ABC Meme, Part I

I was tagged for this meme by AC of Sonnets of the Hermit. (Isn't that a great name?) Being lazy, i am going to stretch it out for two posts, as i don't feel like answering all those questions right now.

A: Attached or Single?: I don't have a conjoined twin, so single........ Ok ok, attached, for a hell of a long time.

B: Best Friend: I can't say that i really have a Best Friend. I have friends, some i like better than others. I have my walking friend, my squash friend, my husband friend, my cute male friend, my daughter friend, my friend who calls himself "my gay friend", my go-to-things-downtown with friend, and so on.

C: Cake or Pie? What a dumb question. Yes, cake AND pie. Ice cream is essential. Vanilla, no funny flavors with cake or pie.

D: Drink of Choice? Red Wine, green tea and fresh-squeezed grapefruit juice. (Not all together.)

E: Essential Item: Laptop and wireless. Plus a cat sleeping beside me as i type and read.

F: Favorite Color: Aubergine, Tangerine, Periwinkle, Mauve, Fuligin. Mostly i just like to say these, especially aubergine, and the last one isn't even a real color.

G: Gummi Bears or Worms: Bears, i like to "bite they tiny heads off, nibble on they tiny feet."* When i worked we used them as voodoo bears and would skewer them to bulletin boards with straight pins.

H: Hometown: My father was in the military, so i never know how to answer this question. Born in California, but i have lived in and out of Seattle since i was 12. So that's got to be it.

I: Indulgence: Cookies. Everyday after lunch i begin the hunt for a cookie. Almost any kind except peanut butter, which is odd, as i like peanut butter, just not the cookies.

J: January or February? I would name a pet January way before i'd name one February.

K: Kids: 1, daughter, 16, literary geek. Once named a cell phone Ishmael so she could say "Call me on Ishmael."

L: Life is Incomplete Without: (Corny Alert) Someone to share things with.

M: Marriage Date: February 20, 1982. It's an odd date but i was ADAMANT about not getting married on Valentines Day.

N: Number of Siblings: 2 older brothers. I blame the fact that i eat really fast on this. In our house, she who hesitated, went hungry.


*a quote from a B. Kliban book.

Own it

Let's see if i can describe this succinctly.

I was talking with a woman i know. Kind of a friend, certainly someone with who i am friendly. She was telling me a story about how some other mother had interferred in some high school social situation and had hurt my friend's daughter's feelings. Certainly not intentionally, but thoughtlessly.

At the end of the conversation, after telling me that she knew that other mother had not been being mean, she said, "My husband's comment was 'What the hell was that idiot (other mother) thinking?'"

Something about this struck me as odd, so i have been navel-gazing about it for a few hours, and i realize that this is not the first time that my friend has used her husband as a proxy for her real feelings.

I am going to guess that she does this in order to preserve her image of herself as a nice person who doesn't talk smack about other people.

For god's sake woman, own your own crap! It's like a mirror of "Wait 'til your father gets home;" Daddy as heavy; The man as the repository of anything even vaguely hostile. Bah.

I don't need no man to be hostile for me, i can do it on my own. :)

How rude!

This time of year i see all the pine trees giving me the finger. Am i insecure? I can't walk by one of them without seeing the universal sign for "fuck off."

Now i see them everywhere. Tell me you can see them too.

See, i do exist.

A few....well...a very few, have asked me to post a photo of myself. Here it is. I look pretty good for almost 50 huh?

I think this picture is from first grade. My mother has mis-labeled it on the back as if i were 10 years old at the time, but this is NOT the picture of a 10 year old.

Look at those California induced freckles. Look at that plastic headband. My eyebrows are still about this thick. The funny thing about that is that of the Mister, Em and me, i have the bushiest eyebrows. We refer to ourselves as "eyebrow-impaired."

This picture hurts me to look at. I looked so innocent. I was so innocent. This was the little girl who would squeal over clouds flying by, who would dig a hole in the side of a sandy cliff and put a tiny pillow in the hole so that a mouse could sleep there.

This is the little girl who was too trusting of a neighbor boy, and whose parents did not take good enough care of her.

This is the little girl who would climb up on the roof of the house with a book and some mashed potato flakes in a paper cup and spend dreamy hours alone there.

This is the little girl who was encouraged to make fun of her older brother.

This is the little girl who worried over what disaster would next befall her.

This is the little girl who grew up, way up, and became a strong, interesting woman, with many insecurities, who lives a good life anyway.

update: I think all you commenters are right, as was my mother. I was 9 in this photo, not 6.

The parenting blues

Sometimes it's hard to be a woman parent.

Remember when the hurts of the world could be fixed with a popsicle, a hug and a pokemon bandaid? It's not so easy anymore. The world is bigger now and doesn't begin and end with mommy or daddy. Drat!

I don't always know what to do. It's much more complicated with friends and school and money and homework and the computer and.......it all.

The same amount of love is still there, but the walls that it builds are not high enough to keep the rest of the world out.

Affect

Em and i had an interesting conversation on the way home the other day. I was thinking about affectations; beliefs that people hold dear about themselves so that they feel special that are not true.

I can tell you about affectations that the Mister has. I won't, but i could. (For example, he spent the first 18 months of his life in Japan, on a military base. So he fancies that he has a "natural feel" for Japanese culture and language. I feel that this is not true, and that the people that we encounter at Japanese restaurants are just indulging him because he is spending money. Em, who has taken Japanese for 6 years now, says his accent and understanding are terrible.)

There are more about the Mister that i could point out, but i really won't. So i asked Em, "What do you see as my affectations?" She couldn't really think of any that weren't true. I asked her to keep thinking.

I couldn't think of any about me either. Until today. I thought of one. But i am too embarrassed to tell you because i have indulged in that affectation here. The best i can do for you is to promise, now that i have seen the affectation, is to promise to TRY and not indulge in it again.

Can you think of any of your affectations? Leave me an anonymous comment if you like. Ask a person close to you if you can't think of any. I'll bet they know.

I'm flying Jack, er, Chuckie

photo by The Mister

Today i am using Mona's word for the day from Irrelephant. That word is cloud.

