they take you sailing around to see all the beauty, angst and truth that is in your life, your world, can you reach behind yourself without uttering a word and know that they will take your hand in perfect understanding?
Because that is what you are to me, Nirand. You are my ah ha.
It pleases me to no end to know that you are here.
Who are your tribe mates and how did you find each other?
I'm curious.
I knew he would take my call.
He did. Took seven rings, but he answered.
"It's me," I said.
"I know. I have caller id," he informed me. "What's up? Are you okay?"
I said yes, that I was just in that place. That place where you fell asleep too early and now it is after midnight and you are awake and scared and don't want to wake up your partner because she has a busy day tomorrow. Did he have a minute to talk me down off the ledge?
He did. He knew that I wasn't really on a ledge, but that I just needed to talk.
So, we did. We talked about generalities. What his sky looked like in Colorado compared to mine in Nebraska. We talked about what we ate for supper. I thanked him for the Lost in Translation site that he sent home with Liv.
"It reminded me of you," he said.
I said yes, I knew. And ditto.
It had been nearly a half hour and finally I felt like my skin was mine again, not some strange coat that I had accidentally picked up somewhere. I told him so.
We readied our goodbyes.
"You're the only person that understands this," I told him.
He said he knew that.
"I wish I had some site I could send you," I said, "Some way to tell you how grateful I am that you are around."
He said that one day I would think of it and then I should let him know. In the meantime, we both needed our sleep.
We hung up.
Well, Nirand. I thought of it. Something to explain it, this connection that we have.
I'll try to explain.
I've always loved the book and movie, Out of Africa. I read the book by Isak Dinesen (Karen von Blixen-Finecke) first and was caught from the first sentence of
I had a farm in Africa at the foot of the Ngong Hills..."
When the movie followed, I saw it and wept at the scene where Denys Finch-Hatton takes Karen up in his airplane for a ride.
I've wept at that precise scene each and every time I have seen that movie. And I bet I have caught it on television at least ten times.
I never knew why that particular scene touched me until now.
It's because I always yearned for someone to understand me so perfectly, to be such a part of my tribe that I didn't have to say a word. That all that was necessary was to lift my hand and reach behind me for their hand and know that all was understood. That sometimes our lives are just so piercingly lovely, so awful, so terrifying, so fragile, so tender, so bright and beautiful that we are simply overwhelmed. And having someone right there who just...gets it is such a luxury, such a profound gift, that no words are needed.
That would be you, Nirand. The first time I met you, it was like a jolt of something, not lightning, not anything searing or hot, just a feeling of
Ah ha.
There you are.
You took my hand in your two hands and smiled directly into my eyes, your mouth widening into a smile with too white teeth in your India skin.
It was tribal recognition. A knowing that yes, here was someone who saw the world as I did. Someone who I would have no secrets from, would not need to because I would never be judged.
It was not like falling in love, it was more like falling into a mirror.
I felt understood and recognized. Cherished for no other reason except that I was a part of the whole. Like an arm recognizing a matching shoulder socket.
There are many ways that people sit in our hearts, many capacities that a person fills.
With my partner, Bing, it was like finally quenching a thirst after going for years without a good drink of water and finally tasting it and realizing that I could never live without it again. That cold, clear, perfect cup of water. That was falling in love. Not the silly, infantile yearning of a girl, but the achingly sweet yearning of a woman.
With my child, Liv, it was instantaneous. The second I saw her, I became brave. I knew with perfect clarity that I would die for her. In a split second. Out of all my loving journeys, this was probably the most overwhelming, the most momentous. It engulfed me and swallowed me whole. It brought me instant terror and instant blinding joy. I have never known anything like it and would never make light of mother love again in my lifetime.
But, with you, Nirand, it was recognition. It was a sweetness, a warmth. It wasn't something that I needed next to me at all times like my love for my partner or my love for my child. But, it was something that sat next to me no matter how far you were from me. A soft knowing.
And I realized that it was what I had been weeping about when I saw Out of Africa every time. It was something that I hoped would happen to me but never really thought it existed.
Until I met you. My tribe mate.
So, I am telling you that I found the site, Nirand. The place that explains it for me.
And I have a question for all the rest of you. Watch this and tell me what you think. It is not that long and the best part comes at the end. Is there someone in your life, male or female, young or old, rich or poor, who does this for you too? (I apologize for not knowing how to post this directly on my blog, maybe someone can help me out sometime and instruct me about how to do that.)
Is there someone in your life who could land a plane in your back yard and tell you that they just learned to fly yesterday and you would willingly go soaring through the sky with them because your trust is that deep, your love of them that true, your instinct about their ability that sure? And when they take you sailing around to see all the beauty, angst and truth that is in your life, your world, can you reach behind yourself without uttering a word and know that they will take your hand in perfect understanding?
Because that is what you are to me, Nirand. You are my ah ha.
It pleases me to no end to know that you are here.
Who are your tribe mates and how did you find each other?
I'm curious.
Joker dreams, life with dogs, and changes.
I have been having the oddest dreams lately. Heath Ledger as The Joker dreams. I think that I have had at least four or five of them. Mostly, I am at the university where I teach part time and he is walking down the hall towards me. It is always evening...dusk, and I am always alone. I will see him and try to hide, but it is always in some asinine place such as behind a plant or a coffeepot!
I had a feeling that character would stay with me. There is so much buzz surrounding Ledger's performance, how it is oscar worthy, etc. I agree. I've only had the bad fortune to meet three true psychopaths in my career and I admit that his performance chilled me to the bone. It was as if he had observed a true psychotic and then spread him out perfectly on the screen.
I remember the first one I met. I was sitting across my desk from this guy doing a basic screening interview. He came across as eerily cheerful and calm. But there were the little details, the voracious lip licking, the random eye darting. The chuckling that at first seemed jovial and then was obviously staccato. The restless energy channeled carelessly into small bursts of speech that were perfectly sane in a perfectly crazy way. I remember swallowing very hard after he was safely away from me.
Ledger got it exactly right and that is probably why that character is invading my dreams. Lots of things to be leery about in my life right now. I am starting to feel worried about the new job. Will I be able to do it? What will I do now that I cannot just cancel an appointment if I feel ill? Is it the right thing to do? Should I take this job knowing that my health is not dependable? Is that fair?
And I am starting to feel melancholy about not seeing Liv in the mornings. And what about her holiday and summer breaks? What about all those days when I cannot be here? What if Bing can't be here? Do I know enough people to babysit her? Will she be okay with that? Will she be a drug addict when she is fourteen because I wasn't around when she was nine and it was her Christmas break?
Silly, I know. People do this ALL OF THE TIME. Yet, it is hard for me. I gave up a steady job when she was an infant with the sole intent of staying home to raise her, give us both a hands on mother/daughter experience.
Bing tells me that I worry far too much. That she is NINE, for fuck sakes. That it will do her good to have a varied experience with so many people to take care of her.
Have to let it go. So, instead....it leaks out into my dreams, my fear. I am being stalked by a joker, a man, a variable that I cannot predict. I must tell myself to stop hiding in my dreams, to invite the joker into my office, offer him a cup of good cuban coffee and watch him turn from the joker into just...maybe...Heath Ledger.
Yeah, that is what I will do. How about all of you working parents out there? How did you manage this shit?
And now on to a sweeter, funnier topic to ease up a bit.
Socks. Our dog. Our funny, sweet faced dog.
He reminds me of Liv when she was a baby sometimes.
He likes to be in bodily contact with one of us at all times. If I am sitting on the sofa, he will jump up and lay down on the cushion next to me, inches away. I will be reading my book and suddenly, I will feel his paw snaking out to nestle under my thigh or to rest on top of my free hand. I will look down and he will be stretched out, his paw extended on top of my hand, holding it in dog fashion. His eyes will be closed, but he knows that I am close.
This morning, I was sitting in the dining room, reading my book and eating a bowl of oatmeal. I felt him crawl under my chair, stretch out under it and rest his head delicately on my bare foot. I finished my oatmeal and started thinking about getting up to go get dressed, but hesitated to move. Socks seemed so comfortable. So, I sat there for awhile, letting my thoughts skitter around delicately, gazing out the window into the street outside, not wanting to disturb him.
It reminded me of all the times when Liv was a baby and I would rock her to sleep in her rocker, back and forth, back and forth. It would be a sunny afternoon or a rainy one, a cold, icy day or a heat pocked one. I would be exhausted and want nothing more than an hour to myself, to maybe have a cup of tea, read the paper, check my email. I would rock slowly, with careful rhythm, barely breathing, willing her to sleep. I would watch Liv's fierce brow puckering and her lips pursing in and out and slowly, slowly, slowly go slack with sleep. See her eyes begin their REM dance and her fat pink lips go open like a dolls.
