It's genetic. When my mom got tired, she would just fall asleep as soon as she stopped moving. It was that simple. And, apparently, it's catching.
And my mom did a LOT-- she gardened, cooked all our meals from scratch, made most of my clothes, took care of me and the house, and sometimes another child or two as well... had a part-time job, canned foods from the garden... on and on and on. She was tired a lot. So she'd sit down to watch a movie with the family, or lie down next to me to tell me a bedtime story... and she'd miss the last half. We'd have to wake her up so she could go to bed. Her bed. And the funny part was that often, when she finally went to bed, she'd start worrying. She'd worry about this and that and the expiration date on the milk and what if her daughter went out with friends one afternoon and didn't come home and... She'd be up all night thinking these horrid destructive thoughts. And the next day, she'd be tired.
Yet another chapter in "Adventures with Mom" would be written when she sat down in a nice comfy driver's seat, with a head rest and warm air blowing on her toes... to drive over the mountains and to the beach later that afternoon. After a while, she started bringing carrots and ice with her in the car, and I stopped talking so much when we drove places. I think it was quite a relief to us both.
(I did, however, come away from it all with the highly useful-- and oft used-- skill of talking about nothing for long periods of time to desperate people who need to be distracted by something unimportant. The variety of desperate situations which call for this particular skill continue to confound me.)
Genetically speaking, I find that I also need to stop and sleep when I get tired these days. I don't have a button on the back of my head or anything, but if I'm trying to read my school books or focus on the budget, and I didn't get enough sleep the night before... I might as well just go lie down for a bit and get it over with. And I keep a bag of fish crackers in the car, just in case. After all, you never know when the urge to nap may strike!
Why am I telling you all this? Well! This morning, I had to get up a half-hour earlier than usual for work. 4:30am. For those of you who do this on a regular basis-- GOOD LORD!! It was for a good cause, and I'm glad I did... but I was also very glad to get home early, and fall back into bed for a few hours. Now, as long as I don't start to worry about re-applying for the FAFSA and finishing Sue's Quilt and paying the rent on time, and what will happen if I don't check my other email for another week, and... I should get some decent sleep tonight, and be able to catch up on my school reading tomorrow. The thing is, I actually had to take a cat nap during one of my breaks. I just could NOT keep my eyes open! It's genetics. It has to be. A whole race of people who NEED THEIR SLEEP! I have a name for them, too. Dozers.
(Don't mess with my reasoning here. I'm quite happy to blame genetics for this little fact. If I think about how many different pies I have in the oven, I'll start to worry. Don't mess with it, I say!)
Monday, January 29
Sunday, January 28
Abundance
There is a book, "Something More," by Sarah Ban Breathnach. The sub-title is "Excavating Your Authentic Self." I stumbled upon this book in my local public library-- the smaller branch-- just as I was creating my first home alone and trying to understand who I am, now that I am divorced.
I'd just moved to a new state, started a new job, and was trying to piece together bits of my old life, and bits of my new one into something that felt whole... The only certainty was that I didn't really know what "whole" looked like... I just knew there had to be something more than work and money and dating/marriage. I'd had all that, and it wasn't... it just wasn't. And here was this book... talking about Abundance and Authenticity. "Human beings," she says, "seem to be divided into two subspecies-- the resigned, who live in quiet desperation, and the exhausted, who exist in restless agitation." I recognized myself, and one of my good friends who had not left her bad marriage, in these descriptions. She was resigned. I was exhausted-and-restless. "I wish I'd known from the beginning that I was born a strong woman. ...I've spent so much of my life cowering." YES, I thought. I keep learning the difficult lesson that I am strong, but I don't ever acknowledge it or use that strength toward anything but survival. I keep cowering and reacting, instead of standing tall in my own shoes, and ACTING! ...I bought the book.
It's been almost exactly a year since I moved out on my own. A year since I realized that if I didn't act, I might not live. In fact, I wasn't living. I was cowering, and reacting, and appeasing. Constantly. And none of my life was actually about me. I decided that I wanted my life to be about me, and about JOY... so I acted. I have been sad, and lonely, and scared many times since then... but they have been passing moods. (And, to be honest, I felt that way a lot more while I was married!) Mostly, I have been active, and joyfully exploring my world-- MY WORLD! This world that is full of beauty, and color, and opportunities, and friends.
I just had my first official House Party today. It was a "New Beginnings" Open House, to celebrate the new year, and my first year of LIVING! I invited a LOT of people to it, and quite a few of them came, which was very nice indeed. Many of them surprised me by bringing fun and thoughtful gifts, too. I felt very loved. And that, my dears, is what this is all about.
Hosting this party also gave me a chance to look around at the people I call friends, and realize that I have turned them into my family. No matter what those popular phrases say about not picking your family-- you CAN. You just can't pick your relatives. For me, there is actually quite a bit of overlap, but the funny part is that the vast majority of friends I have are all around the age of 60 or so. If I was in my 40's or 50's, maybe that wouldn't be worth mentioning-- but the reality is that I'm not even in my 30's yet! Somehow, these warm, confident, intelligent, self-aware people make more sense to me than the other college kids ever did.
I really enjoy spending time with people who love and accept me for who I am, too-- and who see that person (me) as worthwhile. I feel that I am worthwhile, and it is wonderful to have that reflected back at me by the people I give my time and energy to. The people who matter in my life. I also enjoy spending time with people who know who they are (more or less), and aren't afraid to talk about themselves and about life openly and with passion-- and intelligence!! I find that most people my age aren't really like that yet-- or at least, if they are, it's usually with people they've known their whole lives. Safe people.
And I do have some very very good friends my own age. About half of them even live in the same state as me, now, and of those, about half were able to make it to my Open House today. So as I looked around the room, I saw my parents, my aunt and uncle, and a whole lot of other neat people with a lot of life under their belts... who I have known (or feel that I've known) for a very long time, and who have loved me for at least that long. What a wonderful celebration of life! What a wonderful beginning. What wonderful PEOPLE!
I had two requests of everyone who came to my house today. One, EAT! and two, meditate on Abundance, and create an intention for how you will add to the abundance in your life this year. I feel very strongly about Abundance.
It's not a New Year's Resolution, nothing so shallow. It's a way of filling personal preferences with determination-- self-determination. More, I have myself been meditating on abundance, and realizing how full my life is of the things I most care to have these days-- good friends, good food, good books, good times, good plans... I have a wonderful home that I love returning to each night, and spending time in when I'm not away. I have food I like in the fridge. I have a few plants on the back patio that seem destined to live for a while longer. (And nobody randomly accusing me of being a plant-killer.) I have time to indulge my creative pursuits-- and people to share those passions with-- and I have a truly wonderful cat-companion, as well. I wanted to share this awareness of the abundance we have, and can bring to ourselves, with the people who helped me to reach toward it.
My cat truly is my companion, by the way, for all the time I spend with my many friends. She keeps my feet warm in the winter (very important to those of us with reptilian ancestry), she provides a wide variety of entertaining activities and opinions. (Currently, she has taken command of an end table in the living room. Anything placed on it WILL BE REMOVED-- when no one is watching. I accidentally set a full waterbottle on there once. Full waterbottles are LOUD when they hit the floor!!) She shares her affection, her soft fur, and her time with me, and she loves me back. Truly. I'll be sitting on the recliner, scritching her tummy, and listening to her purr... and she will reach one front paw up, and pat me on the chin or the nose. I love that! She knows I am giving her love like that, so she is giving ME love in kind. She runs to greet me when I come home from work every day, too, and gives me extra attention with few demands if she realizes I've had a particularly difficult day. She's even figured out that study time is not lap-time. At least for the first few hours... And all bets are off if her food dish is running low... but I can live with rules like that. Straightforward and obvious ones.
But, back to Abundance. I get to learn new things, I get to explore new ideas. I get to wake up each day knowing the life I lead has been created entirely by my decisions and with my best interests in mind. There is beautiful art on my walls, and there are great books in my living room. Nobody is yelling at me or telling me that all I've added to their lives is problems. I'm not responsible for the happiness of anyone but myself (and my cat)... and yet, there are also people in my life who welcome my involvement, and my insights. This is a good life. A joyful, abundant life. And it's mine. I wanted to share a piece of that opportunity with everyone who has contributed to the raging success of my own New Beginning. Thank you.
To quote Ms. Breathnach, "I hope your search for Something More is just that-- more bountiful, more exciting, more exhilarating, more joyous, more miraculous than any personal journey you've ever been on before. Blessings on your courage. Your buried treasure lies within."
I'd just moved to a new state, started a new job, and was trying to piece together bits of my old life, and bits of my new one into something that felt whole... The only certainty was that I didn't really know what "whole" looked like... I just knew there had to be something more than work and money and dating/marriage. I'd had all that, and it wasn't... it just wasn't. And here was this book... talking about Abundance and Authenticity. "Human beings," she says, "seem to be divided into two subspecies-- the resigned, who live in quiet desperation, and the exhausted, who exist in restless agitation." I recognized myself, and one of my good friends who had not left her bad marriage, in these descriptions. She was resigned. I was exhausted-and-restless. "I wish I'd known from the beginning that I was born a strong woman. ...I've spent so much of my life cowering." YES, I thought. I keep learning the difficult lesson that I am strong, but I don't ever acknowledge it or use that strength toward anything but survival. I keep cowering and reacting, instead of standing tall in my own shoes, and ACTING! ...I bought the book.
It's been almost exactly a year since I moved out on my own. A year since I realized that if I didn't act, I might not live. In fact, I wasn't living. I was cowering, and reacting, and appeasing. Constantly. And none of my life was actually about me. I decided that I wanted my life to be about me, and about JOY... so I acted. I have been sad, and lonely, and scared many times since then... but they have been passing moods. (And, to be honest, I felt that way a lot more while I was married!) Mostly, I have been active, and joyfully exploring my world-- MY WORLD! This world that is full of beauty, and color, and opportunities, and friends.
I just had my first official House Party today. It was a "New Beginnings" Open House, to celebrate the new year, and my first year of LIVING! I invited a LOT of people to it, and quite a few of them came, which was very nice indeed. Many of them surprised me by bringing fun and thoughtful gifts, too. I felt very loved. And that, my dears, is what this is all about.
Hosting this party also gave me a chance to look around at the people I call friends, and realize that I have turned them into my family. No matter what those popular phrases say about not picking your family-- you CAN. You just can't pick your relatives. For me, there is actually quite a bit of overlap, but the funny part is that the vast majority of friends I have are all around the age of 60 or so. If I was in my 40's or 50's, maybe that wouldn't be worth mentioning-- but the reality is that I'm not even in my 30's yet! Somehow, these warm, confident, intelligent, self-aware people make more sense to me than the other college kids ever did.
I really enjoy spending time with people who love and accept me for who I am, too-- and who see that person (me) as worthwhile. I feel that I am worthwhile, and it is wonderful to have that reflected back at me by the people I give my time and energy to. The people who matter in my life. I also enjoy spending time with people who know who they are (more or less), and aren't afraid to talk about themselves and about life openly and with passion-- and intelligence!! I find that most people my age aren't really like that yet-- or at least, if they are, it's usually with people they've known their whole lives. Safe people.
And I do have some very very good friends my own age. About half of them even live in the same state as me, now, and of those, about half were able to make it to my Open House today. So as I looked around the room, I saw my parents, my aunt and uncle, and a whole lot of other neat people with a lot of life under their belts... who I have known (or feel that I've known) for a very long time, and who have loved me for at least that long. What a wonderful celebration of life! What a wonderful beginning. What wonderful PEOPLE!
I had two requests of everyone who came to my house today. One, EAT! and two, meditate on Abundance, and create an intention for how you will add to the abundance in your life this year. I feel very strongly about Abundance.
It's not a New Year's Resolution, nothing so shallow. It's a way of filling personal preferences with determination-- self-determination. More, I have myself been meditating on abundance, and realizing how full my life is of the things I most care to have these days-- good friends, good food, good books, good times, good plans... I have a wonderful home that I love returning to each night, and spending time in when I'm not away. I have food I like in the fridge. I have a few plants on the back patio that seem destined to live for a while longer. (And nobody randomly accusing me of being a plant-killer.) I have time to indulge my creative pursuits-- and people to share those passions with-- and I have a truly wonderful cat-companion, as well. I wanted to share this awareness of the abundance we have, and can bring to ourselves, with the people who helped me to reach toward it.
