Say you want a resolution...

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): Have you ever seen those new hand dryers in the bathroom? You know the old loud kind, where you’d put your hands under there for a while, and then eventually wipe them on your pants? Well the new kind is even louder, but they totally dry your hands, like a carwash. Seriously, beads of water flow uphill, and then just disappear. Find one of those things and try it out.
They’re really cool.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): I’m thinking of having a little science fair. Help me think up some experiments. Oh, and back to you: grow your hair, or wear a hat. The most deadly form of melanoma is found on the scalp, and that’s a fact.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Did you read about Carmen Herrera, who suddenly became a famous artist at age 94? Seriously! Don’t give up! You have years and years ahead of you. She’s winning all kinds of awards. This year, just stay focused on your art, every. single. day.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: The first part of this year is going to be a little rough, so just stay right on your little yoga mat, thinking good things, and limiting your thoughts to the tiny bits of the world that you have control of. Exhale, and look for peace in the things right within reach.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Tried those chocolate jo jo’s from Trader Joe’s? They’re really good. See if you can cross that off the list this year. Oh, no TJ’s in the east? Dammit.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Have you ever been in a bar when someone comes up to your table and starts doing magic tricks? Are you supposed to tip? What if you don’t really even notice the glasses moving, which is the whole trick? And everyone is all, “wow!” and you realize you spaced out for a minute and didn’t see the glasses move? At any rate, figure that out, will ya?

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Sure, start a freaky little science fair, if you must. It seems like you’re low on ideas, so I kinda have a bad feeling about this, but go ahead.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): Have you even heard of the Soudan Mine before last week? Visitors can go down 2,300 feet into the shaft where they, yes, hang on, discovered dark matter! I know! It seems weird to me. The whole thing, this underground tourism, and actually finding dark matter in a dark cave, and so on. Reminds me of that cave guy; he died pretty young, didn’t he? Had nothing to do with his cave research, or so they say. At any rate, see if you can visit the Soudan Mine this year.

Sagitarius (11/22 – 12/21): He’s gonna send out Hippowdon soon. Yup, level 54 happens. See if you can get a legendary golom. Look up from bulbapedia once in a while, though. There’s a whole world out there.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): The blue moon happens this week, right in Capricorn. That, my friend, is an excellent omen for the new year. Two freaky bright moons in one month. Wear a hat. And possibly a fake nose.


Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): Does it bug you how many bad blogs there are out there? Seriously, I wake up and find I’m reading about a couple in the Midwest who were in the middle of trying to lose, and I’m telling the truth here, a quarter of a ton when one gets some bad mysterious disease and the other has to go to drug rehab, but eats her way out of it. It’s so sad, and the posts are so sporadic. For obvious reasons.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Write write write. Don’t stop, even when you’re sick of it. Don’t take on too much this year, just be gentle with yourself and expect the same of everyone else.

Each night...

It’s a religious holiday, and I wonder if I’m religious. I don’t seem to have the capacity to believe anything that science can’t prove. I don’t believe that Jesus was the son of god; I don’t believe in god. Maybe I’m wrong about all that, who knows. Maybe I don’t believe because I’ve been incredibly lucky and haven’t had to, so far.

When M. came back from Sierra Leone, she told me that the mothers and fathers believe that for the first few weeks (or was it months?) after birth, a baby is really still the property of god, who may decide to take the baby back at any time. I can imagine how comforting that would be in a land where 15 percent of infants die before their first birthday.

So it’s really not my point to foist my beliefs on you, but rather to share this one: as a Unitarian, at Christmas I celebrate that each night that a child is born is a holy night. That every child is born full of wonder and hope, and changes the world in unimaginably good ways, and if we’re lucky enough to have children in our lives, we should cherish them, expect good things from them, and let them become exactly who they are.

Merry Christmas, and thanks for making this blog experiment so fun.

Chaos

Yesterday I decided to really start getting ready for Christmas. Generate a few more ideas, settle on a list, and begin shopping. But first, on my way to work, JJ the G called, and I did a little u-turn and met him for coffee at the crack of dawn, which was an excellent way to begin the day, especially when he told me about the part in Julie & Julia where the woman is all excited because she got her first comment on her blog, and it turns out to be from her mother, something like, "Why are you still doing this stupid thing?" That could be me.



At work we had our annual White Trash Christmas lunch at a nearby casino, where I won $28.50 playing blackjack. It must sound like my work is all about these freaky parties with lutefisk and gambling, but there's lots of unmentionable boring parts in between. The origin of WTX: one year, maybe a decade ago, G. & I were doing field work the day before Christmas and saw a man exiting a casino by himself. It seemed really sad, and we imagined this whole story behind it that we re-enact each year, much like a live nativity only completely different.

The rules are that you have to eat meat, and you have to gamble at least a dollar. So, while buying one pull tab satisfies the rule, there’s something that cracks me up about playing cards in a casino, which I’ve only done twice now. People act all Humphrey Bogart-y, using subtle hand motions for this and that, and being super serious. But when you look around, you’re just in Tukwila in a small fakey casino designed to look like NYC in the dark.

I decided to stop at the drugstore on my way home, because I could surely get some stocking stuffers there. Which I did, and I was even semi-efficient at it, until I got to checking out, where the woman asked, “So, are you all done with your shopping?”

I froze for a moment because I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I lie to her and say, “yup, this is it, all done,” or should I tell the truth, that I was just getting started? I must have looked deer in the headlights-y or something, because she just said, “Yeah, me neither. See, I don’t have any money til Wednesday, but I work from 10 – 6 that day, and the bank won’t even be open, and I’ve gotta’ get something for the potluck. I had to get a payday loan to pay the rent, and I’m going to have to set aside enough for bus fare…”

I was drawn in, because she just started talking to me as if I already knew about the potluck, and the bus, and so on. You know how people do that? They don't introduce the topic, like, "I've been invited to a potluck...", but rather they just mention it as if you already know what they're talking about?

All of her problems seemed so big, but I thought we could at least figure out what she should bring to the potluck. She said she was assigned to bring a main dish, but she wouldn’t have time to make anything. There were all these logistical issues about when the potluck is, and the bus, and the carrying something hot, and the money, and it all seemed overwhelming. I suggested she could maybe buy a brownie mix at the drug store and make that, which she thought was a super idea except for that she’d been assigned to bring a main dish.