As a child in California, we lived on the base in San Diego where the many kids spent all summer running wild and unsupervised all over the hills and ravines. Whenever a large delivery was made to any house, we kids commandeered the box. We didn't give a damn what was in the box, the box itself was the real prize. We would play with the box for weeks, a fort, a puppet stage, a zoo, an ice cream stand.....

Someone or other got a mattress the summer i was 7. That's back when mattresses came in boxes (you hear that you young pups?) This boy, who's name i think i remember as Chuckie (poor kid) and i dragged this box up to the top of a hill and lay in the box staring up at the sky.

We started out naming shapes we saw in the clouds. I noticed that if i held my head so that i could only see the sky, then the clouds that were whipping by in the breeze made me feel like i was flying in that box.

You know that disoriented, but fun, feeling that you get on a roller-coaster? That's what it felt like.

"Ooooooh, Chuckie," i squealed.

What is that cat thinking?*

Forgiveness is the fragrance that the violet sheds on the heel that has crushed it. - Mark Twain.

To which i utter a resounding "BULLSHIT!" Violets don't really have a fragrance, and furthermore, what does this mean about the fragrance of dog shit on the heel of the one who stepped in it? Does the dog shit forgive me??? (And yes, i know those are lilacs, not violets.)

Whatever.....

So what am i on about? I had lunch today with my mother and the Mister isn't home yet so you get to hear about it.

I am uncomfortable around my mother. I don't really trust her. I don't even like to look her in the eye. Do you know how hard it is to avoid eye contact with someone sitting across a booth from you?

At lunch, she told me that she thinks i have done a really good job being Em's mom, and that she wishes she had been as good a mom as i am. Of course my (snarky) thought was "I wish you had too."

Is there some reason now that she is almost 80 and i am almost 50 that she finally is deciding to be reflective about how she has lived her life and treated the people around her? Why now? Why involve me? Yikes!

It's just too late for me. I am too old and set in my ways to change this relationship. And i don't want to and you can't make me. See how mature i am about this? *stamps large foot* I will reflect maturely on this later, when i feel less creeped out.

*why won't she stop fussing around with that camera and let me in?

Other people fighting

This memory was dredged up from the toxic memory sludge pile by this post of Esereth's.

Here's the set-up:

Setting: Some cheap roadside motel on the way back to Seattle from Ashland Oregon.

Cast: 3 year-old Em, me, my brother, SIL, their two kids (4 and 8.)

Scene: SIL is sitting on the end of the bed in the motel room with her arms wrapped around her two kids, one kid on each side. She is in tears, raging at my brother. My brother is standing up facing them, looking puzzled. The door to the room is open to the outside. I am sitting on the curb trying to keep a 3 year old occupied and out of the fray.

Plot: My niece has a raging ear infection and a fever. Niece has had convulsions before as a result of a fever. SIL wants to take her to a local emergency room. My brother wants to wait until tomorrow so they can go to a local provider because then the visit will be covered by insurance.

Relevant background: They are not poor. They could very easily afford this emergency room expense.

Irrelevant background: We were on our way home from the Ashland Shakespeare Festival. The Mister and i were separated so he was not present. Em and i were arranging cigarette butts in the gutter.

What happened: They did not go to the emergency room. We had a very uncomfortable dinner that night. Thank god Em and i had our own room.

My opinion: I think they should have gone to the emergency room. I love my brother, but in this case he was being a real ass. If any parent is that worried about their child, EVEN IF THEY ARE BEING SILLY, go. It's worth it to spend the money so that the one parent is relieved. If it had been me i would have said "I'm going, do you want to come or not?"

So, and this is back to Esereth's point, which parent wins out in cases like this, where there is a sharp disagreement about child rearing?

I am just plain mean

Saturday night we went to the house of two really nice people and had dinner. These were not people that i know, although i have met them once before. The Mister and i had a great meal, good wine and pleasant conversation.

Of course, i can't let it go at just that. I feel badly about that, but these are my real thoughts.

The man mentioned at least 5 times how expensive the bottle of wine that we had with dinner was. Not the actual price, just how expensive it was. (Don't tell, but i liked the first bottle we had better.)

These two people are really nice. And really earnest. Call me a bitch (i do) but i like a little bit of irony/sarcasm/satire with my conversation. The woman, while she was showing me her crystals, said "I am really into energy." (And really who isn't? But what does that mean? I did ask her to tell me about it, but the answer was vague enough that i don't remember it. )

There were many compliments about physical traits of the Mister and i. You can guess which one for me. For the Mister it was hair. The Mister has really nice hair, and what that means at his age (49) is that he HAS hair. The Mister and i talked on the way home about these comments and why it's okay to talk about some things and not others, and why it made me, in retrospect, very slightly uncomfortable. I believe it's because it felt obsequious.

I feel badly that i can't just go over and have a nice dinner without thinking my mean thoughts. I don't do this with everyone, but i am sensitive to odd nuances. Do you do this too? Or am i just plain mean?

It must have been a really great party

because Brown Cat still has the lampshade on his head.

Last week there was a mighty battle. Brown Cat and Grey Cat fought like demons to keep the cat next door from invading our territory. I don't know the exact outcome, but Grey Cat has a new notch in his ear, and Brown Cat, who i thought had escaped unscathed, had a large abscess on his side lanced open this afternoon and now has a hat worthy of the queen (What? Have you seen her hats?) and two tubes sticking out of his side, a la Frankenstein, or Frankenfurter.

I don't know if the invader was hurt, but from the aftermath here, she either looks like she came in third in an axe battle, or she totally owned my cats.

{An amusing aside, when i went to pick up Brown Cat at the vet's, i frightened the vet, who had only seen me sitting down up until that point. "My God," she said, taking a step back, "how tall are you?"}

Try a little tenderness

Writing here is a thing that cannot be dashed off. I must have the time to savor the process. If i am in a hurry, i can’t express myself correctly.

A thing about me that comes out here, on this blog, that rarely comes out in the rest of my life is my tenderness.

I am funny. I am smart. I am cynical. Everyone knows these things about me. It’s obvious.

But i am tender too. Here, where my stiff upper lip can’t be seen, the smart-ass comment can’t be flipped out rapidly, i let my tender side come out.

I was at dinner tonight with one of my favorite people and she, who is very, very much like me, told me a tender story about a friend that she helped nurse through the final stage of AIDS.

