Sitting in Judgement

This picture has nothing to do with anything.

I've been retired for nigh on to 3 years now. It's such a relief not to have to get up and go to work every day.

The Mister still works, but that is his choice. The past few weeks he has come home talking about "the review process," wherein groups of people get together and rank the folks who work for them. And then those people's bosses get together and rank them, and so on. He came home yesterday and i could tell right away that he was anxious, even though he attempted to hide it. He finally told me that he was anxious because he knew that today was the day that his bosses are sitting around ranking him.

How i hated doing reviews and getting reviewed when i worked. I was afraid of the judgement of people i respected, and i was disgusted by being judged by people i didn't respect. I never had a bad review, but i certainly worried about them beforehand.

I developed a method for reviewing the people who worked for me to help reduce the anxiety. I told them that NOTHING bad on any review should ever come as a surprise. If there is a problem, the first time to let someone know about it is not during their annual review. That's just mean and a way to throw power around.

I also would give each person their written review about an hour before we met, so they had time to read it and think about it without me breathing down their necks.

But what i really thought about last night as i was listening to the Mister, was that one of the BEST things about being retired is that i don't have to sit in judgement, or be judged EVER AGAIN.

Of course people still judge, but i don't have to listen to it and my career doesn't depend on it.

I feel so free.

My time in prison

I had one of those moments in a conversation recently where i was happily explaining something and the other people just looked at me with complete incomprehension.

It went like this:

Em and The Mister and i were at lunch somewhere. I was talking about what i would do if i ever found myself in solitary confinement. Like, what kind of games i would make up in my head and how i would pass the time between being interogated? Would i exercise, all alone in my cell? Would i be able to figure out how to communicate with the other prisioners by rapping on the walls. Would i try to dig a tunnel and escape? Would i be allowed to have a crossword puzzle book and a pencil? What about a deck of cards? Would i make a pet out of a passing rat? Or would i have to eat it to survive? And so on.

They both just looked at me. They each said they had never even thought about it. They exchanged a speaking glance. Em raised one eyebrow at me. I guess i may have read too many books and seen too many movies with this theme.

• Like Darkness at Noon by Arthur Koestler and
• The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas and
• I cannot remember the name of it but i read this terrific book about 20 years ago by a woman who was put in prison in China by that asshole Mao.
• V for Vendetta
• The Terminator 2

I can't believe they never thought about it at all. Maybe i read my books a bit too seriously.

Stomach Love, a true story

Deb over at TiredMummy reminded me of this beagle story.

I grew up with beagles. The one we had they longest was named Pokey, short for Pocahontas. Those damn dogs will eat anything, absolutely anything.

Pokey used to hang out under the dinner table. She would eat the brussel sprouts that i managed to sneak to her. In that regard she was a godsend. One time she ate an entire pound of butter, including the box. Another time she ate a two pound tube of liverwurst, including the plastic wrap. Go Pokey!

She was also partial to dirty underwear, cat shit and used sanitary napkins. Not so cool.

My parents used to own a small lot on an island in the San Juans in Puget Sound. Not a big island. This island has no store, no motorized vehicles are allowed, and you have to get there via a private motorboat. So anything that you needed, you had to schlep up there with you, including all food and drink.

Our neighbors up there did not have a dog, therefore they were not on high alert with food like we were. Most food was cooked over the fire. These neighbors had gotten their steaks all ready and then returned to the cabin for something or other, probably more alcohol. They left four steaks on a tree stump. So you can guess what happened. They were pretty pissed off, and Pokey was quite sick. We had to give them some canned hash from out of the emergency stock.

Pokey's best stunt however, was the time she snuck next door and ate a half a pan of marijuana brownies. The neighbors had left them out while they went off for a screw. Apparently they were so strong that the people were only eating a half a brownie at a time.

My parents were quite concerned about Pokey, who was staggering around, zonked out of her little doggie mind, so they loaded her up on the boat and took her across the water to the mainland.

As Pokey was attempting to stagger across the front of the boat and jump off onto the beach, as she always did, someone watching from the beach commented on what an old dog she was.

"Nope," my dad replied, "she's just stoned."

Polishing a future memory

This afternoon i went to Em's school and helped with the reception for graduating seniors and their families.

A lot of balloons and plants and table cloths had gone into decorating the gym so that it would not look like a gym. But it still looked, and smelled, like a gym.