I was really annoyed at these people hosting the potluck, I don’t even know who they are, but fer chrissakes, it’s a potluck, you don’t freakin’ assign things. You just say bring something if you’re able. And certainly these people, whoever they are, must surely know that her life is complicated.

At any rate, that whole brainstorming session with her took maybe 20 minutes, and by the time I left I think we were on good enough terms to be FB friends or something. It left me a little exhausted; all of her problems had started swirling in my brain like a miniature tornado. I considered suggesting that she take $5 and go to the casino, never take a card on 16 or above, or 14 if the dealer is showing a 5, but I didn't.

It was still going okay, though, because I had been so ultra-speedy in the store up to that point that I decided to walk over to the knitting store. For an idea. About Christmas. In 3 days.

The woman in the store asked if she could help, and she looked literally almost stricken when I told her I was thinking of making a few things for Christmas gifts. She did that thing of backing away, maintaining eye-contact all the while, like people are supposed to do with dangerous animals. I know! But her look did cause me to move away from the un-spun wool; it probably was a bad idea to spin yarn and then make the item. So I bought things for two little projects, one of which needs to be mailed. Across the country.

I got home to find that most of the Christmas cookies I had made to give away to neighbors and friends had been consumed by the teenage boys. The two who were still present were pretty sure it had been the third, not-present boy who had done most of the eating. I decided to just laugh about it because I so do not want to be some bitter cookie hoarder. But I will confess here that it took conscious effort on my part, because I spent ALL FREAKIN’ DAY on Saturday making 6 kinds of cookies, to give away to Other People, but the day had been rather fun because M. & E. were helping and making me laugh and so on.

That’s where I’m at. I’m pretty sure I used to be not so ADD-ish. I still need a few more ideas and a bunch more time, but tonight I’m taking a lovely group of teenagers to Seattle to feed homeless people and see Christmas ships and such. For some reason, every time I see the Christmas ships, I get all choked up. I know. It is so ridiculous, because I’m not really that into Christmas, and the ships aren’t that pretty, and so on. But the word “ship” gets me. Like, here’s this ship full of good cheer going out on some important sweet mission of Christmas. Ship is such an solid word. But the other part is all the little boats that dress up in lights and follow it around, like, “Hey Christmas ship, we’ve got you covered, if anything happens.” It is very sweet.

Alas, my main obsession right now is this blog, for some sorry reason, because I should be knitting, and baking cookies, and coming up with a list so that my loved ones feel as loved as they are.

chill, Garrison

Garrison Keillor was rather hard on the Unitarians recently, name-calling due to an ever-so-slightly revised version of the hymn, “Silent Night”, which Garrison says, “is more about the silence and night and not so much about God.” Um, right, I can see why you’d get pretty worked up about that! [In the second chorus, rather than sing, “Christ the savior is born”, the Unitarians have re-used the lyrics from the first verse, and sing, “Sleep in heavenly peace”. For some reason, this change provoked a nasty tirade about how Unitarians are arrogant, unlovable people. He says, “If you don't believe Jesus was God, OK, go write your own damn "Silent Night" and leave ours alone. This is spiritual piracy and cultural elitism, and we Christians have stood for it long enough.”

There’s been a ton of response to this already – people agreeing, disagreeing, and making excellent points all around. But all I want to say is sheesh, Garrison, lighten up. Is that really the kind of guy you want to be, the kind of guy who has a freakin’ cow about people coming together in a spirit of wonder to sing a pretty song? With slightly changed lyrics. Is that what Lutherans are all about? Because that’s the kind of bullshit that gives religion a bad name. I liked it better when I thought Lutherans were about bringing covered dishes to their sick or grieving neighbors, and housing the homeless. Oh, and cutting down all the trees in Ballard so it looks like the homeland. Do you see me making a big deal about that, Garrison?

Coming up...

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): Jupiter is in Aquarius. I know! Need I say more? The implications are pretty clear, but in case you forgot your glasses, be especially kind to your people this week, stay off the internet, eat lots of cookies.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): You do have cats. Am I jealous? Maybe just a little. But I have rats in the attic, does that count for anything? I know, and I'm going up there in a few minutes to check on things. Do you know anyone with problems? khortnee@gmail.com is super lonely, if you have any advice needs.


Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): It’s so not your fault. Everyone else should just step up a little, don’t you think? If everyone were like you, the world would run a little bit smoother. But there’s this freaky holiday tradition in my little town, a sort of live nativity with actual animals and so on (there’s a dispute amongst us about whether it’s a camel or an alpaca, but at any rate, you get the idea: plastic babies, the last supper, etc.) There’s also a teenager strapped to a cross. Bloody palms, long white gown. For hours. In the rain. Don’t be that guy, is all I’m sayin’.

Cancer (6/22 – 7/21): Take a little trip to the iTunes store and buy some new songs. You may like The Be Good Tanyas. Maybe spend a little time on Pandora first to get some new ideas.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Do you ever watch that t.v. show, “Lost”? Isn’t it complicated? Do you have trouble keeping track of what’s going on? I’m always all, “wait, is this the future or the past? Is Ben that creepy in real life? Is Sawyer good or bad? Wait, is that one of the others, or am I supposed to know them?” And so on. Well, anyway, your week might be a little like that. Write stuff down. Everyone’s gonna be coming and going a lot, and they will all want to drive your car.


Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Is it the coolest thing ever that they might have found Atlantis? I can hardly sleep at night. You should go; you’re halfway there already. The river is coming up, btw. Hurry home.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Enjoy having all of your people close for a change. There is no shame, as you know, in purchasing some gifts for yourself, wrapping them, and putting them under the tree. Do that if you want anything good.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): Did you read that article in this months’ Playboy Magazine about the guy who made all the stuff up about the code orange alerts and stuff? Totally made it up, and airports were shutting down. The suspicious package contained a stuffed snowman. But back to you. This is a good week to snooze a lot, take to your bed with a good book. Unplug the computer for a while. (I do read it, just for the articles. And don't worry, the link will take you to NPR, no nudity involved.)