I told her my theory about tenderness. Because this was a tender story (she showed me the ring that she wears from him, although he died over 12 years ago.) It all started with a story about body piercings. Whatever, it can start anywhere.

My friend is a Myers-Briggs semi-expert. She said that there are traits that are dominant, and that as we age, and no longer give such a fuck about what people think of us, our less dominant traits can emerge (Did i get this right Kim?)

I am a tender person. And i don't care who knows it.

Contrast

I was driving to the gym this morning listening to NPR. It's full of news about the massacre in Virginia. This makes me so sick at heart and i was thinking about how am i going to be able to send Em off to college? I was a little teary-eyed, but not too teary as i was driving. How inconceivably awful we humans can be.

The car ahead of me slammed to a halt for no apparent reason. I stopped too, having no choice. Then the car traveling the opposite way stopped as well. I still didn't see any reason for stopping. After sitting there for about 30 seconds, wondering what the hell is going on, a small duck appeared walking, slowly, from in front of the car ahead of me. She proceeded, seemingly unperturbed, across the road while we all sat there and waited patiently. How incredibly wonderful we humans can be.

Gratuitous critter report

This beast:

brought me this: (it's about the size of my thumb.)
And this beast:

brought me this:
And this beast has a terrible haircut, but it's her fault as she won't hold still.

This morning there was a deer wandering up and down our beach. (No pictures, i wasn't quick enough.) I have never seen a deer here before, only the tracks. She looked lost, but maybe that's because deer just look stupid. I wish i spoke deer so i could ask.

Welcome to the Sahara baby

I went to the doctor yesterday, for my yearly exam. Yeah, that exam. She felt me up and poked around. Everything is fine and where it should be.

However, i am 49 and getting hot flashes so.....menopause is a-coming down the track. Oh boy. The doctor mentioned a few things to be looking out for in the coming years. One thing she mentioned was Personal Dryness.

Personal Dryness???? (Wouldn't that be a good name for a band?)

I had to try really hard to look serious. I love the euphemistic nature of this affliction. It sound like something you would hear mentioned in hushed tones on a late night commercial. What other indignities lie in my future. "I can hardly wait," she said dryly.

I wonder if men of a certain age get a warning about Personal Softness?

A Group of Earnest Women

This morning i went to Em's school's parent-teacher monthly meeting. I go because i am the treasurer, a job that everyone is afraid of so they are grateful that you will do it and you don't have to interact with people very much. Did you get all that?

As the meeting is concluding, on time, a rare event (people do love to hear themselves talk), an Earnest Woman, representing a group of Earnest Women, gets up and presents an idea for a "pledge" for the parents to sign next year. This pledge states that the signing parents will not support any activity that involves alcohol, that the parents will always call other parents to find out if the kids are really going to be where they said they were and that the parents will always be at home if there are other kids at their house.

And so the questions began:
Is it legally binding? (Don't know)
Will we know which parents signed this pledge and which didn't? (Yes)
Are there liability issues? (Don't know)
Why should i have to stay home with my 16 year old and her best friend? That's not practical. (Um, we hadn't thought of that)
Isn't this kind of Big Brother-ish? (The Earnest Women don't think so)
What about parents who are divorced and one signs and the other doesn't? (This caused head-spinning for the Earnest Woman)
Some parents think it's okay to give alcohol to their own kids at home. (A gasp from the Earnest Woman)

And so on. This went on for a full 15 minutes before i feigned a heart attack and snuck out the side door.

I am in no way minimizing the issue that alcohol can be in high school. The place at which i volunteer cleans up some of the aftermath of teenage drinking. But i don't believe that parents signing a pledge is going to do a damn bit of good. It's sweet that they were so earnest and all, but what planet do these ladies live on what makes them think this will help?

My problem is that i totally lack the patience to sit and listen to sweet, but useless ideas. I did enough of that when i worked.

Update, no biggie

I told the Mister last night that i have a blog and that i've had one for almost a year. His response was "That's cool. You should show it to me sometime."

I explained that i didn't trash talk him here, or refer to him as "that fucking asshole" or anything like that, but that really, it's all bathos and pathos here. So, i told him that no, i would rather he didn't read it as it would make me self-conscious.

I talked a bit about how much fun i am having. And, as i suspected, he is happy and supportive. Although i know he would like to read what i have written, it's not a big deal to him. We'll see if it comes up again.

XD
<3 (- a sideways heart)

We IM each other across the house, an actual conversation

em says:
I DON'T EVEN WANT TO GO TO THE STUPID CONCERT. XD
em says:
But I said I would, so.
meno says:
yes, you may go, if you want
meno says:
but you can also say no
em says:
How do I say no? XD I already told her I could go.
meno says:
are mimi's parents going to pick you up? and when
em says:
Mother.
meno says:
yes my own true love?
em says:
That would have been the original question. XD
em says:
mimi: THE CONCERT IS AT EIGHT. SO WE SHOULD LEAVE AROUND 7-7:15 ISH. WHAT TIME SHOULD WE COME PICK YOU UP? <-- here
meno says:
i see that. They can pick you up at whatever time they need to to get there when they want to.
em says:
;_____; I don't wanna go. Save me.
meno says:
you feel bad, your teeth hurt, you have your period, with cramps. Your cat is sick, your dad has been arrested for tax fraud. You have gas.
em says:
*cracks up*
meno says:
i could go on
em says:
O rly.
meno says:
yep. You need to wash your hair, trim your pubes, organize your sock drawer
em says:
Wtf. XDDD
meno says:
you might have fun. I just need to know when you'll be home so i can call the police 5 minutes after you are late.
em says:
You're horrible.
meno says:
's true
meno says:
but you like me
em says:
I do.

Neither a planner nor a slacker be.

This post is brought to you by........Alcohol!

I saw a great bumper sticker the other day: Instant Asshole, Just Add Alcohol.

Ahem..

I am not a planner. For the most part, my life has just happened. Well, except for Em. She was planned. I never wanted to be able feel any resentment towards her because she was an "accident."

The thing i find kind of odd, is that i don't care. I don't want to plan my life. I find planning BORING. (This was a definite deficit when i was a manager of an accounting department.) I contrast this with my SIL who is always making lists of "where i want to be in 5 years." I don't want to think about where i want to be in 5 years. Still alive is good enough for me.