There were lots of hugs and high fives and whooping and picture taking and "dude"ing. The kids are so full of themselves right now, they are the heroes of the hour. All eyes upon them.

I can't help but think that in a year's time, i will be the family member of a graduating senior. The years have both flown and crawled by, but gone they are, and next year a whole era in my life, and Em's will be gone. *Poof*

One of my faults is that i am excellent at "anticipatory grief." I see potential pain a mile, no, two miles away and take it into myself and remember it before it happens, then polish it until it glows all shiny and reflects back my image to me. I want to make it familiar so as to remove its sting. Even though the polishing never works, i still do it. While i am polishing the grief that i might have, some other grief may sneak up on me and smack me right between the eyes. And that hurts, so i keep a sharp eye out for any approaching grief, ready to defend myself.

I am unable to tell what kind of grief, or relief, i might/should/will feel when Em moves away. I cannot find the right kind of polishing cloth right now for that future memory.

Odd that.

But they're not yours, they are my own*

At the request of my third favorite feline, Patches, here is a picture of my hands, with Em's hands thrown in for good measure.

Random meno hand facts:

• Note my Swiss Army watch, 5 years old from Costco.
  
• Ring with BFR (Big Rock) I got this "engagement" ring after we had been married for 12 years. Ladies, if it's supposed to set your man back 2 months salary, wait until that salary is worth it. Actually, i now think that the diamond business can go fuck itself, but 13 years ago i didn't know any better.


• Em and i have matching $4 silver pinkie rings, because i wuv her werry werry much.


• I have strong thick nails that i chop off because otherwise they annoy me. This upsets my mother so much that she once cried over it. "You have such nice nails, why can't you bother to take care of them." I swear i am not making this up.


• Em's fingers and toes look like the Mister's.


• I don't know if you can tell, but my hands are two different sizes. This is because of a laceration to my left wrist when i was 11 involving a fish bowl, 5 hours of surgery, over 200 stitches, 2 weeks in the hospital and 6 months of physical therapy. The scar looks like i tried to kill myself and extends halfway down my forearm.

*Jewel from Hands

Proof

I was at my volunteer gig today, talking with a woman on the phone. (I volunteer at at place that does counseling for kids. I don't do the counseling because i don't know beans about it, but i do some of the initial interviews.)

This woman was telling me that her 14 year-old daughter had been caught shoplifting from Nordstom's. (For those of you not knowing what a Nordstoms is, its a higher end department store.) "It's the first time she's ever done anything like this," she told me.

We talk a little more, or more accurately she talks and i listen and ask questions. Next she tells me that she and her husband have been noticing money missing from their wallets the past year or so. A little more information revealed.

A little later in the conversation she reveals that her daughter has been showing up with new clothes and that the parents don't know where she got them. More information contradicting what she told me at the beginning.

"What does she say when you ask her about the clothes," i ask. "Oh, she says her grandmother or her aunt bought them for her."

"Have you asked them about that?" i say.

"Not really, i don't want them to know about the shoplifting incident."

I then had to stop her and say, "So what you told me at the beginning, that she has never done anything like this before isn't really correct."

"Well," she hemmed, " i just don't have any proof."

I told her that all the things she had been telling me were proof that something isn't right.

The proof is staring her right in the face, but she doesn't want to see it.

Denial is a powerful force.

My cup runneth over

Sometimes in our house laundry gets mixed up. Em has done her own laundry since she was twelve, but she still sneaks downstairs and pulls my stuff from the dryer when she has, say, run out of clean socks.

I am not the swiftest person first thing in the morning. I wake up slowly over about an hour. This morning, i had to get out right away, so i was still asleep as i was dressing.

I grabbed my bra from the drawer and strapped it on. I looked down and noticed that my heaving bosom had grown considerably since yesterday. "It's a miracle," i thought, and i fell to my knees and praised jesus.

Then my brain kicked in. I was wearing Em's bra, which is close enough in size to mine that i can wear it, but there is stuff oozing out the sides. So i got up off my knees.

I love starting the day with a huge laugh.

In which i violate the spirit, if not the letter of my own law

I have a few blogging rules, one of which is that i will not ask for money.

I am not asking for money now. But i am not immune to the appeals of others, despite my cold dead heart. Therefore, i am directing you to Jen's post asking for money for a very good cause. Even the name sounds nice, Open Arms.

