I don't do New Years Resolutions-- I do Life Altering Personal Commitments to Change. (aka LAPC2)
'Tis the season, and all that. If you were wondering about the alarm clock purchase and other of my personal resolves, Read On! If you wanted to know more about my friend's weird New Years traditions (or live in the South, and want to be sure she got them right)-- here is the link.
I have started a new job to compliment the new year. Or rather, I have returned to a job I once held, but in a new form and at a new place, and with a new appreciation. I'm a nanny-- possibly even an au pair! (Totally different designation, and parents appreciate you more because you are "educated" and/or "from overseas.") On the days I nanny, I have to get up at about 5am. It's a bit painful, as I haven't gotten used to my new schedule yet. I do, however, have a new alarm clock. The old alarm had two options- radio alarm (easy to sleep through, as I used to take naps to rock music in college), or sudden heart attack at 50 decibels. Ouch! On the good side of the scale, when I finally arrive at work, I get to cuddle a really cute baby, whose nick-name is "Pork Chop," and read happy books all day to a little boy who calls me "Spicy." (No relation to the pop band, thank you god.) I tell you, life is GOOD!
Apparently, they don't make the previously coveted light-brightening alarm clocks for the common masses anymore, though I SWEAR I saw one in the last "in-flight-magazine" I read. Of course... the items available for purchase in those ridiculous magazines are not really for the people who can't afford to fly first class, anyway. (sigh)
Much preferable, and harder for my psyche to ignore at 5am, my new alarm sounds like church bells. Or, alternately, my grandmother's creepy hall clock. Both impart a certain level of moral responsibility to be at work on time. There's nothing like a swift kick in the conscience to get you out of bed! AND, as a bonus, I can go to sleep to the sound of crickets, wind chimes, or seagulls. The wind chimes are a bit too close to church bells for me, and the seagulls remind me too much of colic-y baby, so I chose the crickets. ...This is me being positive, just in case you couldn't tell.
As part of this new delightful routine, I'm practicing my Tai Chi in the mornings, followed by school work when I'm too awake to avoid it: After I work out the pre-dawn unfocused stares, and before the after-lunch yawns hit. I have a new bedtime, too-- and a new budget to keep me out of trouble between times. Yeah. Just when I thought that between office work and school work, they'd bury me with my fingers welded to the keyboard-- here comes a change of pace!
Call me a dork-- I'm actually looking forward to the possibility of getting my school work done ahead of time. I repeat-- Ahead of Time! That last-minute unedited rush worked for me in high school and even in my undergrad program... (though I'm not sure I'd even get accepted at my old school now-- their new enrollment standards give me nosebleed) but I just can't seem to get the same good grades from turning in half-arsed assignments in Grad School. And the work is HARDER this time around! Of course, this time I'm actually maintaining a home (not shoveling out a dorm room), fixing my own food (not making trips to the cafeteria), and earning my own wages (not subsisting on a combination of parental handouts and school-supplemented work-study scholarships) --in my free time between classes.
I've noticed it costs more to keep me these days, too. I guess I could lose the car and gain some house-mates... but I can't even begin to tell you how GOOD it feels to state the decisions that are best for me, and know that's the end of the conversation. (Unless I'm on the phone with my parents, of course. Then, even if they gasp!* agree with my decision, it'll be hours before they actually communicate that approval.)
*Not responsible for offended sensibilities, bad word choices, or childish situations. For a more adult assessment of my parents than I've given thus far, and their quest to help me make a good life for myself whether I want it or not, see future blog entries. Unrated, 28 years and counting.
Friday, December 29
Wednesday, December 27
A Post Saved Is A Post Posted
Wow. I just wrote my usual long thoughtful blog entry. I re-read the entry. I edited it. I tried, for the first time, to add photos. Twice. Then I tried to move the location of the photos within the post. Notice I haven't yet said "I hit save." Yeah.
So... to recap what you will never now read, and I don't have the patience or the time to try and recreate...
Here are the pictures of a great wall mural and some quilted tapestries I've recently created, and wanted to celebrate by including:
I get sentimental and appreciative at this time of year. "Gag me with a spoon!"
(This all made sense in the original, I swear.)
The First Wive's Club is a great movie about three middle-aged women becoming empowered through their friendship at a time when each of their husbands has left them for a younger woman. One woman's mother says to her, "You're 46, you have a husband, you have a daughter. You're very happy. You don't need self-esteem!" It's a funny movie, and I love how the women don't hate men, but end up not feeling dependent on them or controlled by them any more. It's liberating.
Here are some of the women I want to thank for empowering me and sharing their great wisdom, even though they aren't rich movie stars: the Beautifuls, the musician, the school principals, the borrowed mothers of my friends, the muddy librarian, the business woman, the Scorpio, the stampers, and the artist's counselor. Thanks.
(Remember, I'm re-capping.)
One of my all-time favorite movie quotes is from Miss Congeniality. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, I have gel in my hair, and I'm armed-- Don't mess with me."
More another time.
So... to recap what you will never now read, and I don't have the patience or the time to try and recreate...
Here are the pictures of a great wall mural and some quilted tapestries I've recently created, and wanted to celebrate by including:
I get sentimental and appreciative at this time of year. "Gag me with a spoon!"
(This all made sense in the original, I swear.)
The First Wive's Club is a great movie about three middle-aged women becoming empowered through their friendship at a time when each of their husbands has left them for a younger woman. One woman's mother says to her, "You're 46, you have a husband, you have a daughter. You're very happy. You don't need self-esteem!" It's a funny movie, and I love how the women don't hate men, but end up not feeling dependent on them or controlled by them any more. It's liberating.
Here are some of the women I want to thank for empowering me and sharing their great wisdom, even though they aren't rich movie stars: the Beautifuls, the musician, the school principals, the borrowed mothers of my friends, the muddy librarian, the business woman, the Scorpio, the stampers, and the artist's counselor. Thanks.
(Remember, I'm re-capping.)
One of my all-time favorite movie quotes is from Miss Congeniality. "I'm tired, I'm hungry, I have gel in my hair, and I'm armed-- Don't mess with me."
More another time.
Friday, December 22
The Darkest Time of the Darkest Night
There is always a big hullabaloo about starting fresh for the New Year-- as though somehow resetting our clocks and changing out our wall calendars is the same as resetting our daily routine and throwing out all our bad habits. That hypnotic count down from ten to zero, and the huge wave of noise and happy celebration are like the snap of a therapist's fingers to bring us back to reality, fully healed from what came before. Rubbish.
As my friend can tell you (Link to that Entry), what really matters is not eating anything that scratches backwards, and only doing what you WANT to do ALL YEAR on the day that sets the pace for it. Resolutions Shnezolutions!
I can remember sitting and thinking about my habits and my life each December, knowing that everyone was going to ask me what my resolutions were for the new year... and trying hella hard to come up with something good. I don't smoke, I don't drink, and I eat healthy 75% of the time. What else do people quit or start cold-turkey at New Years? (Seriously- if you've got a good one, I want to hear about it.)