This lack of planning has worked out pretty well for me. I have gotten jobs, like my last one, through happy accidents of fate. I have never taken an accounting class in my life, and i ended up as the manager of an accounting department. Which either proves that i am brilliant, or that accounting isn't that hard. I know which one my money is on.

Right now my life is sort of a blur of wasted time and meaninglessness. And i am happy. I don't need to contribute anything of significance to this world. I will not write a best seller. I will not cure cancer (although i wish i knew how).

I will raise a fine child and putter around in my corner of the world doing silly little things.

Are you a planner? Are you planning to do anything BIG? Are you okay with it if you don't?

This space intentionally left blank.

(I told you that alcohol was involved.)

Can i just beat her a little?

I am exhausted. Em had two full-blown temper tantrums yesterday. I thought this was the exclusive territory of toddlers. The tantrum performance has changed from when she was a toddler, but the basic crying, yelling and make wild leaps of logic have not.

The good news is that i did not beat her. Not even a tiny bit. Although i tell you that one good whack would have felt REALLY GOOD! I remained calm, externally. It was all because i asked her to clean her room this week and the deadline has come and gone, and been extended once, with no results. So, as promised, i turned off her internet access. See what a beast i am?

This morning, as we were heading off to our gig cleaning cat cages, she asked me "What can i do to make it up to you?" She can tell that i am not really feeling all that kindly towards her right now and she is ashamed of herself too. I told her that she can make it up by never having another tantrum. I also told her that i need a time out from her, not that i don't love her, but i don't want to be around her right now.

Usually we meet the Mister for lunch after shoveling cat poop. Not today. The Mister and i took a lovely walk in the spring sunshine instead.

**************************************

I am about to tell the Mister that i have a blog and have had one for almost a year. And that no, he can't read it. I am to go off and meet some other bloggers soon and one thing i won't do is lie about where i am and who i am with. My guess is that he will be very excited and happy for me. He is a great cheerleader and thinks more of me than i think of myself. I appreciate that. But he still can't read it.

In which i am questioned

I asked for 5 questions from Jen and here they are, along with my attempts at answers. That Jen, she is no pushover. Not a "What's your favorite color?" among these.

1. You've decided to run for president. Who would you choose as your VP, and why?

Ignoring the fact that i could never be president because i inhaled, my first thought was Colin Powell but he would have to grow some balls first. But then, because i haven't the chance of a pickpocket in a nudist colony of getting elected, i think i will go with Al Franken, because he would keep us laughing.

2. If you suddenly found yourself homeless and had no money or friends for to find a safe place to sleep, where would you go for the night, and why?

I have this nightmare sometimes..... I have no freaking idea. None whatsoever. I wouldn't go downtown because it's dangerous, even though that's where the shelters are. I would probably hide somewhere in a neighborhood that was familiar, so i would feel safer. From my volunteer work, i know that the YMCA near our house offers temporary housing, except on Wednesdays (is that insane?). So i hope it's not Wednesday.

3. The place you want to see most in the world, but don't think you'll ever manage to travel to?

There is nowhere in this world that i want to go that i don't think i'll ever manage to get to. I have the optimism that if i really want to go anywhere, i will. The Mister and i are looking forward to being able to travel more when Em hies herself off to college.

4. If you had one "do-over", what would it be, if anything?

I wouldn't have gotten married so young. I should have spent some time trying to be on my own after college, instead of marrying right away. I would have known that i can take care of myself instead of having to learn it 12 years later. But learn it i did. I don't regret anything from my marriage now, either Em or The Mister, but i wish i had gone about it differently.

5. If you could break bread with anyone (still alive) in the world today, who would it be? And who else would you invite to the meal?

What? No dead people at dinner? I guess they aren't very good at conversation and they smell bad. (You know, i think i sat next to a dead person last week at one of The Mister's work events.)

But i digress, i would like to have dinner with Marjane Satrapi, the author of the graphic novel Persepolis and other books. She grew up in Tehran and her parents sent her away when she was 14 for her own safety. How interesting would that be?

As for who else i would invite, it would be you. Come on, it'll be fun!

Thinking of you....

Urban-urchin has asked me to tell you about 5 blogs that make me think, other than hers i mean.

I have been chewing on this for a few days and i am finding it stressful. All of the blogs i read make me think in some ways. It turns out that i like blogs that are more subtle with the making me think. That way it doesn't seem like work. I am also uncomfortable singling out only 5 blogs. I currently have almost 80 blogs in my google reader. Some will stay there forever, some i am merely sampling.

So, in no particular order:

patches at clawless~balless: This one is ostensibly written by a cat. A cat with keen powers of observation and a wicked sense of humor. Oh, and the cat is an excellent artist too.

joan of arf :The last time i cried in earnest while reading a post was a few days ago while looking at a picture of a puppy on her blog who had been thrown out of a moving car. Joan does dog rescue, and she's often funny too, just not this time.

maggie at mind moss: Maggie is a friend whom i have never met. She is a poet and a writer and is able to express herself such that i really get her. Kind of an every woman with eloquence.

esereth at to throw away a button: Esereth exposes herself to us through her writing. She asks questions and tells stories that sometimes make me smile and sometimes let me feel the despair she feels. No subject is off limits. I respect that.

biscotti at diary of a panhedonist: I started reading this blog a long time ago while hitting next blog button in the tool bar. I don't even know if i like this woman, and i get the feeling that she wouldn't care. Her writing is brutally, devastatingly, overwhelmingly honest. She's also the only blogger that i truly feel writes solely for herself. I am in awe of her. She wrote a post about a month ago that i am still thinking about concerning finding a home snuggling with the body of a loved one. It's not what you are thinking either.

You know there are many more. I left off the obvious ones of Jen and Chani and amusing and de and josephine and bob, who gently reminds me to not be such a sexist and .... Sorry, i am all linked out.

You see how it is? All the blogs i read provide something to me, as i am not shy about quitting reading if it feels like a chore.

Ms. Iceberg Meets Mr. Titanic

I can see the inevitability of the coming collision, but i am helpless to stop it.

Are you ever with two other people whom you know and love and you can see the conversation heading right off into a fight? And if you say anything, you will become the deer in the headlight instead of the other two?