See, i didn't really break my own rule. Well, not very much. Okay, fine, i broke my rule, but only this once and i didn't realize what i was doing so it's not my fault.

On a completely unrelated topic;

When it's slightly cool outside, but sunny, i love that frisson of warmth from getting into my parked-in-the-sun car. I sit there for a minute, shivering from the delight of all that heat. Does anyone else do that as well?

A sad story, and my snarky response.

This happened a few years ago. I found it shocking, truly sad. But maybe i am just a snob. Tell me your reaction.

This was a conversation i overheard at the post office between the clerk and the woman right ahead of me in line, who was buying stamps.

Clerk: What stamps would you like? We have Love stamps, Herman Melville stamps and Flag stamps.

Woman: Who is Herman Melville?

Clerk: I don't know, people have been asking that all day and no one knows.

Woman: Why would they make a stamp for a person nobody knows?

Clerk: I have no idea.

Me: (thinking) i can't stand it.

I did tell the clerk who he was when it was my turn. And it's not so bad that these two women didn't know, but that NO ONE knew all day.

Next up: the Lindsey Lohan stamp. She's puking on the side of the road while Paris Hilton holds her hair and Britney Spears flashes her snatch.

Listen

I close my eyes, and this is what i hear;

• Waves lapping gently.
• A ski boat driving by, the people on it whooping and laughing.
• Em singing from the other side of the house, oblivious to any listener.
• The radio in the kitchen, murmuring NPR.
• The lamp next to me ticking gently as it heats up.
• A plover shrieking from the water's edge.
• The neighbors mowing their huge lawn with the riding mower. Crunch! Oh, they just hit a rock or something.
• From the highway, far away, a siren is wailing. Someone is having a bad day.
• Cat toenails on the wood floor.
• The keyboard clicking as i type. (I opened my eyes for that.)
• A small mew, and then a ka-thump up onto the bed.
• The desk computer whirring as it thinks its solitary thoughts.
• Swallows chittering as they fly up under the dock.
• Purring.

It's the end of the day. The beginning of the weekend.

Tell me, what do you hear?

My peeps

I don't have a group of friends whom all hang out together. I suspect if you put all my friends in a room together many would wonder what i see in the others.

I like it that way. When we lived in Colorado, we did hang out with a group. It was fun, but everything was done as a group. I am really not a group person, i tried to be one, but it was an effort, and lacking in the intimacy that i need. My friends now are mostly odd people to whom i show different bits of myself.

Some of them are people that i made the snap judgement when i first met them that they were not "people like me," and then i have had the pleasure of getting to know them and realizing that, yes indeed, they are not people like me, and isn't that grand? I love it when that happens, a freindship building out from two different foundations to meet somewhere in the middle.

It's fun to slowly unwrap a person and discover the things there are to enjoy about them. (Minds out of the gutter folks!)

I sometimes do bring a few of my friends together and really enjoy that this is not a person that they would expect me to have as a friend.

Maybe i should throw a party and invite them all. Nah, most of them hate parties as much as i do.

Reason to remain childless #5,436

Drawing by Mrs. Chica of clawless.

Em got her learner's permit last Friday. The Mister or i I have taken her out driving every day since then.

We started in the large parking lot of an abandoned K-Mart. I think i got whiplash from the way she applies the brakes. After the second day of driving around light poles in the parking lot, i let her drive the 3 miles to our house.

Dear god! The child has no concept of where the edge of the car is. It was 10 of the most terrifying minutes of my life. We even had a small off-road excursion at the top of our driveway.

I feel badly unleashing this terror on other motorists.

Actually, i think she is doing reasonably well. But do you have any idea how scary it is to sit, helpless, in the passenger seat while your child, who does not know what she is doing, pilots a 2000 pound vehicle through the streets?

I will be more than happy to pass her off to the Driver's Ed people. Anyone have any Xanax?

Efficiency kitchen

A confession:

I need to learn to share.

When i cook, i am very efficient. It's all planned in my head for the timing. While the water is heating for the pasta (which we never call noodles anymore, what snobs we be), i will chop the mushrooms and throw the chicken breasts in the oven. While the pasta cooks, i will be sauteing the mushrooms and washing the spinach. You get the idea. I am parallel processing, not serial processing. So that it is all ready close to the same time.