Sagitarius (11/22 – 12/21): You should totally get a job. Have you ever been to Costco? Don’t work there. Here’s the weird thing about that place: On the aisle near the bathroom, there’s a vending machine. Um, right, I’ve just walked through this store full of enough food to feed a large few cities for a week, purchased all kinds of things by the gross, snacked incessantly on the free samples, but on my way to the bathroom, yes, I need to purchase 6 peanut butter crackers for a dollar.


Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): You should play that game with your young people where every time you say something, they have to reply with one of three things: “that’s ridiculous!, I can’t believe you said that!” or “quit nagging!” or “wow, you look exhausted.” It’s surprisingly fun, and may lead somewhere unexpectedly good. They will eventually tire of it, and start being a little nicer to you.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): You have been wondering if you can sit still long enough to watch Avatar. I don’t think so. Boy report on that movie: totally cool, tons of action. Girl report on that movie: pretty plants, botanically interesting. Knit, knit, knit, before it’s too late.


Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): You should watch that movie, but do it on a rainy afternoon. Keep being extra good to yourself, and make everyone around you do it too! Don’t start thinking of new year’s resolutions; we’ll handle that here next week. Don’t worry, we’ll keep it very simple.

thumbs neutral

Dear N'3lvra,
Hubby and I will be attending a neighbor's holiday party, folks we may have met once or never, we don't remember.  Astonishingly, we BOTH want to go equally much, AND that "much" is at a sort of neutral, thumbs-horizontal level.  I am at a loss how to explain to myself how this unusual-for-us convergence has come about.  Could it be something to do with the phase of the moon?  Or are we getting onto the same (and apparently apathetic) wavelength after yearzzzzzz of rabid straining in the opposite direction?  Should I read ANYTHING into this?
Signed,
Anne Awnimis


Dear Annie (may I call you that?),
Hmm, is agreeing on thumbs-neutral the way you want to go with this thing, after all these years? Order out for some vanilla ice cream? Microwave cream of wheat in the morning? I don’t think so. This strange turn of events is nothing to celebrate.

Khortnee doesn’t have much experience with relationships, but it does seem like rabid straining would be way more fun than apathy. Could it be that one of you is just doing this to improve your agreeability cred, so that next time you want your way, you can be all, “Hey, remember that time when I was thumbs neutral on going to the neighbors house that we don’t know for free snacks and drinks? Remember? See, I’m not so very difficult, I am really quite easy to live with. Just this once, I should get my way.” Could that be it?

Yours,
Kortknee

P.S. Don't even bother following that agreeability cred link. I just stuck it in there to demonstrate that Courtney does actual research on each issue. It's pretty complicated.

(Regarding phases of the moon, check back tomorrow.)

Reptile Man

So back to the boring thing at the coffee shop. (I know! One of my favorite readers suggested, in the kindest way possible, that I stop writing about being boring, but, well, they always say to write what you know… ) So these two men at the next table, maybe about 50 years old-ish, were talking about their pets.

At first it seemed like an actual conversation, and like they were talking about dogs. But upon closer inspection, it turned out that one person was doing all of the talking, and the other person was doing all the head nodding and all the saying “uh huh”. Which was fine for a while, especially when it seemed like the one guy was talking about a dog. Saying things like, “He was a little shy when I first rescued him, but he got used me. But then the little guy took a good bite out of me, went clear to the bone, ripped the flesh pretty good. [Don’t you hate it when people say pretty good for things that are really not good at all?] He was just teaching me a lesson, I guess.”

Okay, so I kept listening because that just seems freaky, like, don’t they euthanize dogs that do that? And it wasn’t just me; I could see that C., whom I was sitting with and was so happy to see because it had been a while, had also stopped writing and was giving me the look, that look of, OMG, did you hear that? A little bit horrified, and also, a little bit “We're rich! There’s material falling all over the place!” That’s the look she was giving me.

As I listened further, I realized that his pet is actually a monitor lizard. Yes, in case you’re not up to speed on your reptiles, this is the group that includes the komodo dragon, which is the sort of reptile that took a bite out of Sharon Stone’s husband’s foot (that's hard to say aloud, Sharon Stone's husband's foot, although for a few days, people were saying it a lot.) But anyway, remember how she arranged that special birthday outing for him, a trip into the cage of a komodo dragon, and his feet looked like white mice or something? I’m thinking most men married to Sharon Stone would be hoping for other sorts of birthday surprises, but, well, anyway, back to the story. Did I already mention how this guy carried a small photo album with pictures of his lizards? Yes, more than one lizard. Maybe it’s just me, but I really don’t know any guys who carry photo albums around at all. When I thought it was pictures of a dog, it seemed kind of freaky-sweet, but I dunno. With just the lizards, I am inclined to drop the “sweet”.

So this guy keeps talking on and on, monologue-ish, causing me to be struck by one thing: there are people on the planet that can take the most amazing, strange story, and suck the life out of it until you wish they’d just stop.

What happened to this guy is what happens in all stories: a stranger came to town. But this stranger was a 7-foot long predatory, carnivorous reptile that roams free in this man's house with the other lizards (iguanas and such), and it took a chunk out of his arm. That’s a reasonable start on a story, I’d say. I’d definitely turn the page.

But he just mentioned that in passing, and then went on and on about the different types of lizards, and their habitat requirements, and did that repetitive thing too. “You’ve gotta keep a spot with a lamp for them, keep that at about a hundred degrees, but everywhere doesn’t need to get that warm. They eat lettuce too, like, can you picture a chef’s salad, the size of it? And he does a motion: right hand flat, palm up as if holding a plate, and left hand moves in a semi-circle arc over the upturned palm to indicate a big salad. The other guy had been basically silent for many minutes, but when the salad came up, saw an inroad, and said, “Oh, I would like a big chef’s salad like that!” But lizard man stole the conversation back, “The iguana is pretty well mannered, she almost uses the pool area like a little toilet, she’ll poop in there. Monitor lizards ,though, they’re meat eaters. There’s 30 or 40 kinds of iguana, (followed by a list of them.) The listener interrupts, and says, um, yeah, I don’t really know about that, I’ve just seen them in the zoo.”

