Sunday, November 27, 2011

Gratitude

I was asked to do a little reflection on gratitude today at my Unitarian Universalist church, and thought I'd share it here too.  Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

+++++++++
One thing I appreciate beyond measure is the opportunity I’ve had to be a mother.  Partly because it’s been so much fun to spend my life with the particular kids that I got, but also for the more subtle joy of learning to be a parent, and all of that’s come with it.  I had imagined that certain things would be involved in parenting, and for the most part, they have – lots of basic care – feeding, clothing, and nurturing.  And a few things I didn’t anticipate, like all the driving, and the incredible volume of forms – endless places where my signature has marked that I’m okay with one thing or another. 

There’ve been so many forms that I wish I had just signed something once, at the very beginning, that says,
“I love my children more than you can imagine, and I hope with everything I’ve got that no harm will befall them, but I do trust the world, and I’m excited for them to go out into it.  I understand that there are risks: hearts will be broken, bodies will be damaged, they may enter a facility that has been used for processing nuts or gluten, and there may be swearing or mention of sex. They will suffer large and small disappointments; they’ll learn that people can be cruel to one another, and everyone isn’t interested in hearing another side, or using data to inform decisions, or striving to be patient and kind and reasonable.  They’ll learn that climate change is happening, and Anne Frank was murdered, they might not get on a good team for the zombie apocalypse, and someone else may get the corner piece of birthday cake with the big frosting flower; I understand that they may get an interior piece of cake with a disappointingly small volume of frosting.  But you have my blessing to take them into the world." 
I would even sign my note “godspeed”, because I love that phrase except for choking on the god part.
 
In the earliest part of their lives, I wanted to protect my kids from suffering, but now, I want them to go out and experience all that life hands out.  My wish is that they behave decently when they get dealt a bad hand, find something to celebrate anyway, and take comfort in good friendships.  I want them to behave well not because it gets them somewhere, but simply because it’s the right thing to do.   Because that, in my opinion, is the work of religious humans – to celebrate anyway, to care about other people, and to act well.  (Confession:  I don’t think I’ve ever used the word “religious” like that before, but I think we should try to claim that word back, and let it mean something good.)

But the part of parenting that I didn’t anticipate is the chance to love unconditionally.  I had sort of assumed that it would just come with the territory; that it was a feeling that wouldn’t waver, but it does.  I get tired, and irritable, and overwhelmed with the minutiae of our lives, and disappointed that things aren’t going the way I’d imagined. I’m not as patient or fun or organized or consistent in real life as I am in my dreams, and some evenings, the food groups aren’t all represented on the plate.

Several years ago, someone told me that we really only get one crack at unconditional love, and it’s as a child. I’ve thought about that for about a decade now, and I’ve realized that no, we get two chances:  as a child, if we’re lucky, we receive it, but as a parent, if we’re lucky, we can give it.  One of the greatest joys of my life so far has been the chance I’ve had to love my children well, even, or maybe especially, when it took a little effort.  I’m grateful for the chance to practice trying harder, and to bring that effort into the world outside of my house.  To behave patiently when I’m not feeling it, to try to see another side (even though my side is definitely right!), to work at forgiveness, and to try to bring compassion into challenging situations.  These are things I’m learning from my kids, and they’re making my life better.

Saturday, November 26, 2011

Thanksgiving horoscopes


Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  Do you ever have that thing where you say you'll update your blog every day, and after about 5 days you kind of wear out?  Yeah, I know!  Because it turns out you can either have a life or write about it; there's not enough time for everything.  Anyway, Aries, I've been busy making the salt, which is mildly arduous.  (Rush home from work.  Turn on burner.  Take a nap.  Etc.)  This week, take many naps.  All of those children will be out of school in a few weeks, so rest up while you can.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Have you seen the video of "Occupy Walmart" that happened yesterday?  Don't watch, because it will make you seasick.  (Seriously, was the cameraman in sideplank on a teeter-tauter while s/he shot it?)  It's exactly like the sad footage of OWS except worse -- all the pepper spray without people who have convictions -- just some sorry individuals seeking deals on Blu-rays.  (I didn't even know what a blu-ray was until just now when I looked it up, and I learned that it's round.  It's one more round thing that people are willing to get capsicumed over.)  Taurus, this may be the first time that capsicum has been used as a verb.  Let's hope it doesn't stick.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Let's be straight here:  none of us were surprised, or even particularly disappointed when the so-called "super committee" failed.  But Gemini, keep being super in all that you do.  Don't let yet another word be claimed by those angry miserly repubs, creating cynicism where there once was hope.  Each time you do something super, shout it out!  "Hey, that was a super downward dog I just did!"  Or, "wow, I made a super risotto with chanterelles!"

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: I saw this robot standing by the side of the road on the outskirts of the village the other day.  It's sad to see how the 99 percenters in the robot world turn to cheap canned beer, while the one percent, like Curiousity, get to go to mars.  Cancer, even if you're a 99 percenter, see if you can upgrade the beer just a little bit this week.  What's the downside?