This process, which is all in my brain, makes it hard for the Mister and i to cook together. My anal-retentive detail-oriented self gets in the way. I try and put on my mellow hat, but it's all an act, inside i am twitching to run the show.

When there is a moment of quiet, the Mister will go and sit down, while i will get on with the next thing, even washing up a few things in any cooking down time. I have the curse of seeing the whole process, from years of practice. And since cooking is okay, but not really a passion of mine (unlike eating, which is), i want to get it all done in the shortest amount of time possible.

I realize how annoying i am, and i am trying to do something about it, but it's HARD! Because i am efficient, but it's also no fun for him to cook with me.

For the birds, and Nancy

Photo by the Mister, who has a really big lens.

Birds, watch the birds for me, asked Nancy. And i always do, but i did some more.

In a half dead tree, near a local shopping mall that i drive by nearly every day, there are two huge nests. They are the nests of Great Blue Herons. I have been watching the parents sit on those nests for weeks. Lately i have been watching as the babies, one of which you can see above, appear and grow. One nest has four babies and the other has three.

The babies are so cute and so ugly. (For reference, this one is already the size of a large housecat.) They wobble out on the ends of the tree limbs on impossibly skinny legs and flap their proto wings. I hold my breath and wait for them to plunge to their doom. But they don't.

I drove by yesterday and there were seven herons sitting in that tree. A glorious sight.

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

This morning, as i have the past several days as we are sleeping with the balcony door open, i was awaked by the screaming of plovers. They run, again on impossibly skinny legs, up and down the water's edge, looking for that perfect spot out in the open to hide the nest. I will take a picture of it if i can find it.

In a few weeks, after the eggs are produced, when i go down on the beach i will be treated to much screaming and a plover leading me away from the nest with the old oh-look-i-am-helpless-as-have-a-broken-wing act. I always feel like i am in an episode of Wild Kingdom.

Nancy, for more bird stories, go here and here. They are short, i promise.

But i don't understand, and neither do you.

I had one of those weird things happen to me today, one of those things that makes you feel like you need to go home and take a shower.

I was at the Driver's License place (a cauldron of diversity) with Em, getting her a learner's permit (OH MY GOD!) and i ran into this woman that i know from a committee at Em's school. I don't really like this woman, but in an incidental way, not an active loathing way.

We chatted vacantly for a few minutes. Then she leans over in a conspiratorial way and tells me that when she first came in to the office that that man over there (an office employee) was not even speaking English, not one word.

"Okay," i think, "and your point is?"

"I think that people should learn English if they are going to drive in this country," she declares. And then, and this is the icky part, she leans over towards me in that we-white-people-understand-each-other sort of way and whispers "I know that's not politically correct, but that just how i am."

You know what, i think that yes, people who move here would have an easier time if they learned English. But i also know that i have no frame of reference for being so economically or politically oppressed that i felt like i had no choice but to leave my homeland. I have never been asked to learn another language, and culture. So this white person does not understand.

I don't know the answer, but i know enough to know that i don't know enough to make blanket statements about what other people need to do.

Brotherly love

These are my two boys, who are brothers, taking a little snooze:

I have two older brothers. They are such different people.

One is an extroverted salesman type who is very sure about his opinions. The other is an introverted geek, who has excellent analytical skills.

One was athletic as a child, playing baseball and tennis and basketball, but had trouble learning to read. The other was only mildly good at swimming, but was in the Math Club and the Chess Club and played clarinet in the school's marching band.

I believe that one of them would have been diagnosed as ADHD if he were a child now, while the other might have been seen as depressed.

While they are polite to one another at the few family gatherings that we have, they are essentially estranged.

It's sad because they are both good people.

They are 3 years apart in age. One of the things that i see now, that i didn't see then, was that my parents encouraged them to compete with one another, although their talents obviously lay in completely different areas. My oldest brother talks about this now and helps me to understand what it must have been like for them.

I just want to knock my middle brother on the head sometimes. It seems that he is holding on to his past resentments. He of course would argue with that statement, but that's what i see. Sibling relationships can be very complex, so i just watch from the outside and wish that it were different.

Ranting, pure and simple

Why, oh why, do people who drive big SUVs and mini-vans insist upon parking them in the COMPACT spots? When there are plenty of full-sized spots available, only 20 feet further from the mall. I got news for you lady, your Range Rover is not a compact car! (And no she didn't have any mitigating factors such as little kids or crutches.)

