Tuesday, May 31, 2011

And I scream at the top of my lungs what's going on?

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Wow, we're here again, Aries.  Another week, and I'm sure you were fascinated by the article in the NYT magazine about the 4-year old conjoined twins, connected at the thalamus, sharing thoughts and sensations, spending their lives at the same odd angle away from each other.  Imagine this:  one likes ketchup, the other doesn't, but each child can taste what the other eats.  This puts a whole new angle on compromise.  What if for you entire life you were forced to either avoid foods you love, or know by eating them, you're inflicting unpleasantness on a loved one.  This week, appreciate that you can eat whatever you like, and you aren't permanently stuck at an odd angle to your closest living person.  If you're metaphorically at any odd angles, straighten that out!

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):   If you happen to be going to Paris anytime soon, like a week from Friday, go underground.  It's more than just bones, there's great art down there too, and it's where the catophiles party, and I'm sure they know how to have fun.  Or at least go to the wine tasting at Spring Restaurant.  If you aren't going to Paris soon, just find a cave, go underground wherever you are.  There's not much going on up here.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Got the ratrace blues?  I know the feeling.  But at least you've been invited into the game, that's good, right?  Anyway, I hear there are picture frames out there worth more than a house, which I would have marveled at until I saw that a house in my neighborhood just like mine recently sold for $23,000.  So take good care of your picture frames, and don't look on zillow too much.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Do you love the NYT more than ever after seeing this movie?  Me too.  Those people are smart and quirky and have integrity and don't just follow along.  Just like you and your week. 

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Did you read the article about the young man from Germany who moved to the US, ingratiated himself with the aristocratic community in Connecticut, concocted a few different impressive pedigrees and quirky habits, and ultimately faked being a Rockefeller?  Even his wife of 12 years didn’t catch on that he was a phony.  That's not right, my Leos, and part of what allowed it all to happen is how impressed everyone seemed to be by money, connections, and a love of cucumber and watercress sandwiches.  The other thing that's not right is how that birther book that's now #6 on the NYT bestseller list.  Sheesh.  This week, be especially down to earth and honest, the way you always are.  Stop the madness, Leo.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22)
:  Thanks for all the flowers and trees, you Virgo people.  And speaking of flowers, I made a pretty damn good strawberry rhubarb pie yesterday.  Your week will be like that pie -- sweet, sour, and a bit of crunch (due to the oatmeal in the crust.)  Don't worry about that, just be glad of some texture, and don't forget to floss.  Especially since you've borrowed my teeth! 

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  I don't know about you, but I was incredibly relieved that none of the producers of This American Life scored any points on the psychopath test.  If Ira Glass, of all people, were just faking it....

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  So there's this indoor skydiving center opening here in a few months, and they say, "it's not a ride or a simulator, it's actually flying."  That's not true, but still, it seems like a good way for the person who's chicken to step out of an airplane to float around for a bit.  This week, though, stay grounded.  You're gonna need all your wits about you, and bobbing around in a wind tunnel, metaphoric or actual, just isn't going to help.

Saggitarius (11/22 – 12/21): Did you hear about that kindergarten teacher who calmed her students by leading them in a song about chocolates falling from the sky during the middle of a shootout in Monterey, Mexico?  This week, be that person, minus the 5-year-olds and the singing.  The one who's calm, compassionate, and cares.  Just try it!

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Does it make you a little sick that the beautiful and intelligent Maria Shriver was betrayed in such a public way?  Me too! Anyway, she wrote that book with a list of 10 things, the tenth being laughter.  I see lots of #10 in your future.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  What do you think of Japan's idea of turning the moon into a giant disco ball?  I think it's cool, and I think you should turn your week into a giant disco ball.  Shiny and fun, maybe a little unbelievable.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):): Sheesh, Pisces, remember back in the civil war when we were sisters on the prairie?  How I long for those days.  We weren't all high priestesses in past lives; some of us were just working in the garden.  The point is, life is short, the prairie is vast, allocate your time accordingly.

Saturday, May 28, 2011

Half full

The workplace has been grim lately, as we’re on the path from 400 employees down to 65, and eight more were eliminated this week.  It’s like reality tv without the voting.  One of the things about labor unions, which, and sheesh, don't get all worked up, because I'm a big fan of worker's rights, but seriously, in this climate of reducing workforces, they create an anti-evolution trend -- survival of the least fit, with the ultimate end of populating our governments with the oldest, least enthusiastic, most bitter workers.