My cat truly is my companion, by the way, for all the time I spend with my many friends. She keeps my feet warm in the winter (very important to those of us with reptilian ancestry), she provides a wide variety of entertaining activities and opinions. (Currently, she has taken command of an end table in the living room. Anything placed on it WILL BE REMOVED-- when no one is watching. I accidentally set a full waterbottle on there once. Full waterbottles are LOUD when they hit the floor!!) She shares her affection, her soft fur, and her time with me, and she loves me back. Truly. I'll be sitting on the recliner, scritching her tummy, and listening to her purr... and she will reach one front paw up, and pat me on the chin or the nose. I love that! She knows I am giving her love like that, so she is giving ME love in kind. She runs to greet me when I come home from work every day, too, and gives me extra attention with few demands if she realizes I've had a particularly difficult day. She's even figured out that study time is not lap-time. At least for the first few hours... And all bets are off if her food dish is running low... but I can live with rules like that. Straightforward and obvious ones.
But, back to Abundance. I get to learn new things, I get to explore new ideas. I get to wake up each day knowing the life I lead has been created entirely by my decisions and with my best interests in mind. There is beautiful art on my walls, and there are great books in my living room. Nobody is yelling at me or telling me that all I've added to their lives is problems. I'm not responsible for the happiness of anyone but myself (and my cat)... and yet, there are also people in my life who welcome my involvement, and my insights. This is a good life. A joyful, abundant life. And it's mine. I wanted to share a piece of that opportunity with everyone who has contributed to the raging success of my own New Beginning. Thank you.
To quote Ms. Breathnach, "I hope your search for Something More is just that-- more bountiful, more exciting, more exhilarating, more joyous, more miraculous than any personal journey you've ever been on before. Blessings on your courage. Your buried treasure lies within."
Wednesday, January 24
Can you laugh? REALLY?
Okay. I had decided that ten was the perfect number of blog entries to shoot for each month. I even managed to accomplish ten half-decent blog entries in almost exactly the full month of January. Then I found a blog. Not just any blog. A blog for anyone who has ever gone on a date. Especially if you went on that date with a guy, and he thought he was GOD!
Even better is the fact that the guy from whom all the comments in the blog originate is shy, loving, and makes his statements (apparently) in an off-hand and deadpan style. I'm so grateful to the woman who has been writing these little gems down! I'm even more grateful that she can LAUGH at these things as they are said. It's a lesson to me in the art of "deeper than he looks."
So... even though this is blog number eleven... I just have to share!
http://www.thingsmyboyfriendsays.com/
Go. Go, and laugh, and try not to get thrown out of the library for laughing too loudly... or for viewing questionable content on a library computer... or for then mass-emailing all your friends and acquaintances with this web address in what appears to be SPAM... ahem...
And another thing!!! I really don't understand why "Grateful" is not spelled the way I spell it-- "GREATFUL" because I am VERY GREATLY FULL OF APPRECIATION, DAMMIT!" Oh, and another thing-- apparently the gmail blogger system doesn't spell-check words written all in caps. Hmmm....
Even better is the fact that the guy from whom all the comments in the blog originate is shy, loving, and makes his statements (apparently) in an off-hand and deadpan style. I'm so grateful to the woman who has been writing these little gems down! I'm even more grateful that she can LAUGH at these things as they are said. It's a lesson to me in the art of "deeper than he looks."
So... even though this is blog number eleven... I just have to share!
http://www.thingsmyboyfriendsays.com/
Go. Go, and laugh, and try not to get thrown out of the library for laughing too loudly... or for viewing questionable content on a library computer... or for then mass-emailing all your friends and acquaintances with this web address in what appears to be SPAM... ahem...
And another thing!!! I really don't understand why "Grateful" is not spelled the way I spell it-- "GREATFUL" because I am VERY GREATLY FULL OF APPRECIATION, DAMMIT!" Oh, and another thing-- apparently the gmail blogger system doesn't spell-check words written all in caps. Hmmm....
Tuesday, January 23
I Loveya, Ikea!
Stopped at Ikea on my way home from the Library Conference. I guess you could say it was a quick visit. Only took me three hours to get through the maze-cum-showroom they've crafted, and recently expanded. Hadn't gone in well over a year, and a good thing, too. No where else (except maybe Costco) can you get so much for so little, and still break the bank.
I still remember with fond irreverence the first time I went to Ikea alone. I was driving a Jetta at the time. A small one. I bought a wicker lounge chair. A crowd gathered around my car as I put the lounge chair into it-- and took it out--- and put it in from a different angle-- and took it out--- and put it in through a different door-- and took it out... I had to roll down one of the rear windows to get the doors closed once the chair was finally inside. Never underestimate a small-but-fiercely-determined woman. Never. (A few people actually clapped at my eventual success. I suspect I should have applied to Volkswagen for a grant at that point. I'd modeled each and every one of the car's many stowage and storage options in less than 15 minutes, and proven that the impossible could be done, if only you drove a Jetta! That has to be some sort of a record. And since it was in person, it was actually MORE EFFECTIVE than a TV ad. Man, I miss those butt-warmers!) Didn't even occur to me that buying a large, long, and unwieldy chair might not be a good idea when driving a compact car. And once the money's gone, there is no WAY whatever you bought is staying behind when you drive away!
Then there was the time my partner and I bought the king-sized bed frame and the two large bookshelves, among other treasures... we were driving his Jeep Cherokee for that one. We finally got everything loaded in, and then realized there was no room left for US! I ended up driving because I was shorter. Strangest reason to be picked to drive I've ever heard of... but you see, my head sort of fit under the bed frame, which was shoved precariously over the top of both front seats, and I could still sorta see out over the dashboard. I still don't know how my partner folded himself inside what was left of the passenger seat. At least we got all the doors and windows closed on that one! Come to think of it, everything we bought on that trip was bought to accommodate his 6'3" frame, and his 63 million books... and it all stayed with him after our divorce, too. He was just lucky to have me around, that's all! (There, you see? Another reason to love Ikea-- it helps me realize my own value!... riiiight.)
Well, on this trip, I only bought two small sets of shelves (much-needed!), and a ton of other little stuff. Things I could get into my car and then into my home without having to call for back-up. Plenty of room to spare in my nice roomy Honda CRV, too. And, now, plenty of empty space in my bank account. But, c'mon! Where else would you find stoneware spaghetti bowls for 59 cents?? And small pottery planters that were made with a hole so you could hang them up on a hook, out of the way, without the whole "swaying in the wind" of traditional hanging baskets... And... and... all that other random stuff I bought... What did I spend all that money on, again?
That's what I love about Ikea. There's always more stuff there that you really "need," and it's always available at a good price-- so long as you can haul it home yourself. That's also what I love about living several hours away from one of their stores these days. I can't casually stop by on a weekend anymore. Except, of course, for last weekend. Sigh.
I still remember with fond irreverence the first time I went to Ikea alone. I was driving a Jetta at the time. A small one. I bought a wicker lounge chair. A crowd gathered around my car as I put the lounge chair into it-- and took it out--- and put it in from a different angle-- and took it out--- and put it in through a different door-- and took it out... I had to roll down one of the rear windows to get the doors closed once the chair was finally inside. Never underestimate a small-but-fiercely-determined woman. Never. (A few people actually clapped at my eventual success. I suspect I should have applied to Volkswagen for a grant at that point. I'd modeled each and every one of the car's many stowage and storage options in less than 15 minutes, and proven that the impossible could be done, if only you drove a Jetta! That has to be some sort of a record. And since it was in person, it was actually MORE EFFECTIVE than a TV ad. Man, I miss those butt-warmers!) Didn't even occur to me that buying a large, long, and unwieldy chair might not be a good idea when driving a compact car. And once the money's gone, there is no WAY whatever you bought is staying behind when you drive away!
Then there was the time my partner and I bought the king-sized bed frame and the two large bookshelves, among other treasures... we were driving his Jeep Cherokee for that one. We finally got everything loaded in, and then realized there was no room left for US! I ended up driving because I was shorter. Strangest reason to be picked to drive I've ever heard of... but you see, my head sort of fit under the bed frame, which was shoved precariously over the top of both front seats, and I could still sorta see out over the dashboard. I still don't know how my partner folded himself inside what was left of the passenger seat. At least we got all the doors and windows closed on that one! Come to think of it, everything we bought on that trip was bought to accommodate his 6'3" frame, and his 63 million books... and it all stayed with him after our divorce, too. He was just lucky to have me around, that's all! (There, you see? Another reason to love Ikea-- it helps me realize my own value!... riiiight.)
Well, on this trip, I only bought two small sets of shelves (much-needed!), and a ton of other little stuff. Things I could get into my car and then into my home without having to call for back-up. Plenty of room to spare in my nice roomy Honda CRV, too. And, now, plenty of empty space in my bank account. But, c'mon! Where else would you find stoneware spaghetti bowls for 59 cents?? And small pottery planters that were made with a hole so you could hang them up on a hook, out of the way, without the whole "swaying in the wind" of traditional hanging baskets... And... and... all that other random stuff I bought... What did I spend all that money on, again?
That's what I love about Ikea. There's always more stuff there that you really "need," and it's always available at a good price-- so long as you can haul it home yourself. That's also what I love about living several hours away from one of their stores these days. I can't casually stop by on a weekend anymore. Except, of course, for last weekend. Sigh.
Monday, January 22
The Silly Side
I'm still rehashing the ALA Midwinter Meeting. It was a big event, and a lot happened in a very short time. My last blog was about the business side of library-world. This blog? It's all about the Silly Side!
So... Did I mention that the water in my hotel got turned off three times in about 30 hours-- including all of Sunday? Apparently, the first time was because a leak happened-- a big leak. Then the plumber reconnected the lines BACKWARDS, so hot was cold and cold was hot. The pipes couldn't handle the change, so there was either cold water, or really random scalding hot water-- our random hot water was contained entirely in the toilet bowl. I actually am thinking about patenting the idea-- it was such a nice touch to not suffer from cold-toilet-seat-shock in the middle of the night! Silly... but oh-so-practical!
And... Did I mention that my friend and I are seriously discussing sending in a plea for help to Stacy and Clinton from TLC's What Not To Wear? Seriously. These people need help. The top three silly librarian-sightings so far were:
-Tiny pink shirt-- too small for wearer-- topping long mid-calf-length black skirt (complete with black lace ruffle and three different colors of ribbon below the knee), completed by a pair of very white tennis shoes, and white socks.
-Paisley pink shirt, perfectly clashing in color, tone, and style with a knee-length plaid skirt consisting of dark green and maroon, with nice white tennis shoes and "hip" shaved-short-in-spots haircut.
-Large hooded sweatshirt with screen-print fat cat on front, located above fuzzy stretch pants that were too small for the ample wearer. Apparently, this librarian gets the prize for most inappropriate outfit at the business-casual event of ALA Midwinter Meeting.
Also, so far, the overcrowded and earthy Rose Bar (lesbian-identified hangout) had BY FAR the better food and most excellent waitress of any other place we've tried to grab dinner so far. I tell you, there are so many times in my life when I wish I weren't straight! There are some gorgeous, intelligent, hilarious and generous women out there. I hope you are lucky enough to meet them, too. How silly is it to get hit on by one or two of them, and not be able to reciprocate??
The final and most tiring silliness is the fact that most of these librarians are great friends, and only see each other in person at the ALA meetings-- twice a year or so. Therefore, all the inter-dating, feuding, laughing, drinking, and general drama for the year occurs in a 48-hour period of time! O-my-gawd, it is INTENSE, and very very silly. That was definitely one thing I chose NOT to volunteer for this time around. Although, I still got most of it vicariously through my best friend. It's the first time we've seen each other in about two years, and we roomed together. Talk about your mega-girl-talk! Even on the nights we got back to the hotel before midnight, we stayed up several hours talking and trying to understand the dramas in which she plays a part. I tell you, I have EARNED a good long rest. (By the way, did I mention that the first meetings of the day begin between 7-8am, so we had to be up, professional in appearance, and functional in mind about five or six hours after we finally went to sleep each night! Silly Silly Silly.)