This year, I was flipping through the January Oprah magazine (released in early December) as I stood in line with over $75 worth of groceries to get me through the last three days before I go visit my family for Christmas. I figured I needed all the comfort food I could get. Anyway, I had just started to worry about coming up with a good resolution to tell everyone about for New Years. (Notice I didn't say I was actually planning to DO it.) The cover says "Be the woman you want to be! Why it's so hard to change yourself-- a revolutionary guide to making it happen." Hey-Presto! I'll bet there are some GREAT resolution ideas in there! How naive.
There it was, on page 57. "Self-Transformation 101" Two simple steps.
Oprah changed my life.
Okay, well, so I actually snort with laughter at the absurdity of that overstated claim. And I'm not actually planning to change my life forever at the moment the ball touches down on December 31st. But those two simple ideas, and the two steps accompanying them did make me think about my life in a different way-- about all the things I've discovered that I WANT in my life, but haven't actually been able to include on a regular basis. This year, I'm not making grand resolutions. I'm making personal awarenesses, and accessing the resources to follow through on them. There is a whopping difference between the two approaches.
What follows is called a teaser.
The first question you've got to ask yourself is this: "Do I know why I want to make this change?" For the rest of this awesome two-step process, I suggest you get your own copy of Oprah's Magazine for January 2007. Check out page 57, and if you really want to think deep-- I just turned that page, and discovered two more steps to the process. Oops. I'm not sure I'll read them, though. Steps one and two have already got me going in a good direction. Not bad for two weeks to New Years!
If you're curious about my own plans, here are the steps I plan to take first:
-Get a recording of the song in Legally Blonde that gets my
"I am going to MAKE it, and make it GOOD!" going.
-Get a light-brightening alarm and set it for 5:15am.
-Set regular radio alarm for 6am.
-Set second regular radio alarm for 8pm. (no, this is not to help me wake up)
I'll let you know how it goes.
As my friend can tell you (Link to that Entry), what really matters is not eating anything that scratches backwards, and only doing what you WANT to do ALL YEAR on the day that sets the pace for it. Resolutions Shnezolutions!
I can remember sitting and thinking about my habits and my life each December, knowing that everyone was going to ask me what my resolutions were for the new year... and trying hella hard to come up with something good. I don't smoke, I don't drink, and I eat healthy 75% of the time. What else do people quit or start cold-turkey at New Years? (Seriously- if you've got a good one, I want to hear about it.)
This year, I was flipping through the January Oprah magazine (released in early December) as I stood in line with over $75 worth of groceries to get me through the last three days before I go visit my family for Christmas. I figured I needed all the comfort food I could get. Anyway, I had just started to worry about coming up with a good resolution to tell everyone about for New Years. (Notice I didn't say I was actually planning to DO it.) The cover says "Be the woman you want to be! Why it's so hard to change yourself-- a revolutionary guide to making it happen." Hey-Presto! I'll bet there are some GREAT resolution ideas in there! How naive.
There it was, on page 57. "Self-Transformation 101" Two simple steps.
Oprah changed my life.
Okay, well, so I actually snort with laughter at the absurdity of that overstated claim. And I'm not actually planning to change my life forever at the moment the ball touches down on December 31st. But those two simple ideas, and the two steps accompanying them did make me think about my life in a different way-- about all the things I've discovered that I WANT in my life, but haven't actually been able to include on a regular basis. This year, I'm not making grand resolutions. I'm making personal awarenesses, and accessing the resources to follow through on them. There is a whopping difference between the two approaches.
What follows is called a teaser.
The first question you've got to ask yourself is this: "Do I know why I want to make this change?" For the rest of this awesome two-step process, I suggest you get your own copy of Oprah's Magazine for January 2007. Check out page 57, and if you really want to think deep-- I just turned that page, and discovered two more steps to the process. Oops. I'm not sure I'll read them, though. Steps one and two have already got me going in a good direction. Not bad for two weeks to New Years!
If you're curious about my own plans, here are the steps I plan to take first:
-Get a recording of the song in Legally Blonde that gets my
"I am going to MAKE it, and make it GOOD!" going.
-Get a light-brightening alarm and set it for 5:15am.
-Set regular radio alarm for 6am.
-Set second regular radio alarm for 8pm. (no, this is not to help me wake up)
I'll let you know how it goes.
When Hope is Reborn
My Christmas Card has a following. I'm not kidding. I've been told by at least three people now that they plan to save THIS YEAR'S CARD as their all-time favorite. I'm actually quite pleased. Its one of the most personal cards I've ever put together, and I meant every word.
Just in case you didn't get a card from me this year, I'm including the message I sent below. I don't have any of the actual cards I made left, however, so you will just have to use your imagination. The basic format was a fun folded card with seasonal embossed decorations on front, surrounding a small dark red envelope. If you open the card, the message below greeted you, along with a stamp quoting the Beatles "I get by with a little help from my friends." If you open the little red envelope, you get a glittery picture of snowy bridges or snowy vistas of Asian origin-- in that was the personal message. My secret is that the smaller personal cards meant I didn't have to think of as much to say to each person, nor spend as much time writing.
Just in case you didn't get a card from me this year, I'm including the message I sent below. I don't have any of the actual cards I made left, however, so you will just have to use your imagination. The basic format was a fun folded card with seasonal embossed decorations on front, surrounding a small dark red envelope. If you open the card, the message below greeted you, along with a stamp quoting the Beatles "I get by with a little help from my friends." If you open the little red envelope, you get a glittery picture of snowy bridges or snowy vistas of Asian origin-- in that was the personal message. My secret is that the smaller personal cards meant I didn't have to think of as much to say to each person, nor spend as much time writing.
12.1.2006. For many of us, time is marked by events.
The birth of a child, the death of a pet, a graduation,
the start of a relationship, the end of a career...
I signed divorce papers last January, and since then,
a new period of my life has begun. It is full of challenges
and changes, but also of friends, family, and delightful
self-discoveries. My cat would like you to know that she,
also, has a central role in my life. She’s sitting in my lap
as I type this, knocking pens off my desk, and purring.
I have enjoyed setting up a home for my comfort,
and sharing it with the good friends I’ve made--
and I already had waiting-- in my new home town.
I had not believed a year ago that my life could be
so rich with friends. Thank you. You are they.
I am also learning to succeed as a graduate student.
It is not a graceful process, but I am learning much
about myself and about Library Science as I go forward.
Since that is the point of any education, I try to be content.
I am also discovering what I want my daily life to include.
Finally figuring out who I intend to be inside my skin.
I’m 28. Its about time. And I like me.
In the spirit of Joy, and the hope for Peace...
Happy Christmas to you and yours!
The birth of a child, the death of a pet, a graduation,
the start of a relationship, the end of a career...
I signed divorce papers last January, and since then,
a new period of my life has begun. It is full of challenges
and changes, but also of friends, family, and delightful
self-discoveries. My cat would like you to know that she,
also, has a central role in my life. She’s sitting in my lap
as I type this, knocking pens off my desk, and purring.