Leo (7/23 – 8/22): I think the flags should be at half mast to honor the brave occupiers who are getting the shit beat out of them by police officers who, if they stopped to consider it, should totally be on the side of the occupiers.  It's a sorry, sorry thing that the courageous and  peaceful protesters are getting brutalized for no apparent reason; meanwhile, the press is being barred from the scene.  We should be a nation in mourning, but instead, we're a nation that's fighting over $2 waffle makers at Walmart.  Try not to think too hard about that, my dear Leo people.  Stay in the moment, keep being courageous, and do what you can.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  There's been good news this week on the marriage equality front -- the Archie comic book is celebrating its first gay wedding.  Marriage between any two loving humans is finally legal in Riverdale.  The shocking thing here is that it didn't involve Jughead.  I know!  Didn't we always think Jughead was that guy, the really sweet funny one that you sort of had a crush on, but was absolutely never interested?  Yep, it's some new character named Kevin.  Congratulations to Kevin and Clay.  Maybe one day it will be safe for Bert and Ernie to come out.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): I heard a Seattle cop interviewed the other day about the dangerous threat of J-walking.  He said something like, "people buying, selling, and smoking marijuana pose way less risk to health and safety of our communities than Jay Walkers, so that's where we focus."  Good to know.  Libra, the point here is, focus on the real safety threats this week, and not the cliched things we're supposed to worry about.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Okay, do you Scorpios love Emily Bazelon as much as I do?  Because she's so freakin' smart and funny and knows right from wrong in a good way?  Yeah, I thought so.  My favorite thing she said this week is that her biggest take home from the [umpteenth] Republican debate is how photogenic Michelle Bachmann is.  Anyway, listen to Double X podcast and you'll always have some good cocktail chatter.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Do you ever feel like the burden is all on you -- for example, you signed up to do the meal announcements once, and now it's every frikkin' meal?  And you've got to gather the announcements, and then stand up and say them every single meal?  Even when you're just eating alone, or dining with one other person?  Yep.  That's just how it goes sometimes.  Sag, this week, be grateful that you have such an important role. 

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): It looks like another Mayan tablet has been discovered that confirms the end of the world happening next December.  Capricorn, live as if that were true, enjoying life to the fullest every day until then by looking on the bright side, apologizing well, and cooking good food.  Hopefully, that will just get you in practice for 2013 if it rolls around.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): The coolest competition ever is "Dance your PhD, where people present their doctoral research as an interpretive video.  I think my favorite is the one about smell-mediated response to relatedness of potential mates.  Aquarius, see if you can do the interpretive dance of your life this week.  If you create a video, I promise to post it here. 

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20): Have you ever been at a restaurant when someone gives you a nice little baggie of homemade salt crystals, and you're sort of pretending to be excited because you like the giver, but seriously, salt is cheap and plentiful and it's a little hard to be too thrilled about the gift of a tablesppon.  Anyway, you're sitting at the restaurant with this small baggie of white crystally powder when the waitress comes over and gives you a look like, "People, discretion please!"  Yeah, I hate that.  Anyway, speaking of cool white things, swans are in the valley right now.  Don't miss them!

Thursday, November 17, 2011

The Great Salt March

Recipe for making salt
1.  Find a reference to it on the internet.  Get obsessed, the way you do.

2.  Mention it to your daughter, who gets obsessed, the way she does, and asks if it can be an outing for her 21st b-day.  Without discussing it, we're probably compelled for the same reasons:  making salt involves a trip to the beach; salt is full of taste, smell, and texture; it's used for eating.  And making it involves something transforming from a liquid to a solid, which, if I had to choose, is my favorite direction.

3.  Mention it to her little brother, R., who immediately says, "I'm in."  Undoubtedly for different reasons, because every few days he says, "wait, what is it that we're going to do again?  Oh, right, salt."  Or, "Wait, is that a normal 21st birthday thing that people do?"

4.  Go to Sports Authority to buy another cooler, because if you're going all the way to the salt water, you should get as much water as possible, right?

5.  Have that awkward conversation with the clerk where he tries to help you with your sporting needs, because they are, after all, The Authority.  On sports.  I don't need to spell it out for you, but imagine talking to a jock when your sport is evaporating water.  "You may want this," he says, pointing to a chair with all-terrain wheels and a Hawaiian floral cover.  "It may be tough to get the water from the beach to the car."  Decide not to buy another cooler after all.

6.  Invite The Amazing B. and her most excellent children over to make 22 pounds of chocolate cake.  Borrow a cooler from her.

7.  Round up the offspring, two coolers, and one bucket, and 11 pounds of cake.
    8.  Drive to the beach.  On the way, tell the kids that I'm okay with assisted suicide, if it ever looks like the quality has been completely sucked out of my life. 

    "So, Mom," says M., "how would we bring that up?"

    "You might just ask if I'm still enjoying life, and if I want to keep going.  Don't be afraid to bring it up."