So... Did I mention that the water in my hotel got turned off three times in about 30 hours-- including all of Sunday? Apparently, the first time was because a leak happened-- a big leak. Then the plumber reconnected the lines BACKWARDS, so hot was cold and cold was hot. The pipes couldn't handle the change, so there was either cold water, or really random scalding hot water-- our random hot water was contained entirely in the toilet bowl. I actually am thinking about patenting the idea-- it was such a nice touch to not suffer from cold-toilet-seat-shock in the middle of the night! Silly... but oh-so-practical!
And... Did I mention that my friend and I are seriously discussing sending in a plea for help to Stacy and Clinton from TLC's What Not To Wear? Seriously. These people need help. The top three silly librarian-sightings so far were:
-Tiny pink shirt-- too small for wearer-- topping long mid-calf-length black skirt (complete with black lace ruffle and three different colors of ribbon below the knee), completed by a pair of very white tennis shoes, and white socks.
-Paisley pink shirt, perfectly clashing in color, tone, and style with a knee-length plaid skirt consisting of dark green and maroon, with nice white tennis shoes and "hip" shaved-short-in-spots haircut.
-Large hooded sweatshirt with screen-print fat cat on front, located above fuzzy stretch pants that were too small for the ample wearer. Apparently, this librarian gets the prize for most inappropriate outfit at the business-casual event of ALA Midwinter Meeting.
Also, so far, the overcrowded and earthy Rose Bar (lesbian-identified hangout) had BY FAR the better food and most excellent waitress of any other place we've tried to grab dinner so far. I tell you, there are so many times in my life when I wish I weren't straight! There are some gorgeous, intelligent, hilarious and generous women out there. I hope you are lucky enough to meet them, too. How silly is it to get hit on by one or two of them, and not be able to reciprocate??
The final and most tiring silliness is the fact that most of these librarians are great friends, and only see each other in person at the ALA meetings-- twice a year or so. Therefore, all the inter-dating, feuding, laughing, drinking, and general drama for the year occurs in a 48-hour period of time! O-my-gawd, it is INTENSE, and very very silly. That was definitely one thing I chose NOT to volunteer for this time around. Although, I still got most of it vicariously through my best friend. It's the first time we've seen each other in about two years, and we roomed together. Talk about your mega-girl-talk! Even on the nights we got back to the hotel before midnight, we stayed up several hours talking and trying to understand the dramas in which she plays a part. I tell you, I have EARNED a good long rest. (By the way, did I mention that the first meetings of the day begin between 7-8am, so we had to be up, professional in appearance, and functional in mind about five or six hours after we finally went to sleep each night! Silly Silly Silly.)
Sunday, January 21
I Should Probably Sign Up
I attended the American Library Association Midwinter Meeting this weekend. It's a huge and rather confused event, with all kinds of great information, ways to get involved in "library world," resources, discussion groups, vendors... and that's not to mention all the official meetings that take place every day!
Going into this, I was fairly certain that I wanted to work toward becoming a Public Librarian, and work in the Reference Department, or in the Children's Library. Leaving the conference, I am fairly certain that I want to be an Academic Library Collection Developer, with subject-specific reference desk duties, and hopefully several other hats as well. Variety is important. And it's hard to know what I want to be when I grow up--- it all seems so very far away at times! I'm fairly certain I'll have it figured out by the time I graduate next winter.
I think the biggest challenge for me has been figuring out what events to attend at the conference. It's not just that there are about fifty-plus events for every two-hour time block... added into that are the other 30+ events that are NOT PRINTED IN THE MEETING GUIDE BOOK! Those are usually the interesting ones, anyway, and they've been published on internal listservs instead of on the general information systems. Add to that the number of events which have been rescheduled or relocated, and you have a lot of frantic librarians with very sore feet! To give you an idea of the size of this-- the smaller of the two annual ALA meetings-- I have taken a look at our map of Seattle. There are events regularly taking place at over five hotels in downtown Seattle. There are at least two other meeting locations beyond this, and it is all centered around the Washington Conference and Trade Center-- which we seem to have more or less taken over for the duration. If you are a librarian, and you've never gone-- you should probably sign up.
So far, I've attended several meetings that I really learned from, spoken individually with many practicing librarians and other individuals in library-world who have aided my understanding and awareness of mass opportunities in library-world, and managed to become active in several groups that I'm not sure I signed up for originally... but I will do as soon as I get home, where I left my ALA membership password. Oops.
Knowing that my experiences are probably being filmed for the sitcom of my life (see previous blogs), I have really enjoyed the insane hilarity that pervades much of the Midwinter Meeting. I've also come to appreciate that a majority of librarians have a really sharp sense of humor. I think the three most common denominators among the librarians I've met and worked with here are
-Sharp Sense of Humor (I know, I mentioned that already)
-Sharply Intelligent (Luckily, most also have people-skills...)
-Distinct Desire to Help People (Not always in that order.)
For these reasons, and many more, I am so relieved to find myself in library-world for the weekend. I think I will be very happy to park my professional career on the library-world escalator once I finish my schooling. These people just make sense to me. Even when I don't understand what the heck they are saying. If you've ever interacted with the military or the government on a long-term project, you know how many acronyms these hard-working people can come up with! You might find yourself talking to a CO about the PT requirements for PJs, and needing that info PDQ, before the next DONSA!
Well, impossible as I'd have said this was a year ago, Librarians Have MORE acronyms than both these organizations, put together! And committees... you like committees? You have an idea-- I guarantee we have a committee for that-- plus committees to oversee implementation, advertising, research, publication, collaboration, confirmation, intimidation, and whatever other -ations you can think of in relation to the said "idea!" Yes. We are organized.
We are hella organized. Dangerously so, you might say.
Personally, I attended a meeting of the ALA ACRL's WSS Research Committee, located in the WCC today. I even know what those mean. I also have a mandate to make sure I'm actually ON the ALA'a ACRL listserv, as I'm now responsible for beginning research on an upcoming project, and I need to double-check that I've signed up for the other group whose meeting I particularly enjoyed attending. It has to do with Collection Development in Academic Libraries-- the acronym escapes me...
I think my favorite memory so far-- the one where I wish I'd taken a picture so I could go back and look for hidden cameras later-- was attending an Academic Library Collection Development Discussion Group (acronyms, anyone?). It turns out that this meeting was called so that we could form focus groups and discuss, summarize, and reiterate to the larger group our thoughts on certain Collection Development questions, which most folks had received a list of prior to attending the meeting. I just showed up. I'm still a student. I'm supposed to be along for the ride.
...somehow, I've never been very good at staying on the sidelines...
I ended up sitting with an intelligent and diverse group of five CD librarians, a book store owner, and another student, working toward his MLS degree (just like I am). Our facilitator gave us our question, and requested that each table assign a facilitator, a recorder, and be prepared to present a re-cap to the larger group in the last half-hour. I signed up for the job of taking notes. As a student, I didn't expect to have much to add to what is traditionally an experienced librarian's Management position, and I had very little experience with the topic.
Surprisingly, NOBODY ELSE wanted to take on facilitating the table discussion, EITHER. Realizing that this reluctance was due to a dislike of presenting on the fly, I offered to read my own notes for the group if someone else would facilitate-- as it made more sense for me to read my writing anyway. Thankfully, at that moment someone accidentally volunteered themselves. Our topic was "The Future of ILL and Collection Development in Academic Libraries."
So... I gave my first Committee presentation yesterday. I talked about the future of ILL in Collection Development. I talked to a room of over fifty experienced librarians. I spoke way too fast. I know this because I kept having to slow down enough to breathe. And everyone at the table reassured me that I'd done a good job as soon as I sat back down. That is not usually a good sign. Self-criticism aside, it was a really rewarding experience to be an active participant. I'm not just saying that, either. I have truly missed public speaking opportunities, and the days when mine was the name called whenever a group's speaker or discussion facilitator failed to show up for a campus event. It's not that I like the spotlight-- it's more a burning desire to be helpful, mixed in with a great appreciation for a well-conducted discussion of intelligent ideas and varied perspectives. "Let's go solve something!" seems to be the gist of my mindset at these times.
You'd never know I was once so painfully shy that I refused to go to kindergarten without my mom. You'd never know I spend my free time these days watching corny movies and working as a nanny. It's good to be reminded that an encouraging hug and the willingness to read a special story aloud are as appreciated in library-world as they are in nanny-land. Maybe my professional success can be personal, too. Who knows, by the time I finally get my MLS, I may be running for President!
...I wonder if Congress responds to a good firm "mommy-voice"... Either way, I should probably sign up for some of these groups I just finished contributing to. Next time I go, I want to know what's going on before I get there. Next time, I want to wear more comfortable shoes. Next time, I want to be an official member of the group.
Going into this, I was fairly certain that I wanted to work toward becoming a Public Librarian, and work in the Reference Department, or in the Children's Library. Leaving the conference, I am fairly certain that I want to be an Academic Library Collection Developer, with subject-specific reference desk duties, and hopefully several other hats as well. Variety is important. And it's hard to know what I want to be when I grow up--- it all seems so very far away at times! I'm fairly certain I'll have it figured out by the time I graduate next winter.
I think the biggest challenge for me has been figuring out what events to attend at the conference. It's not just that there are about fifty-plus events for every two-hour time block... added into that are the other 30+ events that are NOT PRINTED IN THE MEETING GUIDE BOOK! Those are usually the interesting ones, anyway, and they've been published on internal listservs instead of on the general information systems. Add to that the number of events which have been rescheduled or relocated, and you have a lot of frantic librarians with very sore feet! To give you an idea of the size of this-- the smaller of the two annual ALA meetings-- I have taken a look at our map of Seattle. There are events regularly taking place at over five hotels in downtown Seattle. There are at least two other meeting locations beyond this, and it is all centered around the Washington Conference and Trade Center-- which we seem to have more or less taken over for the duration. If you are a librarian, and you've never gone-- you should probably sign up.
So far, I've attended several meetings that I really learned from, spoken individually with many practicing librarians and other individuals in library-world who have aided my understanding and awareness of mass opportunities in library-world, and managed to become active in several groups that I'm not sure I signed up for originally... but I will do as soon as I get home, where I left my ALA membership password. Oops.
Knowing that my experiences are probably being filmed for the sitcom of my life (see previous blogs), I have really enjoyed the insane hilarity that pervades much of the Midwinter Meeting. I've also come to appreciate that a majority of librarians have a really sharp sense of humor. I think the three most common denominators among the librarians I've met and worked with here are
-Sharp Sense of Humor (I know, I mentioned that already)
-Sharply Intelligent (Luckily, most also have people-skills...)
-Distinct Desire to Help People (Not always in that order.)
For these reasons, and many more, I am so relieved to find myself in library-world for the weekend. I think I will be very happy to park my professional career on the library-world escalator once I finish my schooling. These people just make sense to me. Even when I don't understand what the heck they are saying. If you've ever interacted with the military or the government on a long-term project, you know how many acronyms these hard-working people can come up with! You might find yourself talking to a CO about the PT requirements for PJs, and needing that info PDQ, before the next DONSA!
Well, impossible as I'd have said this was a year ago, Librarians Have MORE acronyms than both these organizations, put together! And committees... you like committees? You have an idea-- I guarantee we have a committee for that-- plus committees to oversee implementation, advertising, research, publication, collaboration, confirmation, intimidation, and whatever other -ations you can think of in relation to the said "idea!" Yes. We are organized.
We are hella organized. Dangerously so, you might say.
Personally, I attended a meeting of the ALA ACRL's WSS Research Committee, located in the WCC today. I even know what those mean. I also have a mandate to make sure I'm actually ON the ALA'a ACRL listserv, as I'm now responsible for beginning research on an upcoming project, and I need to double-check that I've signed up for the other group whose meeting I particularly enjoyed attending. It has to do with Collection Development in Academic Libraries-- the acronym escapes me...