I have resisted a lot of technology as it came along. I was never going to get an answering machine or a cell phone. But i caved, and i like them. But i just hate those ear attachment phone blue tooth thingies. I can see using one in the car, but when people walk down the street yakking away to themselves, i can't tell if they are crazy or on the phone. I see people trying to remain on the phone while going through the grocery check-out line. How rude! Is your call really that important?

It's open window season for the car. I don't want to hear your Puff Daddy (or whatever his name is this year) or your Metallica. Turn down the music. If i can feel it, it's too loud.

And furthermore, don't leave your freakin' grocery car in the middle of a parking spot you lazy ass! At least take it to the gathering spot for carts.

All of these things happened to me today. And i know it sounds like i am in a bad mood, i actually think it's all pretty funny. But sometimes a rant just feels GOOD! Ya know?

meno-showing every one of her cranky old years.

Credit where credit is due

Something has changed here, you may have noticed. And it's all because TTQ (which i understand stands for Temper Tantrum Queen) offered to make a new template for me.

This forced me to accept the blogger upgrade to a new template and to figure out how to use it. Of course it is very easy, as long as you know how. Ain't that always the way?

So thank you so much TTQ. I really like the new look, and now i know enough to mess with it myself. Scary huh?

Hands

We hosted my parents for dinner last night as today is the old bat's my mother's birthday.

All went well, i made a roast chicken with lemons stuffed up its ass and coated with rosemary from my garden. The person who needed to feel cared about felt cared about. My dad drank prodigiously. Em came down from her room and was charming when necessary. All the usual stuff.

After dinner as i was listening to the Mister converse with my parents, i was looking at my mother's hands. Those are the hands that mine will look just like in 30 years.

I am beginning to feel at peace with the fact that although i look like my mother in the outside, i do not look like her on the inside.

The cost of ignorance is fear.

Today, for your reading pleasure, i am going to tell you about my cervix. You lucky people.

But what i am really going to tell you about is ignorance, and the fear it caused me.

When i got my first period, it lasted for two weeks because of the drugs i had been taking. I decided after that first time, that pads were revolting and uncomfortable and that i was going to use tampons. I had been secretly looking at the illustrations in my mother's tampon boxes for a while to try and figure out what to put where.

But first, i had to find my inside part. I had never located the actual opening, just messed around with the outside bits. When my next period started, i determinedly got into the shower to find the secret passage by feeling around with my fingers and finding the source of the blood.

Eureka! There it is! Oh my god! There's this big lump in there too, up at the top. I have cancer, i am going to die, and me so young too.

Of course it never occurred to me to ask my mother. I just waited around for the end.

It's kind of funny now, and it made a great story to tell Em to convince her that she could ask about anything, no matter how weird, but i was really needlessly afraid for a long time.

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

Today's post is brought to you by Mona, who usually gives us a word for the day, but today gave us the topic of Reproduction because her boy child just started learning about it all in school and came home with questions.

She can be bought*

*or how peace was restored to the house by goldfish.

Em spent over an hour yesterday afternoon alternately yelling at me and crying. I must have repeated "i am not going to change my mind," at least 50 times. Finally she gave up and went away.

Dinner was a bit tense, with a few glares directed at Worst Mommy. Folks, if looks could kill......

After dinner, Em declared that she would forgive me for some goldfish crackers. (What she actually said was that she would pretend to forgive me. I can live with that.)

The Mister, who was not as tired of it all as i was, recognized a face-saving device when he saw one. So he volunteered to go off to the store and procure the desired goldfish.

A one gallon box of goldfish and all is well.

And again, i truly appreciate all the support. You guys are easy to talk to, and so smart. :)

Code RED*

*The chance for drama is extremely HIGH! Beware.

First, thank you all so, so very much for your comments and support. Of course you were all correct. I have told Em that she will not be going to DC.

Drama, Tears, Yelling, "I hate you"s, etc. I am the wicked witch of the West, the meanest mother alive. She is barely speaking to me. It's ok, i can take it.

Sigh.

A few more details; I have met these other parents. We visted DC last July, had dinner with them at their house, spent some time. I would NEVER have even considered sending Em if i didn't know them. No way, no how. The husband was nice, but the wife/mother talked me into a coma. I think my ears were bleeding when we left. Not that this has anything to do with my decision.