    Spend the rest of the ride with R. saying, every few minutes, "So, are you enjoying this?  Did you want to keep going?"
    9.  Get very hungry on the way.  Stop to eat eggplant sandwiches.
      As we eat, M. says, "I have an amputation story."

      "Hmm, I'm not so sure I want to hear it."
      "It's really not bad, as far as amputation stories go."

      "Ok then." I say reluctantly.

      She tells about a woman who was just about to break up with her boyfriend because he was so arrogant, but before she could get around to it, he had a terrible accident and his legs were amputated.  "So now," she continues, "it's a terrible time to break up with him."

      R. interrupts.  "Wait, I might need to know this someday.  How long do you have to wait to break up with someone who's legs get amputated?"

      "Actually, it looks like it's turning out okay, because he isn't so arrogant without legs.  She doesn't need to break up with him after all."

      "I don't think I got my question answered," comments R.

      11.  Get back in the car and really drive to the beach this time.

      12.  Notice that it's raining, extremely windy, and 35 degrees.

      13.  Take a walk and snap pictures of M & R playing in yoga poses that look, when captured on film, like a stick-up in progress.

      14.  Ferry buckets of water from the water to the parking lot, slowly filling up two coolers and a collapsible water jug. Get wet up to mid-thigh in the process.

      15.  Answer questions from random passers-by, who say, "You know, you can just buy salt."

      16.  Drive back to the ferry.  Stall on the steep ramp to the car deck because you're driving so slowly to avoid sloshing water all over, which is happening anyway, leaving a briny smell to the vehicle.  Make a few cars behind you back up and endure the kind condescension of the ferry worker, who is sure you haven't dealt with a stick shift before.

      17.  Eat cake!

      Oh, and then the rest:  cook at a 170 degrees for a few days.  Pictures to follow.

      Sunday, November 13, 2011

      Finally legal

      M. pretending to be a walrus at the beach yesterday, where we went to gather water to make salt.  


      ********************************************
      Although I’m sure that no matter which babies had come into my life I would have made the best of it, I was lucky enough to birth two incredible people, the first being little M., who arrived exactly 21 years ago today. 

      Before I had kids, I thought I was grown up, and I imagined myself teaching them things.  It turns out I had it completely wrong, and they’ve taught me more about life and love and forgiveness and just generally being decent than I even knew was out there.  The things I’ve taught them could be summed up in this list:
      1. Try not to run out of toilet paper;
      2. Never buy coffee from a drive-through box because it’s unclear where the barista goes to the bathroom, and the coffee usually has an odd flavor;
      3. Put the heavy stuff on the part of the tray that’s closest to you;
      4. Be good to your sibling because you may need his or her kidney some day;
      5. Never scrimp on olive oil, and in general, don’t be a cheapskate with your things or your feelings or your good will.
      What I’ve learned from my young people is immeasurable, and has changed my life from black and white to full color, which sounds like a cheesy Hallmark sentiment, but it’s absolutely true, and at the risk of embarrassing little M. on her birthday, I will tell this story about her.  

      When she was about 13, I don’t even remember what she had done, but it was something annoying and minor, and I responded with a ridiculous and attacking lecture.  If what she had done was leave a big mess in a common area, I might have said something like, “Really?  Does it seem like I want to spend my tiny amount of free time picking up after you?”

      And instead of getting defensive, she came over and gave me a hug, and said, “I’m sorry, Mom.  I’ll clean it up.”  Which totally took the wind out of my irritated little sails, because it was so obvious who was the bigger person and who was the snarly emotional midget.

      I asked her about it the next day.  “How were you able to respond to such an attacking comment so non-defensively?  It would have been totally legitimate for you to defend yourself by explaining your side of the story.”

      “Well, my side didn’t really matter then.  If something I’ve done has hurt someone I love, I don’t get to decide whether they should feel upset. They do, and that’s all that matters.  So, I didn’t feel sorry as if I’d done something wrong, I just felt sorry that you were upset, so it was pretty easy to apologize and really mean it.”

      Anyway, that’s what that’s what it’s been like to have this particular person as a daughter.  She’s showed me what it looks like to try hard at everything, and to be kind and thoughtful and forgiving, and I hope that one day, I can be that sort of person too.

      May the road rise up to meet you, M.  Happy Birthday.

      Friday, November 11, 2011

      Free Horoscopes!*


      Aries (3/21 – 4/19): You courageous people can think about Harriet Tubman this week, that notable Aries who guided 300 slaves to freedom without losing a single one.  Lead just one slave to freedom this week, even if it's metaphorical.  Harriet was known to carry a gun, and if a slave was considering giving up, she'd say, "go on with us or die." You don't need to take it that far.

      Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  Lisa Nowak is Taurus of the week.  In case you've forgotten, she's the astronaut who donned a diaper and latex gloves, packed a bb gun, stole a car, and set off for Orlando to kidnap her bf's new gf.  She's not some pansy-ass, home-alone-on-the-computer stalker.  Lisa is a woman with guts and a plan.  If you're gonna be a stalker, really go for it.