I would then realize that she was holding a hank of my hair tightly in her fist. My hair was long then, nearly to my waist and it was her security, holding me to her like that. Even in sleep, she needed to know I was right....there.
It would take me long minutes to pry my hair from her hand. Sometimes I would just give up and sit there and hold her for the duration of her nap, telling myself that when she was nine, I would miss this closeness.
And I would, of course.
And now, there is Socks, his head resolutely resting on my foot, trying to keep me next to him.
So, I sat for awhile. Of course I did. Eventually, I would gently extricate myself, with a whisper of apology.
I often feel as if my life has always been held close by another in some need to keep me near. And it is a good feeling most of the time, but sometimes it feels claustrophobic, too clingy.
Bing often holds my hand while she drives. Our palms begin to sweat, but neither one of us will let go. She likes to know that I am right...there and I don't mind the need. I will wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly feel scared and alone and reach out to find the small of her back and place my palm flat against it. She will sigh and push back into my hand in her sleep, even in her dreams knowing that I need the contact and allowing it.
But now, I feel my life starting to pull away a bit from those that I love. My job will take me away from the honeyed but too hectic mornings of prying Liv out of her bed and pushing her off to the school room.
Life is fluid and full of change. The key is to embrace the change, welcome it. I know this. But, there is always a part of me that misses that which holds me down too.
I miss the small fist clutching at my braid.
I miss the little black furry head nestled on my bare toes.
I miss the hand reaching out to find mine across the sticky leather seats of the car.
I fear the changes that are coming into my small nest.
And then the joker shows up in my dreams, snaking along the long ugly university green halls. Smiling, stalking like the peeper he is.
And I flail until I can find the small of Bing's back.
I had a feeling that character would stay with me. There is so much buzz surrounding Ledger's performance, how it is oscar worthy, etc. I agree. I've only had the bad fortune to meet three true psychopaths in my career and I admit that his performance chilled me to the bone. It was as if he had observed a true psychotic and then spread him out perfectly on the screen.
I remember the first one I met. I was sitting across my desk from this guy doing a basic screening interview. He came across as eerily cheerful and calm. But there were the little details, the voracious lip licking, the random eye darting. The chuckling that at first seemed jovial and then was obviously staccato. The restless energy channeled carelessly into small bursts of speech that were perfectly sane in a perfectly crazy way. I remember swallowing very hard after he was safely away from me.
Ledger got it exactly right and that is probably why that character is invading my dreams. Lots of things to be leery about in my life right now. I am starting to feel worried about the new job. Will I be able to do it? What will I do now that I cannot just cancel an appointment if I feel ill? Is it the right thing to do? Should I take this job knowing that my health is not dependable? Is that fair?
And I am starting to feel melancholy about not seeing Liv in the mornings. And what about her holiday and summer breaks? What about all those days when I cannot be here? What if Bing can't be here? Do I know enough people to babysit her? Will she be okay with that? Will she be a drug addict when she is fourteen because I wasn't around when she was nine and it was her Christmas break?
Silly, I know. People do this ALL OF THE TIME. Yet, it is hard for me. I gave up a steady job when she was an infant with the sole intent of staying home to raise her, give us both a hands on mother/daughter experience.
Bing tells me that I worry far too much. That she is NINE, for fuck sakes. That it will do her good to have a varied experience with so many people to take care of her.
Have to let it go. So, instead....it leaks out into my dreams, my fear. I am being stalked by a joker, a man, a variable that I cannot predict. I must tell myself to stop hiding in my dreams, to invite the joker into my office, offer him a cup of good cuban coffee and watch him turn from the joker into just...maybe...Heath Ledger.
Yeah, that is what I will do. How about all of you working parents out there? How did you manage this shit?
And now on to a sweeter, funnier topic to ease up a bit.
Socks. Our dog. Our funny, sweet faced dog.
He reminds me of Liv when she was a baby sometimes.
He likes to be in bodily contact with one of us at all times. If I am sitting on the sofa, he will jump up and lay down on the cushion next to me, inches away. I will be reading my book and suddenly, I will feel his paw snaking out to nestle under my thigh or to rest on top of my free hand. I will look down and he will be stretched out, his paw extended on top of my hand, holding it in dog fashion. His eyes will be closed, but he knows that I am close.
This morning, I was sitting in the dining room, reading my book and eating a bowl of oatmeal. I felt him crawl under my chair, stretch out under it and rest his head delicately on my bare foot. I finished my oatmeal and started thinking about getting up to go get dressed, but hesitated to move. Socks seemed so comfortable. So, I sat there for awhile, letting my thoughts skitter around delicately, gazing out the window into the street outside, not wanting to disturb him.
It reminded me of all the times when Liv was a baby and I would rock her to sleep in her rocker, back and forth, back and forth. It would be a sunny afternoon or a rainy one, a cold, icy day or a heat pocked one. I would be exhausted and want nothing more than an hour to myself, to maybe have a cup of tea, read the paper, check my email. I would rock slowly, with careful rhythm, barely breathing, willing her to sleep. I would watch Liv's fierce brow puckering and her lips pursing in and out and slowly, slowly, slowly go slack with sleep. See her eyes begin their REM dance and her fat pink lips go open like a dolls.
I would then realize that she was holding a hank of my hair tightly in her fist. My hair was long then, nearly to my waist and it was her security, holding me to her like that. Even in sleep, she needed to know I was right....there.
It would take me long minutes to pry my hair from her hand. Sometimes I would just give up and sit there and hold her for the duration of her nap, telling myself that when she was nine, I would miss this closeness.
And I would, of course.
And now, there is Socks, his head resolutely resting on my foot, trying to keep me next to him.
So, I sat for awhile. Of course I did. Eventually, I would gently extricate myself, with a whisper of apology.
I often feel as if my life has always been held close by another in some need to keep me near. And it is a good feeling most of the time, but sometimes it feels claustrophobic, too clingy.
Bing often holds my hand while she drives. Our palms begin to sweat, but neither one of us will let go. She likes to know that I am right...there and I don't mind the need. I will wake up in the middle of the night and suddenly feel scared and alone and reach out to find the small of her back and place my palm flat against it. She will sigh and push back into my hand in her sleep, even in her dreams knowing that I need the contact and allowing it.
But now, I feel my life starting to pull away a bit from those that I love. My job will take me away from the honeyed but too hectic mornings of prying Liv out of her bed and pushing her off to the school room.
Life is fluid and full of change. The key is to embrace the change, welcome it. I know this. But, there is always a part of me that misses that which holds me down too.
I miss the small fist clutching at my braid.
I miss the little black furry head nestled on my bare toes.
I miss the hand reaching out to find mine across the sticky leather seats of the car.
I fear the changes that are coming into my small nest.
And then the joker shows up in my dreams, snaking along the long ugly university green halls. Smiling, stalking like the peeper he is.
And I flail until I can find the small of Bing's back.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Hogwarts thoughts.
First, before I forget...a big reach out to Geisselle, who wrote a comment on a long ago post I did on "Is Hogwarts real?" and got my brain buzzing. Geisselle...no way to reach you since you don't have a blog and didn't leave an address, but I wanted you to know that yes, even though you are only thirteen, it is GOOD to have such a delightful imagination. I hope you never lose that. And thank you for the lovely compliments. Take care of yourself and feel free to write to me again any time. You sound like a wonderful child.
So, anyway, a few nights ago, at dinner, Liv came trouncing to the table, mad as a wet hen. She announced that she had just read on the internet that the next Harry Potter movie, due out in November, was going to be delayed until July of 2009!
I thought she had misread something, but when I checked online with her later, I discovered that she was correct. They are delaying the release of the movie in order to garner more money from it since July is a big month for "family blockbusters."
I don't get that. I don't really like going to films in the summer. I like going when it is cold outside. I like sitting in a warm cocoon of a theater and getting all lost in a good movie and then coming home to a crock pot of chili. In the summer, I want to be outside. I don't like being cooped up in a theater. How about you? Why do you think July is such a powerhouse month for movies in America? Any ideas?
But, this topic somehow propelled my little family to discuss Hogwart's houses. Liv brought up the question of what house did we think we would belong to if we were going to go to Hogwarts?
Well, we talked about it and agreed that each house has a distinctive trait that one must have to fully belong.
To be Gryffindor, one must be brave at heart, be daring, have lots of nerve and chivalry.
To be Hufflepuff, you need to be just, loyal,patient and unafraid of toil.