I have enjoyed setting up a home for my comfort,
and sharing it with the good friends I’ve made--
and I already had waiting-- in my new home town.
I had not believed a year ago that my life could be
so rich with friends. Thank you. You are they.
I am also learning to succeed as a graduate student.
It is not a graceful process, but I am learning much
about myself and about Library Science as I go forward.
Since that is the point of any education, I try to be content.
I am also discovering what I want my daily life to include.
Finally figuring out who I intend to be inside my skin.
I’m 28. Its about time. And I like me.
In the spirit of Joy, and the hope for Peace...
Happy Christmas to you and yours!
Even more exciting is the fact that I got these cards sent out BEFORE the 25th of December. I always start early-- and I have never before gotten the cards or newsletters actually SENT OUT until about New Year's. In fact, I have become so aware of my handicap with time that I usually make this a "seasonal" card. And I talk about both New Year's AND Christmas-- just in case.
Doing Christmas Cards is a bit like exercising: You are much more likely to actually DO IT, and enjoy the process, if you invite friends to come over and work on theirs at the same time. Stamping-Buddies. I highly recommend them.
The thing is-- we DO tend to mark time more by events than by dates. If you ask a middle-aged man to tell you where he worked after high school-- he will first tell you what year he graduated, because that was a big event in his life, and he has seperate memories of what came before, and what came after. Ask a writer how long she's been working on her latest book, and she'll remember the experience that sparked her to start it-- and then give you a time-frame based on that incident or event in her life.
The passing of time itself is actually very superficial. Hours, days, months, years-- just ask the Romans. We still use a calendar today that is loosely based on theirs... and they actually had to include a whole imaginary MONTH one year to get the calendar back on track with the actual movement of the earth and the changing seasons. No forced accounting of "leap years" for them!
In fact, as the earth moves farther from the sun, our hours are actually growing longer. Time is passing more slowly in a very physical sense. And those of you who remember how HOT it was on the west coast in September and October this year will agree that the traditional "summer months" aren't really all that descriptive of our world anymore. Our calendar of months has little to do with the passing of seasons these days. It is actually much more important that we count the challenges we've overcome, the seasons we've experienced, and the friends we've made, than specifying any number of candles on a cake. Those little flames tell us how many times we've passed completely around the Sun... but they don't tell us what we did or who we became during those rotations.
Surprised that I'm divorced? I am. Its not usually part of the plan when one marries. But as I said, time passes and people change. Its actually a bit like gaining membership into a very large secret society-- and as just about everyone you meet knows how painful it is to start over after a DIVORCE (oops, did I say that dirty word out loud??), they are usually very helpful and kind. I'm lucky that even my ex took this view of things. And I have mentioned him to you before-- he gets a football every year for Christmas.
Doing Christmas Cards is a bit like exercising: You are much more likely to actually DO IT, and enjoy the process, if you invite friends to come over and work on theirs at the same time. Stamping-Buddies. I highly recommend them.
The thing is-- we DO tend to mark time more by events than by dates. If you ask a middle-aged man to tell you where he worked after high school-- he will first tell you what year he graduated, because that was a big event in his life, and he has seperate memories of what came before, and what came after. Ask a writer how long she's been working on her latest book, and she'll remember the experience that sparked her to start it-- and then give you a time-frame based on that incident or event in her life.
The passing of time itself is actually very superficial. Hours, days, months, years-- just ask the Romans. We still use a calendar today that is loosely based on theirs... and they actually had to include a whole imaginary MONTH one year to get the calendar back on track with the actual movement of the earth and the changing seasons. No forced accounting of "leap years" for them!
In fact, as the earth moves farther from the sun, our hours are actually growing longer. Time is passing more slowly in a very physical sense. And those of you who remember how HOT it was on the west coast in September and October this year will agree that the traditional "summer months" aren't really all that descriptive of our world anymore. Our calendar of months has little to do with the passing of seasons these days. It is actually much more important that we count the challenges we've overcome, the seasons we've experienced, and the friends we've made, than specifying any number of candles on a cake. Those little flames tell us how many times we've passed completely around the Sun... but they don't tell us what we did or who we became during those rotations.
Surprised that I'm divorced? I am. Its not usually part of the plan when one marries. But as I said, time passes and people change. Its actually a bit like gaining membership into a very large secret society-- and as just about everyone you meet knows how painful it is to start over after a DIVORCE (oops, did I say that dirty word out loud??), they are usually very helpful and kind. I'm lucky that even my ex took this view of things. And I have mentioned him to you before-- he gets a football every year for Christmas.
Wednesday, December 20
Was it REALLY a good idea?
A friend of mine recently published a blog entry about bad movies we all know and love, but don't admit to owning... (see "Guilty Pleasures") She started me thinking about all the corny movies I love so much... and from there an idea was born.
I'm sharing the idea with you because you will either think it is funny, and then start using the idea... or think it is funny, and then hope to heck I have a really good shrink. I have a suspicion that someone before me had this idea, and maybe even published the results... If you have the website, please let me know! Okay- Here it is:
Wouldn't it be fun to make a whole story using nothing but well-known (or corny) movie quotes?!
Think about it--
"I'll be back!" she insisted.
"An den?" Their leader didn't seem too worried.
"I'm going to kill them all, sir."
He glanced at her, smirking,"Frankly, Scarlet, I don't give a dagm."
"But I know something you don't know." She was getting desperate.
He stood, and turned away. "That's comforting."
She glared at his retreating back, "I'm never going to be good enough for you, am I?"
"Hail to the King, baby."
"Well, THANK YOU, Captain!"
I'll let your imagination take it from there. By the way, I've listed the movies I quoted, in order, below. Just in case you don't want to admit to recognizing any of them.
Terminator
Dude, Where's My Car
Soldier
Gone With The Wind
Scorpion King
Princess Bride
Legally Blonde
Army of Darkness
Down Periscope
I'm sharing the idea with you because you will either think it is funny, and then start using the idea... or think it is funny, and then hope to heck I have a really good shrink. I have a suspicion that someone before me had this idea, and maybe even published the results... If you have the website, please let me know! Okay- Here it is:
Wouldn't it be fun to make a whole story using nothing but well-known (or corny) movie quotes?!
Think about it--
"I'll be back!" she insisted.
"An den?" Their leader didn't seem too worried.
"I'm going to kill them all, sir."
He glanced at her, smirking,"Frankly, Scarlet, I don't give a dagm."
"But I know something you don't know." She was getting desperate.
He stood, and turned away. "That's comforting."
She glared at his retreating back, "I'm never going to be good enough for you, am I?"
"Hail to the King, baby."
"Well, THANK YOU, Captain!"
I'll let your imagination take it from there. By the way, I've listed the movies I quoted, in order, below. Just in case you don't want to admit to recognizing any of them.
Terminator
Dude, Where's My Car
Soldier
Gone With The Wind
Scorpion King
Princess Bride
Legally Blonde
Army of Darkness
Down Periscope
Monday, December 18
Merry, Merry!
This is my aunt's favorite phrase. We don't know why she says it, but we know what she means. Merry, Merry! It's the idea that we create our own happiness-- and she is wishing for lots of it in our lives.