 One of the eight was B., who has been mentioned in a bunch of posts, so maybe you'll miss hm a little too.  We've shared a cubicle wall for 10 years, and have talked about everything there is to talk about, from our lives, the books we’ve each read for a decade, sexual fantasies, news, work, friends.  I've made him call his gf and apologize for drunk-dialing her in an angry mood, and he's encouraged me to date, even though its a cruel world out there.  We’ve become like siblings, and it will be strange and sad when he leaves. Not to mention that the blog will definitely suffer.

Anyway, the future doesn’t look very bright, but I believe in optimism as a religion, not a mood, because what’s the downside?  It doesn't always come easily, but I'm pretty sure I don't want to live a half empty life, full of dread for things that may or may not ever happen, or filled with disappointment about things out of my control.  Making the best of things is really the only option, right?

So I was trying my hardest at that when one of the big guys who never talks to me asked me to write a few pages on what we’re doing to enhance equity and social justice in the county, so I dropped what I was doing, which was talking to B. about whether he should get a vasectomy while he still has insurance, and focused right in on it.

I came up with a few things, and an even longer list of things we could do, like waive permit fees for Tent City, and develop incentives for developments to reduce their carbon footprint, and offer translation services in the permit center. 

I sent my document over to the guy, and then decided to walk over and chat, because I’d never talked to him before.  We started talking about whether delivery of our services is equitable, and I said probably not. I suggested that perhaps code enforcement cases go unreported in White Center, but every tree that comes down in Redmond might be called in by six neighbors, and we probably direct our responses accordingly.

He said that people probably choose to live in a place like White Center because they don’t want anyone telling them what to do, while others may choose to live in a community with covenants and restrictions on everything because they like that.  I didn’t know where to begin, but I tried.

“I think that may be some truth to that,” (because it’s always good to start that way, right?) “but if we truly believe the codes are the best available science, and in place to protect the public benefit, shouldn’t we deliver them evenly, regardless of how people feel about it?  And isn’t there already inequity in where people live?”

“Oh, I forgot,” he laughed.  “You’re taking this seriously, and I’m just trying to fill in the blanks on my form.”

I slowly backed out of the room then without saying anything, because I wasn’t sure what else to do.

I got an MRI of my brain the other day to try to get to the bottom of some weird symptoms like drowsiness and dizziness and numbness that I've been having for a while; hopefully it will be one of those, huh, nothing’s wrong kind of things, but it does promote a little anxiety, and it has made me think more carefully about how I spend my time.

After leaving the guys’ office, I walked past some of my favorite co-workers, who were standing around with a crowbar.  E. handed it to me and asked me to smash a PDA, I'm not sure why.  I think it was offered as a gift, but it was a little bit wasted on me.  I’m not really the smashing things kind, but I did like the solid feel of the crowbar in my hand, and kind of enjoyed the shattered windshield look of the pda screen after I whacked at it for a bit.

Sunday, May 22, 2011

Your week by the numbers

Aries (3/21 – 4/19): I thought I'd do that thing they do in horoscopes where they say, "Your day will be a 7."  You'll notice that they never say anyone's day is going to be a 2.  So, your day will be a 17, Aries, and I am not making that up.  It's a prime number, and also, if you add 1 + 7, it equals eight, and you know what that means.  Oh, you don't?  Well, it's a pathway to the spiritual world, and according to some sources, is twice as lucky as the number three!  I know!  In laypersons terms, this means your week will be excellent.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):   Everyone has joked to death about the rapture, but what if it's just more subtle than all the talk?  What if, instead of people getting sucked up from their cars in the middle of the freeway, proving their bumper sticker true, it's more like a few people just disappear quietly, like slip out of your life.  Say, one fewer FB friend, or wait, wasn't there a different barista here last week?  Did the tide take away that log for good?  Did the person around the corner whom I never really knew, move?  Did my friends graduate and disperse?  The world keeps shifting, so keep your eyes on the horizon lest you get nauseated.  Cultivate the delicate threads that keep you tethered lovingly between the past and the future.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Did you ever have one of those long dates with someone where you've been warned that dates with you are a bit too low energy and so this time, your date will be watching closely to see if you are little more fun, and it's pretty clear that you're gonna get dumped at the end of the day because your date didn't even bother to shave?  I don't know about you, but this totally brings out the up beat fun energy in me.  But one interesting thing is this:  what do people talk about for 8 hours when they have almost no past, and apparently no future?  Nouns.  They talk mostly about nouns.  Anyway, Gemini, your week will be full of weird challenges. Rise to them, not because the world is fair, but just because.  Just because you're the awesome person you are.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: Last Friday, while on my way to hang out with C’s children, I stopped to buy gas, and the meter read, “Pre-paid $10”. I tried to pay, but the meter was insistent. It seemed to get louder and louder about the prepaid $10. I looked around, then pumped the $10, and drove off. Here's the thing, Cancer: notice all of the large and small gifts that come your way this week, the result of you being a kind and thoughtful friend to many. Spend more time with the Libra's, btw!