To be Slytherin, you must be cunning, ambitious and not afraid to use any means to achieve your ends.
To be Ravenclaw, you need wit, a love of learning and brains to spare.
We decided immediately that Liv was a true Gryffindor. She evokes all the qualities needed to be in Harry Potter's circle.
We went on to Bing. At first, we thought maybe Hufflepuff, but I decided that no, that was inaccurate. I have always thought of Hufflepuffs as a bit candy assed. (Sorry to those of you who really are Hufflepuffs. I know that Cedric was one and I always thought he was pretty damn hot.)
Bing is too disciplined to be a Hufflepuff. This is a woman who has NEVER smoked a cigarette or taken illegal drugs of any kind simply because she has regarded her body as a temple since she was a teenager. She might drink a beer rarely or take a sip of wine, but the key word here is rarely. She is also a near vegetarian. She only slips up and craves ice cream when she is pre-menstrual, any other time, she has no problem just saying no to fudge or brownies. She runs five miles every morning no matter what the weather and works out at the gym daily. She is probably one of the most disciplined women I know. She is extremely fit and toned. To see the muscles in her arms and legs when she mows a lawn is to see a beautiful woman.
She is also extraordinarily ambitious. She decided a few years ago that she wanted to be part of the Apple family. So, she went to every seminar she could attend, paid for them on her own and educated herself about the company. She is now hired regularly by Apple to do technical writing on a freelance basis and she is invited to present at their seminars. She no longer has to pay her way. They pay her way and put her up in fancy hotels too.
Bing is a talented, accomplished musician. She developed a thick skin years ago, said that if you want to work in the entertainment industry in any capacity, you must be able to handle rejection. She worked hard at her craft and can play several instruments not just ably but with real finesse.
We decided that yes, unfortunately, she was a Slytherin. She had no problem with it.
"I always thought that Snape was brilliant," she said.
I did too.
That left me. Bing thought that maybe I could be a Gryffindor like Liv. Liv demurred. She commented that she didn't see me as all that brave or nervy ("No offense, Mama, but you are kind of a quiet, solitary person," she said.)
Bing guffawed.
"Your mother is NOT shy or all that quiet," she told Liv.
I begged to differ.
"I am VERY shy inside," I told them. "I hate parties, am a homebody and I think I could be a pretty good hermit as long as I had books to read."
Bing smirked. She looked at Liv. "You should have seen your mother in college," she told her. "She was the first one to get up and dance."
Then, she looked at me. "And when we would go to parties, you were no Alice," she told me. "You were Shane all over the place. You walked in, looked around and took the spoils."
(If you don't watch The L Word, this is not going to make much sense...sorry.)
I was flabbergasted. It never fails to amaze me how you can see yourself so clearly one way while others see you in another. I've always hated parties, felt like I was a stammering idiot around crowds and never fit in. And there was the woman who supposedly knows me best acting like I was some sort of pouncing lady killer. Her view of me and mine were definitely opposing.
But then, Bing relented a little. "Of course," she conceded, "That was a long time ago. As you've aged, you've gotten more...reserved."
I was always reserved. It was just on the inside before.
We decided that I was more Ravenclaw then anything else.
Only Socks was left and at first, we thought he was probably a Hufflepuff. He IS very loyal, a very supportive and loving friend.
And then he heard another dog barking outside and went sliding carelessly on the rugs on the wooden floors to go rushing to the front door to bark menacingly and declare that this house was his turf and any other dogs better think twice before taking on Super Badass Socks.
We decided that he was absolutely a Gryffindor, along with Liv.
So, which are you? What's in your wallet? What house do you belong in? If you don't follow the Harry Potter series, just think in these terms:
Are you a loyal friend, patient to a fault, just minded and fair? Then you are a Hufflepuff.
Are you brave? Do you take dares with relish? Stout hearted and no coward's soul is yours? Then you are Gryffindor.
Are you disciplined and strong minded? If there was a nuclear war, would everyone know that you had a basement prepared for it? Do you tend to love winning more than anything? Are you cunning and ambitious? You are Slytherin.
Or...are you the one that always knows the right answer on Jeopardy? Do people ask you to help them with crossword puzzles? Are you known for your brains? You are Ravenclaw.
Which suit fits?
Just curious.....
So, anyway, a few nights ago, at dinner, Liv came trouncing to the table, mad as a wet hen. She announced that she had just read on the internet that the next Harry Potter movie, due out in November, was going to be delayed until July of 2009!
I thought she had misread something, but when I checked online with her later, I discovered that she was correct. They are delaying the release of the movie in order to garner more money from it since July is a big month for "family blockbusters."
I don't get that. I don't really like going to films in the summer. I like going when it is cold outside. I like sitting in a warm cocoon of a theater and getting all lost in a good movie and then coming home to a crock pot of chili. In the summer, I want to be outside. I don't like being cooped up in a theater. How about you? Why do you think July is such a powerhouse month for movies in America? Any ideas?
But, this topic somehow propelled my little family to discuss Hogwart's houses. Liv brought up the question of what house did we think we would belong to if we were going to go to Hogwarts?
Well, we talked about it and agreed that each house has a distinctive trait that one must have to fully belong.
To be Gryffindor, one must be brave at heart, be daring, have lots of nerve and chivalry.
To be Hufflepuff, you need to be just, loyal,patient and unafraid of toil.
To be Slytherin, you must be cunning, ambitious and not afraid to use any means to achieve your ends.
To be Ravenclaw, you need wit, a love of learning and brains to spare.
We decided immediately that Liv was a true Gryffindor. She evokes all the qualities needed to be in Harry Potter's circle.
We went on to Bing. At first, we thought maybe Hufflepuff, but I decided that no, that was inaccurate. I have always thought of Hufflepuffs as a bit candy assed. (Sorry to those of you who really are Hufflepuffs. I know that Cedric was one and I always thought he was pretty damn hot.)
Bing is too disciplined to be a Hufflepuff. This is a woman who has NEVER smoked a cigarette or taken illegal drugs of any kind simply because she has regarded her body as a temple since she was a teenager. She might drink a beer rarely or take a sip of wine, but the key word here is rarely. She is also a near vegetarian. She only slips up and craves ice cream when she is pre-menstrual, any other time, she has no problem just saying no to fudge or brownies. She runs five miles every morning no matter what the weather and works out at the gym daily. She is probably one of the most disciplined women I know. She is extremely fit and toned. To see the muscles in her arms and legs when she mows a lawn is to see a beautiful woman.
She is also extraordinarily ambitious. She decided a few years ago that she wanted to be part of the Apple family. So, she went to every seminar she could attend, paid for them on her own and educated herself about the company. She is now hired regularly by Apple to do technical writing on a freelance basis and she is invited to present at their seminars. She no longer has to pay her way. They pay her way and put her up in fancy hotels too.
Bing is a talented, accomplished musician. She developed a thick skin years ago, said that if you want to work in the entertainment industry in any capacity, you must be able to handle rejection. She worked hard at her craft and can play several instruments not just ably but with real finesse.
We decided that yes, unfortunately, she was a Slytherin. She had no problem with it.
"I always thought that Snape was brilliant," she said.
I did too.
That left me. Bing thought that maybe I could be a Gryffindor like Liv. Liv demurred. She commented that she didn't see me as all that brave or nervy ("No offense, Mama, but you are kind of a quiet, solitary person," she said.)
Bing guffawed.
"Your mother is NOT shy or all that quiet," she told Liv.
I begged to differ.
"I am VERY shy inside," I told them. "I hate parties, am a homebody and I think I could be a pretty good hermit as long as I had books to read."
Bing smirked. She looked at Liv. "You should have seen your mother in college," she told her. "She was the first one to get up and dance."
Then, she looked at me. "And when we would go to parties, you were no Alice," she told me. "You were Shane all over the place. You walked in, looked around and took the spoils."
(If you don't watch The L Word, this is not going to make much sense...sorry.)
I was flabbergasted. It never fails to amaze me how you can see yourself so clearly one way while others see you in another. I've always hated parties, felt like I was a stammering idiot around crowds and never fit in. And there was the woman who supposedly knows me best acting like I was some sort of pouncing lady killer. Her view of me and mine were definitely opposing.
But then, Bing relented a little. "Of course," she conceded, "That was a long time ago. As you've aged, you've gotten more...reserved."
I was always reserved. It was just on the inside before.
We decided that I was more Ravenclaw then anything else.
Only Socks was left and at first, we thought he was probably a Hufflepuff. He IS very loyal, a very supportive and loving friend.