But the guy keeps going, “theres the spiny tailed iguana, and the ….Yeah, and like I said, you’ve gotta have a warm spot, a hundred degrees for them.  But you gotta watch out, certain times of year they get aggressive. It’s almost like they go into a blackout, they’ll start clawing you to pieces"  Yes. he actually said that, but quickly looped back to the bit about the warm spot. Who would do that?


I’m just wondering if people are trying to be boring? Because it just seems wrong, to have all that material, and then just basically piss all over it. I am not for it, all this boring-ness, possibly because it hits a little close to home.  If I had a lizard taking large chunks of my flesh out, and exposing the bone, you can be sure this blog would be way more exciting, and I would  definitely not write a list of types of lizards.  Sheesh.  I may actually have to get a dangerous pet just for the material.

Speaking of boring, as I've mentioned, I've become increasingly concerned that, well, yes, that I AM boring.  So I picked one of my favorite very boring colleagues, and we've been competing lately, asking everyone, "hey, who's more boring, me or him?"  And sadly, I'm losing.  Unless you count the janitor, who, when we asked, started fumbling for a quarter and something about needing to go buy a coke.  I'm pretty sure he meant that I'm less boring, but that's as close as I got to winning.

The reason it's so sad can be summed up in this example of the person who is less boring than me.  His day, yesterday:  get up at 3:00 a.m.  For no particular reason.  Arrive at work by 6.  Work.  Go to the gym at lunch.  Wednesday, legs day, focus on strengthening the legs.  Work in the afternoon.  Go to gym after work.  Home, and in bed by 8.  Oh, and let me point out that this was his birthday, during which he spent a great deal of time wandering around saying, "you guys should do that thing where you pass around a card for me and everyone puts money in it. Did anyone get that going?"  Yes, this is the competition, and I'm losing.  (Thursday, in case you're wondering, is arms day.)

Yes, as predicted.

The holiday breakfast went as predicted, with three unexpected twists:
1) no one did the "oh, shoot, I forgot my wallet" thing this year, which was a rather pleasant surprise.

2) one of the great mysteries of the workplace was resolved. The foul odor on our floor comes from the leather pants of a woman who has lots of cats that spray on the pants. When you smell that smell (every day), you know it's bad, but can't name it. But once you hear what it is, stale sweaty leather with old and new cat pee, you're like, Eureka! That's it! So in a strange way, that was a happy thing.

3) One member of our party sat as far as possible from the other participants while still technically being at the same table. If each person's spot at the table were outlined with a placemat-shaped rectangle, her rectangle would not have touched any of the others. I completely did not see that coming, but once it happened, it was like, duh. That was written in the stars, shoulda seen it first.

day 3

Last week, our dysfunctional section at work discussed our holiday party over e-mail, which is way better than discussing anything in person. When you work for the private sector, there might be a holiday dinner hosted by your company that you’d dress up for, and maybe bring your spouse to. What we do at Dot Gov is this: during the work day, we go out to breakfast at a restaurant that rhymes with pennies (think Moons over My Hammy), pay our own way, bicker for an hour, get separate checks (to the annoyance of the server), and have awkward conversation about permits. Someone always forgets their wallet, and someone else always has to leave before the checks arrive.

Depending on who the supervisor d’jour is, we sometimes get a little speech, something like, “Well, you guys didn’t eff up too badly this year, trained monkeys could do your jobs, let’s get back to work”. Then everyone stands around for a few minutes asking each other how to bill the time, and asking if we need to record vacation on our timesheets.

For a brief moment last week, someone different held the reins of deciding, and proposed that we go to a Mexican restaurant, where we were promised to get “the special treatment” from Gerardo. I was a big supporter of this plan, without even knowing what the special treatment is or who Gerardo is (what could go wrong?) Of course, the naysayers spoke, and we won't do it, but today is our holiday breakfast at our compromise locale, a golf course restaurant. I pretty much could write how it went now, before I go, but maybe something will happen...

blog anxiety

I’ve been having blog anxiety lately.  I feel the need to update this frequently, but I don't want it to  be lame or boring, and um, well, let's not explore that too much. Even though the average person spends about 90 seconds on a blog, and it seems like it shouldn't be too hard to not be boring for 90 seconds a day, well, I dunno. I've been trying to stop worrying about it all when this happened: I put up a link to Humorbloggers.com, and the other day got a note from them that they only want to connect with funny blogs.  Fair enough, but ouch. I like to think it’s just not a very funny time of year, which it is definitely not.

In the midst of this, I was in a coffee shop over the weekend with C., and overheard a conversation that at first was interesting, but after a bit, I was struck by how boring it is, reminding me of just how annoyed I get by that, and adding to the blog anxiety.  I do not want to be that person.  I have these people who come in to a cubicle at work, mine or someone else’s, and just talk in the most boring way ever, and stay forever and ever.  Do you have that?  We’ve devised a strategy, Operation Jessica.  Remember Jessica Lynch?  She got captured in Iraq and was a prisoner, and they sent special forces to get her out?  Well, maybe that’s not what happened, but it was the story for a while.

 Here’s how it translates to the workplace.  Someone comes in, stays for a long time, saying the same thing again and again and again.  Not repeating an interesting story, but just tedium.  Example: 

“Um, Betsy, someone came into the permit center and had a question about clearing in a stream buffer, and I told them to talk to you."

“Okay, great,” I respond.  That’s where it should end.  But it doesn’t. 

“Yes, I told them your e-mail address and phone number, so they might contact you.” 

"Okay, thanks.”

“See, they want to clear some vegetation in the buffer, I think it’s 14,000 square feet, and they’re going to call you about that.  I told them to.”

“Okay.”

“Her name is Lisa.  She may contact you.”

“Okay.”

“About the clearing.”

“Got it.”

“They may also want to put a picnic table down there, but she wasn’t sure.  I told her she should call you.  See, sometimes they like to have a picnic in the summer, but I told her to call you about all of this.”

“Okay.”

"I gave her your inforomation so she may call you."

And on and on it goes, we keep circling the same block, like lap swimming without the cardio benefits.