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Do you know anyone who assigns themselves nicknames? Yeah, not a fan of that, myself. But anyway, I had this dream, or maybe it really happened (not like MLK or anything, just a regular dream), where I met a woman who told me her baby was 22 days old, and she was so in love and distracted that I could tell, even though I was asleep at the time, that she really wasn't listening, but rather, just thinking of her baby. Remember that? This week, create stuff that requires that much obsession and devotion. Oh, 51. That's your number.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Do you feel more frightened or excited that they expect to find Higgs boson by the end of next year?  Seriously, they'll be ripping the fabric of reality as we know it open with that gigantic collider, seeking to find the ultimate mystery, the bearer of all forces.  I wasn't too worried about rapture yesterday, but sheesh, this one, I dunno... I hope they know what they're doing.  Remember as a kid when you opened up a golf ball and someone always told you (uh oh, or maybe it was just me?) that you shouldn't unravel that rubber band all the way to the end, because bad stuff would happen?  I can't remember if it was supposed to cause blindness or a small explosion, but either way, I always stopped before I got there.  What do you say, Virgo?  Anyway, back to your horoscope:  23.  Your week will be a twenty three, and that's pretty damn good.  Thanks for the tree, btw!

Libra (9/23 – 10/22:  Practice forgiveness, not as a feeling, but as an action.  The people who skitter off without communicating are suffering, and they've truly done the best they can; they genuinely don't have the capacity for emotional honesty or good communication.  Hold that thought and feel compassion, and appreciation for whatever was good.  Remember, if the gifts you bring to the table aren't valued, go find another table!

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Do you ever wish your sister didn't live in a different time zone, because she's so awesome and you'd have her over for dinner and a walk to the waterfall today?  I know, me too! 

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Got the Helper Clerk blues, where you've been doing your job for over a year, no raise in site, and suddenly it occurs to you that maybe packing food into sacks for people gets stale?  Yeah, I know.  Hang in there, and keep bringing laughter and joy to all you encounter.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): Oh, alas, so the music stopped, and there's one less chair, (or maybe 8 less) and you didn't get one.  Trust me, you'll end up in a better place.  Which sounds like you're gonna die, but no, not right away.  This week, just enjoy the music.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  So this sculpture in my neighborhood was finally unveiled, and to be honest, I was a little worried about what it would be.  Nothing would have surprised me from this particular family -- it could have been the cliched chainsaw bear, or an obscene phallic statue, but instead, it appears to be a grizzled old Atlas, not exactly shrugging, but sporting a long beard, and carrying these three rings that I assume are weight of the world.  It's rather lovely in it's own bizarre way, and I dare say, your week will be like that.  But just as a reminder, don't carry the weight of the world!  We'll all share that. 

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  What's the deal, Pisces?  Same-ole stuff?  Okay, sing more, and I mean it.  There's really not enough flash-mobbing going on around here, and you might be just the one to change it.  63.  That's your number, and that's a really good one.  Enjoy it, because some weeks won't be like this one.

Tuesday, May 17, 2011

Poppy


In the Pacific Northwest, it usually rains right after poppies open, shortening their bloom time to a few splendid days.  After I learned about the way they bloom, which is in one dramatic pop, I tried to spend time near them each spring, hoping I’d see it.  Sometimes, I moved a chair nearby to sit and watch, but I’d always get distracted, and I’d come back later, sometimes a few days later, to find the poppy open.

One winter, when the new leaves weren’t even poking out of the ground, I became obsessed with the poppy.  I scheduled a few days off from work way out in the spring, trying to predict bloom time.  I liked the gambling aspect of it – who knows, in the dead of winter, which days to take off to see this tiny, unreported miracle?  Something felt reckless about it.  I know, total thrill seeker.  Planning to use vacation time to do nothing but sit in a chair in the garden.  And wondering, could I actually do it?  It was like a weird mix of a nature outing, and a Zen retreat.

The week approached.  My daughter saw the dates marked off on the calendar.

“What’s that, Mom?”

“Guess.”

She thought for a while.  “I need a clue.”

“Okay.  I’ve taken a few days off to see something I’ve wanted to see for a while.”