And then he heard another dog barking outside and went sliding carelessly on the rugs on the wooden floors to go rushing to the front door to bark menacingly and declare that this house was his turf and any other dogs better think twice before taking on Super Badass Socks.
We decided that he was absolutely a Gryffindor, along with Liv.
So, which are you? What's in your wallet? What house do you belong in? If you don't follow the Harry Potter series, just think in these terms:
Are you a loyal friend, patient to a fault, just minded and fair? Then you are a Hufflepuff.
Are you brave? Do you take dares with relish? Stout hearted and no coward's soul is yours? Then you are Gryffindor.
Are you disciplined and strong minded? If there was a nuclear war, would everyone know that you had a basement prepared for it? Do you tend to love winning more than anything? Are you cunning and ambitious? You are Slytherin.
Or...are you the one that always knows the right answer on Jeopardy? Do people ask you to help them with crossword puzzles? Are you known for your brains? You are Ravenclaw.
Which suit fits?
Just curious.....
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
Feasting and a new job.
This time of year is just a feast. The garden is exploding out produce of all kinds. And there is NOTHING better (well, fuck...okay...there are a few things that can top it) then what we ate for dinner on Sunday.
Bing grilled out turkey burgers. And with it, we had heirloom tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers soaked in milk and vinegar (my mother's recipe handed down from generation to generation..it sounds gross, but tastes divine), onions, green bean salad and the most delicious yellow squash, drizzled with olive oil and topped with chopped cilantro and chives from our herb garden. The only vegetable on the table that was not from our garden was the avocado that I had to have for topping on my burger.
There is something spectacularly wonderful about sending my child out to the garden with a colander and having her return to the kitchen with vegetables warmed from the sun and her breath smelling of chives that she munched on while she picked.
Even the relish that we used was mine. I had made it last year.
We ate like two queens and a princess.
If you have never eaten an heirloom tomato, you are missing out. The taste is exquisite. Bing, Liv and I eat them like apples, but we like them best when we chop them up, sprinkle them with some pepper and dig in. I don't think I can ever eat tomatoes again that are not from my garden. I eat so many of them that by the time summer is over, I have sores on the roof of my mouth from the acidic content of the tomatoes. But, it is SO worth it.
I can hardly believe that in two short weeks, I will be canning and freezing again. My garden started out spindly this year, due to way too much rain and a very cool June, but it picked up in July and is now producing mightily. Liv and I go out each morning with a bushel basket and pick and pick and pick.
I grew up on a farm. I don't know how not to be a gardener. Plus, it feeds us year round. I can and freeze every year and there is something savory about pulling out a mason jar of canned tomatoes to make with pasta on a cold January day.
My mother had a huge garden and from the time we could walk, we were expected to help out. I remember a sulky time in my teens when I knew that I would NEVER have my own garden, no sirree bob. I was going to flee to New York City and write the next great American novel.
I got over it.
There is something so satisfying about all that produce in my kitchen, all those colors just bursting out all over the place like circus balloons. It makes me feel rich, sated. Sure footed.
It is good to have something like a garden in one's life. Something to make you feel connected with the land. I can't explain it. You have to feel it for yourself.
And a bit of news.
I have a new job starting August 25th. Yes. You heard me right. I decided a few weeks ago that I needed some really good health insurance. The private policy I had with my freelancing was just...awful. And I am going to need really good insurance.
So, I pulled out my address book and started making connections.
I found a hospital that was willing to hire me to work the 7-3 shift. I will mostly review records for accuracy and accountability and also be on call as counsel. It is a sit down job for the most part, paperwork. Lots of room for boredom, I suppose.
But, the assurance of really good health insurance. I am sort of surprised that they hired me....
So...goodbye to freelance, at least for awhile and hello to the workaday world of charts, charts, and more charts.
The hardest part will be that I won't be able to take Liv to school anymore in the mornings. Since Bing and I will both be leaving for work at 6:30, our neighbors have agreed to come over every day at 6:30 to get Liv up, feed her breakfast and take her to school.
These are the neighbors who are in the their 70's, who swore to me that they get up every morning at 5 a.m. anyway (are they NUTS? who willingly gets up before 7 if they don't have to?) and just happen to be Liv's favorite babysitters. A retired husband and wife team who say that they are "so excited" about making Liv a "hot, delicious breakfast" and don't mind driving her to school.
The odd thing is....I think they meant it. I mean, they really looked excited about it. They even offered to do it for FREE and I had to insist that they let me compensate them. Too good to be true....
At least, I can pick up Liv from school. That will be nice. And if she is sick, I will somehow manage to stay home with her. If I'm sick? Well, I will go in to work anyway. People do it every day and since I won't be dealing with patients directly (maybe some observing), I think I will be fine. I was more worried about catching something from them than anything else since my immune system is pretty much bare bones right now.
I mostly feel lucky. The insurance is incredible and goes into effect my first day. And how sad is that? This is life in America, folks. We work for the insurance benefits all too often.
So, here I am with my garden and a new job. How does it look on the old mare?
Liv will prosper. I can't tell you how many times she had a pop tart for breakfast and ate it in the car on the way to school. (BAD MOTHER. BAD MOTHER!)I somehow know that she will be having daily breakfasts of blueberry pancakes and oatmeal with lots of brown sugar and raisins. Hot cocoa on snowy days.
And since her babysitters love show tunes, she will listen to the soundtracks for South Pacific and Sweeney Todd all the way to school.
I will no longer be one those parents who rush in with their child three seconds before the late bell, wearing pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. Liv has never acted embarrassed by me, but...good hell, I think she will much prefer to be on time, well fed and singing "If I Were A Rich Man" in her head all morning at school....
It's all good. I just hope that I can adjust to life as a cog in a wheel again...
Bing grilled out turkey burgers. And with it, we had heirloom tomatoes, green peppers, cucumbers soaked in milk and vinegar (my mother's recipe handed down from generation to generation..it sounds gross, but tastes divine), onions, green bean salad and the most delicious yellow squash, drizzled with olive oil and topped with chopped cilantro and chives from our herb garden. The only vegetable on the table that was not from our garden was the avocado that I had to have for topping on my burger.
There is something spectacularly wonderful about sending my child out to the garden with a colander and having her return to the kitchen with vegetables warmed from the sun and her breath smelling of chives that she munched on while she picked.
Even the relish that we used was mine. I had made it last year.
We ate like two queens and a princess.
If you have never eaten an heirloom tomato, you are missing out. The taste is exquisite. Bing, Liv and I eat them like apples, but we like them best when we chop them up, sprinkle them with some pepper and dig in. I don't think I can ever eat tomatoes again that are not from my garden. I eat so many of them that by the time summer is over, I have sores on the roof of my mouth from the acidic content of the tomatoes. But, it is SO worth it.
I can hardly believe that in two short weeks, I will be canning and freezing again. My garden started out spindly this year, due to way too much rain and a very cool June, but it picked up in July and is now producing mightily. Liv and I go out each morning with a bushel basket and pick and pick and pick.
I grew up on a farm. I don't know how not to be a gardener. Plus, it feeds us year round. I can and freeze every year and there is something savory about pulling out a mason jar of canned tomatoes to make with pasta on a cold January day.
My mother had a huge garden and from the time we could walk, we were expected to help out. I remember a sulky time in my teens when I knew that I would NEVER have my own garden, no sirree bob. I was going to flee to New York City and write the next great American novel.
I got over it.
There is something so satisfying about all that produce in my kitchen, all those colors just bursting out all over the place like circus balloons. It makes me feel rich, sated. Sure footed.
It is good to have something like a garden in one's life. Something to make you feel connected with the land. I can't explain it. You have to feel it for yourself.
And a bit of news.
I have a new job starting August 25th. Yes. You heard me right. I decided a few weeks ago that I needed some really good health insurance. The private policy I had with my freelancing was just...awful. And I am going to need really good insurance.
So, I pulled out my address book and started making connections.
I found a hospital that was willing to hire me to work the 7-3 shift. I will mostly review records for accuracy and accountability and also be on call as counsel. It is a sit down job for the most part, paperwork. Lots of room for boredom, I suppose.
But, the assurance of really good health insurance. I am sort of surprised that they hired me....
So...goodbye to freelance, at least for awhile and hello to the workaday world of charts, charts, and more charts.
The hardest part will be that I won't be able to take Liv to school anymore in the mornings. Since Bing and I will both be leaving for work at 6:30, our neighbors have agreed to come over every day at 6:30 to get Liv up, feed her breakfast and take her to school.