After the fifth or sixth time around, each time, with an increase in the tedious level of detail, I ramp up my “time for you to leave” body language, beginning with not responding, then turning to face the computer and beginning to type.  Even putting my iPod back on.  I know, this is rude.  But it usually goes unnoticed; I can pop out of my iPod many minutes later and still hear the same stuff going on.  This is when Operation Jessica gets going. A co-worker who sees what’s going on acts as the special forces, and calls on the phone.  The only fun part of the game is doing a one-sided conversation that you need to feign long enough for the person to actually leave.  If the phone call is too short, the person will just sit and wait for you to be done, or start walking away, but return the second they hear you hang up.  I know.  The thing that so completely doesn't help with the anxiety about being boring is this: the other day I was in a nearby cubicle, participating in what I thought was an interesting conversation, when the phone rang. I know! What does it mean?

I’m just saying, this is the material I have to work with, and the blog suffers.  I might get to the part about the boring guy in the coffee shop soon.  Oh, how I wish I hadn't said that. 

More days of christmas

I guess I like the oddball little fun things that I wasn't expecting best.  On Saturday, I went on a long hike in the woods behind my house, and when I got back to the lake, one of my neighbors was ice skating and his dogs were sliding all over chasing him. It looked so fun, and i must have seemed a little, oh, I don't know what the word is, but at any rate, he skated over and offered to let me use his skates, which were way too big, but still, I got to do a few laps around the lake, and only fell once when I was trying to demo warrior 3 for him, so I totally deserved that. I guess I was seeming pathetic enough that he invited me for fish tacos, which were yummy, but my question for you is this: when you get invited to a neighbors house for dinner, do they usually greet you at the door with a shot of tequila? Is that just a Lake M. thing?

Small talk

Yesterday I went to a little holiday party in my neighborhood, the kind you feel like you should go to. When I arrived, I saw a bunch of those big red sweaters decorated with sequin snowmen and santas. When I see them in the store, I always think, oh, I must be in the kindergarten teacher section (who else would dress like that?). But it turns out my neighbors dress like that. This is where the sweaters were all gathering, and there was a sweetness to the collection of them, all milling about together, each attached to a woman making small talk, and a man in a sport coat. I started feeling a bit subdued in my black shirt.

But I was struck again by how, oh, I’m not sure how to say this, but, when people gather, we tend to be boring. I know. It makes me so sad, because there’s no bigger fan of good conversation than I, but truly. I was cornered by one woman for a while who told me, in excruciating detail, about her life. I don’t mean to be unkind, but really, she managed to work in details of her commute, the filing system at her job, the grades her kids achieved this quarter, and so on, with, and this is key, very little prompting from me. Conversations went like this over and over. It made me even more of a fan of Starlee Kine, who invented “the rundown” (she starts at about 5.5 minutes in, but listen to the whole thing anyway). Her premise is that small talk is getting us nowhere, so she’s devised a system to eliminate it, and rather than talking about the mundane, she asks things like how many virgins you’ve slept with.

At any rate, I think it’s incumbent upon all of us to try just a little bit harder to be interesting.

The week ahead, sort of

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): I know. You hate this time of year, and end up feeling disappointed. Take a walk or light a candle. Maybe you have more control than you think.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): Does it bug you that your sign is named after a car that people make fun of? I would have at least named this sign “Sable.” But those animal rights people would be all over it. Your forecast this week includes watching Broken Flowers, which hopefully will make you laugh aloud. After the last few months, that’s just what you need.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Oh, the sweet little twins. It is such a tender, shaky time of year, just succumb, don’t judge yourself for it. Carry Kleenex, alas, I’m sad to say you’ll need it. But each week will get easier.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: You don’t need to worry so much. Use your wonderful imagination for good, rather than thinking up weird, bad possibilities. This week, round up. Drop a few significant digits, no one is watching. (I know, it makes you cringe to even read that. You see what I mean?) The planet will keep spinning; you can stop pedaling for a while.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Focus on romance for you and those around you. It’s good for business, and good for the world. Make these if you get a minute. It looks like you should have your family over for appetizers this week. Really festive appetizers.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Have you seen the movie, Lars and the Real Girl? You would like it. Sheesh, don’t take everything so personally, it’s just a horoscope. Pack for yourself for a change. Your lovely Saggitarius has enough on her plate.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Get out ice skating more, but be careful as it warms up. Did you know that there are actual sites on the internets where you can star in your own vampire novel? Weird? Yes, I think so. Don’t do that.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): I see dinner with your mother in your future. Look forward to it with great anticipation, because it is sure to be festive and fun. The geminid meteor shower peaks tonight; escape from the city to view.

Saggitarius (11/22 – 12/21): Is that an intruder or a large rodent lumbering around upstairs? Is that a metaphor, or an actual question? If it’s a metaphor, um, what does it mean? And if it’s an intruder, what should I do? Oh, right, I’m supposed to give you the horoscope. I see dinner with your mother in your future too! Weird, sometimes the veil between the signs is a little blurry, and one prediction will cover many galaxii. It is during these weird astronomical times that you are most vulnerable to becoming boring, so guard against that with all your might. I know, that’s a sobering thought.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Congratulations, you’ve gotten through this much of the year. Stand back for a minute, and appreciate all you’ve done. Just don’t make the rest of us hear about it all the time. With the moon in the 10th house, its time to save money, and also make sure your zombie apocalypse team is solid. Check in with those people.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): You share a sign with Sarah Palin, but there are some upsides. It bodes well for your writing career, and possibly there will be an up-do in your future. Let the music keep your spirits high. Oh, you haven’t updated your iPod since 1973? Get on that!

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Nap a lot. Call in sick if you must, but just be good to yourself. And keep doing those background checks. If his favorite band is A Place to Bury Strangers, don’t let him move in right away. Don’t let the others be so hard on you. Flip more people off if it feels right.

The bracelet from Joey

Part 2

Monday, I attended the annual Lutefisk Lunch with some of my favorite co-workers, which is awesome if you like fish jello and aquavit. I bravely ate two bites of the coagulated fish, and learned a lot of its history. If you don’t know about it, imagine the marriage of St. Francis of Assisi (he’s the one who put ashes on everything, right?) and the Hannukah story (think famine, oil, and miracles.) After lunch there was a festive tailgate party in the Ikea parking lot that involved a tiny shot of line aquavit, which I learned means aquavit that has crossed back and forth across the equator in its oak cask. I guess that's the best aquavit, the stuff that has crossed the equator, but I didn't learn why.