      Gemini (5/21 – 6/21): Gemini, did you know that there are entire websites devoted to how to attracting you?  It's true. Judy Garland was one of you, and in honor of how quickly the earth is hurtling around these days, I thought' I'd share Judy's little known quote:
      "What are we doing flying around in airplanes? The birds don't even go that high! You have to strap yourself in and HOPE...and there's no hope and NO OXYGEN! I have to make friends with the pilot, whereupon he tells me that his children are just as important to him as mine are...forget it! His life isn't NEARLY as important as my life is to me."
       Be safe in your travels, and keep that hopey changey stuff alive.

      Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: The beautiful Cancer, Elizabeth Edwards, said “Resilience is accepting your new reality, even if it's less good than the one you had before. You can fight it, you can scream about what you've lost, or you can accept that and try to put together something that's good.” Assemble the pieces you've been handed into art, the way you usually do.

      Leo (7/23 – 8/22): Diana Nyad is one amazing Leo who finds inner resources that most of us can't even see with a telescope (or an otiscope, for that mater). But more than that, she's just so gracious and humble. As you swim through the cold, exhausting, shark-infested waters of your life this week, dig deep, and slap on the oxygen mask when you need it.

      Virgo (8/23 – 9/22): Frequently, as part of my job, I drive down weird dead-end roads in sketchy rural areas, the kind where I often find myself thinking, if I had a body in the trunk to dispose of, this would be the spot.  The kind of road with plentiful signs saying keep out, beware of dog, beware of whacko with gun, I read the constitution, by god, and so on. When you get to the end of that road, park, and get out of the car, if the guy in the tee-shirt and suspenders staring at you from the porch calls off his big dog, well, that's as good as it's gonna get. Celebrate the calling off of the dogs, Virgo.

      Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  Yesterday, I was offered gifts from two different applicants: a cup of coffee at someone's house that I had to visit, and a small home-grown squash from a different person. I turned down the coffee, perhaps because I was kind of scared to go in the house with the giant Confederate flag stapled to the side. But the squash, well, it seemed like a gray area, and if someone drives to Renton with a homegrown butternut squash, it's kind of jerky to be all "sorry, that would be an ethics violation." Which is worse, and ethics violation, or a manners violation? So I accepted the squash, and put it on my head and tried to walk directly to my bosses office to confess. It fell off about 8 times, so it was a bit bruised when I arrived.
      "I accepted this gift. Please add that to any investigations that are going on."
      "Well, you can keep it as long as you either put it in a common area for all of us to enjoy, or donate it to charity."
      "Does the top of my head count as a common area?"
      He gave me that look, like "what exactly are you supposed to be doing right now?", so my squash and I left, not in a sulky way, but more in a, sure, I'll go back to my box and type, if that would make you happy sort of way.  But my point, Libra, is if you know of any charities that are looking for a small, slightly bruised butternut squash, about the size of two clenched fists, please let me know.  And, see if you can make the world the kind of place where ethics and manners violations match up better.

      Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Did you know that Marie Curie was a Scorpio?  I know!  That doesn't surprise me at all.  Here's what she said:
      "You cannot hope to build a better world without improving the individuals. To that end each of us must work for his own improvement, and at the same time share a general responsibility for all humanity, our particular duty being to aid those to whom we think we can be most useful."
      That must be just the way Scorpios roll, because you guys are so freakin' cool.  Keep it up.

      Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21): Tina Brown, a notable Sagittarius person, said, "Powerful women always interpret hostility as unrequited love.”  Now that's talent, Sag.  Turn it around, make whatever you get into something awesome.

      Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  I feel the need to mention Iben Browning here, a Capricorn who boldy (but alas, inaccurately) predicted a giant earthquake in New Madrid, Missouri, where the huge earthquake occurred in 1699, the one that caused the Mississippi to run backwards.  Iben, well, he missed some key facts in his scientific research, and let belief obscure fact, but still.  Be bold, without the hubris.

      Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18): That other Aquarius, Christine Lagarde, has quietly and gracefully taken the helm of the IMF from the disgraced DSK, after his questionable liasion with the chambermaid.  I think Christine's going to change the world in a good way, and so are the rest of you Aquarii.  This is a good week for getting stuff done.

      Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  You sensitive Pisces can be overwhelmed by the weight of the world, but luckily, you fishy people hang out in water, where everything seems a lot lighter, almost as if you were on Mercury without the melting wings problem.  Patty Hearst was a Pisces too, and besides all the other stuff, she is one creative human who cares deeply about all manner of things, and got us all thinking about Stockholm Syndrome.  Be light, play in water, don't let your wings melt, keep caring.  Oh, and don't forget to breathe. 

      *Do people ever pay for horoscopes?

      Thursday, November 10, 2011

      Lizard's Thicket

      Has anyone eaten at the Lizard's Thicket?  Click that link and watch the slide show at the top,  at least until you get to the "Macaroni and cheese is a vegetable" sign.  If you have a few more seconds (which of course you do, you're here, right?), watch the "Country Cooking Makes You Good Looking" show on the left, becauase it's also pretty damned awesome.