These are the neighbors who are in the their 70's, who swore to me that they get up every morning at 5 a.m. anyway (are they NUTS? who willingly gets up before 7 if they don't have to?) and just happen to be Liv's favorite babysitters. A retired husband and wife team who say that they are "so excited" about making Liv a "hot, delicious breakfast" and don't mind driving her to school.
The odd thing is....I think they meant it. I mean, they really looked excited about it. They even offered to do it for FREE and I had to insist that they let me compensate them. Too good to be true....
At least, I can pick up Liv from school. That will be nice. And if she is sick, I will somehow manage to stay home with her. If I'm sick? Well, I will go in to work anyway. People do it every day and since I won't be dealing with patients directly (maybe some observing), I think I will be fine. I was more worried about catching something from them than anything else since my immune system is pretty much bare bones right now.
I mostly feel lucky. The insurance is incredible and goes into effect my first day. And how sad is that? This is life in America, folks. We work for the insurance benefits all too often.
So, here I am with my garden and a new job. How does it look on the old mare?
Liv will prosper. I can't tell you how many times she had a pop tart for breakfast and ate it in the car on the way to school. (BAD MOTHER. BAD MOTHER!)I somehow know that she will be having daily breakfasts of blueberry pancakes and oatmeal with lots of brown sugar and raisins. Hot cocoa on snowy days.
And since her babysitters love show tunes, she will listen to the soundtracks for South Pacific and Sweeney Todd all the way to school.
I will no longer be one those parents who rush in with their child three seconds before the late bell, wearing pajama bottoms and a sweatshirt. Liv has never acted embarrassed by me, but...good hell, I think she will much prefer to be on time, well fed and singing "If I Were A Rich Man" in her head all morning at school....
It's all good. I just hope that I can adjust to life as a cog in a wheel again...
Saturday, August 09, 2008
Watching the Olympic opening ceremonies with my girls (and boy)
Well, I am a sucker for the opening ceremonies of the Olympics. I get ridiculously charmed by this every four years. I am not a fiercely patriotic person, but I admit that I choke up when the announcer says, "And here come the Americans!" I see all those athletes rounding the corner behind their United States sign and I just begin weeping.
And I have no idea why. I am not remotely athletic or that interested in sports (with the one exception of Cornhusker football.) I have never been the type to wipe away tears when the national anthem is played. But, I have bawled through every Olympic opening ceremony since I started watching them.
I remember that Liv had just turned five at the last one. And now she is nine. She will be FUCKING thirteen at the next one. I cannot imagine her as a teenager. But, then...I could not imagine her at nine all those years ago either.
Bing knows how much I love this show, so she made sure to have Vess soda pop on hand. Vess is sort of a family tradition with me. When I was little, we did not watch much television and seldom had soda pop in the house. With one exception. When the Miss America pageant was on, my mother would buy one big bottle of orange flavored Vess soda and we all were allowed one glass to enjoy while we rooted for Miss Iowa (who never got very far.) We were also allowed to have Vess soda on our birthday.
I have no idea why my mother selected Vess. It was probably because it was the cheapest soda to buy. All I know is that, now, Vess soda in the fridge means it is time to fucking celebrate.
So, Bing made sure I had my Vess, boy howdy.
Liv couldn't remember the last Olympics and she was curious. Bing and I took her to the Olympic swim team trials here in Nebraska to see Dana Torres compete. We cheered as we watched her. Liv also takes taekwondo lessons and when she found out that the USA had a good chance of getting a medal because of this young woman, she took an avid interest in watching the Olympics.
So, when the ceremonies came on, Liv, Socks and I snuggled up on the sofa to watch, with our glasses of Vess soda nearby. Bing came in and stretched out in the recliner chair, commenting that she felt a little lonely sitting all by herself.
Socks gave me a long look. I nudged him. He got to his feet, hopped off the sofa and went to sit politely next to Bing's chair, wagging his tail. He knows that he is not to jump on the furniture (at least when we are home...I suspect that when we are gone, he traipses all over it, shaking his hind end mightily) and must be invited first. Bing looked down at him and smiled ruefully.
"I was thinking maybe Liv would come sit in my lap, but hey, climb up, son."
He did.
And we all watched. With our mouths hanging open.
I mean, holy diapers of jesus, wasn't that sumpin, sumpin?
It just kept getting better and better.
I have a fondness for the march of the nations, even though it is supposedly the most boring part of the festivities. I don't care. I love it all. I love all the little countries with like four people behind their flag, walking so proudly.
And this time, thanks to all my friends in blogville, I clapped for not just the Americans but other nations too.
I saw Great Britain and clapped for Dive and Jenny.
I clapped for Ireland and Fate's Granddaughter. (And for all my ancestors. In fact, looking at the Irish team was like looking at a photo of all of my pale, red cheeked, auburn haired relatives.)
Australia came in and I clapped for my good friends, Gypsy and Mme Benaut. And those Aussies looked like they were having one fine party, didn't they? They looked like people who knew how to have a good time...
And of course, when Japan came around the corner, I clapped for Jyankee.
I thought how blogville has turned my once fairly small world into a pretty big one.
Room for all of us on this planet.
Okay. I admit it. I bawled like a baby when the Americans came in. Liv looked at me curiously and then she started crying too, not really knowing why, just knowing that something had touched me, so therefore, it touched her as well.
Bing and Socks rolled their eyes, but didn't comment.
We watched the lighting of the torch. Good hell. MAGNIFICENT.
The Chinese really threw us one hell of a party.
Liv and I ended up dozing off on the sofa, her legs entwined with mine, our breath smelling like orange Vess soda.
I awakened when Bing was gently untangling us and carefully led Liv up to her bed.
When I awakened this morning, we watched some sort of fencing and then went on to watch a volleyball game. (Sorry, Jyankee...it was between Japan and the U.S and I admit to rooting for the red, white and blue...)
And instead of picking up a movie to watch tonight, we are going to watch...yes, the olympics.
I don't know why I love it so. I just do. I love it that there are people out there who are so dedicated to their sport that they train like hell just to come to this event and play their hearts out.
The only thing that fucked the show up, as far as I was concerned, was that the cameras kept shifting to Dubya and his wife, Laura Bush. They looked bored. Not once, not twice, but thrice, the camera caught them both checking their watches.
I bet that Obama wouldn't have been clock watching. But, that's a whole other story...
So, what do you think of The Olympics? Interesting? Boring? So-so?
I'm curious. Vess soda worthy or not?
And I have no idea why. I am not remotely athletic or that interested in sports (with the one exception of Cornhusker football.) I have never been the type to wipe away tears when the national anthem is played. But, I have bawled through every Olympic opening ceremony since I started watching them.
I remember that Liv had just turned five at the last one. And now she is nine. She will be FUCKING thirteen at the next one. I cannot imagine her as a teenager. But, then...I could not imagine her at nine all those years ago either.
Bing knows how much I love this show, so she made sure to have Vess soda pop on hand. Vess is sort of a family tradition with me. When I was little, we did not watch much television and seldom had soda pop in the house. With one exception. When the Miss America pageant was on, my mother would buy one big bottle of orange flavored Vess soda and we all were allowed one glass to enjoy while we rooted for Miss Iowa (who never got very far.) We were also allowed to have Vess soda on our birthday.
I have no idea why my mother selected Vess. It was probably because it was the cheapest soda to buy. All I know is that, now, Vess soda in the fridge means it is time to fucking celebrate.
So, Bing made sure I had my Vess, boy howdy.
Liv couldn't remember the last Olympics and she was curious. Bing and I took her to the Olympic swim team trials here in Nebraska to see Dana Torres compete. We cheered as we watched her. Liv also takes taekwondo lessons and when she found out that the USA had a good chance of getting a medal because of this young woman, she took an avid interest in watching the Olympics.
So, when the ceremonies came on, Liv, Socks and I snuggled up on the sofa to watch, with our glasses of Vess soda nearby. Bing came in and stretched out in the recliner chair, commenting that she felt a little lonely sitting all by herself.
Socks gave me a long look. I nudged him. He got to his feet, hopped off the sofa and went to sit politely next to Bing's chair, wagging his tail. He knows that he is not to jump on the furniture (at least when we are home...I suspect that when we are gone, he traipses all over it, shaking his hind end mightily) and must be invited first. Bing looked down at him and smiled ruefully.
"I was thinking maybe Liv would come sit in my lap, but hey, climb up, son."
He did.
And we all watched. With our mouths hanging open.
I mean, holy diapers of jesus, wasn't that sumpin, sumpin?
It just kept getting better and better.
I have a fondness for the march of the nations, even though it is supposedly the most boring part of the festivities. I don't care. I love it all. I love all the little countries with like four people behind their flag, walking so proudly.