---------------------------------------------------

Em has just returned from a 5 day tour of east coast colleges. She is tired and quite nervous thinking about college and all that it implies; applications, SAT scores, moving away, roommates. We are at a restaurant awaiting our pizza, the night before she gets her braces (another worry).

The Mister is all excited for her and wants to talk about colleges. He has missed her. I also think that he wishes he had had all the support and encouragement that Em is getting, and wants to make sure that she really feels his support.

She chatters about colleges for a little bit and then heaves a weary sigh and says she is tired of talking about it. She rests her head on my shoulder in the restaurant.

The Mister lets it go for a minute, and then says, "You know, you really should think about applying to ABC and XYZ colleges too."

Em: Ummm.

Meno, (thinking "DANGER WILL ROBINSON, DANGER!") Oh look, i think that's our pizza.

The Mister: I mean, you'll never know unless you try. And depending on your SAT scores...yadda, yadda...

Meno: (OH SHIT! I need some semifore flags to indicate that the danger alert level is RED.)

Em, (exploding) LEAVE ME ALONE! I don't want to TALK ABOUT COLLEGE RIGHT NOW.

The Mister: ???? (angry and puzzled.)

Meno: Sigh.

----------------------------------------------

This is just an example. And i know that the Mister can see Em and i doing this same thing at times. It's much easier to see from the outside.

A story with a happy ending

When i was 11, my best friend Connie and i found a baby robin on the ground at the bottom of our Tulip Poplar tree. Not too baby, but she could not fly. (I have no idea if the robin was a girl, but for the sake of simplicity i will call her a girl.)

I carried her inside the house and cradled her in my hands while Connie prepared a shoe box nest for her. Shredded kleenex and a few leaves to make her feel at home.

I named her Terry Lynn, as that was my idolized oldest brother's girlfriend's name. I thought it was the most beautiful name in the world and i declared my intention to name my first baby girl Terry Lynn.

Terry Lynn, Terry Lynn. See how it rolls off the tongue?

We showed Terry Lynn to my mother and asked her what we should feed her. "It will not live," she declared. Then looking at our hopeful little faces she relented, "Try little bits of cat food." Connie's father gave us an eye dropper from their hamster's equipment for water.

Terry Lynn spent that night in my room, peeping and pooping and gobbling cat food. Connie and i carried her around the neighborhood in the morning to show all the other kids.

We kept her for about two weeks. She began to flutter around my room a bit. Connie and i presented her with piles of worm stocked dirt to dig through so she could learn how to take care of her own food supply. We dug the worms out of the manure pile at the stable where Connie's sister had a horse. (Now that's love.) She would cock her head to one side and listen and then dive into the dirt and pull out a fat wiggler. Yummy!

Terry Lynn got stronger with flying so a few days later we took her outside. At first she hopped around on the ground. (A bad idea for a bird.) But then she heard some robins in the trees and off she flew. Connie and i cried and watched her until we couldn't tell which robin was her anymore.

Freedom.

Because Esereth asks.....

The always clever Esereth made up her own meme and then tagged me with it.

The last conversation I had with my mother- She called me last week to ask where i stay when i visit Cannon Beach. They won't be able to stay there though as it is up a steep hill and there are many steps down to the beach and my mother has had 4 knee replacement operations. (No, my mother isn't a dog, but she can be a bitch.)

The last conversation I had with my father- Sadly, i don't remember. He isn't really allowed to answer the phone and when we are all together no one can get many words past my mother, who answers for him. He has trouble hearing so she just jumps in and makes him look like he's feeble-minded.

Do you regret the person or manner in which you lost your virginity?- Yes. Sigh. I should say more i suppose. It wasn't my idea and there was hitting.

The thing your parents never found out about.- Where do i begin? I learned early not to tell them anything that i didn't have to. So here is a partial list; dope smoking, drinking, leaving the house late at night and wandering the streets, happy events, sad events, the three watches of my mother's that i threw in the lake in fits of pique.

How much do you spend a month on groceries.- We eat at restaurants a lot. I don't really know. I never feel bad about buying good quality food though, because it would sure cost much more at a restaurant.

The last lie you told.- I ran into someone that i had hoped not to ever see again two nights ago. She wanted to chat. I said i had to run to catch a bus. I did have to catch a bus, but i had a few minutes. Her lie was "I'll call you."

How often are your comments on other blogs made out of obligation?- Rarely or never. I almost always have something to say, and if i don't, then i don't. I like to comment on my regular reads. And, to paraphrase Esereth, if it's alway a chore then it's time to stop reading. I'll admit i have a hard time commenting on poetry. Not because i don't like it, but because i never know what to say.

Brain breeze

My friend Eileen and i go for walk-and-talks every week, if we are both available. I get a lot out of both the walking and the talking.


Today we were talking about confronting parents about things that happened in childhood, and whether or not it is ever effective. Eileen was telling me about her mother’s religious zeal and how that is the main focus in her mom’s life, so that confronting her mother would never yield any results because her mother cannot even hear any diverging opinion.

I made a conscious effort to stop my own brain from planning what i was going to say next and truly listen. Eileen made a wistful statement about how she wished that her mother’s main focus had been more on her children.

Right then, like a wind rushing through me, i mean i swear i heard that wind, i had a moment of total understanding of how she might feel.

I told Eileen about that wind. She looked at me and said, “Thank you. It really helps that someone understands how i feel.” It was a sweet moment.

I like to say that although i am not religious, i can be spiritual. But i've never given much though to HOW i am spiritual. It's just an easy thing for me to say that sounds good.

I realize that one way in which i am spiritual is that i attempt to truly find a way to understand what it's like to be in someone else's life. Today i was successful.

If my childhood plans had worked out:

I would be kneeling over the contents of a shark's stomach on the deck of the Calypso alongside of Jacques Cousteau and his son Philippe, wearing a pair of frayed cut-off jeans and a wet suit top. The wet suit top is unzipped so that my ample cleavage is hinted at in a tasteful manner. (That part really is a fantasy.) The shark is the result of my last dive into the uncharted crystal blue waters off the coast of ........somewhere exotic.

A floppy straw hat perches on my head to protect me from the sun, but nonetheless i am deeply tanned and freckled. My hair is streaked with natural blonde highlights. I pay no mind to my stunning good looks.