What with the concern and confusion surrounding the gifts my parents gave my cousins (see "Say What?"), and figuring out transportation for those without cars... I was a bit stressed when the big West-Coast family Christmas finally happened this weekend.
The best part was actually the gift my cousin gave her sister. It was even better that I got to help give it. My cousin lives in a 300 sf apartment, and doesn't have a vehicle. The box was huge, difficult to grasp, and rather heavy. To top it all off, the contents were delicate. One full-size piano keyboard with weighted keys, and a music stand on top. My cousin is an all-or-nothing kind of person. She'd also run out of wrapping paper after wrapping up only one end of the box, and her sister was coming to visit. In the midst of my planning for the big extended family Christmas, I called my cousin to see if she wanted to ride with me to the big event. She did. She also needed a favor. Could I keep the piano until it was time? I could.
I had been to Costco recently, and along with three tiny indoor-outdoor snowmen who jiggle like jell-o and sing "Jingle Bells" to passers by in silly high-pitched voices, I'd bought a Costco-sized roll of Christmas wrapping paper. When I got the piano box home, I finished wrapping it with my bottomless roll of paper, put a grand gold ribbon around it, and topped the whole thing off with a little sticker saying the gift was from me to a family member who couldn't make it to Christmas this year.
A week later, when I came to pick them up and drive out to the beach for our big celebration, I had my story ready. "I had this great idea to put all the gifts for Teresa and her family in one box, and just leave it at your parents'-- sorry." My cousin laughed. Her sister nodded and got busy packing her winter break bags around the huge box in my car. I found out later she'd actually thought I was totally insane, and had worried that I might actually try and ship the box to Teresa. It would have cost nearly as much as the piano hidden inside.
When my cousin finally lugged the box over to her sister, after all the other gifts had been given and enjoyed, the rest of the family were all grinning like the Cheshire Cat. We all knew what the gift really was... The only person who didn't know had to ask us about five times if the box was really for her... and then she ripped through all that wrapping paper I'd used in about two seconds. She was so happy to see that shiny new keyboard, she started hyperventilating. What a lot of happiness that one gift created for so many people. Merry, Merry!
...I just hope Teresa isn't disappointed-- all I got her this year was a football.
What with the concern and confusion surrounding the gifts my parents gave my cousins (see "Say What?"), and figuring out transportation for those without cars... I was a bit stressed when the big West-Coast family Christmas finally happened this weekend.
The best part was actually the gift my cousin gave her sister. It was even better that I got to help give it. My cousin lives in a 300 sf apartment, and doesn't have a vehicle. The box was huge, difficult to grasp, and rather heavy. To top it all off, the contents were delicate. One full-size piano keyboard with weighted keys, and a music stand on top. My cousin is an all-or-nothing kind of person. She'd also run out of wrapping paper after wrapping up only one end of the box, and her sister was coming to visit. In the midst of my planning for the big extended family Christmas, I called my cousin to see if she wanted to ride with me to the big event. She did. She also needed a favor. Could I keep the piano until it was time? I could.
I had been to Costco recently, and along with three tiny indoor-outdoor snowmen who jiggle like jell-o and sing "Jingle Bells" to passers by in silly high-pitched voices, I'd bought a Costco-sized roll of Christmas wrapping paper. When I got the piano box home, I finished wrapping it with my bottomless roll of paper, put a grand gold ribbon around it, and topped the whole thing off with a little sticker saying the gift was from me to a family member who couldn't make it to Christmas this year.
A week later, when I came to pick them up and drive out to the beach for our big celebration, I had my story ready. "I had this great idea to put all the gifts for Teresa and her family in one box, and just leave it at your parents'-- sorry." My cousin laughed. Her sister nodded and got busy packing her winter break bags around the huge box in my car. I found out later she'd actually thought I was totally insane, and had worried that I might actually try and ship the box to Teresa. It would have cost nearly as much as the piano hidden inside.
When my cousin finally lugged the box over to her sister, after all the other gifts had been given and enjoyed, the rest of the family were all grinning like the Cheshire Cat. We all knew what the gift really was... The only person who didn't know had to ask us about five times if the box was really for her... and then she ripped through all that wrapping paper I'd used in about two seconds. She was so happy to see that shiny new keyboard, she started hyperventilating. What a lot of happiness that one gift created for so many people. Merry, Merry!
...I just hope Teresa isn't disappointed-- all I got her this year was a football.
It's a football
I'm happy to say I survived the first round of Christmas this year. If you don't celebrate, that's okay with me. I hope its okay with you that I do. I once lived with someone who hated Christmas, and it was just depressing. This year, I'm doing it RIGHT! Tree with lights and ornaments, gifts for everyone I can think of, extra ornaments and strands of lights hung randomly around the house, red-with-snowflakes door mat... Like I said-- I'm CELEBRATING!
Two of my favorite Christmas Traditions actually come from the family of my housemate who hated Christmas. The first was their habit of rattling their gifts before opening them-- and then pronouncing with absolute certainty that "It's a football!" We're not just talking about conical rubbery gifts here-- we're talking about skinny rectangles and tiny jewelry boxes and big squishy baby gifts. You'd know perfectly well that the hard rectangle in somebody's hand was EXACTLY the size and shape of a DVD case... and you'd watch them lift it to their ear, shake it, and then look proudly around the room at everyone-- "It's a football!" My other favorite tradition has a rather hazy start some ten years ago. Someone's brother was working at a grocery outlet, and found a can -- an extra large and rather heavy can-- with the label peeled off. He wrapped it and gifted it to his uncle. "It's a football!"
The next year, that uncle gifted it back. A few years after that, someone ran over the still unopened can with a heavy vehicle to change its shape so that the recipient wouldn't KNOW they were getting that same can for Christmas until he opened it. The year I attended this zany family Christmas, and heard the history of the can (contents still unknown, by the way)... It was wrapped up INSIDE a larger gift of tightly packed crumpled newspapers, and with a random toilet seat tucked around the newspapers to make the whole package a really odd shape. The brother was quite pleased with himself. The uncle already had plans for next Christmas. I'm sorry to say I missed it. But I'm sure that somewhere, somehow, someone in that family is happily shaking a package with a crushed, dented, and unlabeled over-sized can inside-- "It's a football!"
Two of my favorite Christmas Traditions actually come from the family of my housemate who hated Christmas. The first was their habit of rattling their gifts before opening them-- and then pronouncing with absolute certainty that "It's a football!" We're not just talking about conical rubbery gifts here-- we're talking about skinny rectangles and tiny jewelry boxes and big squishy baby gifts. You'd know perfectly well that the hard rectangle in somebody's hand was EXACTLY the size and shape of a DVD case... and you'd watch them lift it to their ear, shake it, and then look proudly around the room at everyone-- "It's a football!" My other favorite tradition has a rather hazy start some ten years ago. Someone's brother was working at a grocery outlet, and found a can -- an extra large and rather heavy can-- with the label peeled off. He wrapped it and gifted it to his uncle. "It's a football!"