And this time, thanks to all my friends in blogville, I clapped for not just the Americans but other nations too.
I saw Great Britain and clapped for Dive and Jenny.
I clapped for Ireland and Fate's Granddaughter. (And for all my ancestors. In fact, looking at the Irish team was like looking at a photo of all of my pale, red cheeked, auburn haired relatives.)
Australia came in and I clapped for my good friends, Gypsy and Mme Benaut. And those Aussies looked like they were having one fine party, didn't they? They looked like people who knew how to have a good time...
And of course, when Japan came around the corner, I clapped for Jyankee.
I thought how blogville has turned my once fairly small world into a pretty big one.
Room for all of us on this planet.
Okay. I admit it. I bawled like a baby when the Americans came in. Liv looked at me curiously and then she started crying too, not really knowing why, just knowing that something had touched me, so therefore, it touched her as well.
Bing and Socks rolled their eyes, but didn't comment.
We watched the lighting of the torch. Good hell. MAGNIFICENT.
The Chinese really threw us one hell of a party.
Liv and I ended up dozing off on the sofa, her legs entwined with mine, our breath smelling like orange Vess soda.
I awakened when Bing was gently untangling us and carefully led Liv up to her bed.
When I awakened this morning, we watched some sort of fencing and then went on to watch a volleyball game. (Sorry, Jyankee...it was between Japan and the U.S and I admit to rooting for the red, white and blue...)
And instead of picking up a movie to watch tonight, we are going to watch...yes, the olympics.
I don't know why I love it so. I just do. I love it that there are people out there who are so dedicated to their sport that they train like hell just to come to this event and play their hearts out.
The only thing that fucked the show up, as far as I was concerned, was that the cameras kept shifting to Dubya and his wife, Laura Bush. They looked bored. Not once, not twice, but thrice, the camera caught them both checking their watches.
I bet that Obama wouldn't have been clock watching. But, that's a whole other story...
So, what do you think of The Olympics? Interesting? Boring? So-so?
I'm curious. Vess soda worthy or not?
Thursday, August 07, 2008
Leader of the band.
Liv and her friends have become a band. I guess they started noodling around with music during their lunch hours at school last year and have decided to carry it over this summer.
At our house.
Ugh. I somehow hoped this would not happen until she was at least sixteen.
But, today, Liv found me and asked if she and her friends could have a rehearsal in our music parlor.
Three friends. Three different instruments. Three very different personalities.
They are Constance (bf), Candace (sbf=second best friend) and Maureen (sf=sometimes friend.)
Constance practically lives at our house anyway, Candace is a nice little girl and so is Maureen, although she bears an uncanny resemblance to the little girl who played Nellie Oleson on Little House on the Prairie.
I always expect Maureen to stamp her feet and demand that I make her fresh lemonade or comb out her sausage curls or something. Yet, she is a quiet little thing, prone to blushing a deep scarlet when spoken to by an adult.
Well, I said okay to Liv. Not because I was looking forward to the noise and pandemonium but because Liv has not asked to have a friend over in a long time and I suspect it is because Bing encouraged her to let me rest or something.
It was interesting. First, they assigned musical roles. Liv was to play piano (she plays piano, violin, guitar and harmonica, thanks to Bing and her father, who is musical as well.) Constance would play Liv's guitar even though she has never had a lesson, but just sort of strums back and forth with a quarter and sings loudly in accompaniment. Candace played an old set of Bing's bongos. And Maureen brought her violin over with her. She and Liv are the only ones who actually play an instrument.
First, they went up into Liv's tree house to write lyrics. It was determined that Constance would sing lead and the rest would be back up.
They came back in, laughing and shrieking as nine year olds do. Requested lunch. I recited a litany of what I could offer (mac and cheese, soup, meat or cheese sandwiches, scrambled eggs, tuna salad or cold cereal.) They chose grilled cheese and tostito chips with salsa. Maybe some of those honey dipped dried mangoes too...
I set to work in the kitchen while they went into the parlor to work on their tune.
I heard Liv begin to jack and jill around the piano, trying to come up with a melody. It took her practically no time at all.
And it was catchy. Boy howdy.
Maureen found the tune on her violin and soon, they were off with Constance trying to strum the guitar and sing at the same time (rather unsuccessfully and with a true tin ear) and Candace beating away on the bongos.
They took a break to come scarf down their lunch and then being the hard little worker bees that they were, they went back into the studio to "lay down the tracks."
I smiled and listened, not really concentrating on the words. I looked over at Socks the wonder dog, who commented (in his Jack Nicholson voice) that really, listening to this was so not in his job description as protector of the house and hearth and could he please go lay on my bed with the door shut?
I agreed (and found him later, fast asleep with his head under Bing's pillow.)
I went about my chores and nearly an hour later, was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher when I finally really listened to their lyrics.
Liv banged out her opening piano riff. Maureen came in on mournful violin while Candace lightly tapped on the bongos. Thankfully, Constance gave up her attempts to sing and play the guitar, and was simply singing out the lyrics:
"Into the rain.
I'll take you there.
No one can imagine all the pain that we have been through.
Into the rain.
I'll take you there.
Into the darkest night..."
WTF?
I stopped. Smiled. What kind of lyrics were those? I mean, how do nine year old girls in their little pink tops and jelly sandals come up with lyrics like that?
Yet, she sang with feeling and Liv and the others backed her up in true greek chorus fashion, repeating into the rain, yeah, into the rain over and over.
But, the damn thing was catchy. I found myself humming along under my breath.
I walked into the parlor and congratulated them for their hard work. They all looked so pleased. Thanked me prettily, giggling a little.
Constance told me that they had decided on a name for their band. I cocked my head.
"It's MULLET PROOF," she told me happily.
I flared my nostrils and bit the insides of my cheeks.
I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not even chuckle. Not even a slight snicker will steal out of my mouth.
"Well," I managed to say, "That is sure an interesting name..."
I went back into the kitchen, looking for Socks because I had to tell somebody. I found him still in my room, dozing with his head under Bing's pillow (he is very polite about not shedding on mine...)
"Socks," I whispered into his ear, "Liv is in a band called Mullet Proof."
He snickered. I snickered. We both had us a real fine snicker fest and then I decided to call my bff, Harriet.
She answered in her tired voice. She has four kids under the age of ten. Life is a roller coaster for her all day long.
"Guess what?" I asked.
"You are going to come rescue me and take me out to get drunk?" she asked, hopefully.
"No. Sorry," I said. "I am calling to say that Liv and her friends have started a band and their name is um.... MULLET PROOF."
She snorted. "Really? Not something like The Princess Rockers or "Triple Pink" or "Winsome Lassies?"
"Nope," I said. "My Liv is hard core. She's the pianist and back up singer in Mullet Proof. Mark my words, you will buy their album one day. They are currently working on their hit single, "Into the Rain." They aren't going to mess with bubblegum rock. Not these Montessori educated chicks. Oh, no. They are Mullet Proof!"
"What are they wearing? Black leather skirts?" Harriet asked curiously.
"No, let's see...they all seem to be in either pink or purple. Candace has her Jonas Brothers tee shirt on. I am tempted to go in and tell them that they need more cow bell. Do you think they will get that?" I responded.
"Fuck, yes!" Harriet said. "I mean, they are Mullet Proof...."
She had to go then because someone had just put a shoe down the toilet or something.
I went back into the kitchen and leaned against the door jam, listening to the girls go through their song once again from start to finish.
And then I clapped loudly and whistled.
There was a short silence and then Constance yelled,
"THANK YOU, OMAHA!!!"
An explosion of giggles.
I smiled and shook my head. Mark my words, those little Montessori girls are nobody's fool.
THEY ARE MULLET PROOF!
At our house.
Ugh. I somehow hoped this would not happen until she was at least sixteen.
But, today, Liv found me and asked if she and her friends could have a rehearsal in our music parlor.
Three friends. Three different instruments. Three very different personalities.
They are Constance (bf), Candace (sbf=second best friend) and Maureen (sf=sometimes friend.)
Constance practically lives at our house anyway, Candace is a nice little girl and so is Maureen, although she bears an uncanny resemblance to the little girl who played Nellie Oleson on Little House on the Prairie.
I always expect Maureen to stamp her feet and demand that I make her fresh lemonade or comb out her sausage curls or something. Yet, she is a quiet little thing, prone to blushing a deep scarlet when spoken to by an adult.
Well, I said okay to Liv. Not because I was looking forward to the noise and pandemonium but because Liv has not asked to have a friend over in a long time and I suspect it is because Bing encouraged her to let me rest or something.