I think my favorite memory so far-- the one where I wish I'd taken a picture so I could go back and look for hidden cameras later-- was attending an Academic Library Collection Development Discussion Group (acronyms, anyone?). It turns out that this meeting was called so that we could form focus groups and discuss, summarize, and reiterate to the larger group our thoughts on certain Collection Development questions, which most folks had received a list of prior to attending the meeting. I just showed up. I'm still a student. I'm supposed to be along for the ride.
...somehow, I've never been very good at staying on the sidelines...
I ended up sitting with an intelligent and diverse group of five CD librarians, a book store owner, and another student, working toward his MLS degree (just like I am). Our facilitator gave us our question, and requested that each table assign a facilitator, a recorder, and be prepared to present a re-cap to the larger group in the last half-hour. I signed up for the job of taking notes. As a student, I didn't expect to have much to add to what is traditionally an experienced librarian's Management position, and I had very little experience with the topic.
Surprisingly, NOBODY ELSE wanted to take on facilitating the table discussion, EITHER. Realizing that this reluctance was due to a dislike of presenting on the fly, I offered to read my own notes for the group if someone else would facilitate-- as it made more sense for me to read my writing anyway. Thankfully, at that moment someone accidentally volunteered themselves. Our topic was "The Future of ILL and Collection Development in Academic Libraries."
So... I gave my first Committee presentation yesterday. I talked about the future of ILL in Collection Development. I talked to a room of over fifty experienced librarians. I spoke way too fast. I know this because I kept having to slow down enough to breathe. And everyone at the table reassured me that I'd done a good job as soon as I sat back down. That is not usually a good sign. Self-criticism aside, it was a really rewarding experience to be an active participant. I'm not just saying that, either. I have truly missed public speaking opportunities, and the days when mine was the name called whenever a group's speaker or discussion facilitator failed to show up for a campus event. It's not that I like the spotlight-- it's more a burning desire to be helpful, mixed in with a great appreciation for a well-conducted discussion of intelligent ideas and varied perspectives. "Let's go solve something!" seems to be the gist of my mindset at these times.
You'd never know I was once so painfully shy that I refused to go to kindergarten without my mom. You'd never know I spend my free time these days watching corny movies and working as a nanny. It's good to be reminded that an encouraging hug and the willingness to read a special story aloud are as appreciated in library-world as they are in nanny-land. Maybe my professional success can be personal, too. Who knows, by the time I finally get my MLS, I may be running for President!
...I wonder if Congress responds to a good firm "mommy-voice"... Either way, I should probably sign up for some of these groups I just finished contributing to. Next time I go, I want to know what's going on before I get there. Next time, I want to wear more comfortable shoes. Next time, I want to be an official member of the group.
Thursday, January 18
What Animal Are You?
I had a moment today at work. Two, actually. One moment of trying very hard not to break out with a fit of insane giggles, and one of real brain-pain. You see, I'm a nanny. And one of the children I work with is about 2 years old. Not all that funny or mentally taxing, as far as it goes... Which, if you've ever been alone with a 2 year old for more than five minutes, you know isn't very far-- they are hilarous, and they make you go through all sorts of painful mental hoops!
But you see... We were reading a book about "Senses" together-- Pooh and his friends give examples of hearing, of seeing, etc... Well, we'd read the book three times that day already, so the fourth time... I started asking my little 2 year old to tell me what noises different animals in the book make... and we went from there... "What does a kitty cat sound like?" "I can make a sound like an ELEPHANT!" and so on-- right up until the moment when I said...
"I can sound like a COW!" Taken in an adult context, this is a really hilarious statement. And at that moment, that is how I heard myself-- as an adult, claiming to sound like a cow. Calling an woman a 'cow' is a real insult-- and talking like one isn't much better... but ADMITTING IT ABOUT YOURSELF-- now that's one I hadn't heard before! Of course, I was having a serious conversation with a 2 year old... so no laughing was allowed. Boy, was that tough! I think I almost swallowed my tongue.
And the brain-bending? Well, I operate in what I term "nanny-mode" when with small children. I automatically filter out of my consciousness and my vocabulary all inappropriate material-- no swear words, no sexual innuendo that would make your friends laugh, no slang (okay, not much slang), none of that, and a soft loving maternal voice on top! It's just not appropriate to be around children any other way... unless you have to use your "mommy voice." (If you own a pet, or have raised a child, you know what that voice is. It's the "don't argue with ME, young lady!! Your behavior is WRONG, and it is going to stop-- RIGHT NOW!" voice. Smart people--and pets-- heed the Mommy Voice.) It takes me a little while to get out of "nanny-mode," once I've been in it for a few hours... I can't just snap my fingers when I get off work, and be back to talking like a normal adult to other adults... I tend to use words like "dear" and "oopsy" and "I need to use the potty" and "all-better" if I try to hold a conversation with anyone right away. It gets me some really strange looks. A bit like that look you get when you sing along to the elevator music, and the door opens before you stop singing... (C'mon- admit it!)
Today, when I got into my car to drive home from work, the radio came on with the engine. The song was one I'm not a particular fan of, but that I've never been able to NOT sing along with when I heard it... and the chorus is something like... "yo-diggity, I wanna bag it up!" My brain just couldn't take singing along with that song (all about sex and slang and booty and all) while still being at least partly still in nanny-mode. Trying to have those two very different personas share space in my one little brain was just... painfully twisted. I spent a few minutes after that just sitting in the car, blinking, and trying to figure out what was right, what was wrong, and who the hell cared, anyway! Thank goodness I wasn't already driving when it happened. I'm not sure I'd have been able to pay attention the road for a minute or two there.
So, yeah, my day was probably not one you'd label "exciting!".... but it kept me amused.
But you see... We were reading a book about "Senses" together-- Pooh and his friends give examples of hearing, of seeing, etc... Well, we'd read the book three times that day already, so the fourth time... I started asking my little 2 year old to tell me what noises different animals in the book make... and we went from there... "What does a kitty cat sound like?" "I can make a sound like an ELEPHANT!" and so on-- right up until the moment when I said...
"I can sound like a COW!" Taken in an adult context, this is a really hilarious statement. And at that moment, that is how I heard myself-- as an adult, claiming to sound like a cow. Calling an woman a 'cow' is a real insult-- and talking like one isn't much better... but ADMITTING IT ABOUT YOURSELF-- now that's one I hadn't heard before! Of course, I was having a serious conversation with a 2 year old... so no laughing was allowed. Boy, was that tough! I think I almost swallowed my tongue.
And the brain-bending? Well, I operate in what I term "nanny-mode" when with small children. I automatically filter out of my consciousness and my vocabulary all inappropriate material-- no swear words, no sexual innuendo that would make your friends laugh, no slang (okay, not much slang), none of that, and a soft loving maternal voice on top! It's just not appropriate to be around children any other way... unless you have to use your "mommy voice." (If you own a pet, or have raised a child, you know what that voice is. It's the "don't argue with ME, young lady!! Your behavior is WRONG, and it is going to stop-- RIGHT NOW!" voice. Smart people--and pets-- heed the Mommy Voice.) It takes me a little while to get out of "nanny-mode," once I've been in it for a few hours... I can't just snap my fingers when I get off work, and be back to talking like a normal adult to other adults... I tend to use words like "dear" and "oopsy" and "I need to use the potty" and "all-better" if I try to hold a conversation with anyone right away. It gets me some really strange looks. A bit like that look you get when you sing along to the elevator music, and the door opens before you stop singing... (C'mon- admit it!)
Today, when I got into my car to drive home from work, the radio came on with the engine. The song was one I'm not a particular fan of, but that I've never been able to NOT sing along with when I heard it... and the chorus is something like... "yo-diggity, I wanna bag it up!" My brain just couldn't take singing along with that song (all about sex and slang and booty and all) while still being at least partly still in nanny-mode. Trying to have those two very different personas share space in my one little brain was just... painfully twisted. I spent a few minutes after that just sitting in the car, blinking, and trying to figure out what was right, what was wrong, and who the hell cared, anyway! Thank goodness I wasn't already driving when it happened. I'm not sure I'd have been able to pay attention the road for a minute or two there.
So, yeah, my day was probably not one you'd label "exciting!".... but it kept me amused.
Wednesday, January 17
Driftwood
So I drove over the mountains and through the snow to gra... no, actually... I went to the beach through the white and drifting snow-- OH! Did you know that the man who wrote that song thought of himself as a failure? Writing that song happened between about his fifth attempt at a career, and his last attempt. It was long after he gave up being a professional writer (his second career, I believe). He died poor, and with little to show for all his many efforts... except this song. He wrote Jingle Bells-- the extended version with the horse and the sleigh and the way to Grandmother's house-- for the children of a friend of his. And it is still one of the most-translated, and best-known works on earth to this day. Amazing.
I have begun to suspect that "failure" is really about the goals we think are worth reaching. Did you want to die rich and famous? Or did you want to die with a lot of good friends to celebrate your life? Did you want to live like Elvis or Michael Jackson... or did you want to be loved and accepted just the way you are... without new shoes or fancy gifts or people who say only what you want to hear? Did you want to change someone's life for the better... or did you just want to change the world somehow? Bonnie and Clyde will always be remembered, you know. They lived flashy lives, and definitely changed the world in some ways... but I wouldn't want to BE them. I think the people in my life-- and most people in the world-- would be pleasantly surprised to learn about all the little things they did that actually changed someone's life for the better somehow. When people do something wonderful in my life, I try to let them know. People need to know they are appreciated-- that what they do matters. Even if the only person who'll ever know about it is a struggling library student with big glasses and small plans.
I went to my five-year college reunion a while back. Everyone was thrilled to tell you how well they were doing, and all their success and plans... The ratio was 50% future lawyers, 20% happy parents, 30% future doctors. But one woman surprised me, very much. You see-- I created my own major as an undergraduate. I didn't like my options, so I picked "other." I was a Gender Studies Major, and thought that really, only my professors and advisers knew or cared. But this woman that I ran into at the reunion... she's someone I'd see around campus (I still don't know her name), and assume she didn't really know I existed. She was such a free spirit, and had a very different group of friends than I did... I'm sort of boring on the outside... (I don't make waves until I know the people around me can swim through them.) Anyway, it turns out that here, five years later, she was working on her PhD. She was discovering and writing about the folk songs and oral histories of women from South American countries-- their grassroots undefined systems of being feminist, being strong, and helping each other out as women fighting oppression. WOW!!
The amazing part? Turns out she knows my name. Turns out... my creating that Gender Studies major played an important role in her decision to pursue this type of a PhD topic. Wow. I had no idea that I'd made an impact like that, just by doing what was most important to me at the time-- and doing it to the best of my abilities. But I can name several other people I know who have had that kind of impact for similar reasons. I'm thrilled to think I might be like them.
Something else-- another more specific memory I have of making an impact in college-- was much smaller. Just a quarter of an hour, one day. I ended up being late to a class because of it... and I wouldn't change my decision for the world. Because just maybe... I made someone's life a little easier, just by being there... (This memory may also have played a part in my later decision to join the Red Cross so that I could visit soldiers in the army hospitals-- young soldiers returning from Iraq with no family near enough to visit them. Retired soldiers going senile, alone but for the Army's medical care. Care they bought long ago with their lives. I visited them so they would know that what they lost meant something to someone. It did. It meant something to me. Even though war is stupid. Those boys and girls, and older men and women, too. They matter. I will never forget them.)
There I was at school, running late. Speed-jogging my way to class. Across the street, past the duck pond, toward the field (my college only had one official "field"). Checked behind me-- and there was a girl sitting by the duck pond. She didn't look like her world was okay at the moment-- something about her drooped posture and her head not pointed toward anything-- pointed inward. I went back. Turns out, she was crying. Total stranger. I didn't even think about it, and I'm glad not. I might have decided to mind my own business. At that point in my life, I was shy around strangers.