I did offer alternatives, none of which were acceptable to Em. GF can visit us. GF can tell her parents. As a few of you noted, it would be the mark of a mature relationship for GF to come clean with her parents. But if she cannot, then that's her decision. I respect it, as i hope she can respect my decision. (FAT CHANCE!)

I just will not tolerate helping another child deceive her parents. That's the bottom line. I will not cross that line.

It's going to be a long few weeks.

Drama alert level = Orange

Em is under a lot of stress right now. ACTs, SATs, APs, a veritable alphabet soup of anxiety.

And she wants to fly across the country by herself to visit her girlfriend in DC for 5 days. I am unsure about this, not so much from the aspect of can she handle it, but from the aspect that her girlfriend's mother isn't fully aware of the so-called romantic interest these two profess.

(Note my use of several mitigating words here, like so-called and profess.)

I still don't know what my decision will be. If you want to offer an opinion, here are some facts; Em will be paying for the ticket herself, she promises me that they will not be having sex (you will have to take my word for it that i believe her), it will be a non-stop flight, i have spoken to GF's mother and she is happy to have Em visit, she is 16 and so on......Bleh.

Update: patches comment reminds me of another important detail, GF claims that her mother would throw her out of the house if she is "exposed". While i wonder if this is true, i can't really expose the child and then have it be true.

So last night, and this morning, Em has had meltdowns that ended with her sobbing and carrying on for a few hours. I can be sympathetic up to a point and then i just have to get away from her as she is being ridiculous. She can't stand for me not to witness every last sob and shout and will follow me around.

This afternoon she finally calmed down, took a nap, i made her a cup of tea and she has apologized. But i am exhausted, and frankly, annoyed. When will these little displays end? Is it too late to send her off to military school?

Warm rain

1.) When Em was about 6 years old, still young enough to think many things are wondrous, i got her all happy and shiny-eyed by taking her on a very special "rain walk." We donned raincoats and shorts and tevas, took our umbrellas and splashed our way around the neighborhood, jumping in every puddle and ditch. She still remembers this, ten years later.

2.) Before Em, in Colorado, on a warm rainy day up by Rampart Reservoir, the Mister and i were hiking along a secluded path, looking at the columbines and enjoying the fresh air. I started to get this idea. And as i thought about this idea, which i was sure the Mister would like, i began to get, like the rain, wet. A few minutes later, we hiked near a big rock, with a nice private space on the other side. He did like my idea. Raindrops on my breasts, on his back, sliding down from his hair to my face. Sipping rain.


Update: I realize that i forgot to credit Mona for the Friday word, "rain." Hi Mona. :)

Guns and me.

We didn't have guns in the house growing up. My only experience with guns came from watching my grandmother get drunk and wave her shotguns around saying, "You aren't afraid of guns are you?" She was a champion skeet shooter, avid bird hunter, expert frog gigger and prodigious gin drinker. A standard meal at their house was pheasant with the extra challenge of bird shot scattered throughout the carcass. Her house was decorated with pictures of men on horses hunting foxes with their sporting dogs.

When i was 12, i spent a long hot dusty summer with my aunt, uncle and three cousins on a ranch somewhere. (Not too good at details, like where the hell was i. Who cared?) The entertainment was somewhat limited, but as imaginative kids, we always found something to do.

That summer, at the ranch, there were guns. There were also squirrels and blue jays, both of which were considered vermin. Four bored kids, somel 22 caliber rifles, live targets and the approval/disinterest of the adults. Wonder what we would do?

My cousins were going to teach me to shoot, and we were going to make a serious dent in the local vermin. Sounded like a good time to me. Off we went, guns in hand.

My cousin Steve, was an ace shot. He could peg a squirrel from quite a distance, and nail a blue jay out of a tree. I began to try my hand at the shooting, this was exciting!

Of course i couldn't hit anything for much of the morning, but we were out there having a blast, literally, and Steve's body count was climbing. 23 squirrels and 14 blue jays so far. My shots were coming closer to the intended targets too. Yeah!

After lunch we went back out to continue the vermin carnage. I took careful aim at a squirrel on the ground, running to get back into the trees. BAM! Look, i hit him! Whoo hoo! We ran up to get a closer look. I had hit him in the hindquarters and he was desperately trying to climb up the dirt hillside using only his front paws, with blood running out of his hip. Something inside me turned upside down when i saw him there like that.