      I started out watching the clip of Rick Perry's slip up last night over and over, and noticed on the side bar that Michelle Bachmann will be hosting a Meet and Greet at Lizard's Thicket tonight, which made me curious, more as a biologist than a citizen.  What is the natural habitat of the Tea Partiers?  What do they eat, what do they look like?  Now I've spent way longer on the Thicket website than is healthy or normal.  I don't  have time to post anything else here because I have to go directly back back to watch more videos of kids eating vegetables.  Fried chicken is a vegetable too!  Ok, gotta go.

      Tuesday, November 8, 2011

      Homage to the lurky moon

      I was trying to find something to write about this morning, so I visited E-bro to check my blood pressure and see what’s going on.

      “Are you seriously going to update your blog every day?”

      “Um, that’s the goal.”

      “Were you drunk or something when you decided to do that?”

      “No.  I just thought it would be good to put a lot of effort in.  But it turns out that I’m not really putting much effort into the writing part.  I’m just walking around panicking a lot, wishing I could think of something to write, and then slapping a post together at the end of the day.”

      “Oh.  You could write about my new bandaids.  They’re pre-loaded with Neosporin. And you’ll like this:  one end is longer and tapers to a point for improved wrapping.  You can also talk about how I wore it in the shower, even though I know better, because there’s always that moment when you think, ‘oh, it will dry really fast’ but it never does. It just gets soggy and gross.”

      “Um, okay, I’ll keep that in mind.”  My blood pressure turned out to be slightly high, maybe because we were in a little argument about whether people switch ears when they use the phone.  I’m of the opinion that people have two ears: their phone ear, and the other one, but E-bro got on the internet and found all kinds of information on earbidextrous people, which I still don’t think is a real thing.

      As I walked back to my cubicle I noticed an odd high-pitched squeaking.  I thought I was possibly being followed by a stealthy squeaky person, because when I stopped to listen, the noise stopped.  This seemed like good news for the blog, but it turned out to just be my shoe. [By the way, I feel compelled to let you know that the “Q” key is really sticky because I spilled some of that apple glop I wrote about the other day on the keyboard, and although I have no regrets because that apple was so good, I won’t be using the word “squeaky” as much as I’d like.]

      Just about then, I got paged to go to the Permit Center.  The man waiting for me wasn’t our typical customer, possibly because he was carrying a fair amount of luggage, and looked like maybe he lived outside.  When he first started to talk, his voice was extremely squeaky (there’s that Q again), exactly like my shoe but about 7 times louder, which was still very quiet.  For a burly guy in a wool coat, the voice was surprising, but after he used it for a few sentences, it sounded pretty good. Almost like he could be on the radio.   I’ve never talked to someone like that before, who starts out with a quiet skreaky (see how I avoided the Q?) mouse-like voice, and warms up into a rich baritone. It made me a little sad, because it seemed possible that years had gone by without him uttering a sound.  The first few words reminded me of the pump at the cemetery where my grandfather isn't buried, but should be.

      “I’d like to get an environmental assessment done.  Do you have grants that could make that a reality?” All squeaky and high pitched.

      “Uh, no.  We don’t offer grants. Really, though, you want to get an environmental assessment done?”

      “Well, it was a dream of mine,” he said in a really nice voice, “but I guess it won’t be happening.”

      He stood up and left, and I wasn’t really sure what just happened, but if I had to guess, I’d say he was homeless and came inside to get warmed up, because it didn’t make any sense.  In thirteen years, that's my first time meeting someone who's dream is to get the government involved with their property.  It would be like asking for colonoscopy grants  -- "It's a dream of mine to fast, and then drink a nasty liquid that will cause diarrhea, and then have a crew of strangers insert a small camera into my rectum.  Do you have grants for that?"  I wish I had kept him talking for a while, or maybe invited him to join N. and me for coffee when we went a few minutes later, because we talked about fishing, and I think he would have liked that. 

      I know, you’re still wondering why you’re reading this, and I can’t answer that, but I will tell you why I’m writing.  I’m writing because I’m trying to savor the tiny things that happen each day that aren’t particularly noteworthy.  I’m trying to pay homage to that lurky second moon that surprises me each time, dancing around in it’s own random orbit.  It’s that second moon that creates the magic in my life, and it seems like a good idea to notice the moments as they tumble at me, one after the next.

      Thanks for reading.

      Monday, November 7, 2011

      Walkin' the cat

      "So, you can go to Bolivia and walk the jaguars.  In the jungle.  On a leash."  I was telling The Magnificent about this, but he was having none of it.

      "Ok, Betsy, what's the parcel number you're looking at?"

      "I'm serious about the jaguars."

      "What river is that in the picture?  And that doesn't sound true, by the way."

      "Middle Fork.  And it's totally true.  About walking the wild jaguars.  On a leash.  As a volunteer.  With the only relevant training you've had is watching reruns of Wild Kingdom."