The next year, that uncle gifted it back. A few years after that, someone ran over the still unopened can with a heavy vehicle to change its shape so that the recipient wouldn't KNOW they were getting that same can for Christmas until he opened it. The year I attended this zany family Christmas, and heard the history of the can (contents still unknown, by the way)... It was wrapped up INSIDE a larger gift of tightly packed crumpled newspapers, and with a random toilet seat tucked around the newspapers to make the whole package a really odd shape. The brother was quite pleased with himself. The uncle already had plans for next Christmas. I'm sorry to say I missed it. But I'm sure that somewhere, somehow, someone in that family is happily shaking a package with a crushed, dented, and unlabeled over-sized can inside-- "It's a football!"
Saturday, December 16
Say What?
I believe that for each person on earth, there exists another person perfectly created to push every one of their buttons. I believe this because it makes me feel better about the fact that the pusher of my buttons is my mother. And I love her dearly. I'm not just saying that because people she knows may read this... I'm saying that because she is highly lovable in a contagious kindergarten-teacher kind of way. Nobody can help loving my mom. Which makes it that much more frustrating when she pushes my buttons. How could you be mad at someone that sweet... that gentle... that truthful... that... perfectly created to push every one of my buttons. Sigh.
When I was younger, mom and I had a joke about her driving. We called it "adventures with mom." It was a nice way to say that sometimes, the things that topped her mental "this is really important" list didn't top mine. Imagine sitting in the front passenger seat, no driver's license, maybe 14 years old. Cold morning, a bit of frost, winding back-country road, apple orchard on the right. Look to your left-- there is Mom. She is driving you down the winding road. Its a good used car-- reliable-- though the alignment is a bit off. Regularly running into curbs when parallel-parking will do that to an alignment. You glance ahead at the road, and then look back at mom. She is very focused. Her left hand is stretched out to feel whether or not air is coming-- and how warm-- out of the far left driver's air vent. Her right hand is on the climate control knobs in the middle of the dashboard. She is hunched down and to the right, squinting at the labels on those same controls as she fiddles with them. There is no way she can see the road from that position. We are driving at about 35 miles per hour down that winding road. There is a car coming. Adventures with Mom. (insert shark music here)
This nice, sweet, loving, lovable, intelligent woman has been responsible for many a spike in my adrenaline as an adult, too. She can even take me back to those childhood moments of sheer panic and helpless anger over the telephone-- and regularly does. Its not intentional. She just has different priorities than most of the people I know. I've learned to laugh at a lot of these interactions we have... though my laughter rarely has anything to do with our topics of conversation. In fact, if you heard me laughing, you would think I was heartless and deranged. Unless you'd been with me in that car on that winding road way back when... Then you'd realize my laughter is the only alternative to screaming. And its a dumbfounded kind of laugh.
My good friend, my costar in the sitcom of our lives, recently insisted that one of these conversations with my mother would make a good blog. She's seen my mother in action-- she knows all about Adventures with Mom. When I call to say-- what the heck??!-- and tell her about the latest conversation... and try to make sense of it... she stops me. She reminds me of how futile it is to compare my mom's list of what's important with mine. "IT's your MOM!"
Oh, yeah. Right.
I don't know how it happened, but this year, I've been the one to arrange our West-Coast Family Christmas Event. It includes between five and fifteen people, of which only two live in the same town, and only four keep a calendar, and may possibly know what day it was yesterday. Some live out of state. Some are in school. Some have transportation, some have none. Just like the little piggies, who go screeching back home to be tickled. (Boy, I hope you know about "this little piggy" or you are really going to think I'm whacked!) My uncle believes that NO ONE is EVER too old to be tickled. I can still remember the Christmas he made my cousin (married, two kids, very proper) pee her pants because he tickled her right after a long car ride. Her kids were thrilled. There is nothing like family to keep you humble.
Anyway- there are seven of us getting together this year. Possibly eight. And once my cousin decided she wanted to give my parents Christmas Gifts, since she'd be there with them and loves them and all... my mom felt she really needed to give my cousin a gift, too. And if she gave that cousin a gift, she had to give my cousin's sister a gift, since she is also coming to Christmas. I got a list of things that each of my cousins would like to get, decided what I would give them, and passed the list on to my mom. This is where the story starts. (Yes- all the hella long way down here.)
Mom and I are each getting my cousin a book from a series that is on her wish-list. Mom might be able to get a discount at a store in her town-- I know the whole series is carried at a store in my town. I call mom a few days after giving her the information that my cousin has the first few books in the Sandman graphic novel series. We want books between #5 and #10. It doesn't matter which ones. "So- did you find the Sandman series at your bookstore?"
She did, but they only had the latest one, and it cost $20, so she only got one.
I feel that this makes sense, as getting two of the same book is not the same as getting two books from the same series. "What number is it, so I can get her a different one?"
Hmmm... It takes a minute to find the bag the book should be in. It takes a minute to get the book out of the bag. She explains these delays as she experiences them. She looks at the book she bought. Yup-- it cost $19.95.
"What number is the book you bought?"
Well, she had trouble finding it, and then the lady at the bookstore helped her, and the lady could only find this one, but that lady really thinks its the most recent book in the Sandman Series. And mom proceeds to tell me the title of the book, and some of the authors.
I have never heard of the Sandman graphic novels before learning of my cousin's wish list. All I know are the name of the series, and that we can get her any books between #5 and #10. I don't care what the title of this book is.
"Is there a number on it anywhere? I need to know what number it is in the series."
Mom is looking the book over, and finds some more description of the book on the back cover. She reads it to me. The whole back cover. In the process, she comes to the conclusion that the person who wrote the INTRO to the book she bought was the AUTHOR to the series, so the book she bought might not be a part of the series. She explains all this to me, after reading me the back cover, and then flipping through the book once or twice. She decides she will probably have to take this book back to the bookstore and get a refund for it. She's not sure what to do or if it is really part of the series or not, but she's worried.
"Why don't I go to my bookstore, and get two books from the series-- one from me, and one from you?"
She guesses this will work-- and she'll definitely reimburse me for it.
Then she brings up her biggest worry-- the thing currently at the top of her list of important concerns. My other cousin-- the one who is giving HER a gift-- she doesn't have enough information about that cousin's guitar to get her new strings for it. (The wish-list said "anything to do with stringed instruments.") She doesn't know what kind of strings my cousin is used to, or wants to buy for her guitar. She doesn't even know if its a base guitar or what kind it is, and she would also need to know how LONG the strings should be, and.... So... She is thinking about getting my cousin a gift certificate to a music store instead. But a gift certificate is so impersonal! ... and... my cousin doesn't have a car, and lives in a different town from my mom, so she really REALLY doesn't know what STORE to get a gift certificate FROM... and ...
We've been on the phone for nearly half an hour. I'm getting a bit frustrated, and I really need to pee. I could have had this whole conversation with someone else in about five minutes. I am getting frustrated (did I say that already?), and that means I need to get off the phone soon-- because she is trying to steer this conversation, but neither of her hands are on the wheel, and its making me crazy.