I shot him in the head, gave the gun back to my cousin and ran back to the ranch, alone. No tears, just a feeling that i had done a terrible wrong and there would be punishment.

I don't believe i have shot a gun since. I try to think that squirrel died to teach me something, but i just feel guilty for inflicting pain and fear on another creature. I can still see him, trying so hard to get away from us with no working back legs.

Steve came home with the ranch record body count for blue jays that day, 27.

V for Vendetta*

I am all about the revenge, yes i am, especially against family members and giant corporations who screw up and then don't do anything to make it right.

So, because Dollar Rent-A-Car upset Suebob and left her stranded alone at an airport very late at night, i am linking to Suebob's post about their suckiness.

Take THAT Dollar!


*an excellent movie by the way.

Guess which one is me...

Today i had my first experience in meeting people that i know but have never laid eyes upon. Nancy Dancehall is here in Seattle visiting with her friend Schmoopie. I met the two of them, along with Schmoopie's neighbor Laura (Lora, Lara, i didn't think to ask for a correct spelling, silly me!) for lunch at the Pikes Place Market.

After lunch, which we chattered through like several magpies, we wandered around the market and i bought a ginger snap the size of a small dinner plate (gotta have my after lunch cookie or i might start twitching.)

Today is one of those days in Seattle for which the word "glorious" was invented. We took the water taxi over to West Seattle and back just for the boat ride. More wandering, and then we fell, tired, into a local coffee shop where Schmoopie's husband, Stucco, arrived.

So, enough of the travelogue crap, "WHAT WAS IT LIKE?" you want to know.

I had a really great time. There was a level of comfort there because of knowing things about one another that made conversation easy and fun. I did not feel awkward even for a minute. Nancy has a lovely husky voice, kind of like Kathleen Turner, and Schmoopie has a gift for making people feel at ease. There was lots of laughing.

Nancy consults a fortune teller at the market. What did she say? I cannot reveal the secrets of The Fortune Teller!

I can't tell you how the others felt, that is their news, but it answered my question about whether this internets-getting-to-know-you gives you a true feel for personalities. It does. I hope to see them all again.

Just to give you an idea of my size, here is my hand holding a grande strawberry latte drink.

Now i am really hopped up for Blogher, where i will be rooming with Maggie and Missus. Chica.

An Important Date!

Hooray Hooray

For the 8th of May,

Outdoor Sex
Begins Today!

Celebrate as you will.....

(Hmm, the Mister is out of town. I wonder if any of the neighbors would help me out?)

Attack of the ABC Meme, Part II

O: Oranges or Apples? Oranges are good for hot summer days, with the juice dripping down my chin and arm and causing gnats to stick. Apples are a much more civilized fruit and can be eaten at work. Also much better in pies than oranges. But i like orange juice better than apple juice. So i won't pick one and you can't make me.

P: Phobias/Fears? I am pretty silly about spiders, and scream like train brakes when i have to squish one.

Q: Favorite Quote: Strange how much you have to know before you know how little you know.- Unknown. He's as dumb as a bag of hammers.- Reid Fleming, World's Toughest Milkman.

R: Reasons to Smile: Tons. Happy kid, healthy family, cats who like to snuggle, cookies (there she goes with the cookies again), regular sex, brains, all my own teeth, not dead yet, and on and on.

S: Season? Summer. Some of my favorite moments come when sitting in the shade with a breeze, reading a book and sipping wine coolers ice tea.

T: Tags: Mrs. Chili and Luckyzmom. (You didn't think i was going to tag anyone did you?)

U: Unknown fact about me: Some facts about me are unknown for a reason.

V: Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animals: Omnivore. Oppressor of animals and vegetables alike.

W: Worst Habit? Reading blogs.

X: X-rays or Ultrasound. I've had both. My tits get both x-rayed and ultrasounded with startling regularity. I think the doctor is just a pervert.

Y: Your Favorite Foods: Sushi, salad, Indian, Mexican, Thai, Chinese, Japanese, live, dead. Basically anything except bell peppers, and they don't like me either.

Z: Zodiac? Virgo. Although to tell you how much i think that's worth, i don't even know Em's sign.

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)