      "Middle Fork?  Are you sure?  And are you sure you have to watch the reruns?  You’re making this up, right?"

      As soon as he said that for the third time, it suddenly did sound made up, and I wasn’t sure anymore if it was true.

      I read an article in the NYT yesterday about insomnia, and how women, especially single working mothers, are prone to it.  We wake at night with lists and unfinished tasks, which probably comes as no surprise to you.

      I’ve come to look forward to my wakeful hours at night as time to myself when no one expects anything of me, and I listen to podcasts.  (I know.  That’s probably not a good strategy, to reward myself with stories for doing a behavior I should try to extinguish.  Like, oh, I smoked a cigarette, have a cookie.  Just shot up, have a piece of cake!) But I love that part when I wake up and it’s only like, 1:00 am, and I have four hours to listen to stories before I have to get up.  There’s something about being exhausted, but aware of it and conscious of the fact that you don’t have to do anything that’s delicious.  If you sleep through the whole night, how would you even know how great it is to actually relax into your fatigue?  That, and the stories.

      But the point is that the night has become a pleasant mix of waking and dreaming, and the stories I hear merge with my own dreams to the point where I have trouble knowing where the truth is, and many times a week I start a conversation with, “Oh, I heard this interesting thing….,” but before my sentence is complete I have that doubt, where I’m suddenly pretty sure it’s just a dream. "... yeah, never mind..."

      Anyway, the jaguar thing that sounds as dreamlike as a story gets is actually true, and there's a great podcast about it here.

      Sunday, November 6, 2011

      Two apples a day...

      I just came back from a run with an excruciating craving for a baked apple.  The problem with baked apples, though, is that they take a long, long time to bake, and if I'm going to spend that much time waiting for something to come out of the oven, I want it to be cake.  I really longed for  the flavor of a good apple, but without all that biting into something hard and slightly cold, and chewing so much, and running the risk of possibly getting sticky apple juice on the sides of my cheeks.

      By the way, remember when apples were a little snack you could just eat without a huge commitment?  Are the apples getting bigger or am I shrinking?


      Anyway, I put a whole apple in the microwave.  After 45 seconds, it split very neatly along the north-south meridian, which I found interesting, but isn't particularly relevant.  After 30 more seconds, it turned into a baked apple almost like I was imagining.  After I added a little half and half and cinnamon, it was quite delicious, so I made another one.

      This time, I wasn't so desperate, so I actually cored it first and carved out little notches in the inner tube into which I stuck cardamon seeds.  All in all, I'd quite recommend it, although I think maybe two in a row is likely the cause of my stomach ache.  Totally worth it.

      Okay, this daily posting thing is a challenge, so forgive me if it gets a little dull.

      Saturday, November 5, 2011

      Trouble in the Alley

      Yesterday I was sitting in one of the few alleys in town, snagging wireless internet from the library.  It isn’t a real alley, but because we have so few (3?) we need to be generous with our definitions.  It has a garden and a bench, and is really more of a passageway between the library and the fish protection store than an alley.  My favorite alley is across the street.  You can tell it’s a real alley because it has graffiti and cigarette butts in it, and sometimes you even find people standing there smoking or swearing.  I know!

      Anyway, I had a few minutes before I met my co-worker, so I sat on the steps in Faux Alley with my laptop, conducting important research on the internet.  I was researching Clark Bars, because they’re quite good except that they're inclined to get stuck in teeth.  I had my first Clark Bar in a long long time the other day, courtesy of E-bro, and he told me that's because they hardly ever make it across the Mississipi, which seemed implausible.

      So,  I was reading about candy when two young Mormon men walked towards me from the river side.  I could tell they were Mormon by the black suits they wore, and I could tell they were young because of the way the suits fit, as if they’d both had major growth spurts since the suits were fitted. 

      You see what I mean about the alley?  If this were a real alley, I’d be getting mugged by tweakers, not being saved by clean-cut young men wearing suits.

      “Nice laptop,” Elder Amos said. 

      “Thanks, Elder Amos.” I knew his name was Elder Amos by his large nametag. I don’t think the term “elder” was being used ironically, although he didn't appear to be capable of growing a beard.

      I scooted over on the stairs to make room for them to pass, which they did.  A few seconds later, they came back. 

      “Hey, do you like the internet?  We’ve got a really cool website that you should check out.” He handed me a card with a glossy picture of Jesus wearing a white robe and a yellow belt, with an address for the LDS website. 

      “Thanks,” I said again.  I do like the internet.

      “There are a lot of stories there about people opening their hearts to the heavenly father.  I think you’d enjoy that.  It will change your life.”

      I wasn’t sure why Elder Amos thought that, because it didn’t seem like he knew much about me.   Maybe I look like the type of person who hangs out in an alley waiting to be saved. “Great, I’ll check it out,” I said, mostly because I wanted them to go away so I could continue my important research about candy.

      They thanked me and went back up the alley towards Main Street, but then turned around again.  “We’d like to come to your house and talk more about this.”