She groaned.  “Oh, Mom.  Does this involve moving a chair out to the garden?”

This young person knows me so well.

“Couldn’t you just watch the garden, and call in sick or something when it gets close?  It seems so embarrassing for you to tell the people at work about this.”

She didn’t know everything about me.  She didn’t understand that it’s not just seeing the poppy pop, but the planning ahead, looking forward to it for months, imagining that I could schedule time in my busy life for a tiny little miracle.  If it actually happened on the day that I guessed it would, well, wouldn’t that mean something, something good?  My kids got used to the idea.  I think they saw it as a victimless crime:  their mother was a freak, but no one was especially damaged by it.

A friend asked me, “Is it more about the metaphor of the poppy opening?  A symbol of new life ahead?”  I thought about that for a minute, and realized, no, I’m not that complex.  I really just want to see the poppy burst, watch it transform from a nodding stem with a sturdy closed hairy pod to a fully opened delicate crimson blossom.  I wanted to know if it made a sound, I wanted to know if the pod cover shot off wildly, or  dropped gently to the ground, I wanted to see the color of the freshest new petals, and watch them unfurl. 

Another friend asked, “How likely is it that you’ll actually see a poppy burst?”  “Well, if I sit right by it for a few days,” I started to reply.  She looked pitying and protective as she said, in the gentlest way possible, “Oh Betsy, you mean there’s only one poppy?”

I thought about something that I’m occasionally obsessed by:  Can you just pick things to care about?  Is caring just a decision?  I find this alternately comforting and alarming.  Could I have decided to care about a mosquito hatch, or a dandelion turning to fluff?  Or is there something innate about the object of the caring that demands my devotion?

For whatever reason, I had become fixated on seeing the poppy.  And I find that for me, it’s hard to stop caring about something once I begin.  I know this from having been married, and then stepping off the conveyor belt I’d been on for years, where I knew where I was going, what to do, and then, once off, reeling, spinning, looking for the horizon line so I would stop feeling so dizzy and nauseated, sick.  Wanting to form a new life, but realizing there is no new life, just this one, and that I couldn’t exactly stop caring, it didn’t work that way.  In fact, it seemed that my new job was to find the pieces of caring, the bones of what I used to love about my ex-husband, and polish them tenderly, guard them like I would my last tiny candle on a long dark night, because this is what we have left to raise our children by.  We had hoped to build a huge warm hearth where our kids would know tenderness and love, and we couldn’t do that together, but maybe we could apart, if we didn’t throw water on the last few tiny dim embers.

But back to the poppy, with its nodding little pod, bent towards the earth.  Would there be a sign when it was close to opening?  Would the stem start to straighten up, reach towards the sky, or would that lightening occur after it opened?  How long would it be between the time that I could see a tiny stripe of color peeking through a crack in the pod, and when the poppy would actually pop?  A day, an hour?

A few days before my vigil, I took the kids out of town overnight to Leavenworth.   This ersatz Tyrolean village, with its trinkets and cuckoo clocks, is my image of hell what hell would be, if I believed in that.  I felt disoriented, wondering what I was doing here, why here, of all places, when the poppy was so close.  But cancelling a trip because a flower might bloom at home seems to cross over the line from quirky in a harmless way to dysfunctional.

We arrived home after our trip to find a stripe of red peeking through a slat where the pod had spread open just a bit.  I measure it with my ruler:  9 millimeters.  I didn’t, as it turned out, have much patience for sitting still, which came as no surprise.  I dashed around, doing various tasks, and running back to the poppy every so often to look, and to measure.  Not really to enjoy, but to gather data.  I thought that if movement were measurable with my plastic ruler, I should stay and watch, but if nothing seemed to be happening, I could run around and do things, and just check on the poppy every so often.  Exactly like a Zen retreat, minus the meditative calm quality.  Zen on meth.

At 10:30, I went to bed, after one final check.  Still nine millimeters.  I slept restlessly and dreamed of the poppy.  I woke at 4 am, ran downstairs, and crept outside with a flashlight.  Still closed.  I crawled back in bed, but couldn’t sleep.  At 4:30, I went out to check again, like some strange poppy midwife; it was dusky out, and bats were everywhere, returning to their daytime roosts.  I felt like I was part of a dream, naked in the early dawn light, ice cold dew on my feet, bats swirling around, checking to see how labor was progressing for the poppy.  Pod still closed.  I went back to bed.  This time, my feet ached with cold in a delicious way; the rest of my body was warm and relaxed.  I felt like I’d waded across a cold mountain stream on a hot day. I fell into a sound sleep, and woke at 7:30.  When I ran outside, dressed this time, I found the poppy fully open.  I prowled around underneath the plant and found two of the three pod parts.  I suspected that the pod had popped gently, allowing the remnants to drop carefully below the blossom.  Forensic Zen retreat.  Minus the patience.