The excitement is palpable. No one has ever been able to confirm that sharks eat.....whatever is in the shark's stomach; kittens, kelp, Brillo pads, Nemo. Who knows, but we are stunned by this important scientific discovery.

That night we sit in the ship's galley, lit by the light of the swaying lanterns and plan the next day's dive.

During the season when the boat is in dry dock, i live in a beautiful old house with an incredibly handsome man who sees me for the wonder that i am. The house is filled with books and plants. My students come and visit me at home where we stay up late arguing over the latest theory of marine life while dining on some of that marine life. The handsome man cooks.

At night the house elves come to clean the house and hand wash all my casual yet expensive clothes.

*********************************************

Thank you amusing, for this request. I had great fun.

A little silly

I just enrolled Em in a driver's ed class for this summer. Hold me.


I have this slightly odd obsession with weight loss stories. I read all the stories in the product ads. I look at the before and after pictures. I buy books written by people who have lost lots of weight. I read articles about gastic bypass operations. It's kind of odd as i have never been overweight. I mean i have those three six pounds i've needed to lose since 1985, but nothing more serious than that.

This weekend in Parade magazine, that gossip and inspirational rag lightly disguised as news and information, i was reading something about some football players who had all done some weight loss thing together. There were before and after pictures with little quotes from each player. This one was the best:

"My wife says that my gut is less sickening now that i've lost 20 pounds."

Man, those are some encouraging words. I know i'm inspired. Probably the most honest quote of the whole bunch. The rest were all the usual "I feel better." "I look better." etc.

Music is the Universal Language

Ok, i am done wallowing in the past. It's safe to go back into the water.

I was tagged by QT to do a list of seven songs that i have been listening to lately. I listen to music mainly in my car. I do not have an ipod. I am a Luddite.

1) I Don't Give Up - Patty Griffin from Running with Children
2) The Dreaming Dead- Jesse Sykes from Oh My Girl
3) Pony - Kasey Chambers from Wayward Angel
4) Bring Him Home - the 10th anniversary concert soundtrack of Les Miserables
5) God Says Nothing Back - The Wallflowers from Rebel, Sweetheart
6) On the Radio - Regina Spektor from Begin To Hope
7) Shelter - Ray LaMontagne from Trouble
8) Romeo - Patty Scialfa from 23rd Street Lullaby

I still can't count. :)

As i look at this list, i realize that there are two artists on there that were recommended to me by one of you. People i had never heard of before. How cool is that?

Em is flying off tomorrow morning at the crack of dawn for a five day whirlwind tour of east coast colleges. I am trying not to stress out as it is almost 6 pm and she has NO CLEAN CLOTHES. I am actively reminding myself that this is NOT my problem. She is old enough to deal with this herself and i have already reminded her once.

I am making pizza tonight for dinner. Her favorite meal. The kitchen, and i, are covered with flour.

Witty, yet heartfelt title.

Thank you all for your kind, understanding and insightful words. It means a lot to me to hear what you have to say, even if it's just "I'm sorry."

All right, let me see if i can get this correct, and then we must never speak of it again. :)

I figured out the trigger for my "kamikaze attacks from the past." (Thanks for that phrase Caro, it's perfect.) The Mister has travelled 3 times in the past month. And, of course, that's where this all began, on a business trip.

I am embarrassed as i write this, because how typical, how tawdry. But why am I embarrassed? Because in this culture, i know there are people who think that it must be a reflection on me.

I want to be careful here, because there are thousands of ways to "get it wrong" when describing someone else's issues.

The Mister wants to be attractive to and liked by everyone. A legacy from his father, i believe. Some people, understandably, mistake this for something else, including him. So, the infidelity was just the recognition of this problem, all the way around. The solving of it has taken longer. With slip-ups. Details not to be included as they aren't important. Not major slip-ups, but enough to rip the scab off of my still tender wound.

The Mister has spent the past 13 years working on this issue, trying to recognize and correct the behavior.

I frequently quote Chani on this one. Love is a behavior, not an emotion.

And to quote Patty Griffin from her latest album, "I don't give up. I don't ever give up."

Bitten

Does the past ever come and bite you on the butt?

I have been stewing, chewing, re-living old hurts and lies that were told more than 13 years ago. I was in the shower this morning and i found myself feeling angry. I have to shake myself to STOP THAT. Let it go.

It's been happening with more frequency the past week or so. I need to think about whether or not this time of year, or something else, is the trigger.

It is not healthy for me to be doing this. I think it damages the progress we've worked so hard to achieve. Why can't i let go? Is my anger so precious to me?

My thoughts drift off into some remembered humiliation, which is how being lied to makes me feel, humiliated, and my heart rate goes up and i think "i HATE you." Am i so unforgiving that i can't see the sacrifices and the heart ache that he has lived through to try and become a better person and to make us a better family? Is it fair that he should have to wonder why i am glaring at him?

I need the flashy thingie from Men In Black that erases memory. In lieu of that, i really wish i knew how to let go of the past. I mean, i'm still pissed at my mother, but she's never made any attempt to apologize or make amends.

Sorry for the arcane nature of this post. I don't want to go into it all for my own sake. Suffice it to say that something completely typical happened to me. And i was lied to.

The atypical part is that he apologized, many times, and has spent years working to try and understand why he did what he did.

The nature of trust is that you believe what someone tells you. I wonder if it ever grows back.

Drivel, because that's where my head is.

I took my baby girl to the orthodontist this morning for the first of many steps in the installation and maintenance of braces. Due to my teeth genetics, she is later than most people in getting her adult teeth. As a consequence, all of her peers have already finished with the having of braces.

This is a two year process so she will be heading off to college with braces. Poor baby. She has a great attitude about it all, but it's still not much fun. Of course, it should make for fairly effective boy repellant, so there are benefits.

The money that we will be paying for this tooth torture could purchase a small car. Our health insurance covers less than 1/5 of the cost. I am glad we can afford this, but braces should be a right for all children, not just those with money.

I went for a walk while Em was "in the chair." Man, we litter alot. It's so depressing. Next time i will go with a large plastic bag and pick up all the recyclables. But i did find another Bott's Dot. If anyone wants it, let me know. I'll send it to you.

The insincere niceness in doctor's/dentist's offices always sets my teeth on edge. Just give me a People magazine and leave me alone, i don't want to chat with the staff. Especially at 8 in the morning. Bah!

