Sunday, January 27, 2013

Anyway, Horoscopes and Whatnot

Aries (3/21 – 4/19) When R. was home over Christmas break, he noted all of the pamphlets and charts about the geologic time scale hanging in the bathroom.

"What's that about?" he inquired.

"I'm trying to re-learn all that."

"Mom, the part that makes me laugh the most is your impulse: 'There are undoubtedly other people who want to learn this too!  So when they come over and use the bathroom, the information will be available.  To others.  Who come here.  And need to use the bathroom.  And want to learn the geologic time scale.'  Yeah,  I totally see where you're coming from.  Trying to make the world a better place in your own freaky way."

Aries, I'd like to proclaim that there's absolutely no shame in offering secret home-study courses in your bathroom.  For free.  Do that this week.  Or come here and take a class, if that need arises.  (You don't have to say which need.)

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  My new customer.  Where to begin.  He e-mails, "Please call ASAP.  This is urgent."  I do, of course, because I'm so damned obedient.  And he wants to talk about how the one neighbor who's the former son-in-law of the other neighbor (the one who fell off the roof) is angry at him, but there are lots of other bits, like the day sleeper and the web cams, and the well radius and the one who offered to do grocery shopping, and a bit of clear-cutting interspersed.  I won't bore you with the whole thing.  While he talked, I drew one of those matrices, like a logic puzzle you'd buy in the airport.  "The man in the blue house is not gluten free, but could be the former son in law of the person who's property is in the flood plain."  I was kind of enjoying it, but eventually, he came around to his point.  "I get the sense you're good at this stuff.  Can I straighten these relationships out so it will be fun to live there?  Or should I sell the property?"  And I'm pretty sure I have nothing at all to offer in the relationship department, but I try, and feel a combination of touched and annoyed.  Like, really?  Does anyone ever have questions about a wetland?  Taurus, just be grateful for the moments when you're needed, even if what people need isn't what you wish you had to offer.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  So I talk about learning stuff, but mostly, it's all talk.  The geologic time scale, yeah, I know.  For about 17 years, I've thought I should create a time line, draw it out.  What happened when.  So I brought it up to Cake Boss and her kids.  "Let's make scrolls, shall we?"  And within about one minute, her awesome children were totally on board.  "I'm making my scroll on the periodic table," said one young person.  "Mine is going to be about China, with a dragon," said another.  And suddenly, after 17 years of waiting, the scroll began.  I think Cake Boss was a tiny bit concerned, fearing that perhaps I would be standing on a street corner with my scroll, preaching some crazy shit.  The reason I think that, in case you're wondering if I'm a bit paranoid, is because she asked if I needed sticks for the ends.  Right?  But she accommodated by cutting a long strip of paper and pouring me a glass of wine, and that's as good as it gets.  So, Gemini, make your own scroll, actual or metaphorical.  There's a lot to scroll about.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  I've suddenly noticed this unfortunate thing, which is that I'm operating at about the third grade level.  I've been trying to learn the ukelele.  I started by trying to watch videos online, and downloading beginner books, etc. and didn't get anywhere at all until I borrowed a book titled, "Kids Ukelele, for Ages 5 and Up".  I'm heavy on the up, let's just say.  I'm all over it now, though.  Page 30, not to boast.  We could write this off as a fluke, but I notice that I'm also reading a 32 page biography of MLK (written at the 3rd grade level).  I'm sad to say that it took me more than one sitting to read.  (Do I have to actually tell you how many sittings?  No, I don't.  This is my blog.)  I know.  Cancer, you guys are smart.  Should I be worried?

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Can I tell you how annoying it is, Leo, that on the income tax return, you have to say if you're married, divorced, or single.  Um, can I ever just call it single again?  Right?  It's like, can you ever just be called a vegetarian?  Or are you always a former meat eater?  Leo, just be in the present with whatever it is.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  I was talking to a small group of young people today about the Big Questions (for example, would you rather be a ballon or a candle), and it occurred to me that maybe there's a reason that Unitarianism hasn't caught on with the masses.  (Even though candle is the obvious choice.), But even if you picked balloon, you are welcome here at this blog.  Wherever you are on your own obscure path to your own shaky little truth.  I'm not here to judge you.  I'm here to suggest you shine your light this week, because it's really dark, and we need that.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): One of the other Big Questions we explored is this:  If you were a natural disaster, what would you be?  Libra, I'd be seismic liquifaction. Duh.  I'm the sort of calamity that sneaks up on you in a quiet non-Newtonian way.  Like, wait, I thought it was a solid, but it's now liquid?  Huh?  I'm not proud of that.  At all.  But the truth is the truth.  Libra, this week, try to avoid calamities of all types.  If you must be a natural disaster, choose fire or something flashier that has a bit more fun.