"Would you like to hear what I would do if I were in your situation?"
Well... okay. Yes, she would, she thinks...
"I would go onto google maps, and-"
She doesn't know what goggle nappies are. I swear. That is what she said. And if I'd laughed out loud, she would have been really hurt, and felt stupid. Which she is not. She just prefers to do her exploring in a library. It took another five minutes to get www.googlemaps.com spelled correctly over the phone. Then I explained that I would search for music stores in my cousin's town, and find one on the map that is within walking distance of her apartment. My mom has been to her apartment a few times, so I thought that was a reasonable suggestion. Mom's not so sure, but she'll give it a try.
My bladder is killing me, and I'm getting that helpless angry chaos-is-here feeling... so I suggest that its about time for me to get off the phone as I've got some errands to run, and-
"Oh, by the way-- I'm not sure if I've mentioned it already, but I think I may have broken a rib."
Say WHAT?
In my mind, this sort of information would probably have made it higher on the worry-list than my cousin's gift certificate. But that's me. I think a broken rib is an important health issue, and should receive serious attention. Mom is simply embarrassed about it. She is thinking about going to the doctor, maybe. I want her to get tested for osteoporosis, and she decides she needs to get going now, but don't worry about it, its just a broken rib. I hang up the phone, and start laughing. Its either that or scream.
When I was younger, mom and I had a joke about her driving. We called it "adventures with mom." It was a nice way to say that sometimes, the things that topped her mental "this is really important" list didn't top mine. Imagine sitting in the front passenger seat, no driver's license, maybe 14 years old. Cold morning, a bit of frost, winding back-country road, apple orchard on the right. Look to your left-- there is Mom. She is driving you down the winding road. Its a good used car-- reliable-- though the alignment is a bit off. Regularly running into curbs when parallel-parking will do that to an alignment. You glance ahead at the road, and then look back at mom. She is very focused. Her left hand is stretched out to feel whether or not air is coming-- and how warm-- out of the far left driver's air vent. Her right hand is on the climate control knobs in the middle of the dashboard. She is hunched down and to the right, squinting at the labels on those same controls as she fiddles with them. There is no way she can see the road from that position. We are driving at about 35 miles per hour down that winding road. There is a car coming. Adventures with Mom. (insert shark music here)
This nice, sweet, loving, lovable, intelligent woman has been responsible for many a spike in my adrenaline as an adult, too. She can even take me back to those childhood moments of sheer panic and helpless anger over the telephone-- and regularly does. Its not intentional. She just has different priorities than most of the people I know. I've learned to laugh at a lot of these interactions we have... though my laughter rarely has anything to do with our topics of conversation. In fact, if you heard me laughing, you would think I was heartless and deranged. Unless you'd been with me in that car on that winding road way back when... Then you'd realize my laughter is the only alternative to screaming. And its a dumbfounded kind of laugh.
My good friend, my costar in the sitcom of our lives, recently insisted that one of these conversations with my mother would make a good blog. She's seen my mother in action-- she knows all about Adventures with Mom. When I call to say-- what the heck??!-- and tell her about the latest conversation... and try to make sense of it... she stops me. She reminds me of how futile it is to compare my mom's list of what's important with mine. "IT's your MOM!"
Oh, yeah. Right.
I don't know how it happened, but this year, I've been the one to arrange our West-Coast Family Christmas Event. It includes between five and fifteen people, of which only two live in the same town, and only four keep a calendar, and may possibly know what day it was yesterday. Some live out of state. Some are in school. Some have transportation, some have none. Just like the little piggies, who go screeching back home to be tickled. (Boy, I hope you know about "this little piggy" or you are really going to think I'm whacked!) My uncle believes that NO ONE is EVER too old to be tickled. I can still remember the Christmas he made my cousin (married, two kids, very proper) pee her pants because he tickled her right after a long car ride. Her kids were thrilled. There is nothing like family to keep you humble.
Anyway- there are seven of us getting together this year. Possibly eight. And once my cousin decided she wanted to give my parents Christmas Gifts, since she'd be there with them and loves them and all... my mom felt she really needed to give my cousin a gift, too. And if she gave that cousin a gift, she had to give my cousin's sister a gift, since she is also coming to Christmas. I got a list of things that each of my cousins would like to get, decided what I would give them, and passed the list on to my mom. This is where the story starts. (Yes- all the hella long way down here.)
Mom and I are each getting my cousin a book from a series that is on her wish-list. Mom might be able to get a discount at a store in her town-- I know the whole series is carried at a store in my town. I call mom a few days after giving her the information that my cousin has the first few books in the Sandman graphic novel series. We want books between #5 and #10. It doesn't matter which ones. "So- did you find the Sandman series at your bookstore?"
She did, but they only had the latest one, and it cost $20, so she only got one.
I feel that this makes sense, as getting two of the same book is not the same as getting two books from the same series. "What number is it, so I can get her a different one?"
Hmmm... It takes a minute to find the bag the book should be in. It takes a minute to get the book out of the bag. She explains these delays as she experiences them. She looks at the book she bought. Yup-- it cost $19.95.
"What number is the book you bought?"
Well, she had trouble finding it, and then the lady at the bookstore helped her, and the lady could only find this one, but that lady really thinks its the most recent book in the Sandman Series. And mom proceeds to tell me the title of the book, and some of the authors.
I have never heard of the Sandman graphic novels before learning of my cousin's wish list. All I know are the name of the series, and that we can get her any books between #5 and #10. I don't care what the title of this book is.
"Is there a number on it anywhere? I need to know what number it is in the series."
Mom is looking the book over, and finds some more description of the book on the back cover. She reads it to me. The whole back cover. In the process, she comes to the conclusion that the person who wrote the INTRO to the book she bought was the AUTHOR to the series, so the book she bought might not be a part of the series. She explains all this to me, after reading me the back cover, and then flipping through the book once or twice. She decides she will probably have to take this book back to the bookstore and get a refund for it. She's not sure what to do or if it is really part of the series or not, but she's worried.
"Why don't I go to my bookstore, and get two books from the series-- one from me, and one from you?"
She guesses this will work-- and she'll definitely reimburse me for it.
Then she brings up her biggest worry-- the thing currently at the top of her list of important concerns. My other cousin-- the one who is giving HER a gift-- she doesn't have enough information about that cousin's guitar to get her new strings for it. (The wish-list said "anything to do with stringed instruments.") She doesn't know what kind of strings my cousin is used to, or wants to buy for her guitar. She doesn't even know if its a base guitar or what kind it is, and she would also need to know how LONG the strings should be, and.... So... She is thinking about getting my cousin a gift certificate to a music store instead. But a gift certificate is so impersonal! ... and... my cousin doesn't have a car, and lives in a different town from my mom, so she really REALLY doesn't know what STORE to get a gift certificate FROM... and ...
We've been on the phone for nearly half an hour. I'm getting a bit frustrated, and I really need to pee. I could have had this whole conversation with someone else in about five minutes. I am getting frustrated (did I say that already?), and that means I need to get off the phone soon-- because she is trying to steer this conversation, but neither of her hands are on the wheel, and its making me crazy.