Twelve days, part 1

I'm not a huge fan of Christmas for the normal reasons (too commercial, too religious in a way that doesn’t suit me, too much shopping, too many tired miserable mothers trying to please everyone), plus it’s just so dark at this time of year. Truly, it is light-ish for a short short while between about 9 am and 3 pm. I know, we score in June, when, if you put on your raingear and are able to stay up late enough, the lights on my tree will be even more stunning than pictured below, if you can fathom that.

But I thought I’d try to celebrate the season better than I did last year, when my only nod to Christmas was to pick a branch up from the side of the road where it fell in a windstorm, and decorate it with tinsel and lights. This year, I’m trying to be more festive, beginning right now, by celebrating all of the gifts, real and imagined.

It turns out I have a bit of catching up to do. I’ll try to do 12 days; we’ll see if that pans out.

On Sunday, which I think will turn out to be Day 2, depending on whether I do any back tracking to consider R.'s sports injury, I received my first actual gift, a bracelet and some tree decorations from Joey. R and I picked him up hitchhiking the other day and he immediately gave me the gifts, which I will photograph later. I know! R. thinks it’s ridiculous to get excited about this because a) I don't usually wear plastic wreath jewelry, and b) well, R. seemed to think he was going to give those particular gifts to whomever picked him up, which may be true, but didn’t lessen it in any way. I am unable to fit into the tiny Christmasy bracelet.

Fa la la

What do you think, the tasteful solar LED display, or the neighbors rather garish electric lights? (Oh, was that leading the witness?) I'll let you figure out which is which.

The week ahead, ish.

Preramble:

Okay, I got a comment about last weeks’ horoscopes from one of my faithful readers that I would ever so hate to disappoint. The comment was that there was too much focus on the waxing gibbous. Um, okay, but this information comes from the stars, so if you don’t want mention of the sky, you should probably read something else. And speaking of the moon, we sure did see a lot of it last week, and it was especially lurky, don’t you think? Which is the one good thing of how we’re all stumbling around in the dark this time of year. And not to distract too much from the timely predictions that follow, but I’d like to say that my pathetic solar lights twinkle very, very dimly for about 20 minutes each evening before they exhaust the tiny bit of charge they get from their placebo solar panels. It is a very subtle, tasteful display that I will try to capture on film. And now, the predictions:

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): You should help me with these horoscopes. Oh wait, it’s astronomy you’re interested in. It’s always science science science with you people. This week, focus on scenery for once. Take that eye protection off and look around for a minute. You’ll be amazed.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20): Wake up! Oh, you are awake? Sometimes procrastination is solved by creating a little passion for the task. Try taking a look at Jupiter, which is a hundred times brighter than Capricorn this week, and see if you can summon a little enthusiasm.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Seriously, a tattoo? That just smacks of mid-life crisis. I think you’d look better in a red car, personally. Don’t you need some advice? Or don’t you know someone who does? Don’t forget about Cortnee, khortnee@gmail.com, who, as you may know, is a Gemini too.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: Does it bother you to have an astrological sign that they named a life-threatening virus? That doesn’t seem fair. Who would do that? The other signs aren’t named “flu epidemic” or “pestilance”. But they also named the tropics after you, so plan a trip there. If I were the boss of the astrology, instead of just a medium (is that what it's called?), I would definitely give your sign a beautiful name, like Emily.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): I know! It is ridiculous, what you must do each week. Make those talented siblings cook for you. The moon is teaming up with Mars and Regulus, so watch out. (Yes, Regulus is an actual thing in the sky, not a real star, but more of a spectroscopic binary.)

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): We all have that thing of, “oh, wait, did I say that out loud?” Don’t worry, it’s not just you, don’t feel bad. (Well, everyone except for those Taurii, who don’t say much of anything.) Keep saying what you say, everyone wants to hear it.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): With more than a hundred galaxies out there, odds are, you’ll find your people. As always, this is a good week to learn semaphore code. And fix the damn heat already.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21): Must I say this every week? Drive carefully! (How many cupholders does one person need?) Hang on, days will be getting longer again. Call right away if the abyss gets any closer.

Saggitarius (11/22 – 12/21): Of course these are real horoscopes. Sheesh. Would someone clean the blood off the keyboard, by the way? (This is not an idle request. It can’t possibly be good for us, either psychically or astrologically. Not to mention it’s just gross.). It is crowded out there. Get stuff delivered, stay in. With the waning moon, it will be even darker than usual. Make something yummy.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Don’t feel jealous of Jupiter, even though it’s so dominant this week. Make a nice plate of cookies and take it over there. (Drop some by here, if you have extras, especially if you make those round buttery ones rolled in confectioner’s sugar.) Oh, and your week is looking good! I see something up ahead, I can’t quite make out the details, but it’s good.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): You should definitely bring lunch for your favorite astrologer one day this week, it is written in the stars. Spica is a few degrees left of the moon, which, well, that's where you live too, right? At any rate, it bodes well for your next date.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): This might be the hardest week of your life, but each week following will get a tiny bit easier. Focus on the exhale. And that zit on your nose, that’s the least of your worries.

Why a blog?

I’ve been asked by a few people why I have a blog, which is a fair question. It's because I like to write. I like to write, but I also want to be read. Writing little stories privately isn’t as satisfying as writing with the idea that someone will read the words.

There’s a beautiful quote from Natalie Goldberg, “The deepest secret in our heart of hearts is that we are writing because we love the world.”

That sums it up. Writing is a way of savoring the little things that happen that make me laugh, or wake me up from my rut, or remind me of just how great life is, as trite as that sounds. It’s a way of gently breathing life into the mundane, being aware of the amazing stroke of good fortune I’ve had, to be alive when I am, amongst all of the interesting and kind people I know, with the particular children I was lucky enough to get. And sometimes I forget that, but not when I write.

So, thank you all so much for reading.

cobbling

The other night, R. was talking about how boring his sister M. is. During the conversation, though, he remembered that she’s actually very fun.