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  I don't exactly want to go on a big tear about Turbo Tax, partly because it would look like I'm showing off (I've at least looked at my taxes, right?)  Anyway, to make a long rant into a short-ish horoscope, I'd like to conclude that using a $70 program should be easier than downloading blank forms and filling them out by hand and doing the math and checking it twice and finding a stamp and a pen and an envelope.  Should be, I say.  And this could lead to a secondary rant about how no one is creating software for Mac OS X anymore, and that's just wrong. Scorpio, when will I ever see you?  I miss you like an opposable thumb.  (I mean, if I didn't have a thumb, but had some sense of what it was like to have one.  Kind of like an Algernon of the opposable digit variety.  That's the way I miss you.)

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  It's not as wrong, though, as the boy who was observed eating a combination of nacho cheese tortilla chips, animal crackers, and M & M's.  Also a crime, but I'd say the bad snack mixing is victimless, and we're okay with that.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  The world is a pretty messed up place.  Not much happens, and then eventually, after some amount of struggle, it's over, but in between, we try to live the most authentic lives we can, being decent, kind, truthful.  And it isn't always fun, but I'm glad of the chance for it.  So anyway, back to my new customer.  We're at his site, and he says, "Hey, can I show you what's in my storage locker?"  The answer to that question, if there's any doubt, should always be no.  Right?  What could possibly be in there?  Bodies?  Tools?  Rats?  But of course I said yes.  Of course I did.  Turns out?  A shipping container full of old-growth cedar beams.  Things sometimes do turn out okay, just maybe in a different way than you imagine.  Blessings, Capricorn.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Okay, back to the geologic timescale, if you will.  The rise of angiosperms is thought to be associated with the rise of invertebrate pollinators.  Because relying on random wind patterns to make your mark, my friends, isn't necessarily the best strategy.  Use bugs too.  (Did you know that 90 percent of horoscopes are actually written for the horoscope writer herself?)

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  The other day, C said to me, "I can hardly see your clavicles."  
"Are you suggesting I'm fat in the collarbone area?  Does this scarf make my clavicles look big?  And seriously, eyes up here," I said, bringing my fingers to my eyeballs.  Anyway, if there is any doubt about why women have taken to wearing scarves, mystery solved.  It's about modesty, Pisces. Cover up a little bit this week.  Oh, but don't hide your light under a bushel.


Thursday, January 17, 2013

Does eating a sandwich count as having a plan?

So I have a new customer who will remain nameless because he's named after the hero from a manly western frontier story, and I'm pretty sure, based on the unusualness of the name and the date of the book, that he's changed his name to have the name of this character.  Right?  It would be like if I were named Scarlett O'Hara, but GWTW were written in 1982.

Life is a bit dreamlike these days: night flows into day flows into night with a sprinkling of yoga and podcasts punctuating the moments.  It's been lovely and cold here but it seems too hard to go outside.  I called my sister, who told me she couldn't go to work today because she couldn't figure out how to put pants on.  I can relate.  She is my people.  I couldn't figure out what to do today either.  Just one long day, one gun-toting manly customer, a yoga class at each end, and a blank spot in the middle.  I took a little nap, and when I awoke, I was invited by the Cake Boss to go for a ride-along while she got her blood drawn.   You can see why I figured out how to put pants on right away.  It's not often you get invited on that kind of thing.

This part sounds like a dream, but it isn't.  My new hero/customer called five times during my one hour yoga class, each message increasingly frantic, with the penultimate message (do you like how I slipped that word in?), "I can't find your office.  I'd like to come by your office."  And then the final message, "I'm going to find a business in town and just leave some things there for you."

Right?

So the next day, there I am at the vet.  "I'm here to pick something up."

"Is it a cat?"

"Um, no.  I think it's maybe an envelope?"

"Did the vet leave it for you?"

You get the gist.  How to explain, no, its nothing to do with animals although you're a vetrinary office.  Someone whom I've never met left something for me, and, based on what I know, he may have been wearing a ten-gallon hat?  Did someone like that leave something for someone like me?  It wasn't my idea, I wanted to say.  And no, I don't have a cat, though it looks like I'm getting closer every day.

When I met Cake Boss for the ride-along, she was scolding the dog.  "No!  Don't chew on that!  That was for Betsy."  And she retrieved something from deep in the jaws of the dogs' mouth and gave it to me, and I was happy about that because it was a horse chestnut, which I have in my pocket right now.

So I go to the blood draw place, and I'm waiting in the waiting room, which is what you're supposed to do there, right?  And this nurse comes up to me, or at least a woman in blue scrubs, and asks me if I'm okay.  Where to begin.  But I lied for the second time today and said I was fine, I was just a guest.  She asked if the person I was with was okay.  It went like that for a while until she realized she had the wrong person, and then she acted irritated with me, as if I were an impersonator.  I wanted to explain a few things, like, really, woman in blue scrubs, you approached me.  I was just reading the paper.  I'm just on a ride-along.  But I kept my mouth shut.