Monday, May 16, 2011

Your week by the stars

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):   Do you ever wake up from a dream with some new conviction, like yeah, I’m totally going to stop doing laundry for all the people at work.  That’s just ridiculous.  I’m telling them, first thing on Monday.  And you lie there feeling so good about how good your new life is going to be, but it slowly dawns on you that you don’t really do the laundry for the people at work? It was just a weird dream? And you feel a tiny bit awkward, even though all of this has only happened in your head? Yeah, I hate that. But then, if you think about it, it’s really good, because you’re already there! Your life already is better than the one you were about to fix!  I know!  Your week will be like that too, better than your dreams.  Enjoy.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):   Is it your birthday?  Oh my!  Begin this trip around the globe with laughter and the knowledge that you are well-loved, and the conviction to live the best life possible.  Follow the rules, and expect good things.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): So it turns out that Johnny Depp, that other Gemini, is related to Queen Elizabeth II (the woman, not the ship.)  You're probably related to them too.  Here's what Johnny said lately:  "I think you have to be a little nuts to step into what would be a wild west saloon dragging what would probably amount to a seventy-five pound lizard tail."  I think we'd all agree, no?  This week, no wild west saloons, no lizard tails.  I'm serious.  Put the lizard tail down...

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  The other day on the way to lunch, the boyz were trying to figure out how many eggs a woman starts out with, don't ask why.  So B. starts googling it on his phone, and I start using the calculator on my phone to figure it out a different way.  But luckily, right about then, we pass a person dressed as a cow standing in front of a steak house, holding a sign that says, "We also have salad", and dancing to music that no one else can hear.  "Hey, that's what we can do when we get laid off," says B.  The best thing about your week, my dear Cancers, is that none of this will happen to you.  Your future is extremely bright.  Think super nova.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Does it seem like, after all of this time sitting on the sidelines, that everyone is asking you to dance?  I know!  Keep doing what you do, as they say.  Good things abound. 

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22)
:  Do you like how, in the news stories about opening the Morganza Spillway, they talk about 600,000 cubic feet of water every second?  I know.  I thought that would stick in your craw.  This week, expect your horoscopist to drop in unannounced.  Give her a tree.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Rapture is scheduled to happen this week.  What that means for you is that you should get yourself to the freeway and look for a car you want, because many will soon be unoccupied, and you'll still be here.  While you're at it, try to get a dog.  

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Has it been 192 years since we've seen 70 degrees outside?  Okay, maybe only 192 days, but still... You can make it.  You really can.  5 more days, and you're solid.

Sagitarius (11/22 – 12/21): It's looking like a good week ahead.  Arm yourself with avocados and crossword puzzles, and just be in the present moment where all is well.  Worry and dread have no place here, thankfully.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): So, at my workplace, every six months, there's a big layoff craze, where they eliminate a bunch more people, not unlike one of those reality t.v. shows.  But on those shows, you know the drill:  on Wednesday, people will vote, and a precise number will be eliminated.  In our office, it's more like, "one of these days, we're going to eliminate some of you, and we're not going to tell you when, or how many.  You know that relationship thing that happens where one person says, "we need to talk...." and you pretty much know what that means?  Yeah, it's sort of like that, only it's actually that you hear from a friend that your partner mentioned to a 3rd person that you need to talk, and you're not sure if the talk is about you guys breaking up, or those two buying a new couch.  Anyway, the point, Capricorn, is that we are mortal.  Stuff happens beyond our control, and we don't get warning, and we don't always like it.  But in this very moment, life is good.  Do not crawl under the covers in the fetal position; that's so unbecoming.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Take your geeky ones to see this movie, and tell me what you think.  It didn't get good reviews, but it's so rare to find a film noir about particle physics.  Just make it through this week, and you're good.  The weekend will be excellent.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):): The other day in the Permit Center (are you guys tired of sentences that start like that, by the way?), a 60ish year old woman signed up on my list to ask about wetlands and streams, but her questions were far-flung and unrelated.  Like, “So, there’s a pothole in the road in front of this house I’m thinking of buying.  How long do you think it will take to get it repaired?”  And, “Would this be a good area to have a dog?” and “When it snows, how long before my road will get plowed?”  It was kind of refreshing for me, because I knew the answers, and also, the answers weren’t so code zombie-ish as the usual ones I give. The pothole won’t be repaired anytime soon, because the roads in the county (except for that ½ mile stretch on Avondale Road, which is perfect) are worse than the roads in Nicaragua.  Yes, you should get a black lab from the humane society.  If your street name ends in the word, “lane”, it will never be plowed.  Your week will be like that, where you’ll know all the answers.  Rejoice!