      “Oh, no thanks.”  They stood there for a moment looking at each other, as if they were trying to silently agree on whether or not they should push the issue, and then, for the third time, walked back towards Main Street, where perhaps the saving was better.

      I’m not going to get into what I believe versus what they believe, at least not today, because that’s not my main point.  I know many fine people who make good neighbors and citizens and family members who belong to the LDS church, but suffice it to say that our beliefs are worlds apart.  My point here is that I find it so arrogant for a religion to assume they have the one answer that's best for everyone.

      By this point in our lives, we’ve all figured out how to decorate the arc from birth to death with the things that keep us getting up in the morning and being decent to one another.  For me, it has nothing to do with a heavenly father and everything to do with the amazing people I’ve met a long the way, the mortals who struggle each day to make sense of this wonderful and confusing little planet; the people who light each other’s way in the dark times, celebrate together during the good, and generally, work to accept one another exactly as we are.

      Thursday, November 3, 2011

      Planet Workplace

      I would love to be able to write about my workplace, but I won’t. Not for the obvious reason, that people get fired for that, but because I don’t think you have that kind of time in your life. 

      In order to tell you even the simplest story, I’d have to describe the whole weird planet that revolves around a different star, not the sun. The planet doesn’t have gravity or much oxygen, and there’s not agreement on which way north is.  The planet is populated with people who have become adapted to this particular low-light environment; you wouldn’t find them in nature, or in your workplace.

      There's only one religion on the planet, affectionately known as KCC 21A.  Some of the inhabitants are zealous 21A fundamentalists, others take a broader view of what that book means, and others are atheists who don't really think 21A exists, which is kind of weird, like working in a Catholic church and not believing in the trinity.

      Politically, it’s a 2-party thing:  labor and management, and there’s corruption and good in both parties, just like here in these United States.  And just like on earth, you pretty much pick your party and stick with it.

      I'd have to explain all of that for you to even begin to understand what goes on, because the people don't respond to things the way you'd expect, and what good is a story if you can't possibly grasp the motivations of the characters?  In a good story, as we've discussed, the person doesn't walk by the casino with a wad of cash on their way to pay the rent.  They go in for just one drink, because that's what makes it a story.  If they keep walking, ho hum.  But you can understand, or at least imagine, both of those responses.  On this planet, though, people would pick Option C, titled, "Let's Develop a New Process and Create Forms!  Lot's of Forms!"  And you'd be all, "huh?  The choices are to go into the casino or pay the rent."  And I'd have to explain about streamlining,  which requires forms, many, many forms.

      I’d explain that the product of this workplace is words.

      “Oh, like stories and books?” you’d ask, appreciatively.

      "No," I’d explain, "just packets of words that no one reads."

      “So people pay for that?”

      “Yep.”

      “Well, they must really want the words.”

      “No, they don’t.  They don’t at all.”

      “What kind of words are they?”

      “Well, people come to us because they want to do a project, and then we write words about the project.”

      “Oh, that’s cool.  Like an instruction manual?  To help people know how to do the project?”

      “No, they already know how to do it.  Our words are more about what they shouldn’t do.  Like, they say they want to do something, and we say they have to do a little bit less of it, or can't do it at all.   Much like you'd do with your 13-year-old.  Your daughter would say she wants to go to the mall with her friends, and you'd set limits on it, like 'you have to call me after 2 hours to check in', or 'you can go, but I'm only giving you $10 to spend,' or maybe you'd just say 'absolutely not'.”

      “And they pay for this?  I’m confused.”

      “Yes, they pay thousands of dollars, in fact."

      "How do the customer's respond?"

      "Much like the hormonally jagged, irritable 13-year-old would, but the customers have more resources, like lawyers, guns, and money.  But let’s move on.  Let’s pretend our product is soup.  Would that make it easier to follow?”

      “Yes!” you’d say, rather enthusiastically, because you love soup.

      Anyway, I’d have to really describe the planet in great detail.  You'd ask why I'm on this planet, because it sounds so weird, and I'd say, wistfully, that I actually believe in 21A as a way to make the world a better place.  I truly do.  Then I'd skip to the little story that would begin:

      “So, someone was serving soup to a patron who complained that a staff person altered the recipe and didn’t put the carrots in the mushroom soup.”

      “Wait, do carrots belong in mushroom soup?”

      “No.”

      “So what’s the problem?”


      “Well, there are portals where the customers can watch everyone in their little kitchen cubicle all day, and if they don’t like something, they can bring it to the attention of the King of the Bro’s, who always wears a brightly-colored sweater.”

      “Um, okay, go on,” you’d say.  But actually, your mind would be on other things by now.  You’d be thinking, “sweater.  That reminds me, what should I get my sister for Christmas?  Is there still time to knit a sweater?”  You’d eventually tune back to the story.

      “…so anyway, this person was caught stirring counter-clockwise…”

      “Wow, so what did the King of the Bro’s do?  And why did the staff person stir counter-clockwise in the first place?”