Hidden agenda

I have a brother, Tim. His time is more valuable than yours.

I now know not to ever go anywhere with him. "Oh, i just need to make a quick stop at one of my buildings (he's a real estate guy) and move 6 dishwashers up from the basement. It won't take more than a minute." Yeah, right. Some variation of this happened more than 50 percent of the time whenever i got into a car with him.

Back when he drove and i didn't, i had no choice. Also, i wanted him to like me. I looked up to him, literally and figuratively. (Get this, i am the shortest one among my siblings. My big brother really is bigger than your big brother!) But this always annoyed me. Of course, i was never strong enough to say anything, back then. Now i rarely see him.

Tim invited the Mister out to help him look for a new car recently. This is the Mister's idea of a good time. If i ever want to perk up his weekend, i'll suggest going to look at cars. As it turned out, the car shopping trip involved a stop at one of Tim's business partner's offices so they could try and get the Mister to invest in something or other.

Why not just be honest? "I'd like to invite your checkbook, oh, and you too, out for lunch."

Some things don't change. Yes this is the brother into whose car i put a dead fish.

tattoo me

Someone recently mentioned that she has an appointment with a tattoo artist. So i thought i would post a picture of my tattoo. Also in honor of the day after St Patrick's Day. (I am a little slow.) I got this when i was 44. It's on my belly, a few inches below and to the right of my belly button, and it's about 6 cm (2.5 inches) high.

It's a slight modification of a Celtic design that i have admired for years. It's all black. My skin is not that color by the way, this picture is in black and white.

I don't believe i'll ever get another tattoo, but i really like this one and am very happy with it. Few people even know it's there. Except for you all.

Do you have any tattoos and where and what are they? Pictures are appreciated.

A view from the outside

I have a woman who comes over and cleans my house for me every so often. (And worth every damn penny too.) I know her because she used to work at the place where i used to work, along with 1,800 other people.

Last week we were talking and she said, "You know, you're really nice. I used to be afraid of you at work."

"Really?" i replied, slightly taken aback, "Why is that?"

"Oh you always walked around so fast and you're so tall and smart and you were a manager and all."

"Huh. Well, i am tall and i do walk fast. And that's scary?"

"It is to me."



Huh. I guess i put on a good show.

My Papa's Waltz

The poetry word for the day per Mona is DANCE. I have been looking for an excuse to give you one of my favorite poems, this is it. I did not write it, unfortunately. If i had been able to write this i think that my life would have taken a different path.

Please take the time to read it out loud, even if only to yourself. Any errors are mine and i apologize for them. I am working from memory here.

My Papa's Waltz

The whiskey on your breath
Could make a small boy dizzy;
But I hung on like death:
Such waltzing was not easy.

We romped until the pans
Slid from the kitchen shelf;
My mother's countenance
Could not unfrown itself.

The hand that held my wrist
Was battered on one knuckle;
At every step you missed
My right ear scraped a buckle.

You beat time on my head
With a palm caked hard by dirt,
Then waltzed me off to bed
Still clinging to your shirt.

-Theodore Roethke

I studied Roethke when i was getting my first college degree. I felt a special connection to him all through high school and college. He taught at the University of Washington, where i completed my useless liberal arts degree. Long before i went there, but still. He drowned in the Boedel's swimming pool, out on Bainbridge Island. I visted the Bloedel Reserve last year and saw the swimming pool, which is now a zen garden and filled in with sand. I discomfitted our tour guide by asking if this indeed was THAT pool.

You will find no comfort here
In the kingdom of bang and blab.

-a tiny bit of one of Theodore Roethke's longer poems.

Pillow talk

Ok, on to more serious stuff.

It's Wednesday already! That's enough!

I don't know why but this one silly little hour has kicked my butt. I usually wake up about a half an hour before the radio turns on and then twitch and wiggle for a while. Does this annoy the Mister? I am sure it doesn't.

The Mister gets up at 6:30 and leaves the house with Em at 6:50. (There is not much prep time required. I need more tme, but i am MUCH MORE attractive when i do leave.)

I usually get up right after they leave and make tea and feed the cats (not in that order.) But this week i have lain there in a stupor so long each morning that i risk being late to whatever awaits me that day. Which is not like me because i hate being late. It also causes the cats to stomp on my head and loudly voice their opinions. Which causes me to resort to the flying pillow trick. Which buys me another 30 seconds.

We just need more pillows on the bed.

So here i am talking about it.

I got into a discussion with someone last week about religion. I usually don't mention my religious leanings unless someone specifically asks, which she did. I told her that i am not religious, which sounds less harsh than atheist.

"So you are an atheist," she declared excitedly, with that evangelical gleam in her eye. So much for trying to hide behind make nice words.

Her basic argument (were we even having an argument when i was just saying "uh-huh" or "i see"?) went along the lines that religion is necessary or else people would not feel compelled to behave. I listened politely and hoped that my phone would ring or a meteorite would crash through the ceiling.

It's the old atheist = immoral theory.

I hate this theory. I don't steal, cheat, murder or commit adultery because i have standards, not because i am afraid of going to hell.

Is it true that religious people only behave out of fear? I don't think so. It seems to me that she insulted both of us.

This is why i avoid talking about religion. Better get rid of that scarlet A on my forehead then.

My life as an addict

If you are of an age with me, then you will remember those horrible, scary anti-drug movies that we were shown in school starting at around 4th grade.

There were slimy pushers chasing people down dark alleys with dripping hypodermic needles. There were hapless ingesters of LSD flinging themselves out of windows thinking they could fly. There were girls who would get into cars with strange men and were never seen or heard from again.

I used to wake up with nightmares from these movies. When i learned that it could all start with sniffing glue i was petrified. I was a glue sniffer. I had taken a bottle of Elmer's glue once and wooshed all the air out into my face. I had then turned and done the same to the girl sitting next to me in art glass where we were making glittery valentine's cards, so she knew about my perversion too. The shame and the fear were overwhelming.

It's easy to laugh about this now, but for a while i truly believed that i was a heroin addict and that it was only a matter of time before the rest of the world found out. When i would somehow be reminded of my addiction my heart would pound and i would run away from wherever i was as fast as possible.