Went right up to her, sat down, asked if she wanted company, or needed to talk about anything. Asked if I could give her a hug. She needed a hug. Took it with relief not to be alone just then. She'd just got word that her grandfather had died. Special man in her life-- and she couldn't go to the funeral. Just found out, and felt suddenly alone in the world. We spent a quiet five or ten minutes together, just sitting and talking about grandparents and death... watching the ducks until she sat up a little straighter. Then I gathered my books, and walk-jogged my way to class... 15 minutes late. Never saw that girl again. Totally worth it. Taking fifteen minutes out of my day to see if I can make just one person's life better-- every day... I think I may be changing the world after all. Want to join me?
Another thing I do... now that I don't have access to the Army hospitals... I keep a few of those $1 cans of beef-and-veggie soup in my car. The ones with the pop-top that doesn't need a can opener. The ones that often go on sale, but last forever. I don't feel right giving someone money. I don't have a lot to spare just now anyway. But I can always give someone a can of soup. It has protein, veggies, and liquids, and doesn't need to be cooked to be eaten. And I feel good about giving something like that to someone that might benefit from it. I feel good not pretending not to see someone eating their pride on a street corner, asking for help with a cardboard sign.
I feel good giving what I can. Just a little bit, here and there... but just maybe, that makes all the difference in the world. I've asked Santa to bring me a job I'll love with good pay and benefits for Christmas next year-- preferably near my friends, family, and the Pacific Ocean. I need all the brownie points I can get! But that's not really why. And it's not about god, either. That god doesn't need my help-- He's all-powerful, remember? ...but the Earth, and her inhabitants do. We need all the help we can get from each other. We are all in this together.
So even though I may currently call myself a looser, I'm definitely not going to see my life, or my contributions to the world, as a failure. I'm not judging success by the total in my bank account, nor by how well-known my contributions to the world really are. Nobody but Molly knows what I did for her. I've probably never even mentioned her name to you before. There's a reason. It's not my story to tell. That story is about Molly, and because of that, my success is personal. Who knows-- I may even do something loving for someone else that will make good memories for generations to come.... even if my name is not part of the memory. Just like the guy who wrote Jingle Bells.
(I originally had other plans for this post, but it sort of wrote itself. I guess there are some interesting esoteric connotations to the title, "Driftwood," that you could use to tie in the title to the posting, but I'll leave those up to you. By the way, doing something that directly contributes the quality of someone's life gives you a really different kind of a "high" than just writing a check to an organization or spending your free cash on a trip down the side of a snowy mountain in July-- though those are great things to do, too. I go around the whole day smiling-- even in rush hour traffic! Try it. Making a difference is contagious. It's called "Paying It Forward.")
I have begun to suspect that "failure" is really about the goals we think are worth reaching. Did you want to die rich and famous? Or did you want to die with a lot of good friends to celebrate your life? Did you want to live like Elvis or Michael Jackson... or did you want to be loved and accepted just the way you are... without new shoes or fancy gifts or people who say only what you want to hear? Did you want to change someone's life for the better... or did you just want to change the world somehow? Bonnie and Clyde will always be remembered, you know. They lived flashy lives, and definitely changed the world in some ways... but I wouldn't want to BE them. I think the people in my life-- and most people in the world-- would be pleasantly surprised to learn about all the little things they did that actually changed someone's life for the better somehow. When people do something wonderful in my life, I try to let them know. People need to know they are appreciated-- that what they do matters. Even if the only person who'll ever know about it is a struggling library student with big glasses and small plans.
I went to my five-year college reunion a while back. Everyone was thrilled to tell you how well they were doing, and all their success and plans... The ratio was 50% future lawyers, 20% happy parents, 30% future doctors. But one woman surprised me, very much. You see-- I created my own major as an undergraduate. I didn't like my options, so I picked "other." I was a Gender Studies Major, and thought that really, only my professors and advisers knew or cared. But this woman that I ran into at the reunion... she's someone I'd see around campus (I still don't know her name), and assume she didn't really know I existed. She was such a free spirit, and had a very different group of friends than I did... I'm sort of boring on the outside... (I don't make waves until I know the people around me can swim through them.) Anyway, it turns out that here, five years later, she was working on her PhD. She was discovering and writing about the folk songs and oral histories of women from South American countries-- their grassroots undefined systems of being feminist, being strong, and helping each other out as women fighting oppression. WOW!!
The amazing part? Turns out she knows my name. Turns out... my creating that Gender Studies major played an important role in her decision to pursue this type of a PhD topic. Wow. I had no idea that I'd made an impact like that, just by doing what was most important to me at the time-- and doing it to the best of my abilities. But I can name several other people I know who have had that kind of impact for similar reasons. I'm thrilled to think I might be like them.
Something else-- another more specific memory I have of making an impact in college-- was much smaller. Just a quarter of an hour, one day. I ended up being late to a class because of it... and I wouldn't change my decision for the world. Because just maybe... I made someone's life a little easier, just by being there... (This memory may also have played a part in my later decision to join the Red Cross so that I could visit soldiers in the army hospitals-- young soldiers returning from Iraq with no family near enough to visit them. Retired soldiers going senile, alone but for the Army's medical care. Care they bought long ago with their lives. I visited them so they would know that what they lost meant something to someone. It did. It meant something to me. Even though war is stupid. Those boys and girls, and older men and women, too. They matter. I will never forget them.)
There I was at school, running late. Speed-jogging my way to class. Across the street, past the duck pond, toward the field (my college only had one official "field"). Checked behind me-- and there was a girl sitting by the duck pond. She didn't look like her world was okay at the moment-- something about her drooped posture and her head not pointed toward anything-- pointed inward. I went back. Turns out, she was crying. Total stranger. I didn't even think about it, and I'm glad not. I might have decided to mind my own business. At that point in my life, I was shy around strangers.
Went right up to her, sat down, asked if she wanted company, or needed to talk about anything. Asked if I could give her a hug. She needed a hug. Took it with relief not to be alone just then. She'd just got word that her grandfather had died. Special man in her life-- and she couldn't go to the funeral. Just found out, and felt suddenly alone in the world. We spent a quiet five or ten minutes together, just sitting and talking about grandparents and death... watching the ducks until she sat up a little straighter. Then I gathered my books, and walk-jogged my way to class... 15 minutes late. Never saw that girl again. Totally worth it. Taking fifteen minutes out of my day to see if I can make just one person's life better-- every day... I think I may be changing the world after all. Want to join me?
Another thing I do... now that I don't have access to the Army hospitals... I keep a few of those $1 cans of beef-and-veggie soup in my car. The ones with the pop-top that doesn't need a can opener. The ones that often go on sale, but last forever. I don't feel right giving someone money. I don't have a lot to spare just now anyway. But I can always give someone a can of soup. It has protein, veggies, and liquids, and doesn't need to be cooked to be eaten. And I feel good about giving something like that to someone that might benefit from it. I feel good not pretending not to see someone eating their pride on a street corner, asking for help with a cardboard sign.
I feel good giving what I can. Just a little bit, here and there... but just maybe, that makes all the difference in the world. I've asked Santa to bring me a job I'll love with good pay and benefits for Christmas next year-- preferably near my friends, family, and the Pacific Ocean. I need all the brownie points I can get! But that's not really why. And it's not about god, either. That god doesn't need my help-- He's all-powerful, remember? ...but the Earth, and her inhabitants do. We need all the help we can get from each other. We are all in this together.
So even though I may currently call myself a looser, I'm definitely not going to see my life, or my contributions to the world, as a failure. I'm not judging success by the total in my bank account, nor by how well-known my contributions to the world really are. Nobody but Molly knows what I did for her. I've probably never even mentioned her name to you before. There's a reason. It's not my story to tell. That story is about Molly, and because of that, my success is personal. Who knows-- I may even do something loving for someone else that will make good memories for generations to come.... even if my name is not part of the memory. Just like the guy who wrote Jingle Bells.
(I originally had other plans for this post, but it sort of wrote itself. I guess there are some interesting esoteric connotations to the title, "Driftwood," that you could use to tie in the title to the posting, but I'll leave those up to you. By the way, doing something that directly contributes the quality of someone's life gives you a really different kind of a "high" than just writing a check to an organization or spending your free cash on a trip down the side of a snowy mountain in July-- though those are great things to do, too. I go around the whole day smiling-- even in rush hour traffic! Try it. Making a difference is contagious. It's called "Paying It Forward.")
Tuesday, January 16
The Benefits
Okay, so the most obvious benefit-- get out of school free card-- of snow is... well... obvious. There aren't really any other circumstances where you are SUPPOSED to spend your unexpected day out of school outside, playing with friends. Fewer yet are days when both you AND your friends are out of school unexpectedly at the same time!
But there are some other benefits, too. For one, a good deep freeze will eliminate a bunch of future biting bugs. For another, snow is supposed to have even better nutritional value for the earth than rain. Go figure. And on top of all that, it cushions sound. Ever go outside in the middle of a good solid snow? It's quiet. Richly quiet.
That feeling of being wrapped in a moment-- in a small little cocoon of snow and of silence... it's invigorating, sillifying. (silly as a pronoun/verb thingy) And beautiful. I drove over to the beach yesterday, and discovered snow still resting on some of the driftwood. And in the higher elevations, in the hills you drive through and over and around to GET to the beach from where I live? There were trees. Many many trees. And each of them had been highlighted in white pen, delicate soft silvery spotlights, dusting the tops of all the branches and every twig. Magickal.
I SO wish I'd brought my camera. I'd have stopped and taken a picture-- and all the people driving 30 mph behind me for safety (since none of us has any sort of traction devices for our cars-- who needs them here??) would have a good excuse to be frustrated and delayed... until they saw what I was looking at. Then, maybe a few of them would have been glad to have a moment where it was safe to take their eyes off the road, and look up. Up at those amazing snowy leafless trees. It was like looking at lace against the crisp blue winter sky!
Anyway, I'm glad I went yesterday. Today, it snowed most of the day where I was holed up, and it was beautiful. I could even hear the occasional yell of a child on a saucer, sledding down the big hill near my place, and getting one of the healthiest rushes the natural world provides. Wow.
I still can't get over the fact that each snowflake is unique-- for all the millions and zillions that must have fallen, just to create MY 4 inches of snow... no two are exactly alike. Creativity that can't be duplicated or purchased. That's pretty unique all in itself. And don't go talking to me about artificial snow-blowers and all that. I don't want to hear about it. I'm busy. I'm listening to my feet crunch in the snow outside, and smiling at how big an impact my sounds make in the world when all the ambient noise of daily life is muffled by the clean slate of silent snow.
I guess that's part of learning to be a good listener-- learning to tune out those demanding and distracting noises of daily life, so that you can focus on just one thing-- on the impact of someone else's foot falls in the world. No hair dryer, no dryer buzz, no buzzing microwave, none of that. Just... listen... and hear how important each person is, and see what shape their lives make in the snow...
But there are some other benefits, too. For one, a good deep freeze will eliminate a bunch of future biting bugs. For another, snow is supposed to have even better nutritional value for the earth than rain. Go figure. And on top of all that, it cushions sound. Ever go outside in the middle of a good solid snow? It's quiet. Richly quiet.
That feeling of being wrapped in a moment-- in a small little cocoon of snow and of silence... it's invigorating, sillifying. (silly as a pronoun/verb thingy) And beautiful. I drove over to the beach yesterday, and discovered snow still resting on some of the driftwood. And in the higher elevations, in the hills you drive through and over and around to GET to the beach from where I live? There were trees. Many many trees. And each of them had been highlighted in white pen, delicate soft silvery spotlights, dusting the tops of all the branches and every twig. Magickal.
I SO wish I'd brought my camera. I'd have stopped and taken a picture-- and all the people driving 30 mph behind me for safety (since none of us has any sort of traction devices for our cars-- who needs them here??) would have a good excuse to be frustrated and delayed... until they saw what I was looking at. Then, maybe a few of them would have been glad to have a moment where it was safe to take their eyes off the road, and look up. Up at those amazing snowy leafless trees. It was like looking at lace against the crisp blue winter sky!
Anyway, I'm glad I went yesterday. Today, it snowed most of the day where I was holed up, and it was beautiful. I could even hear the occasional yell of a child on a saucer, sledding down the big hill near my place, and getting one of the healthiest rushes the natural world provides. Wow.