“Oh, we should totally record this conversation and e-mail it to her.” He runs upstairs, rummages for about 3 seconds, and comes back with a digital tape recorder that I gave him several years ago. It seemed amazing that he located it, given what he calls his “looking disability”. Example: the other day, I came home and he had a small cut from “cobbling”. (You might want to see the movie, ‘Away We Go’, it’s sweet and quirky and the lead characters are attractive in a normal way, not an over-the-top manufactured way. I don’t want to spoil it, but the relevant bit is that they call whittling “cobbling”, which caused R. to want to be 'the kind of son who’s cobbling on the porch when you get up in the morning’. Um, okay.) At any rate, he has this cut and says, “We should definitely keep band-aids around.”

“We do have band-aids,” I respond.

“Right, maybe we do, but not where anyone could ever find them.” I notice that he has some scotch tape or something on his finger.

“R, I’m pretty sure any random person who’s ever been in a house before would be able to find them in about 30 seconds.”

“That’s not true, mom. Go try it, I’ll time you.”

I walk into the bathroom, open the top drawer next to the sink, and pull out the band-aids. Seven seconds.

“Mom, seriously, no one would look there.”

This might be a trait that comes down the paternal line; his father doesn’t know, for example, what goes in the top drawer of a dresser (socks, underwear, things like that =normal; shoes, car parts, silverware = unusual), and I mean that in the least judgmental way possible.

He starts taping: “Hello M. For a bit of background, I think you’re very boring, but it’s not all your fault. We’re going to talk about this a little bit on tape.”

I’m thinking about how this is going to go down, like when R gave me the most helpful tip a few weeks ago that my pants made me look fat. “Oh, R., is this the proverbial, “those pants make your butt look big comment?” “Not just the butt,” he responds. “It’s the whole pants area.” I have to say, as disappointing as it was, I’ve really been enjoying that turn of phrase, “the whole pants area.” I told the boys at work, who laughed pretty hard, and now each time I eat, they do this motion, palms together, horizontal and then fanning out, skyward and landward, and just say, “the whole pants area.”

So thinking about the pants area comment, I was a cross between enthusiastic about Riley's creativity, and nervous about how it could go, sibling-wise. Kidney donation-wise. "Hey, R., maybe we could do this on the weekend when we have more time."

“Yeah, Mom, that’s totally gonna happen. Hey, guys, I can’t hang out this weekend. See, me and my mom are making a fake radio show for my sister. Yeah, so, kinda busy, you understand.”

At any rate, don't give up on the blog just yet. It's not gonna be all about pants. Something is bound to happen...

Joey

Yesterday, I picked Joey up hitchhiking for the first time in a couple of months. I had started to wonder if something bad had happened, which would have been quite plausible. But he was fine, in fat, he was more coherent than usual.

I met Joey, if you could call it that, on the side of the road a few years ago, but he wasn’t hitchhiking -- I thought he was dead. I was driving home on a hot summer afternoon, and saw a body next to the roadside ditch, positioned exactly like it would be if it had been pushed unconscious from of the back of a pickup truck.  Face down, arms sprawled into the gravel.

I drove past, thinking, no, I didn’t just see that, there really wasn’t a body, hands over eyes singing "la la la", but I turned around anyway, and there really was a body.

I pulled over and stood near him.  “Hey, you okay?” (I know. That’s the dumbest thing ever to say. Like this dead person is gonna say, “yeah, I’m doing great, just relaxing here for a bit with my face in the gravel.” But even with a dead person, you have to start somewhere.) I tried to make my voice firm but maternal, and talk to him in a “you’re gonna miss the bus” sort of way, but got no answer. I called 911, and they asked me questions. Can you tell what happened? Is there a car or a bike? Is he breathing? Is he alive? I couldn't answer any of her questions, so she said I probably had better not touch him.  I was relieved to comply.

Because of the topography, I could hear the ambulance coming all the way from town, their sirens ricocheting off the forested hillside. As I stood there, a neighbor pulled up.

“Is it Doc?” she asked, almost sobbing.

“I don’t know.”

This neighbor, whom I barely knew, was always on the edge of tears.  I noticed her walking a lot, around and around in a loop, with and without a dog. This was before her son, 40-ish, died of alcoholism, and her husband died of cancer. None of it had happened yet, but I think she could see this stuff on the horizon, and always looked like she had been, or was about to cry. Although we’d passed each other on walks and said hello for years, I didn’t know her. We hadn’t yet had that day, a year or so later, when I ran into her at the grocery store the day after her husband died. She was having a meltdown because the clerk wouldn’t exchange the unopened package of Depends that her husband wouldn’t need anymore, and I somehow got enlisted to assist with the transaction.  The clerk was unnecessarily rigid about refunding the money for her dead beloved's unused diapers.

“I don’t know who it is,” I repeated. She ran over to the body, and peeled the face off of the side of the road, while I watched, cringing, hoping there wasn’t already a spinal injury.

“Oh my god, it’s Joey!” she cried, and dropped him, letting his face slam down on the gravel roadside.

“Is he dead?” she asked me again.

It seemed like a strange question, because she was the one who had just touched him, but I just said I didn’t know. “I think I’d better move your truck.” She had leaped out of her enormous dodge pickup, leaving it running in the middle of the curvy road, door open.

When I returned, she was still yelling. “Joey, listen to me. Get up right now. Do you know where you are, Joey? Your mother would not be proud of you.”

When I saw the face, I recognized it. It was severely disfigured to a degree that made it difficult to look at: a local man who had tried unsuccessfully, 20 years earlier, to commit suicide by shooting a gun off in his mouth.  He lived through the incident, which left him with extreme facial scarring and speech that is difficult to understand.

My neighbor kept shaking him, which kind of scared me, because I thought that could be bad if he either had been pushed out of a truck, the way it looked, or if he were on a bad drug trip, which also seemed plausible.

“Joey, get up. Have you been drinking?”

“I had a little sip of vodka,” he replied. But it was hard to understand, partly because of the vodka, but partly because he has no back of his throat.

“I don’t even want to get up. I got nothing to live for, no one cares about me,” he slurred.

Judy looked back at me. “What’s your name again?”

Betsy.

“Betsy cares about you, Joey.”