Once i came out of my house and my neighbor's dad, who was restoring a car, had a pot of glue he was using to reattach the convertible top. He saw me hanging around and said something like, "Want a sniff?" He was teasing but...

OH MY GOD! He knew about me! How did that happen? I ran home and hid in my room, waiting for the inevitable. He would come over and tell my parents that i was a heroin addict and i would get into BIG BIG BIGTROUBLE. (Trouble, that starts with T, that rhymes with G that stands for GLUE!)

I was an odd kid. But there was no one whom i could ask about these things and put my fears to rest. I told Em this story once as an example of how a kid can make huge leaps of logic and scare the crap out of themselves worrying.

You won't believe what i did when i learned that you could get rickets from too little sun.

Because I'm a follower

From Gary, via Mona, this Friday's word is tea.

Tea story the first) I have many different kinds of tea in my tea drawer. I don't drink coffee (WHAT? You live in the Seattle area and don't drink coffee? Is that legal? Are you a communist?)

My tea has magical qualities. When Em is upset about something i always offer to make her a cup of tea. Her response is, "Yes, please. Tea always helps." Even if she won't tell me what the problem is, a cup of tea will be well received.

As a mom, i cannot cure the ills of the teenage world, or any world, but i can make a cup of tea and add honey and milk and cinnamon and ginger and some love and make it all a tiny bit better.

Tea story the second) Every morning i make and consume a large mug of tea. I spend a few moments deciding which tea it will be this morning; Decaf Organic Green Tea? Passion by Tazo? (Oh! the smell!) Loose Leaf Roobios Tea? (has a bit of an unfortunate smell, but tastes great.) Chai?.....

What should i add? Honey? Soy Milk? (Can't do that if it's a fruit tea as it will curdle.) Ginger? Half and Half? (If i am feeling decadent.) Lemon?....

Then i settle back into my bed with a cat, maybe two cats and spend some time sipping my tea and slowing moving my brain from sleep mode to wake mode. I treasure this time.

A true statement

Em and i went out to dinner together last night. You don't even want to know what prompted this statement:

"Mom, i'm not going to have gay sex with a man!"

We disrupted the rather quiet restaurant laughing.

Today's Housekeeping Tip

Get a cat. Compassion alone prevents me from having to make the bed.

Morbid introspection

The Mister in in NY for a few days. I feel a sense of profound loneliness. Which is odd, because even when he is in town we don't interact very much during the day. Em is here, but she's absorbed in her world.

I am thinking about all of you woman who are alone through divorce. Does it get easier? In my own experience, when we were separated many years ago, it did get easier, but it took awhile, and came and went.

There is a difference in the house when he is here, but in another room, from when he is just not here.

The psychological scuttlebutt is that we tend to marry our more difficult parent. Not literally of course, there are laws against that. Plus, ewwww. I have never been able to see my mother in the Mister. But in some ways i can see it in me. As in i can see a few similarities between me and the Mister's father. That is a hard sentence to type as the Mister's dad was an ass. Not an intentional ass, but a thoughtless ass. His world view was not impinged upon by the opinions of others.

That is not the part that is like me, i was stalling. The part that is like me is that the Mister looks to me for approval. Which i, um, kind of parcel out miserishly.

It makes me uncomfortable when a person is obvious about seeking my approval. Picture me looking at the person as if they had just farted. I just realized that i consider it to be a social gaffe. It embarrasses me. The last thing i want to do is appear needy, and it makes me uncomfortable when someone else appears needy.

We are all needy. Some of us (me) are just better at hiding it.

Meno, trying to make sense of it all and instead making a bit of a muddle.

*********************

i want to thank you all for leaving your silly jokes. I had a great time reading them. Save up your good ones for next time.

Annual Joke Post

Em told me this joke this morning:

A woman goes into a bar. The bartender asks her what she'd like. "I'd like a Double Entendre please." So her gave her a stiff one.

This from my 16 year old.

As a blatant rip off of Prairie Home Companion's annual joke show, i'm going to try it here. This will prove once and for all that i have no pride or sense of propriety. There should be something to offend everyone here. Here are a few of my favorite stupid jokes:

Q: How do you circumcise a whale?
A: Four skin divers.

Q: What did the salmon say when he ran into a cement wall?
A: Dam!
(Em told me this one when she was 6.)

Q: Why do lawyers* wear neckties?
A: To keep their foreskins from covering their heads.
*use whatever profession you like, doctors, accountants, newspaper columnists, i bear no particular ill-will towards lawyers.

Q: How many radical feminists does it take to change a lightbulb?
A: (glaring) That's NOT FUNNY!


Oh please oh please leave me your favorite stupid joke, or two. God knows i need some new material.

Frivolousity

I am having a good hair day.

I got my hair cut last week. Why is it that when i get my hair cut the person cutting it feels compelled to style it in a manner that i cannot, and do not want to reproduce? She puts on goo, and blows it dry with round brushes and then, as a finishing touch, puts on more goo. It's all straight and beaten into submission. I like a little curl in my hair. At least i have cured her of using hair spray.

I had to come home and wash my hair to see how it would really look. I wonder if she would freak out if i asked her to let me dry it and then i could see how it really looked.

Anyone a hairdresser out there? What do you think?

Ick

This is weird.

As some of you may remember, i volunteer at a place that does counseling for kids. I don't do any counseling, as i lack the qualifications, but i do some of the initial screening.

I have a friend, Stacey, who i met in my quilting group (yes, me, quilting. What?) who has been having problems with her 15 year old daughter for the past several months.

Last week when she saw me she came over to talk with me right away and was visibly upset. Her daughter had again refused to go to school and had barricaded herself in her room. Stacey had agreed to let her stay home from school on the condition that she go to see someone. Stacey wanted my advice about the place i work, whom to call and what to say. So i told her what to do.

When i came in later that week for my usual shift, i found out that the daughter is involved with drugs. Also, since the daughter is over 13, she can claim medical privacy for any counseling services.

Bottom line, legally, I can't tell Stacey that her daughter is using drugs. She has no idea. I mean no idea.

I feel terrible. I know she would help her daughter and not beat her or anything horrid like that. I would want to know if it was Em.

I am trying to think about the fact the the daughter is going to get help and start counseling. That's a good thing.

As the Mister said, "Welcome the the Mental Health Profession."