"Would you like to hear what I would do if I were in your situation?"
Well... okay. Yes, she would, she thinks...
"I would go onto google maps, and-"
She doesn't know what goggle nappies are. I swear. That is what she said. And if I'd laughed out loud, she would have been really hurt, and felt stupid. Which she is not. She just prefers to do her exploring in a library. It took another five minutes to get www.googlemaps.com spelled correctly over the phone. Then I explained that I would search for music stores in my cousin's town, and find one on the map that is within walking distance of her apartment. My mom has been to her apartment a few times, so I thought that was a reasonable suggestion. Mom's not so sure, but she'll give it a try.
My bladder is killing me, and I'm getting that helpless angry chaos-is-here feeling... so I suggest that its about time for me to get off the phone as I've got some errands to run, and-
"Oh, by the way-- I'm not sure if I've mentioned it already, but I think I may have broken a rib."
Say WHAT?
In my mind, this sort of information would probably have made it higher on the worry-list than my cousin's gift certificate. But that's me. I think a broken rib is an important health issue, and should receive serious attention. Mom is simply embarrassed about it. She is thinking about going to the doctor, maybe. I want her to get tested for osteoporosis, and she decides she needs to get going now, but don't worry about it, its just a broken rib. I hang up the phone, and start laughing. Its either that or scream.
Tuesday, December 5
I was one, once.
Well, I had planned to tell you about my belief that my life is being recorded for a sitcom. I don't know who's writing the script, but they have one hell of a weird sense of humor-- and some horribly comedic timing. I have some friends who I know have major roles in the sitcom of my life-- and they would tell you the same thing. ...but I'm not going to talk about that today.
In my life, I've been a babysitter, a nanny, an Au Pair, a front desker who also kept track of kids in the office, ... And each of these roles has been very different. Starting with the pay. And the amount of time the parents spend telling you what "normal" is in their household before they leave. Its very confusing if you've never been a part of the program before. I just checked a website for helping folks get what they want, and half the people who want child care ask for nannies, and then want to pay for a babysitter. The other half ask what 'normal' is in nanny-land. I swear, nobody knows, and if they do, they aren't telling! So let me be one of the first. Just realize-- I only know what's normal for me.
When I lived in New York, in 2002, a live-in full-time nanny in a small town with one very high-maintenance child and two very large dogs with long tongues (this was before the pitbull, too) was paid around $500 a month, before taxes. If you actually were lucky enough to find a well-off family in New York City who wanted a nanny, you could get your own mother-in-law apartment, a car to drive, and a good living wage... but that was never me. That was the dream that the Nanny-Placement-Services dangled in front of your nose to get you to sign on with them. Before that, as a babysitter, $5/hour for two kids was considered good pay. You would consider yourself rich if you spent all evening with two kids, and walked home with a $20 bill in your pocket. Since then, I've made up to $10/hour as a part-time nanny, for up to two children. I made $14 an hour as an assistant in a business, with less important responsibilities.
I've had a lot of people be shocked at paying $10/hour for child care. Some of these same people actually pay $15 to $25 for a 20-minute visit to let their pets go pee in the yard every day. And when people consider letting you into their home to care for their pets, they DEFINITELY call your references. Want to know the odds of having a parent actually do a background check on you before leaving you alone in their home with their kid? I don't.
Anyway, Its a strange thing to be back in the world of child care, daycare, nanny and Au Pair. I love the children-- they are such a great excuse to get out the old finger paints, or buy the new water-washable color markers, and really go wild scribbling colorful nothings onto a big piece of recycled paper. Making up fun activities that require autumn leaves, lots of string, and laughter... I could live like that. The hard part is the parents. How do you tell a parent, who pays you good money to do what they do when they can't do it, that their child is never going to remember (at the age of 3) what they did wrong, after not knowing it was wrong, and doing it, and then having to stand in the corner for 20 minutes to think about it. At three-- they probably don't even know all the words to "I Like To Eat Apples And Bananas!" And how do you explain that they are crying because they are ANGRY at the age of five, when you embarrassed them by wiping their nose in front of their favorite teacher, and then telling them to "Blow!"... and telling them to stop crying really won't solve anything. It just embarrasses them worse. And at the age of 11... if you know after an hour in their company that the child is smoking pot, and the parents don't know... what you have to say probably won't make the parents believe you. If they can't see it, chances are they DON'T WANT TO. Like I said-- parents can be difficult.
Personally, I ask the parents for THEIR references before I agree to a long-term contract. And I call. There isn't a test you have to pass to be a parent. But nannies? Real nannies who read child-development books, and use baby sign-language to help toddlers communicate, and CARE that too much TV is bad for the brain... Those are hard to come by. And when you do? Usually they are too busy being moms. And since they know their own worth... you might find yourself paying a little more than $10 an hour. I was one, once.
In my life, I've been a babysitter, a nanny, an Au Pair, a front desker who also kept track of kids in the office, ... And each of these roles has been very different. Starting with the pay. And the amount of time the parents spend telling you what "normal" is in their household before they leave. Its very confusing if you've never been a part of the program before. I just checked a website for helping folks get what they want, and half the people who want child care ask for nannies, and then want to pay for a babysitter. The other half ask what 'normal' is in nanny-land. I swear, nobody knows, and if they do, they aren't telling! So let me be one of the first. Just realize-- I only know what's normal for me.
When I lived in New York, in 2002, a live-in full-time nanny in a small town with one very high-maintenance child and two very large dogs with long tongues (this was before the pitbull, too) was paid around $500 a month, before taxes. If you actually were lucky enough to find a well-off family in New York City who wanted a nanny, you could get your own mother-in-law apartment, a car to drive, and a good living wage... but that was never me. That was the dream that the Nanny-Placement-Services dangled in front of your nose to get you to sign on with them. Before that, as a babysitter, $5/hour for two kids was considered good pay. You would consider yourself rich if you spent all evening with two kids, and walked home with a $20 bill in your pocket. Since then, I've made up to $10/hour as a part-time nanny, for up to two children. I made $14 an hour as an assistant in a business, with less important responsibilities.
I've had a lot of people be shocked at paying $10/hour for child care. Some of these same people actually pay $15 to $25 for a 20-minute visit to let their pets go pee in the yard every day. And when people consider letting you into their home to care for their pets, they DEFINITELY call your references. Want to know the odds of having a parent actually do a background check on you before leaving you alone in their home with their kid? I don't.