I still can't get over the fact that each snowflake is unique-- for all the millions and zillions that must have fallen, just to create MY 4 inches of snow... no two are exactly alike. Creativity that can't be duplicated or purchased. That's pretty unique all in itself. And don't go talking to me about artificial snow-blowers and all that. I don't want to hear about it. I'm busy. I'm listening to my feet crunch in the snow outside, and smiling at how big an impact my sounds make in the world when all the ambient noise of daily life is muffled by the clean slate of silent snow.
I guess that's part of learning to be a good listener-- learning to tune out those demanding and distracting noises of daily life, so that you can focus on just one thing-- on the impact of someone else's foot falls in the world. No hair dryer, no dryer buzz, no buzzing microwave, none of that. Just... listen... and hear how important each person is, and see what shape their lives make in the snow...
Monday, January 8
Flickering
There. All I did was describe what they often do, and you KNEW I was talking about candles!! ...unless you thought I referred to some random technological gadget... No matter! The topic of the day is candles.
Isn't it amazing how the quality of light, and amount of smoke a candle creates can vary so much? And the length of the wick beyond the top of the candle both determines how BIG the flame will be, and how fast the candle will burn down! Finally-- technology I can understand! I can use all sorts of technology with no problem. I can even learn a new computer program without instruction or read the directions on a new gadget and use it with confidence... but that doesn't mean that I actually understand what's going on, or how A+B goes about always equalling C. But candles? Those I can really comprehend.
I actually found a candle recently that burns clean, has no smell, gives off a very reliable steady light, is supposed to last for 56 hours (I've burned it for about a total of 10 hours so far, I think, and its not much shorter than when I bought it.)... it's a gorgeous not-quite-white so I really love looking at both the flame and the candle together... and it only cost $7. Wow. Now THAT is affordable technology!
There are candles collecting dust on my shelves that cost a lot more than $7, and had all sorts of great selling features when I bought them... but there they are... collecting dust. And its not just that I'm an infrequent candle-burner, either. I've lit a candle almost every day (or two or three) since I put up my first Christmas lights at Thanksgiving... and a few times even before that. I'm more of a seasonal candle-burner. Adding more heat to a stifling room in August just doesn't appeal to me somehow...
The thing is that it has taken me this long to find a candle I really like. I've found candles I really liked for a day or two... but because I liked them so much when I found them, I bought big ones, and they definitely were built to last for more than a day or two. Unfortunately, the candle's appeal didn't last that long. I wish there was a candle-recycling program. Wax is a very reusable substance, and I just can't bring myself to THROW OUT a 2/3 burned candle. I can't even regift it! What a waste of a perfectly good resource. But candles aren't something that the commercial industry thinks anyone would buy used, and apparently they don't do enough damage to the environment to warrant sorting them out of landfills or giving them their own bin at the recycling centers I've visited.
I guess the good news is that with enough preparation, research, unused wicks, as well as free time and creativity, we can recycle our own half-used candles. Melt them down in a double boiler, roll new ones in wax paper with a brand new wick at the center, and let them cool. There you have it. Perfectly good unused candles. Of course, mine would be brown. I've got red and green and white and blue and probably variations of each color... and most of them have a scent. That seems to be what draws me to candles initially... and why I'm so happy to continue using my $7 unscented candle over and over again now while the other candles go on collecting dust. What would pomegranate and evergreen smell like, mixed with "fresh linen," for example? It worries me.
What if the combination I come up with is even less appealing than the original ones I started with? What if re-melting the wax makes the scent STRONGER?? What if I get done making the candles, and the wicks just FALL OUT??? I'm telling you, technology still has the power to make me nervous. If you enjoy living on the edge, taking risks, destroying the old and creating something totally new out of the ashes, let me know. I've got a box full of half-burned candles on the bottom shelf, and they're not going anywhere.
Isn't it amazing how the quality of light, and amount of smoke a candle creates can vary so much? And the length of the wick beyond the top of the candle both determines how BIG the flame will be, and how fast the candle will burn down! Finally-- technology I can understand! I can use all sorts of technology with no problem. I can even learn a new computer program without instruction or read the directions on a new gadget and use it with confidence... but that doesn't mean that I actually understand what's going on, or how A+B goes about always equalling C. But candles? Those I can really comprehend.
I actually found a candle recently that burns clean, has no smell, gives off a very reliable steady light, is supposed to last for 56 hours (I've burned it for about a total of 10 hours so far, I think, and its not much shorter than when I bought it.)... it's a gorgeous not-quite-white so I really love looking at both the flame and the candle together... and it only cost $7. Wow. Now THAT is affordable technology!
There are candles collecting dust on my shelves that cost a lot more than $7, and had all sorts of great selling features when I bought them... but there they are... collecting dust. And its not just that I'm an infrequent candle-burner, either. I've lit a candle almost every day (or two or three) since I put up my first Christmas lights at Thanksgiving... and a few times even before that. I'm more of a seasonal candle-burner. Adding more heat to a stifling room in August just doesn't appeal to me somehow...
The thing is that it has taken me this long to find a candle I really like. I've found candles I really liked for a day or two... but because I liked them so much when I found them, I bought big ones, and they definitely were built to last for more than a day or two. Unfortunately, the candle's appeal didn't last that long. I wish there was a candle-recycling program. Wax is a very reusable substance, and I just can't bring myself to THROW OUT a 2/3 burned candle. I can't even regift it! What a waste of a perfectly good resource. But candles aren't something that the commercial industry thinks anyone would buy used, and apparently they don't do enough damage to the environment to warrant sorting them out of landfills or giving them their own bin at the recycling centers I've visited.
I guess the good news is that with enough preparation, research, unused wicks, as well as free time and creativity, we can recycle our own half-used candles. Melt them down in a double boiler, roll new ones in wax paper with a brand new wick at the center, and let them cool. There you have it. Perfectly good unused candles. Of course, mine would be brown. I've got red and green and white and blue and probably variations of each color... and most of them have a scent. That seems to be what draws me to candles initially... and why I'm so happy to continue using my $7 unscented candle over and over again now while the other candles go on collecting dust. What would pomegranate and evergreen smell like, mixed with "fresh linen," for example? It worries me.
What if the combination I come up with is even less appealing than the original ones I started with? What if re-melting the wax makes the scent STRONGER?? What if I get done making the candles, and the wicks just FALL OUT??? I'm telling you, technology still has the power to make me nervous. If you enjoy living on the edge, taking risks, destroying the old and creating something totally new out of the ashes, let me know. I've got a box full of half-burned candles on the bottom shelf, and they're not going anywhere.
Saturday, January 6
Unaskables
Had a great talk with my best friend today. We stay in closer contact now that we live across the country from each other than we did when we attended the same school... at least in some ways. On the other hand, nothing will ever replace my memories of us going to the grocery store at 10:45pm and frantically picking the bananas out of a giant bin of nerd candy, trying to get a good-sized bag of them before the store closed at 11pm. We actually did this bizarre ritual more than once. And I highly doubt that anyone else would ever stand in the frozen food section of that same grocery store with me after studying for finals all weekend... laughing uproariously at the lima beans.
We ended up talking about how we're getting together at a Library Conference later this year... and what we each needed to know about each other's group of librarian friends, but would not be able to ask. It made me start thinking about all the things you can talk openly about with a good friend... but that would probably make you turn three shades of purple and say "um.. ff-ut--uff...mmm" a lot before you hopelessly affronted the person you tried to discuss it with OUTSIDE your friend group. Especially if you guessed wrong. At least... I think it would be that way. Sometimes you get lucky with strangers, too...
Things like "What is your sexual preference? Does your boss know?"
and
"Do you have an incurable disease?"
and
"Do you practice a Pagan Religion?"
and
"Do you get easily offended? Because you just said the dumbest thing!"
and
"I hate dogs." (Really- nobody would ever speak to you again after THAT!)
and
"Have you ever noticed how funny frozen vegetables can be?"
and
"Do you actually like the fruit-flavored condogms?"
and
"Did you go to school past high school?"
and
"Did you see that movie, Dude, Where's My Car? My favorite scene was..." (I spend a lot of time with intellectuals. We don't admit to watching corny movies with fake-looking aliens.. oh, except the Trekkies... that's different. That's a cult.)
and
"What the heck difference is there between watching dumb fake-looking aliens and watching STAR TREK, anyway??"
and
"So... how many divorces have you had?"
and
"Do you actually LIKE your mom? Because I..."
You get the picture. You probably have more topics to add to the list, too. All those questions that really help you understand and interact the people around you at a much deeper and more respectful level... but that society says you really can't talk about directly with strangers. And, specifically, that people SHOULD BE offended if you DID ask them, because somehow these things are supposed to be shameful. Isn't it sad? They are just part of living and getting through life as we know it... and often these same experiences have greatly enriched our lives and our understandings in surprising ways. For example, I have often noticed that the people who knew what they wanted to do with their lives, and just went out and DID it are often more knowledgeable and easier to learn the job from than the people who had to go out and get a bunch of degrees first.
It's an interesting topic. At least, I think it is. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be writing this. And I am constantly surprised by the people I bump into-- which ones can discuss these questions comfortably and which ones turn and run the other way. I don't have an answer yet, either. So, if you DO... let me know. DO the green ones have more fun? What kind of fun do you think they have? I mean, really. Think about it. They only melt in your mouth, and that's still illegal in several states. How much fun can they be having, and why does the color of their shells matter? In our enlightened age, it's supposed to be what's INSIDE that counts... and how you use it, of course.
We ended up talking about how we're getting together at a Library Conference later this year... and what we each needed to know about each other's group of librarian friends, but would not be able to ask. It made me start thinking about all the things you can talk openly about with a good friend... but that would probably make you turn three shades of purple and say "um.. ff-ut--uff...mmm" a lot before you hopelessly affronted the person you tried to discuss it with OUTSIDE your friend group. Especially if you guessed wrong. At least... I think it would be that way. Sometimes you get lucky with strangers, too...
Things like "What is your sexual preference? Does your boss know?"
and
"Do you have an incurable disease?"
and
"Do you practice a Pagan Religion?"
and
"Do you get easily offended? Because you just said the dumbest thing!"
and
"I hate dogs." (Really- nobody would ever speak to you again after THAT!)
and
"Have you ever noticed how funny frozen vegetables can be?"
and
"Do you actually like the fruit-flavored condogms?"
and
"Did you go to school past high school?"
and
"Did you see that movie, Dude, Where's My Car? My favorite scene was..." (I spend a lot of time with intellectuals. We don't admit to watching corny movies with fake-looking aliens.. oh, except the Trekkies... that's different. That's a cult.)
and
"What the heck difference is there between watching dumb fake-looking aliens and watching STAR TREK, anyway??"
and
"So... how many divorces have you had?"
and
"Do you actually LIKE your mom? Because I..."
You get the picture. You probably have more topics to add to the list, too. All those questions that really help you understand and interact the people around you at a much deeper and more respectful level... but that society says you really can't talk about directly with strangers. And, specifically, that people SHOULD BE offended if you DID ask them, because somehow these things are supposed to be shameful. Isn't it sad? They are just part of living and getting through life as we know it... and often these same experiences have greatly enriched our lives and our understandings in surprising ways. For example, I have often noticed that the people who knew what they wanted to do with their lives, and just went out and DID it are often more knowledgeable and easier to learn the job from than the people who had to go out and get a bunch of degrees first.
It's an interesting topic. At least, I think it is. If it wasn't, I wouldn't be writing this. And I am constantly surprised by the people I bump into-- which ones can discuss these questions comfortably and which ones turn and run the other way. I don't have an answer yet, either. So, if you DO... let me know. DO the green ones have more fun? What kind of fun do you think they have? I mean, really. Think about it. They only melt in your mouth, and that's still illegal in several states. How much fun can they be having, and why does the color of their shells matter? In our enlightened age, it's supposed to be what's INSIDE that counts... and how you use it, of course.
Tuesday, January 2
Yes, and...
I have a wry sense of humor. If you can't tell that I'm laughing helplessly at most of what goes on in my life, and loving every minute of it (at least the parts I blog about)... you must just think I complain a lot! The thing is-- I also really appreciate and value the people and the lessons that walk through my life. (Into... over... I swear that last guy was wearing stilettos! These boots are made for walking, as they say...)