It was interesting. First, they assigned musical roles. Liv was to play piano (she plays piano, violin, guitar and harmonica, thanks to Bing and her father, who is musical as well.) Constance would play Liv's guitar even though she has never had a lesson, but just sort of strums back and forth with a quarter and sings loudly in accompaniment. Candace played an old set of Bing's bongos. And Maureen brought her violin over with her. She and Liv are the only ones who actually play an instrument.
First, they went up into Liv's tree house to write lyrics. It was determined that Constance would sing lead and the rest would be back up.
They came back in, laughing and shrieking as nine year olds do. Requested lunch. I recited a litany of what I could offer (mac and cheese, soup, meat or cheese sandwiches, scrambled eggs, tuna salad or cold cereal.) They chose grilled cheese and tostito chips with salsa. Maybe some of those honey dipped dried mangoes too...
I set to work in the kitchen while they went into the parlor to work on their tune.
I heard Liv begin to jack and jill around the piano, trying to come up with a melody. It took her practically no time at all.
And it was catchy. Boy howdy.
Maureen found the tune on her violin and soon, they were off with Constance trying to strum the guitar and sing at the same time (rather unsuccessfully and with a true tin ear) and Candace beating away on the bongos.
They took a break to come scarf down their lunch and then being the hard little worker bees that they were, they went back into the studio to "lay down the tracks."
I smiled and listened, not really concentrating on the words. I looked over at Socks the wonder dog, who commented (in his Jack Nicholson voice) that really, listening to this was so not in his job description as protector of the house and hearth and could he please go lay on my bed with the door shut?
I agreed (and found him later, fast asleep with his head under Bing's pillow.)
I went about my chores and nearly an hour later, was in the kitchen emptying the dishwasher when I finally really listened to their lyrics.
Liv banged out her opening piano riff. Maureen came in on mournful violin while Candace lightly tapped on the bongos. Thankfully, Constance gave up her attempts to sing and play the guitar, and was simply singing out the lyrics:
"Into the rain.
I'll take you there.
No one can imagine all the pain that we have been through.
Into the rain.
I'll take you there.
Into the darkest night..."
WTF?
I stopped. Smiled. What kind of lyrics were those? I mean, how do nine year old girls in their little pink tops and jelly sandals come up with lyrics like that?
Yet, she sang with feeling and Liv and the others backed her up in true greek chorus fashion, repeating into the rain, yeah, into the rain over and over.
But, the damn thing was catchy. I found myself humming along under my breath.
I walked into the parlor and congratulated them for their hard work. They all looked so pleased. Thanked me prettily, giggling a little.
Constance told me that they had decided on a name for their band. I cocked my head.
"It's MULLET PROOF," she told me happily.
I flared my nostrils and bit the insides of my cheeks.
I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not even chuckle. Not even a slight snicker will steal out of my mouth.
"Well," I managed to say, "That is sure an interesting name..."
I went back into the kitchen, looking for Socks because I had to tell somebody. I found him still in my room, dozing with his head under Bing's pillow (he is very polite about not shedding on mine...)
"Socks," I whispered into his ear, "Liv is in a band called Mullet Proof."
He snickered. I snickered. We both had us a real fine snicker fest and then I decided to call my bff, Harriet.
She answered in her tired voice. She has four kids under the age of ten. Life is a roller coaster for her all day long.
"Guess what?" I asked.
"You are going to come rescue me and take me out to get drunk?" she asked, hopefully.
"No. Sorry," I said. "I am calling to say that Liv and her friends have started a band and their name is um.... MULLET PROOF."
She snorted. "Really? Not something like The Princess Rockers or "Triple Pink" or "Winsome Lassies?"
"Nope," I said. "My Liv is hard core. She's the pianist and back up singer in Mullet Proof. Mark my words, you will buy their album one day. They are currently working on their hit single, "Into the Rain." They aren't going to mess with bubblegum rock. Not these Montessori educated chicks. Oh, no. They are Mullet Proof!"
"What are they wearing? Black leather skirts?" Harriet asked curiously.
"No, let's see...they all seem to be in either pink or purple. Candace has her Jonas Brothers tee shirt on. I am tempted to go in and tell them that they need more cow bell. Do you think they will get that?" I responded.
"Fuck, yes!" Harriet said. "I mean, they are Mullet Proof...."
She had to go then because someone had just put a shoe down the toilet or something.
I went back into the kitchen and leaned against the door jam, listening to the girls go through their song once again from start to finish.
And then I clapped loudly and whistled.
There was a short silence and then Constance yelled,
"THANK YOU, OMAHA!!!"
An explosion of giggles.
I smiled and shook my head. Mark my words, those little Montessori girls are nobody's fool.
THEY ARE MULLET PROOF!
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
And the dreams go on....
There I was, in my dream, sitting in my kitchen and talking to my old friend, Sophie and an old supervisor of mine who had NO business sitting in my home since he was the biggest, meanest, bullying asshat I ever had to deal with.
I think he represents my condition. Thank you, Terroni, for finding just the right word for me to use here....
Apparently, I had just applied for a job somewhere and they were both laughing at me because I was passed over for it.
I went up to the supervisor and threw a grapefruit in his face.
It felt good. But, not that good. I actually had a sort of panicky feeling when I realized that he could write me up and get me in big trouble. I knew that I should be more respectful.
But, Sophie thought it was hilarious.
And then Socks was there, needing to go out and suddenly, I was just...overwhelmed. I could not imagine finding the energy to take the dog out. I said to him, "Can't you just hold it?"
He answered me. "I guess so," he said, and sat back down under a chair. His voice was nothing like I imagined it would be, sort of like Pee Wee Herman when I was expecting Jack Nicholson.
I felt terrible. How mean of me to make him wait!
I went to go let him out and of course, the door wouldn't open.
I asked my old supervisor to give me a hand.
"No dice," he said. "I am sick and tired of you not living up to your potential."
I woke up then and couldn't go back to sleep.
My mind kept going over and over the busy day I have ahead of me and I was just so frackin' tired. I kept telling myself to go back to sleep, kept trying, but while my body was more than ready, my mind was a whirling dervish.
Anyone have some really good drugs?
Because I have never wanted a day to be over with at 8 a.m. before.....
I think he represents my condition. Thank you, Terroni, for finding just the right word for me to use here....
Apparently, I had just applied for a job somewhere and they were both laughing at me because I was passed over for it.
I went up to the supervisor and threw a grapefruit in his face.
It felt good. But, not that good. I actually had a sort of panicky feeling when I realized that he could write me up and get me in big trouble. I knew that I should be more respectful.
But, Sophie thought it was hilarious.
And then Socks was there, needing to go out and suddenly, I was just...overwhelmed. I could not imagine finding the energy to take the dog out. I said to him, "Can't you just hold it?"
He answered me. "I guess so," he said, and sat back down under a chair. His voice was nothing like I imagined it would be, sort of like Pee Wee Herman when I was expecting Jack Nicholson.
I felt terrible. How mean of me to make him wait!
I went to go let him out and of course, the door wouldn't open.
I asked my old supervisor to give me a hand.
"No dice," he said. "I am sick and tired of you not living up to your potential."
I woke up then and couldn't go back to sleep.
My mind kept going over and over the busy day I have ahead of me and I was just so frackin' tired. I kept telling myself to go back to sleep, kept trying, but while my body was more than ready, my mind was a whirling dervish.
Anyone have some really good drugs?
Because I have never wanted a day to be over with at 8 a.m. before.....
Monday, August 04, 2008
Dreams about Britney Spears?
Oh, God...more like a nightmare.
I dreamed that I was at some sort of party and Britney was there. With her children. Except in my dream, they were both infants.
LOTS of people there and they all seemed to have babies, including me. I had Liv, but she was an infant.
I realized that I was responsible for showing these people how to diaper and care for their babies. How to tend to them.
They were all sitting in Britney's living room, smoking dope and drinking, listening to music.
I was stuck in this room with a few other haggard looking women and we were tending the babies.
I went out to the living room and charmed Britney into coming in with her babies for a "learning session." I was demonstrating how to change a diaper, how to properly feed strained carrots to a baby, how to stop them from crying.
She kept wandering away and I kept trying to get her back on task.
Suddenly, she decided that I needed a "really good haircut" and we all piled into this car. I have no idea where all the babies went. Guess I am not the role model I thought that I was...
We were driving around the city and I commented that I thought there would be paparazzi. She laughed and said that they didn't bother her much anymore. She was driving really, really fast and I was nervous. Plus, everyone in the car seemed to be all young and perky.