Anyway, Its a strange thing to be back in the world of child care, daycare, nanny and Au Pair. I love the children-- they are such a great excuse to get out the old finger paints, or buy the new water-washable color markers, and really go wild scribbling colorful nothings onto a big piece of recycled paper. Making up fun activities that require autumn leaves, lots of string, and laughter... I could live like that. The hard part is the parents. How do you tell a parent, who pays you good money to do what they do when they can't do it, that their child is never going to remember (at the age of 3) what they did wrong, after not knowing it was wrong, and doing it, and then having to stand in the corner for 20 minutes to think about it. At three-- they probably don't even know all the words to "I Like To Eat Apples And Bananas!" And how do you explain that they are crying because they are ANGRY at the age of five, when you embarrassed them by wiping their nose in front of their favorite teacher, and then telling them to "Blow!"... and telling them to stop crying really won't solve anything. It just embarrasses them worse. And at the age of 11... if you know after an hour in their company that the child is smoking pot, and the parents don't know... what you have to say probably won't make the parents believe you. If they can't see it, chances are they DON'T WANT TO. Like I said-- parents can be difficult.
Personally, I ask the parents for THEIR references before I agree to a long-term contract. And I call. There isn't a test you have to pass to be a parent. But nannies? Real nannies who read child-development books, and use baby sign-language to help toddlers communicate, and CARE that too much TV is bad for the brain... Those are hard to come by. And when you do? Usually they are too busy being moms. And since they know their own worth... you might find yourself paying a little more than $10 an hour. I was one, once.
Sunday, December 3
Not Really
Bear with me. I don't always spell things correctly, and I'm not really sure what I'll write in a blog, though my original idea started with this:
"Catta-what? ooh-- I could title each entry with a new word! One could be catta-dict (for how much I like cats), and one could be catta-tonic (about how tired I'll be after this round of finals), and one could be catta-clysmic (for one of the many ridiculous situations my car and I will probably survive in the near future), and one could be catta-racts (for how blind I am without my glasses, and what happened because...), and one could be catta-log (of complaints? of advice? of websites?), and ..."
It was just an idea. Now I'm more interested in making you laugh.
Yes. I like cats-- and some dogs, and even babies, as long as I can give them back after an hour or so. Small drooly soft beings that require us to buy extra equipment for their beds and their car rides and their potty habits and their teeth and their entertainment and their delicate tummies and their need for exercise. I used to be afraid of dogs-- especially big dogs with long tongues. Its really disconcerting to walk up to a friend's house and find that you are the exact height of the dog's tongue (I was five), and he ain't afraid to use it! I was glad to get taller then that. Then I learned that big dogs can rear up on their hind legs, so that they are STILL the exact height of your face-- and if they weigh more than you when they rear up... Its actually more difficult to get away from a dog when it is above you than when it is beside you. I was afraid of dogs because I knew there was no escaping them. Then I was left alone with an 85-pound pitbull mix for a year (I was 25). I was responsible for her physical health, her mental well-being, for cleaning up before and after her, and for keeping her from licking any unsuspecting children. I... was... responsible. I am not really afraid of dogs, their tongues, or their potty habits anymore. There are even specific dogs that I really enjoy. But I like cats.
(Hi, Aussie-- I know you are reading this, and yes- you are one of the dogs I enjoy.) Aussie is very smart. She knows three languages, if you include "Dog." But she's not mine to brag about.
And yes- I'm going to school right now. Graduate School. Its the All-American pastime, and those of us who chose this route do it because we really HOPE it will eventually lead to a job with high enough pay to counteract all the debt we incurred to qualify for the job. I love going to school, but I do often wonder if those people who skip school and earn their qualifications through hands-on experience and basic know-how don't have the smarter career plan. These are the people who will eventually train me to actually do the work my future job requires.
And yes- I own a car. Its been through a lot with me. Five moves. An 85-pound dog. Blinding snow storms that only existed in the five miles around my house, so I still had to go to work. Several different tastes in bumper stickers. A random five-car pile-up that happened on a 25-mph road, squarely in front of a busy emergency room at a major hospital, and everybody refused to ride in the ambulance that the police officer HAD to call anyway. (I was not at fault. Of course, nobody else felt that they were at fault either.) Like I said-- we've been through a lot together.
And so... I leave you.
(I've recently watched the movie, "Much Ado About Nothing," from MGM in 1993. If you've recently watched the movie, this ending may make sense. If not... then sigh no more, and let it go. Passion, love, hate, humor, rumor, sheeps guts, premarital sex, marriage, war, murder, Keanu Reeves, Michael Keaton, and Denzel Washington all in the same movie-- you'd probably find it boring anyway.)
"Catta-what? ooh-- I could title each entry with a new word! One could be catta-dict (for how much I like cats), and one could be catta-tonic (about how tired I'll be after this round of finals), and one could be catta-clysmic (for one of the many ridiculous situations my car and I will probably survive in the near future), and one could be catta-racts (for how blind I am without my glasses, and what happened because...), and one could be catta-log (of complaints? of advice? of websites?), and ..."
It was just an idea. Now I'm more interested in making you laugh.
Yes. I like cats-- and some dogs, and even babies, as long as I can give them back after an hour or so. Small drooly soft beings that require us to buy extra equipment for their beds and their car rides and their potty habits and their teeth and their entertainment and their delicate tummies and their need for exercise. I used to be afraid of dogs-- especially big dogs with long tongues. Its really disconcerting to walk up to a friend's house and find that you are the exact height of the dog's tongue (I was five), and he ain't afraid to use it! I was glad to get taller then that. Then I learned that big dogs can rear up on their hind legs, so that they are STILL the exact height of your face-- and if they weigh more than you when they rear up... Its actually more difficult to get away from a dog when it is above you than when it is beside you. I was afraid of dogs because I knew there was no escaping them. Then I was left alone with an 85-pound pitbull mix for a year (I was 25). I was responsible for her physical health, her mental well-being, for cleaning up before and after her, and for keeping her from licking any unsuspecting children. I... was... responsible. I am not really afraid of dogs, their tongues, or their potty habits anymore. There are even specific dogs that I really enjoy. But I like cats.
(Hi, Aussie-- I know you are reading this, and yes- you are one of the dogs I enjoy.) Aussie is very smart. She knows three languages, if you include "Dog." But she's not mine to brag about.
And yes- I'm going to school right now. Graduate School. Its the All-American pastime, and those of us who chose this route do it because we really HOPE it will eventually lead to a job with high enough pay to counteract all the debt we incurred to qualify for the job. I love going to school, but I do often wonder if those people who skip school and earn their qualifications through hands-on experience and basic know-how don't have the smarter career plan. These are the people who will eventually train me to actually do the work my future job requires.
And yes- I own a car. Its been through a lot with me. Five moves. An 85-pound dog. Blinding snow storms that only existed in the five miles around my house, so I still had to go to work. Several different tastes in bumper stickers. A random five-car pile-up that happened on a 25-mph road, squarely in front of a busy emergency room at a major hospital, and everybody refused to ride in the ambulance that the police officer HAD to call anyway. (I was not at fault. Of course, nobody else felt that they were at fault either.) Like I said-- we've been through a lot together.
And so... I leave you.
(I've recently watched the movie, "Much Ado About Nothing," from MGM in 1993. If you've recently watched the movie, this ending may make sense. If not... then sigh no more, and let it go. Passion, love, hate, humor, rumor, sheeps guts, premarital sex, marriage, war, murder, Keanu Reeves, Michael Keaton, and Denzel Washington all in the same movie-- you'd probably find it boring anyway.)
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