And really, I don't often share the humor I see with the people around me (with one or two glaring exceptions for friends who have the same sick views I do, and also frequently check over their shoulders for film crews). I've learned the hard way that IN THE MOMENT, it's usually just not funny to most people because it's real life, or because it's THEIR life. Admit it- if you saw the same thing on an episode of "Friends," you'd pee your pants laughing! And I've learned that people I care very much about can be easily hurt if I invite them to enjoy the moment with me later by saying, "It was really funny when you-" but they hear "I'm laughing at you because---, you loser!" And somehow, I have never been able to figure out which people will laugh with me, and what events, recalled or re-framed, will make someone never speak to me again for a long time. sigh
The odd part is that I am HAPPY to share those same moments in my own life that made me laugh at myself-- they are truly comedic in my mind, and I like to share a good laugh! Where laughter goes, I have very little shame. (I learned that one from my dad, and his sisters and brothers, whose shared corny sense of humor has really crossed the line to sad. S-A-D, SAD. Like, you might lose IQ points by laughing, I mean SAD!) I've actually managed to get into trouble on this count, too. (And not just for matching my dad joke-for-corny joke at family gatherings!) People think I'm feeling sorry for myself, or that I'm actually as incompetent (or unfeeling) as my recounted stories imply, or that I might actually think I actually AM a loser. I rarely feel sorry for myself. I often laugh at the folly in my life, but it really isn't the same thing. In fact, I'm oddly self-confident. I only once had the realization that I was a loser (besides sixth grade, but that was just about the big plastic-framed pink-and-blue glasses, and the knee-high white socks that I wore with my shorts that summer), and as soon as I thought it, I started laughing!
(It went like this: "Waaaaiiit... I'm divorced, I just lost my job, I am living in a tiny messy apartment with my cat, my parents are giving me hand-outs because I have no money, and I just started back to school for my second attempt at a degree because I still can't get a job with health insurance... Well, if that's not the definition of a loser, I don't know what is! -- insert laughter here-- That's hilarious! ...That's ME... Oh, shigt. That IS me. ...And yet, I can also honestly say that my life has never been better than it is right now, under these circumstances. Wow. Now THAT is funny!")
Friendly Laughter Bestows Grace.
Or, as the kitchen magnet my psycho grandmother (not enough people in the family laugh about her yet, so I can't elaborate) once gave me for my birthday says, "Blessed are we who can Laugh at ourselves for we shall never cease to be amused." Of course, when she gave it to me, I was in my insecure teenage years. I thought she was telling me that she thought my life was laughable. As I matured, I came to wonder how THAT WOMAN could possibly give me something THAT FITTING to who I am and how I view my world. I don't think she'd actually spent more than an hour a year with me (mandatory Christmas visit) or hearing about me since I was five or six! I guess everyone has their wonderful moments of grace. Thank you Jesus (or whoever) for that!
ANYway-- I do often view the world through the tummy cramps in my glasses (from laughing too much-- sorry, that was probably a bit vague and odd even coming from me). But I also am so grateful for the life that I live, and the people in it. I am SO LUCKY to lead the life I do, and have the advantages I have. For one thing, my parents are intelligent and self-sufficient, and still living together and loving each other. Same two people-- my whole 28 years, plus their time alone before me. For another thing, I was brought up to believe that being poor was a wonderful opportunity to exercise my creativity, and not something to be ashamed of. (For this reason, one of my all-time favorite inspirational toys has always been a used toilet paper tube. Voila- instant spy binoculars, tube-slide for small toys, bull-horn, dog-fetcher, you get the idea.) I went to an awesome undergraduate institution, and my parents (still poor) helped me out financially while I was there. I have a variety of marketable skills, including the ability to produce a decent resume. I understand how to make and keep a budget. (I'm not actually very good at doing it, but I know what I SHOULD be doing.) I know how to do credible and concise research via library, interview, internet, or inference. Pretty good, for a loser! ;)
Most valuable of all, I have more than one friend who would risk her life to help me, and who has done so when I desperately needed the help. I have more than one friend worth risking my life to help, too. Who could ask for more than that? (and a pint of really good ice cream to share with them)
I also know my family love and value me, and I love and value them-- and this is, in LARGE PART, the reason that my blog is so very wry and cynical. It's an escape valve for my irreverent sense of the ridiculous that surrounds me every day (and you, too, I'll bet). I care too much about the people in my life to risk alienating them in person. That's why I do it impersonally so the whole world can read about it, and laugh at them, instead. (That was my sense of the ridiculous speaking, by the way-- I think it's funny that I would chose to publish stories that I don't actually TALK about to most people.)
And really, I don't often share the humor I see with the people around me (with one or two glaring exceptions for friends who have the same sick views I do, and also frequently check over their shoulders for film crews). I've learned the hard way that IN THE MOMENT, it's usually just not funny to most people because it's real life, or because it's THEIR life. Admit it- if you saw the same thing on an episode of "Friends," you'd pee your pants laughing! And I've learned that people I care very much about can be easily hurt if I invite them to enjoy the moment with me later by saying, "It was really funny when you-" but they hear "I'm laughing at you because---, you loser!" And somehow, I have never been able to figure out which people will laugh with me, and what events, recalled or re-framed, will make someone never speak to me again for a long time. sigh
The odd part is that I am HAPPY to share those same moments in my own life that made me laugh at myself-- they are truly comedic in my mind, and I like to share a good laugh! Where laughter goes, I have very little shame. (I learned that one from my dad, and his sisters and brothers, whose shared corny sense of humor has really crossed the line to sad. S-A-D, SAD. Like, you might lose IQ points by laughing, I mean SAD!) I've actually managed to get into trouble on this count, too. (And not just for matching my dad joke-for-corny joke at family gatherings!) People think I'm feeling sorry for myself, or that I'm actually as incompetent (or unfeeling) as my recounted stories imply, or that I might actually think I actually AM a loser. I rarely feel sorry for myself. I often laugh at the folly in my life, but it really isn't the same thing. In fact, I'm oddly self-confident. I only once had the realization that I was a loser (besides sixth grade, but that was just about the big plastic-framed pink-and-blue glasses, and the knee-high white socks that I wore with my shorts that summer), and as soon as I thought it, I started laughing!
(It went like this: "Waaaaiiit... I'm divorced, I just lost my job, I am living in a tiny messy apartment with my cat, my parents are giving me hand-outs because I have no money, and I just started back to school for my second attempt at a degree because I still can't get a job with health insurance... Well, if that's not the definition of a loser, I don't know what is! -- insert laughter here-- That's hilarious! ...That's ME... Oh, shigt. That IS me. ...And yet, I can also honestly say that my life has never been better than it is right now, under these circumstances. Wow. Now THAT is funny!")
Friendly Laughter Bestows Grace.
Or, as the kitchen magnet my psycho grandmother (not enough people in the family laugh about her yet, so I can't elaborate) once gave me for my birthday says, "Blessed are we who can Laugh at ourselves for we shall never cease to be amused." Of course, when she gave it to me, I was in my insecure teenage years. I thought she was telling me that she thought my life was laughable. As I matured, I came to wonder how THAT WOMAN could possibly give me something THAT FITTING to who I am and how I view my world. I don't think she'd actually spent more than an hour a year with me (mandatory Christmas visit) or hearing about me since I was five or six! I guess everyone has their wonderful moments of grace. Thank you Jesus (or whoever) for that!
ANYway-- I do often view the world through the tummy cramps in my glasses (from laughing too much-- sorry, that was probably a bit vague and odd even coming from me). But I also am so grateful for the life that I live, and the people in it. I am SO LUCKY to lead the life I do, and have the advantages I have. For one thing, my parents are intelligent and self-sufficient, and still living together and loving each other. Same two people-- my whole 28 years, plus their time alone before me. For another thing, I was brought up to believe that being poor was a wonderful opportunity to exercise my creativity, and not something to be ashamed of. (For this reason, one of my all-time favorite inspirational toys has always been a used toilet paper tube. Voila- instant spy binoculars, tube-slide for small toys, bull-horn, dog-fetcher, you get the idea.) I went to an awesome undergraduate institution, and my parents (still poor) helped me out financially while I was there. I have a variety of marketable skills, including the ability to produce a decent resume. I understand how to make and keep a budget. (I'm not actually very good at doing it, but I know what I SHOULD be doing.) I know how to do credible and concise research via library, interview, internet, or inference. Pretty good, for a loser! ;)
Most valuable of all, I have more than one friend who would risk her life to help me, and who has done so when I desperately needed the help. I have more than one friend worth risking my life to help, too. Who could ask for more than that? (and a pint of really good ice cream to share with them)
I also know my family love and value me, and I love and value them-- and this is, in LARGE PART, the reason that my blog is so very wry and cynical. It's an escape valve for my irreverent sense of the ridiculous that surrounds me every day (and you, too, I'll bet). I care too much about the people in my life to risk alienating them in person. That's why I do it impersonally so the whole world can read about it, and laugh at them, instead. (That was my sense of the ridiculous speaking, by the way-- I think it's funny that I would chose to publish stories that I don't actually TALK about to most people.)
Monday, January 1
Perspective is a Dirty Word
Even a murderer can be understood and forgiven if you have the right perspective on his or her activities. And yet, murder is SO WRONG! Don't lose perspective on THAT important point! Lawyers often get paid a lot of money to convince a jury or judge to look at things from his or her client's point of view-- and in Greek and Roman times, great orators convinced the populace to take their suggestions for right and wrong and make them community laws. Of course, talking in public spaces was a man's right, and in that society, any woman who argued her own point in public was shameless, and unfeminine, and could easily be labeled a whore or a harlot, worthy of no respect or consideration-- however convincing her argument might be.
Sound familiar?
I recently learned that my mom has no depth perception. She's made the comment my whole life-- that she has trouble with depth perception when driving... She says it's a bit like seeing the whole world as an impressionist painting. And suddenly, I could understand her perspective. I could even expand that description and apply it to so many other mysteries about my mom's interactions with the world and with me... and have them suddenly make sense! Have HER suddenly make sense! What a relief! I'm so unapproachable with people I can't understand-- and its awful when one of them is your mom. It certainly hasn't been nice for her, anyway.
Society doesn't often use the word "epiphany," but you can always tell when someone has had one-- they say "OOOooohhhh!" Or they exclaim "OH!", and pause completely in whatever they are doing for a full two seconds, before remembering again that they are driving or cooking or reading or carrying on a conversation. There it was. That was the moment. Epiphany.
On New Years weekend, I returned a favor, and helped my parents move my aunt into a new house that was much closer to her work, and to our family. She'd put most of her stuff into a storage unit near my folks while she searched for a good place to rent, so everything was already neatly boxed. It had taken one LARGE moving van to get her life into that storage unit. She was renting two movers and their large moving van to get her out of storage again, and into the house she'd found in the new town. My folks and I were going along to help her unpack and rearrange the heavy stuff. Since I live about two hours from my folks, and three from Aunt's new place, my parents decided to drive the three of us from their house, and save on gas.
I arrived at 10:30am sharp, as directed, ready to work. Turns out, my folks weren't ready to work yet. Or drive. About 12:30pm, we all got into their car, and headed downtown. Turns out there were some errands to run before we left for Aunt's new place. I started glancing around, surreptitiously looking for the filming crew. This HAD to be another episode for the sitcom of my life. It was too ridiculous NOT to be! After 20 minutes of watching my folks try and decide what kind of bread to buy at the local bakery, and then wonder if they should get a second loaf of a different kind, and what kind would that be?... I was ready to kill something. It was 1pm, and we were still a good 90 minutes away from actually being helpful to my Aunt's move. WHY did I have to get up at 7am on Saturday?? WHY didn't I bring a stronger headache medicine, or at least a hard-backed book to hit myself over the head with??
About then, Papa's cell phone rang. It was Aunt. The moving van was full, and there were still some boxes in her storage unit. Could we bring all our vehicles and get over there to take the last of it? The movers were on an hourly rate. Their truck was two feet shorter than the one she'd used before. Wow. I guess its good my parents were running three hours behind. We ran one last errand, drove the 20 minutes back to their house, unloaded my travel gear from my CRV, and then went back into town to Aunt's storage unit. Mom rode with me, since I didn't know where we were going, and Papa was taking the truck.