Thursday, May 5, 2011

A giant parenting soapbox*

I read the lovely Lo’s blog post the other day, because she’s interesting and funny and feisty, and I enjoy keeping up with her life.  Lo is charming and outgoing, and generous with her complements and comments on other blogs, which is one reason that I like her.  But I did have a long comment on this post, and decided it really deserved its own post.  Here goes.

Read the post yourself, but the gist is,
“I ask in all seriousness and humility, ......What the fuck is going on?  What in the hell is wrong with raising a child to fear a certain punishment under certain circumstances and thereby to avoid bad behavior and aggravating their parents beyond the bounds of sanity?”. . .
“Let us look at only one example...........the fears generated by most of the established Religions.  The fear of punishment by God (our Father, by the way) permeates every morsel of all the Religions (except, perhaps, Zen Buddhism). Most of us live in fear of some kind of hell and its endless horrible torments.  We behave in a more or less civilized way because our Religions have strict rules and punishments for disobeying which are frightening enough to keep us somewhat in line.  And, when we stray, the pain and torture of guilt self-punishes us far beyond the extent of the crime or the sin.  And still we worship the Father (and the Mother) who impose these rules and this pain and fear upon us.  Go figure.
 By living within these constraints of our fears, most of humanity behaves fairly decently at least part of the time, has managed to accomplish some great and good deeds and has not yet succeeded in destroying everything God has created.   So if it is good enough for us as adults, please tell me why isn't it good enough for our children?”

I wasn’t going to touch the religion one, because, well, it’s just so touchy.  I tend to believe that whatever it is in your life that helps us get through the days with relative peace and decency is a good thing, whether it’s a belief in god or yoga or anti-depressants or whatever. I think it’s wrong to critique whatever lifelines we all have in this tippy little journey, full of unexpected loss, suffering, and so on.  But it seems that it’s integral to my whole comment, so, here goes.

I don’t happen to believe in god, and it’s not that I haven’t tried at different points in my life.  It just doesn’t ring true to me, and I’ve decided not to spend my life trying to argue myself into that belief, or argue others out of it.  Good for them, if they have that capacity.

When I was in college, I spent a few quarters taking philosophy classes and trying to understand the nature of reality, how we know what we know, and what the meaning of life is.  I thought harder about god than I ever had before.  Being raised Unitarian, it wasn’t something we worried much about.

One weekend during that time, my parents came to visit.  I remember sitting in the back seat of their station wagon driving to Cooperstown for dinner through gorgeous upstate NY in the fall, brilliant flaming maple trees in every direction, and I remember choking back unexplainable tears.  “Do you believe in god,” I asked, perhaps a little desperately. 

Even though I knew the answer, I had to ask.  My mother answered something vague and sweet, like, “Oh, just look around at all of this beauty.  It’s a magical world.”  I understand the answer now, as a mother, of wanting to always redirect towards hope in a vague way that wouldn’t stifle anyone.  But at the time, I just thought – sheesh, answer the question already.

My father was silent for a long while, and then just said, “well, that’s not really very relevant, is it.”  Which may sound like a snotty answer if you don’t know him.

In the shorthand that families come to understand, I knew that when I asked about god, he was saying, “Oh honey.  It looks so hard, and that’s something we’ll never know.  Can you try to just get on with living your life?”

A little side story about my father, because I think in order to understand how I heard that answer, given his words, you need a little better grasp of him. 

He was a pediatrician, and at one point, he had a medical student who was at a point in his training to work directly with the patient.  The young man went into the examining room, and quickly came back out.  “Dr. M., there’s blood all over, and the boy is crying and the mother’s hysterical.”

“Well,” my father said, “why don’t you go back in the room and do something about that.”  He’s just incredibly calm and non-judgmental all of the time.

As an adult, I’ve decided that’s what I believe in.  I believe in going back in the room to try to stop the bleeding.  Not because it will always work, or because I’m particularly equipped to do so, but because that’s what there is to do.

I don’t have the stamina for looking at the big timeless questions; that tends to leave me depressed. I find that I agree, after all, with my dad.  All we know for sure is that we can try to stop the bleeding.