When Cake Boss dropped me off at my car, she said, "I think you should probably have a sandwich."

I hadn't even considered that.  So I called my sister.

"Should I have a sandwich?"

"I don't know.  I'm trying to fix my dryer, but it's hard and complicated and I don't know how to do it.  I swear a lot.  Grief is weird."

"You should lie on the couch more," I suggested.

"That sounds so hard.  I'd have to make a cup of tea and find something to read, and then I'd be stuck there.  On the couch."

"If I were going to have a sandwich, do you know what kind it would be?"

"I'm not so sure about the sandwich."

"Do you have pants to wear tomorrow?"

"Do I need to wear pants tomorrow?"

"Not if you don't feel like it.  But it's always good to have a plan.  Egg salad?"

"Does clean pants count for a plan?"

"Of course it does, honey."

That's it for today.










Sunday, January 13, 2013

James B. M, 4/13/28 - 1/11/13

My dad died on Friday.

It was expected, but also a huge surprise, because what he died of, a cardiac event, wasn't a condition he'd had.  He had Parkinson's, which is a hideous, joy-sucking disease, and I know he didn't want to keep going, so it's a good thing.  But strangely surprising.

We all know, from the time we figure out how this journey ends, that if all goes well, our parents will die first.  And then when they get sick with something that is a one-way street to death, well, it pretty much clinches it.  But still.

My father was an exceptional man.  He was remarkable in that he had no ego in the race, no need to compete.   He had the ability to marvel and be impressed by those around him, and never needed to show off, or remind anyone of his own considerable accomplishments or talents.

He was really quiet and calm, and didn't say anything at all unless he had something to say.  He would let silences extend indefinitely.  For people new to this style, it could be unnerving, but it was peaceful, and you knew to listen if he opened his mouth.  He had integrity and humility and an amazing, hilarious, and completely understated sense of humor, and I'll miss him.

When I was in college, he used to write letters to me occasionally, and they were just like his conversations -- brief, to the point, interesting, funny.  I remember one that said,
Dear Bets,
I just learned that there are more Catholics in Rochester, NY than there are Unitarians world-wide.  I don't know whether to be smug or alarmed.
Love,
Dad 
He was always calm and unruffled.  When I was about 16 and growing pot in my bedroom, upon discovering it, he said, "Wow, we really admire your interest in botany.  Would you be willing to grow plants that are legal?"

It was the perfect response, and I often tried to summon that moment in my own parenting.  To find the underlying good in the presenting behavior, and to appreciate my kids for their essential goodness rather than getting distracted by their behavior.

My dad was a pediatrician and devoted his life to supporting families and children by giving calm advice, putting in long hours, and doing house calls well after most physicians had stopped doing that.  He was a reassuring presence in the lives of many families.

He believed that when you die, that's it.  Any after-life occurs in the way you endure in the memories of the people you've touched, and the ways that people change based on encountering you.  He will live for a long time through the grace, gentleness, humility, humor, and integrity he brought into the world.

Namaste.






Thursday, January 10, 2013

Gallus gallus died for your sins. Or because of mine, it's unclear.



My little vegetarian daughter talked me into assisting with murdering moving some chickens into the next life. She convinced me that this is a karma neutral activity, and that if you lived a long life as an organic free-range layer hen in the Snoqualmie Valley, you've had a better life than most animals -- you've never had to apply for a job or worry about money or face rejection or suffer a weird random act of violence or deal with long lines or existential ennui or wonder what you should do with your life or get cornered at a party by someone boring, and last but not least, you don't have to write a book.  You just eat scratch and bugs in this beautiful valley with your little chicken friends, and then one day, before you get to the suffering achy failing part of old age, some random human arrives with a sharp knife...

I was going to try to make this outing into horoscopes, but it turns out I don't have it in me.  It was a weird mix of sweet and tender and sad and studly, so let that be your plan for the week.  

The chicken gizzard is just beautiful.  Did Georgia O'Keefe know about these things?
This is the interior of my refrigerator.  I know.  Only one beer and a bowl of elderly chicken.

One horrible part that I was involved in of removing the feathers.  Apparently I missed a few.
Does this look a tiny bit religious?  It is quite possible, dear readers, that this chicken died for your sins.  


I just thought I should put her in here, since she dangles above the soup pot.
Right?

Eight chicken empanadas.  I believe there was about 18 hours of labor involved,  making these quite valuable.  And now there are only six.