"It's along here on the left, right next to a big sign." Three miles later, there it was. On the left. Just like mom said. We loaded up, which was itself pretty funny. The movers pack trucks and vehicles every day. They are good at getting the most stuff into the smallest spaces. Its their JOB. But Papa and Aunt (and I have to admit, me as well) are very aware of their ability to pack a lot of stuff into a small space well. You should see how much stuff can come out of one closet in my folks' house! It's like Christmas at Grandma's, only without the wrapping paper. (I think that's actually a box of used bows down on the left, behind the sewing machine, though.)
Finally, the person who could yell their idea the loudest got to decide what box and which rocking chair went in what vehicle. It wasn't me. I'd stopped contributing when I saw the movers begin to resemble deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi. I know that pinched wide-eyed look. I had it every day in math class for years.
Then we all caravanned down to Aunt's new place, about an hour away. Well, Aunt and the movers caravanned. Mom rode with me. A whole hour to chat with mom and take her driving directions. Oh, and her driving glasses had ended up in Papa's truck when we repacked everything... so she couldn't actually SEE where we were going in order to give directions... Lucky me. There just HAD to be a camera rolling here somewhere. Papa drove on ahead, and missed the exit. He ended up getting there about ten minutes after everyone else. It was about 3pm when we started unloading everything at Aunt's.
If you've ever moved into a new place or out of an old one, on a deadline, you know how much can go wrong. It helped that Aunt had labeled most of the boxes. "Library" went into the blue bedroom. "Office" went into the yellow bedroom, unless she actually wanted it in the blue room for now. "Files," "Books," "Notebooks," "Computer Supplies," and "Miscellaneous" boxes had to be sorted by Aunt into either the blue or yellow bedroom on an individual basis. The bed frame didn't fit through the bedroom door. They had to find a saw. That one didn't cut straight, so they had to find a different saw. Then mom and I had to hold the bed frame still while Papa stood on a ladder, hit his head on the ceiling fan a few times, and sawed off three inches at the head of the bed frame. He did it in the kitchen, so nobody would have to walk through the sawdust with boxes-- at least, that's what I think he meant when he said it would be easier to clean up in there. The kitchen has the same flooring as the living and dining rooms, so it was either that, or he knew mom or I would be more likely to take responsibility for cleaning a mess in the kitchen. I'd stopped asking questions (and looking for hidden cameras) at that point in the afternoon. I didn't want to know anymore.
Turns out, the bed frame was about five inches longer than the mattress anyway, so sawing off those three inches actually made it fit better on a variety of levels. Ahh the happy accidents of moving day! The movers did a GREAT job. I mean it. They calmly carried boxes from room to room as Aunt changed her mind about where she wanted them. They hauled the heavy awkward bed frame down the hall and tried it in the bedroom doorway three times, and WITHOUT scraping the walls. They accepted her decision to relocate the piano with a smile. They even laughed with me at my attempts to stand somewhere that might actually be OUT OF THE WAY while all the heavy stuff was carried hither and yon and back again. Around five thirty, the truck was empty. Aunt paid the movers, and they trundled away with their truck. Then we started helping her to unpack. Unpack? Yeah. The real reason we were there with her in her new house today, remember? To help Aunt unpack a bit. And rearrange the living room. Novocaine anyone?
I made my suggestions for the living room arrangement (loudly so I could be heard over all the other suggestions), and then put myself in charge of the kitchen boxes and the pile of sawdust. You can live without having your table lamps on the right tables for a few days, but you can't live without silverware and cups and pans. They moved the TV unit twice, and then took a break to eat the lunch we'd packed along with us at 12:3o when we first left my parents' house. It was 6pm. Eventually, I discovered that they'd settled on the living room arrangement that I'd first suggested, and were now trying to make the TV work. It was getting close to 7pm, and I had a three-hour drive ahead of me. We spent another five or ten minutes figuring out what light switches turned off what lights, and then headed back to my folks' place. Mom rode with me, since it was now dark, and we were taking a different route from Aunt's to my folks' than we did from the Storage Unit to Aunt's. Sigh. At least this time, she had her glasses. And she bought me a full tank of gas. There's a lot to like about someone who buys a full tank of gas for a car they don't even drive.
It was on this tired, dirty, and quiet drive that mom told me about the impressionist paintings, and epiphany struck. OH! She really doesn't know how deeply I feel something at times, because she really doesn't have depth perception! ... because now I understand she doesn't have a choice about her perspective, and I do. She just needs more information handed to her than the average driver. OH! Two second pause. Oops-- I'm supposed to be driving. Right. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive, honey?" I'm sure. Very sure. But I like your company, Mom.
It's all about understanding someone else's perspective. And appreciating what you see.
Sound familiar?
I recently learned that my mom has no depth perception. She's made the comment my whole life-- that she has trouble with depth perception when driving... She says it's a bit like seeing the whole world as an impressionist painting. And suddenly, I could understand her perspective. I could even expand that description and apply it to so many other mysteries about my mom's interactions with the world and with me... and have them suddenly make sense! Have HER suddenly make sense! What a relief! I'm so unapproachable with people I can't understand-- and its awful when one of them is your mom. It certainly hasn't been nice for her, anyway.
Society doesn't often use the word "epiphany," but you can always tell when someone has had one-- they say "OOOooohhhh!" Or they exclaim "OH!", and pause completely in whatever they are doing for a full two seconds, before remembering again that they are driving or cooking or reading or carrying on a conversation. There it was. That was the moment. Epiphany.
On New Years weekend, I returned a favor, and helped my parents move my aunt into a new house that was much closer to her work, and to our family. She'd put most of her stuff into a storage unit near my folks while she searched for a good place to rent, so everything was already neatly boxed. It had taken one LARGE moving van to get her life into that storage unit. She was renting two movers and their large moving van to get her out of storage again, and into the house she'd found in the new town. My folks and I were going along to help her unpack and rearrange the heavy stuff. Since I live about two hours from my folks, and three from Aunt's new place, my parents decided to drive the three of us from their house, and save on gas.
I arrived at 10:30am sharp, as directed, ready to work. Turns out, my folks weren't ready to work yet. Or drive. About 12:30pm, we all got into their car, and headed downtown. Turns out there were some errands to run before we left for Aunt's new place. I started glancing around, surreptitiously looking for the filming crew. This HAD to be another episode for the sitcom of my life. It was too ridiculous NOT to be! After 20 minutes of watching my folks try and decide what kind of bread to buy at the local bakery, and then wonder if they should get a second loaf of a different kind, and what kind would that be?... I was ready to kill something. It was 1pm, and we were still a good 90 minutes away from actually being helpful to my Aunt's move. WHY did I have to get up at 7am on Saturday?? WHY didn't I bring a stronger headache medicine, or at least a hard-backed book to hit myself over the head with??
About then, Papa's cell phone rang. It was Aunt. The moving van was full, and there were still some boxes in her storage unit. Could we bring all our vehicles and get over there to take the last of it? The movers were on an hourly rate. Their truck was two feet shorter than the one she'd used before. Wow. I guess its good my parents were running three hours behind. We ran one last errand, drove the 20 minutes back to their house, unloaded my travel gear from my CRV, and then went back into town to Aunt's storage unit. Mom rode with me, since I didn't know where we were going, and Papa was taking the truck.
"It's along here on the left, right next to a big sign." Three miles later, there it was. On the left. Just like mom said. We loaded up, which was itself pretty funny. The movers pack trucks and vehicles every day. They are good at getting the most stuff into the smallest spaces. Its their JOB. But Papa and Aunt (and I have to admit, me as well) are very aware of their ability to pack a lot of stuff into a small space well. You should see how much stuff can come out of one closet in my folks' house! It's like Christmas at Grandma's, only without the wrapping paper. (I think that's actually a box of used bows down on the left, behind the sewing machine, though.)
Finally, the person who could yell their idea the loudest got to decide what box and which rocking chair went in what vehicle. It wasn't me. I'd stopped contributing when I saw the movers begin to resemble deer in the headlights of an oncoming semi. I know that pinched wide-eyed look. I had it every day in math class for years.
Then we all caravanned down to Aunt's new place, about an hour away. Well, Aunt and the movers caravanned. Mom rode with me. A whole hour to chat with mom and take her driving directions. Oh, and her driving glasses had ended up in Papa's truck when we repacked everything... so she couldn't actually SEE where we were going in order to give directions... Lucky me. There just HAD to be a camera rolling here somewhere. Papa drove on ahead, and missed the exit. He ended up getting there about ten minutes after everyone else. It was about 3pm when we started unloading everything at Aunt's.
If you've ever moved into a new place or out of an old one, on a deadline, you know how much can go wrong. It helped that Aunt had labeled most of the boxes. "Library" went into the blue bedroom. "Office" went into the yellow bedroom, unless she actually wanted it in the blue room for now. "Files," "Books," "Notebooks," "Computer Supplies," and "Miscellaneous" boxes had to be sorted by Aunt into either the blue or yellow bedroom on an individual basis. The bed frame didn't fit through the bedroom door. They had to find a saw. That one didn't cut straight, so they had to find a different saw. Then mom and I had to hold the bed frame still while Papa stood on a ladder, hit his head on the ceiling fan a few times, and sawed off three inches at the head of the bed frame. He did it in the kitchen, so nobody would have to walk through the sawdust with boxes-- at least, that's what I think he meant when he said it would be easier to clean up in there. The kitchen has the same flooring as the living and dining rooms, so it was either that, or he knew mom or I would be more likely to take responsibility for cleaning a mess in the kitchen. I'd stopped asking questions (and looking for hidden cameras) at that point in the afternoon. I didn't want to know anymore.
Turns out, the bed frame was about five inches longer than the mattress anyway, so sawing off those three inches actually made it fit better on a variety of levels. Ahh the happy accidents of moving day! The movers did a GREAT job. I mean it. They calmly carried boxes from room to room as Aunt changed her mind about where she wanted them. They hauled the heavy awkward bed frame down the hall and tried it in the bedroom doorway three times, and WITHOUT scraping the walls. They accepted her decision to relocate the piano with a smile. They even laughed with me at my attempts to stand somewhere that might actually be OUT OF THE WAY while all the heavy stuff was carried hither and yon and back again. Around five thirty, the truck was empty. Aunt paid the movers, and they trundled away with their truck. Then we started helping her to unpack. Unpack? Yeah. The real reason we were there with her in her new house today, remember? To help Aunt unpack a bit. And rearrange the living room. Novocaine anyone?
I made my suggestions for the living room arrangement (loudly so I could be heard over all the other suggestions), and then put myself in charge of the kitchen boxes and the pile of sawdust. You can live without having your table lamps on the right tables for a few days, but you can't live without silverware and cups and pans. They moved the TV unit twice, and then took a break to eat the lunch we'd packed along with us at 12:3o when we first left my parents' house. It was 6pm. Eventually, I discovered that they'd settled on the living room arrangement that I'd first suggested, and were now trying to make the TV work. It was getting close to 7pm, and I had a three-hour drive ahead of me. We spent another five or ten minutes figuring out what light switches turned off what lights, and then headed back to my folks' place. Mom rode with me, since it was now dark, and we were taking a different route from Aunt's to my folks' than we did from the Storage Unit to Aunt's. Sigh. At least this time, she had her glasses. And she bought me a full tank of gas. There's a lot to like about someone who buys a full tank of gas for a car they don't even drive.
It was on this tired, dirty, and quiet drive that mom told me about the impressionist paintings, and epiphany struck. OH! She really doesn't know how deeply I feel something at times, because she really doesn't have depth perception! ... because now I understand she doesn't have a choice about her perspective, and I do. She just needs more information handed to her than the average driver. OH! Two second pause. Oops-- I'm supposed to be driving. Right. "Are you sure you don't want me to drive, honey?" I'm sure. Very sure. But I like your company, Mom.
It's all about understanding someone else's perspective. And appreciating what you see.
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