She turned around and looked at me and said, "I like you, but you sure are ugly."
And that was the end of that dream.
Well, now. No wonder I wake up in the morning feeling like shit. I am spending way too much time having inane dreams about Britney Spears.
So, Chris, what's up with you and me and all these crazy baby dreams?
And for those of you who asked, we saw Batman, The Dark Knight yesterday. My god...Heath Ledger just blew my socks off. I kept thinking that this was the same sweet, tender man in Brokeback Mountain. I suppose that is what you call true acting, because he was so realistic. I mean, he had all the mannerisms of a total psychopath down pat....
And then we came home and I was tucked into bed by nine....
Maybe that is what caused me to have my Britney dream....
Tell me about your crazy dreams....
I dreamed that I was at some sort of party and Britney was there. With her children. Except in my dream, they were both infants.
LOTS of people there and they all seemed to have babies, including me. I had Liv, but she was an infant.
I realized that I was responsible for showing these people how to diaper and care for their babies. How to tend to them.
They were all sitting in Britney's living room, smoking dope and drinking, listening to music.
I was stuck in this room with a few other haggard looking women and we were tending the babies.
I went out to the living room and charmed Britney into coming in with her babies for a "learning session." I was demonstrating how to change a diaper, how to properly feed strained carrots to a baby, how to stop them from crying.
She kept wandering away and I kept trying to get her back on task.
Suddenly, she decided that I needed a "really good haircut" and we all piled into this car. I have no idea where all the babies went. Guess I am not the role model I thought that I was...
We were driving around the city and I commented that I thought there would be paparazzi. She laughed and said that they didn't bother her much anymore. She was driving really, really fast and I was nervous. Plus, everyone in the car seemed to be all young and perky.
She turned around and looked at me and said, "I like you, but you sure are ugly."
And that was the end of that dream.
Well, now. No wonder I wake up in the morning feeling like shit. I am spending way too much time having inane dreams about Britney Spears.
So, Chris, what's up with you and me and all these crazy baby dreams?
And for those of you who asked, we saw Batman, The Dark Knight yesterday. My god...Heath Ledger just blew my socks off. I kept thinking that this was the same sweet, tender man in Brokeback Mountain. I suppose that is what you call true acting, because he was so realistic. I mean, he had all the mannerisms of a total psychopath down pat....
And then we came home and I was tucked into bed by nine....
Maybe that is what caused me to have my Britney dream....
Tell me about your crazy dreams....
Saturday, August 02, 2008
Gifts from highways, caves and youtube sites.
Well, my girls are finally back home. They arrived last night after midnight. I was to pick them up at the airport at 10:00, but their flight was late, they were stuck in Phoenix for over 5 hours. I guess they explored the airport. Bing called to say that it looked like they wouldn't arrive until after midnight, so there I was pulling anxiously into the airport waiting line at 12:17 a.m.
And there was Bing, carrying Liv out the door, straining to find the car. I leaped out of the car and ran to her, taking Liv from her, smiling, whispering hello.
I carried Liv back to the car and got her settled in, inhaling her scent, my throat closing. She woke up enough to say, "I brought you some presents..." and drifted back to sleep, tucked into her seatbelt in the back seat. Bing came out soon after, loaded down with bags.
We didn't talk much on the way home, wanting to let Liv sleep. I rubbed Bing's knuckles on the steering wheel and she lifted her hand down to take mine, kiss it. We smiled, sleepy. Glad to see each other.
We got Liv to bed and I went off to take a bath while Bing semi-unpacked. She HATES to unpack, so I know ahead of time that her bags will sit all over the house for at least a week. Ugh. Well, a small price to pay for her presence. I have missed her so.
Bing came into the bathroom.
"Want me to wash your back?" I handed her the soaped up wash cloth. She copped a feel. I wrapped my wet arms around her neck, kissed her.
"I brought you back a present. I'll give it to you when you get out of the tub," she promised, extracting herself before I could pull her into the bathtub with me.
I got out and went wrapped in a towel to the bed. There were my presents: A copy of Randy Pausch's The Last Lecture and a lovely black rock. I picked up the book, paged through it, smiling. Picked up the rock, hefted it in my hands.
Bing came to stand next to me.
"Do you know where I picked up that rock?" she asked me.
I looked at her. "Where?"
"Well, you know that day that I flew over to see my old friend, Matthew?"
I nodded.
"We drove down Ventura Highway and I made him stop so I could find a rock for you from Venture Highway. Even though, down there they pronounce it ventoora, not ventura."
I couldn't speak. This was easily one of the most romantic gestures she has ever made to me.
I just hugged her. She hugged back.
So, now I have a rock from Ventura Highway. And I will cherish it forever.
This morning, Liv gave me her presents, also rocks. She found them in a cave she explored with her father. They are beautiful gems of rocks. Sparkly things. I oohed and aahhed over them, we found a place for them in our garden.
Liv is bubbling with news of Disneyland and spelunking and eating great food. She is even more tan than she was when she left, which I did not think was possible. But, she seems glad to be home, is doing a lot of nesting, lots of hanging out in her room, quietly reading. We've promised to take her to see Batman or The X Files tomorrow, can't decide which one to see.
Liv also brought me a 3x5 card from her father's assistant, my dear friend, Nirand. It simply had a website on it and the words, "I know you will get this." I went to it this morning and yes, Nirand, I do get it. There is nothing quite like our friendship. I smiled because it was very you. And I always said that you reminded me of Bill Murray. Here is the site if anyone is interested. I loved the movie too.
So, now...I am feeling full to the brim of love and the sweetness of gifts given with such love and tenderness.
I am lucky. I know this. And it made me think. What is the best gift that someone ever gave you? I think it would make for some interesting posts...
And there was Bing, carrying Liv out the door, straining to find the car. I leaped out of the car and ran to her, taking Liv from her, smiling, whispering hello.
I carried Liv back to the car and got her settled in, inhaling her scent, my throat closing. She woke up enough to say, "I brought you some presents..." and drifted back to sleep, tucked into her seatbelt in the back seat. Bing came out soon after, loaded down with bags.
We didn't talk much on the way home, wanting to let Liv sleep. I rubbed Bing's knuckles on the steering wheel and she lifted her hand down to take mine, kiss it. We smiled, sleepy. Glad to see each other.
We got Liv to bed and I went off to take a bath while Bing semi-unpacked. She HATES to unpack, so I know ahead of time that her bags will sit all over the house for at least a week. Ugh. Well, a small price to pay for her presence. I have missed her so.
Bing came into the bathroom.
"Want me to wash your back?" I handed her the soaped up wash cloth. She copped a feel. I wrapped my wet arms around her neck, kissed her.
"I brought you back a present. I'll give it to you when you get out of the tub," she promised, extracting herself before I could pull her into the bathtub with me.
I got out and went wrapped in a towel to the bed. There were my presents: A copy of Randy Pausch's The Last Lecture and a lovely black rock. I picked up the book, paged through it, smiling. Picked up the rock, hefted it in my hands.
Bing came to stand next to me.
"Do you know where I picked up that rock?" she asked me.
I looked at her. "Where?"
"Well, you know that day that I flew over to see my old friend, Matthew?"
I nodded.
"We drove down Ventura Highway and I made him stop so I could find a rock for you from Venture Highway. Even though, down there they pronounce it ventoora, not ventura."
I couldn't speak. This was easily one of the most romantic gestures she has ever made to me.
I just hugged her. She hugged back.
So, now I have a rock from Ventura Highway. And I will cherish it forever.
This morning, Liv gave me her presents, also rocks. She found them in a cave she explored with her father. They are beautiful gems of rocks. Sparkly things. I oohed and aahhed over them, we found a place for them in our garden.
Liv is bubbling with news of Disneyland and spelunking and eating great food. She is even more tan than she was when she left, which I did not think was possible. But, she seems glad to be home, is doing a lot of nesting, lots of hanging out in her room, quietly reading. We've promised to take her to see Batman or The X Files tomorrow, can't decide which one to see.
Liv also brought me a 3x5 card from her father's assistant, my dear friend, Nirand. It simply had a website on it and the words, "I know you will get this." I went to it this morning and yes, Nirand, I do get it. There is nothing quite like our friendship. I smiled because it was very you. And I always said that you reminded me of Bill Murray. Here is the site if anyone is interested. I loved the movie too.
So, now...I am feeling full to the brim of love and the sweetness of gifts given with such love and tenderness.
I am lucky. I know this. And it made me think. What is the best gift that someone ever gave you? I think it would make for some interesting posts...
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