But back to the topic at hand, parenting.  I don’t think we serve our kids or our world well by raising children who make decisions based in fear of punishment.  The dog does sleep on the couch when you’re not home, if you see my point.

I think we want to raise people who have courage to stand up for what they care about, and disagree respectfully, but firmly.  And if that starts by saying no to brussel sprouts, well, that’s okay with me.  Blind obedience begins at home, and I don’t think we want it.

Among the top parental lectures I used is the “This is Dinner” speech, which goes, “This is dinner. Someone who loves you very much prepared this meal for you.  If you don’t care for its particular texture or flavor, I’m sorry, but please keep those comments to yourself.  Try the food, and if it isn’t to your liking, you may quietly excuse yourself and make a sandwich and return for lovely conversation, but please do not make negative comments.  Because this is dinner.”

If we want to grow children into adults who know their own mind, have courage to follow it, and have learned respectful ways to communicate it, we need to give them practice on the little things along the way.  We need to let it be okay that they don’t love tomatoes (yet), but not let it be okay to be rude to the cook.

Forcing kids to do stuff completely against their will out of fear of punishment will come back to bite us, and I’m pretty sure we don’t want that.  Think Holocaust.

When I was a parent of young kids, I had the great opportunity to spend time with one of my oldest friends, and probably the best mother I know.  She was negotiating with her quite strong-willed nephew about pants.  She suggested he get ready for a hike by getting out of his bathing suit and into long pants. He started to cry and fuss, and she persisted, explaining about how he’d be much more comfortable in the pants due to mosquitoes and so on.  I watched curiously as his protests escalated.  She stayed calm, and explained again, and he remained fierce in his protest.  I was wondering how she’d get out of this – it didn’t look like he was about to budge, and she was totally right that he’d be better off in pants.

“Oh, I see how important it is for you to choose your clothes,” she said.  “I didn’t understand that at first.  Why don’t you pick something that will make you happy to wear on the hike.”

I know.  That’s the kind of mother she is.  She didn’t force him, and she didn’t cower and give up, she offered her point of view, acknowledged his strong feelings, and let it go.  Just the way we’d want an adult to behave, eh? 

What I want for my kids is this: I want them to know, to truly know, that life is beautiful and rich and grand, and they can make good things happen, and they should laugh every single day, and when they get to parts in their lives that are hard, sad, lonely, scary, or just boring, that there are still a million reasons to get up each day and give it their best shot.  And they should do this stuff with other people, and they should work at making good friends by being one, and they should struggle to be honest and kind to people, because it matters.  And they should do things just because they're fun, and they should spend their childhood figuring out what they love, and maybe, if they're lucky, why they love it.

And they don’t learn this stuff through fear of punishment, but by being well-loved and respected. People learn to be respectful by having the experience of being respected, and they learn to be empathetic by having the experience of being understood, and they learn to be kind by receiving kindness. 

I think our kids deserve for us to be their biggest fans, and work as hard as we can at seeing the best in them, even when it isn’t obvious, and gently guiding them towards polishing that best into something unique and outstanding, because isn’t that what the world needs?

Thanks Lo, for giving me a chance to go on a giant soapbox about one of my favorite topics.  :-)

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

bin Laden, Cairo, and the iPod

I’ve been trying to write, or rather, trying not to write lately, because there’s just so much sadness out there that I don’t know where to begin. And I’m pretty sure you don’t come here to read my thoughts on the assassination of bin Laden.  No comment, except to say sheesh, I’m not a Christian, but this is old testament-y, right?  To hunt someone down and kill them in their home?  I feel a little out of the loop, but remember trials and juries?

I’m also not going to spend much time on the breaching of the levee to spare Cairo, (who says it like that, btw?  Kare-oh?)  Or Obama’s hilarious speech at the press club earlier this week.  You come here, and come on, you know it’s true, to read about my dysfunctional workplace.  That other stuff is pretty well covered elsewhere.

Before we go there, though, one more thing.  Did anyone else hear that guy interviewed on NPR about his fiancĂ© who died at Cantor Fitzgerald on 9-11?  It started out as a tender but strange reminisce, (“she was a sweet farm girl from Indiana, I met her at a Nascar event…”) that turned a tiny bit creepy in a “hmm, maybe you should get some help with your grief” sort of way (that happened when he described that his vehicle is plastered with photographs of her), and then turned definitely creepy in a “huh?” sort of way (that happened when he mentioned that he’s seeing someone currently who attends all the 9-11 events with him).  I wouldn’t be a huge fan of riding around Manhattan in a vehicle covered with pictures of my current partner’s former lover, the one who’s been dead for 10 years, but that’s probably just me.