I got a little nervous then, because I really wasn’t very sure at all how much I did care. I definitely cared in a generic way, like, I certainly wish you no harm kind of way, but I wasn’t so sure I cared in a specific, ‘sure, Joey, I’m your reason to live, we can get together for popcorn and stuff’ sort of way.

At about this point, the volunteer firemen pulled up, four of them in a jeep, and leaped out. “Joey, get up. What are you doing on the side of the road?”

I realized I was the only one around who didn’t know Joey by name, who didn’t already know that if he were lying in a ditch, it was because he was drunk. I was busy processing thoughts of sheesh, if his life was hard and depressing enough to put a gun in your mouth and pull the trigger before, just think of it now, with the inability to communicate, the extremely disfigured face, and the alcoholism. I would drink a lot too, if that were my story.

I left after the firemen arrived, and heard later that they took him home and put him to bed.

Since that time, when I see him on the side of the road hitchhiking, I pick him up. For a while, I was giving him a ride about three times a week. (For some reason, hitchhiking is still a main form of transportation on this little hill for a lot of people. I’m pretty sure that’s not true everywhere.) He doesn’t remember our first meeting, but I feel a strange responsibility for him now. 'Betsy cares', the woman had said, which was a lie that day, but is, surprisingly, true now. Yesterday, when he hopped into my car, stinking of stale cigarettes, alcohol, and something else unwashed, and slurred his greeting, I was glad to see him.

When I drive him home from town, he’s usually drunk and incoherent. But he talks nonstop, and I try to understand what he’s saying. He goes on for several minutes in this chatter that I can’t make out, and then invariably says something that I can, like, “You, friend, you understand me.” I nod as if it were true, but sadly, I not only don’t understand him at any meaningful level, but I have difficulty even making out the words he’s using. When he gets out of the car, he always pounds gently on it three times, and says, “thanks friend. If I see you on the side of the road, down on your luck, I’ll do the same for you.”

When R. is in the car, he always comments to me later, “Mom, if you’re ever so needy that Joey is in some kind of shape to help you, we’re screwed.”

But yesterday, I drove him in to town, which is always better, because he’s not drunk yet. His speech isn’t quite as garbled with alcohol, and his mind is more clear. I learn that his elderly mother has completed her chemo, and has taken the 3 grandchildren on a tribal canoe trip out on Puget Sound (Hey, how do you like that name change to the Salish Sea, btw? I think it’s pretty.) with the Tulalip tribe, although they are Snoqualmies themselves. Joey said he’d kept the house clean, and done the dishes, and fed the cats and dogs. He said he was glad that his mother got to go on a trip because she's been through a lot, and that they’d built a canoe out of a giant cedar tree. I couldn’t tell if that happened at some time in the past, or if they built a canoe just for this particular journey, which seemed to be what he was saying, but was also seemed implausible.

When he got out of the car this time, he told me that the Snoqualmie Casino has been good for him and his family, and that his mother has insurance now, so when she cracked her kneecap, she got it treated right away for free. And he said that the Snoqualmie food bank and medical center is now open to everyone in the valley, not just Native Americans. We’re all Americans, he said. We all need help. He was almost out of the car when he turned back and said, “oh! Come by the food bank on Wednesday. Gobble gobble! We have a turkey for everyone who needs it. Gobble gobble,” he repeated. I told him thanks, but fortunately, I didn’t need a turkey. He said he wants to give everyone that gives him rides a turkey, though, so if I come by, I can definitely get one. We all need help, he said, before he did his ritual of pounding on the car three times, and saying, “goodbye friend. If I see you on the side of the road, down on your luck, I’ll do the same for you.”

If the pants fit.

It’s a little disconcerting, but people keep talking to me about cats. I know. One of my readers wrote to me, “you mean you don’t have cats? I just always assumed you did.” And one of the excellent 14 year olds I know sat down next to me the other day and out of the blue started talking about crazy cat ladies. I did learn some important stuff from her: if you have one cat, you just have a cat. Two cats, still okay, you have a cat, and the cat has a companion. Three cats, and you’re crazy. Okay, got that. But why did she bring this up with me?

A short time later, I had coffee with one of my favorite people, I., who, unprompted, started talking about, yes, cats. The conversation started off to be about procrastination, and we both had a lot to say. But then she said, “for example, I haven’t even been to your blog yet.” I was all, wait, that’s what people do when they are procrastinating. It’s something you find yourself doing when you’re supposed to be doing something else, like writing that letter to your ex-sister-in-law or doing the dishes.” But anyway, without having been here, she started talking about Emily, the cat with locked-in syndrome. Emily follows the conversation by shifting her stare to the person talking, but never says anything. That seems creepy to me, but I guess they like it.

But why did she bring up the cat to me? I do confess that Emily is a good name for a cat, not one of those ironic or literary names that says, look at me, I am so smart that my cat is named after some obscure character from one of the great works. (Okay, I just googled ironically named cats, and there’s a lot out there, but I ended up at a website that had a list of literary names for your pet. But they were names like, “Harry Potter,” with an explanation of where that name comes from. Um, if you have to look that up, I’d say you’re better off naming the cat Fluffy, but that’s just me.)

But here’s the real point. Yesterday at work, while I was on the e-mail with T., (do you like how I called it, “the e-mail”?) Anyway, the co-worker we’ll call J. came along, “Betsy, what size is your inseam?” “Um, why do you ask?” Because, I have some Carhart overalls that don’t fit anymore, and I was wondering if you’d like them.”

Does that seem weird to you guys? Seriously, when you have pants that don’t fit, do you go around asking your co-workers their pants size, or do you just put them in the goodwill box? I brought this up to J. “Um, couldn’t you just put them in the giveaway box?”

“Oh, but these are Carharts, really good ones, I just thought you might like them.”

“I dunno,” I said, “I have enough trouble with the whole cat impression problem without wearing the used logger-brand overalls of a 60 year old man,” which, unfortunately, seemed to insult him. But you see my point, right?

I wrote to T. about this as it was unfolding, who thought it was the funniest thing ever, and replied, “oh, I just wrote the most hilarious response, but it turns out I’m way too sensitive of a guy to write it to you on County e-mail. I am still wondering what it was, and I’m sure it was very funny.