Friday, January 4, 2013

DIY Horoscopes


Aries (3/21 – 4/19) I started this new year by doing two things that seemed like what Real People do.  One is that I threw out some old spices, bought new ones, and made a feast.  Including triple layer chocolate cake.  It's a little hard for my miserly self to buy the new spices, but I did, and now I hang out by the spice drawer breathing deeply.  A whole new jar of cardomon pods.  I'd like to recommend that, Aries.  Does that count for a horoscope?



Taurus (4/20 – 5/20):  The other thing I did is take my car to the car wash, first time in seven months.  Cars only get a certain amount of dirty, I've noticed.  Clean for 3 days, dirty-ish for 12, and then, in a particular form of miracle, they don't get any dirtier forever.  (Side note:  did anyone love that movie, "You, Me, and Everyone We Know" as much as I did?  And that part with the goldfish on the car?  I loved that.)  So that washing the car was a a tiny bit of a waste, but made me feel alternately grown up, and like a miracle wrecker.  Anyway, Taurus don't worry about being a grown up this week.  There's plenty of time for that in the future.  We can't live in the present forever, you know.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  Sometimes I take little notes on my phone, and then never look at them.  Ever.  So those random notes are about to be put to good use right here.  Note 1:  Remind Erik.  Um, I hope Erik remembered, whatever it was.  Gemini, in case you had any doubt, I'm probably not the best one to do reminding.  The Geminis are said to be mutable, which is a good thing.  Ever going with the flow.  But this week, create a tiny bit of flow of your own, and invite me along.  I'll be mutable, I promise!

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21: Note 2:  "Brian Tolle, None".  No idea what that's about.  My research has revealed that there's an artist (kind of interesting), and a organizational development guy (kind of full of himself). I have no memory of why I noted that.  But given all the hope and joy and possibility that comes with a new year, let's assume it refers to the artist.  Let's assume your week will be all about art and not so much about organizational development.  I'm pretty sure we know what that means.  Shoes.

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  Note 3:  The Night Circus. That's one more book that I haven't read. But I read the review in the NYT, which has some beautiful compelling language: "Magic without passion is pretty much a trip to Pier One: lots of shrink-wrapped candles." Let your week be full of magic and passion. Unwrap the candles, fer goddsakes. (And let the record show that passion without magic is a different brand of hell. Like a 2 am trip to Denny's but you're sober. Or an insurance salesman.)

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):  Note 4:  You gotta let the algorithm run.  Okay, I believe that.  I do.  But I think this was more of a note for a beer bottle cap saying.  Wouldn't you like to open a beer and get that?  Long may you run, algorithm.  And you too, Virgo.  Long may you run, but short may your week be.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22): Note 5:  4000 Hooks.  Yet another book I haven't read.   It's a true story of fishing and coming of age (have we established for sure that those are different things, by the way?) on the high seas.  Would one of you Libras read that and let me know what you think?

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Note 6:  Making Toast by Rosenblatt.  This might just be too sad.  About a young mom dying, and her parents moving in to help raise the children.  But I do like stories involving toast (who doesn't?), and days involving toast.  In fact, I am going to stop myself right here from going on a big rant about how disappointing it is that no one eats gluten anymore.  Remember when you could bring brownies to a new neighbor?  Scorpio, forgive me.  That is one sorry horoscope.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Note 7:  Halloumi Cheese.  I totally remember this, because it was pretty much the best cheese I've ever eaten.  It cost approximately $1,200 per pound, but it was completely worth it, even for the marginally employed like myself.  You grill the cheese, and mix it with watermelon chunks and a bit of jalapeno pepper and lime juice or something.  Sagittarius, get some if you can, even if you need to take out a loan.

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19):  Note 8:  Be stopped in your tracks by beauty.  I sort of remember hearing that at a lecture and thinking I would do more of that.  Right?  As if I'm going to read my phone notes and adhere to the instructions?  But that's my wish for you, Capricorn.  Be stopped in your tracks by beauty.  This very evening there was a gorgeous low-hanging pink curtain of cloud or ectoplasm or something other-worldly suspended over our little lake, and I was semi-stopped in my tracks, but really, no, I don't think it counts, because I didn't even get out of the car.  Spend your birthday month being awestruck that you get to be on this planet right now.  Make art.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  Note 9:  Octavia Butler Parable of Sower.  One more post-apocalyptic novel that I haven't read, but this one involves hyperempathy.  Aquarius, you don't have to read the book, but find a place for hyperempathy in your week.

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Note 10:  Salad 10 dollars.  What does it mean, Pisces?  Was I going to buy it or sell it?  Is salad a metaphor?  Pisces are compassionate and charitable and quick to put the needs of others first.  So, if you could just help me figure out about the salad, that would probably be best.  Do I owe someone money?  Or a salad?  Is it you?

Okay, so ends the lamest horoscopes of the new year.  We can only hope it gets better.  Happy 2013.  Thanks for sticking this out.

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...