      “There’s this force, sort of like the Coriolus effect, so you can’t go clockwise, even if you want to.  You’d get reprimanded if you went clockwise."  There would be a lot of backtracking in the story to catch you up on weird planetary stuff that you'd have no way of knowing, and frankly, would seem implausible.

      “Wait, but the person is getting reprimanded for stirring counter-clockwise.  But that's the right way, right?”

      “Well, it's the right way, but the customer is sort of the boss too, so if they don't like it, then the right way is also the wrong way.”

      “What about the King of the Bros?  Isn’t he the boss?”

      “Well, no.  He’s more like that plastic guy on the top of the wedding cake.  That guy isn’t the real groom.  Right?”

      “Um, yeah," you’d say.

      “So anyway, in addition to stirring counter-clockwise, there was the omission of the carrots.”

      “Couldn’t someone just put carrots in the soup if the customer wants carrots?”

      “Well, yes, if it's one of the rituals described in 21A, someone could add carrots.  But this customer doesn’t want carrots in the soup.  They just don’t think the recipe should be tampered with.”

      “So, the real recipe has carrots in mushroom soup?”

      “No.  There weren’t supposed to be carrots, because the customer ordered mushroom soup, but someone mistakenly pulled up the recipe for vegetable soup.  One of the cooks crossed out carrots when they noticed the mistake.”

      “Um, I’m not exactly following this story,” you’d say, “but couldn’t the King of the Bro’s just explain it to the customer?”

      “Well, see, the King of the Bro’s hasn’t ever tried the soup.  Or even come into the kitchen.  So he’s not really certain about how any of it is supposed to work, but he's pretty sure it has to be very different than the way it's always been done.  'The status quo will no longer do.  We must streamline!' is his motto.”

      So that's why I won't be writing about work.  That, and all the investigations that are going on.

      Wednesday, November 2, 2011

      Rule #1: No one cares what I had for lunch

      I went to breakfast yesterday with my brother at a fine restaurant called Tommy's. 

      Tommy’s is the kind of place that rents space on their coffee mugs and tables for advertising, so that our booth looked a lot a website without the content, just the ads.  Alas, the ads were peeling up -- that white blob on the right side of the photo is where there used to be table but now is just whatever is under the fake wood-grain laminate. 
      Aerial view of our table, courtesy E-bro

      “Are you getting eggs?” E. queried.

      “Hmm, I only want an omelet if it’s going to be awesome.”

      “Okay, based on what you know so far, the hostess, the waitress, the menu…. Is the awesome meter going up or down?”

      “Definitely up.” The waitress appeared to have at least 50 years of experience and a charming lisp that may be related to one or more missing teeth. I’m not sure if she called me honey or not, but if she had I would have been okay with it, possibly even grateful.  The menu had things that you don’t find everywhere, like hamburger with fried eggs (one or more) on top.

      We both selected, “The Mess” which was a rather yummy concoction made of all the other things on the menu.  We ate and talked about god and the investigations that we’re both the subject of while E. searched in vain for a wireless connection.

      Day two, and I’ve broken one of my basic blogging rules, which is that no one cares what I had for lunch, but technically, this was breakfast.  I've also wrecked E-bro's day, because one of his pet peeves is if he first has to live through something and then read about it here.

      Tuesday, November 1, 2011

      Pumpkin Grace

      JJ wrote to me yesterday and mentioned that he considers autumn the Sunday of the season world. I guess he means that it’s not so bad by itself, but it foreshadows that long cold dark rainy season, and there’s a bit of dread.  I know what he means, but I decided to take a little challenge, to really be awake during November, noticing it, and not just wishing it were brighter.

      And, in solidarity with the hard-working people who are participating in NaNoWriMo (National Novel-Writing Month, where people write an entire book during the month of November), I’m going to try to post here about that every day.

      One of my favorite things in the whole world pumpkins, partly because they’re amazing.  In a few months, a fingernail sized seed turns into a viney plant with multiple huge bright orange gourds.  That’s magic, right?  And our beloved valley looks festive and playful with all the pumpkins sitting in the field.  In a few weeks, a flood will come along, and these orange globes will be swept away, but we'll find them in odd places for the rest of the year – suspended in the branch of a tree, impaled on a fence, floating down the river.

      But the very best part of the whole pumpkin life cycle is that people, ordinary citizens like us, get pumpkins, bring them home, gather in small groups, and create orange sculptures that are adorned with a flickery votive candle and set on the porch for the neighbors to enjoy.  That is the sweetest thing in the world, and I'm a little astonished that there's so much more interest in driving around seeing Christmas lights than there is in seeing pumpkins.  If I were in charge, I would start The Great Pumpkin Tour, where we'd gather together with thermoses of cider, and go from door to door admiring all the lovely art before the gourds turn into slurry, and relighting the candles if that's what was needed.

      I'm excited to report that the author Celeste Ng has selected m y modern love essay to read for the Modern Love podcast next week. Suc...