The fact of the matter is, I really can’t write about my workplace because it’s slumped into such dysfunction that I can hardly figure out where to begin, like a giant skein of yarn that was crumpled up on the floor for a while, stepped on, dragged behind a car plastered with pictures of someone who died in 9-11, and then tossed into a detention pond covered with algae. And my job is to try to locate one pristine end of that yarn and weave a little story out of it without mentioning the algae, pictures, or car.  Exactly like that.

So I decided to write about my iPod.

I’m usually sort of messy, slightly disorganized, and pretty relaxed about stuff.  Except about my iPod. Every single OCD cell in my body is gathered around organizing the iPod, wanting it to function like a perfect radio station, the station that only plays songs I really like but that play randomly.  As if I didn’t arrange it.  You know that feeling when you’re listening to the radio, and a great song comes on, and you are so surprised and happy to hear it that it’s like bumping into an old friend unexpectedly? I try to create that with my iPod, which I know is ridiculous, because when you’re the one playing the music, it’s more like going directly to that old friend’s house, and then being surprised to see them.  Who would do that?  The point is, surprising oneself takes effort.

I don’t want to hear just my very favorite songs, or they’ll get over-played, like that same great friend, but now, instead of bumping into them briefly and unexpectedly, you go on a long trip with them, and on day 14 you realize oh, shit, who knew that they (fill in weird idiosyncratic behavior here). It’s really not their fault, but it turns out that you loved them ever-so-slightly better before the long trip. 

The rules are complicated, and I hesitate to share them here, but I will.  That’s how starved I am for material.

I have to acquire a minimum of 20 new songs each month.  This is really the key to keeping the music radio station-like.  Immediately upon downloading, each song is quarantined in a playlist titled, “not rated”, and then rated.  Although iTunes allows you to give a song up to 5 stars, I really only use three.  It seems particularly unkind to give a song one star.  To diss someone’s art like that is just wrong, so one star is never used. 

Songs I never want to hear again get two stars, and are gently removed from iTunes the next time I synchronize my iPod, which, I hate to confess, happens nearly every day.  The goal is to have all songs rated by Wednesday of each week, so that I can be sure everything is in it’s proper place by Thursday.  Its not like I stay up late on Wednesday night rating songs or anything.  Sheesh, that would be weird. 

Three star songs are ones that I don’t mind hearing again, but when they come on, I’m not super-excited.  Songs that I enjoy hearing just about any time get four stars. Only the very best songs get five stars.

The fours and the fives get placed on a playlist titled “All the Best.” That playlist is the perfect radio station, the one in which you like every single song, but approximately four percent of the songs (oh, how I wish I weren’t positive that’s the number) are PSE’s (code for Prettiest Songs Ever, the 5 star category). 

Can you begin to understand how this changes it from going directly to an old friend’s house, to creating a whole town in which you like every single resident, some more than others?  When you go to a coffee shop in this town, odds are high that you’ll see one of your very favorite people, but you never know for sure.

Each day when I sync the iPod, it re-orders All the Best so that the least recently played song is at the top of the list, and then the iPod is played on random, but starting with a different song.  Strangely, if you don’t re-order the list, the same random order will repeat day after day, compelling me to sync daily. (This may be where the reader makes a shift, from seeing this as the behavior of an enthusiast, to an actual diagnosable condition.  Oh, you made that shift earlier? Arrgh.)

The PSE’s get their own playlist that I’m only allowed to listen to on Thursdays so I don’t get tired of them.  These are the songs that at one point, I’d have to listen to over and over, the songs that when they end, you don’t like the next song that comes on because, well, it isn’t the one you just heard, so you replay the one over and over.  Songs you want to be able to sing, at least in the shower or the car.  I won’t go into how I have laminated lyrics in the shower for songs on PSE that I don’t know the words to yet.  No I won’t, because that might seem strange. 

If you stack all those PSE's  next to each other, . . . well, you see how it works?  You see why it’s so important to get everything rated by Wednesday evening, before the syncing happens?  I knew you would.

What happens to the threes?  They get their own playlist, but basically, they don’t live in the town with the rest of us.  I’d have to go the next town to see them.  This is the place for stuff that you really need to have but you really don’t want to encounter on an ordinary day.  Songs like Thriller.  You just might need to do the dance.

Okay, that’s it.  Thanks for sticking it out.

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