Occupy Holiday Parties

I have four holiday parties under my belt, and I thought I’d try to eke out another blog post by reporting on the whole conversation issue that I mentioned in the Scorpio horoscope the other day.  Here’s the deal:  many people dread the holiday party because conversations are so dull and lacking in depth.  We tend to blame the party, but in fact, my people, it’s responsibility of the people populating the parties to make them interesting, right?  If I were the party itself, I would feel so misunderstood. 

I have the theory that if we prepare conversationally with the same care we give to our food and clothing, we’d all be better off.  If everyone behaves as if they’re attending a conversation potluck, we’ll be lifted up.  Yes we will.  So, the rule is to have three topics that meet these simple criteria:

a) Interesting.  This sounds so basic, but how many times have you heard someone start to tell a story, and then get all stuck on some irrelevant detail.  “Last Tuesday…no, I think it was a Wednesday. [turns to husband]  Honey, wasn’t that a Wednesday that we went to the furniture store?  Or could it have been a Monday?  No, couldn’t be that, because I usually make chili on Monday, and I don’t recall that the beans were soaking… ”  Saddest thing ever. When someone kills a perfectly good story for no reason. 

b) Not too complicated.  If you have to develop four characters and explain a whole complex process at your workplace for us to join in, it’s not going to work.  If your topic is one that requires a white board, just skip it. 

c) Not too controversial.  I know, sometimes A and C seem to be in conflict, because interesting topics are often controversial, but keep in mind how awkward it will be if you accidentally insult everyone right off the bat, or, almost as bad, learn stuff that makes you lose faith in humanity.  For example, what if the person standing there, snarfing down the deviled egg is eager to vote for Newt?  So do this not just out of courtesy, although that’s a good reason, but it’s for your own protection too.  You don’t want to be that guy curled up in the fetal position, utterly hopeless.

Okay, the report:

Party #1, if you could call it that, was the year end event at work in which you’re badgered to contribute $5, a few people shop at Costco for stuff that isn’t normally consumed at 8 am like lasagna and Caesar salad, and they give out the “multiples of 5-year” awards, (only they forgot to order the actual paperweights, so we just got the paper itself, which may indeed fly about the office place.).  (I am tempted to segue into a commentary about really?  The only good thing anyone has ever done that’s award-worthy is show up for 5, 10, 15, and I’m not making this up, but 40 years? But in the interest of modeling item B, above, I’ll spare you.) At any rate, I used my three topics, and talked to a few people, and was rather proud.  Example:

Code Writer Man, (and I’m not talking computers):  Hey, Betsy, I think you might be right about 21A.24.045D 4.  It is a little ambiguous.

Me:  Uh, CDM, this is supposed to be a party.  See if we can talk about something else.  What have you got?

CDM:  [awkward silence.]

Me:  CDM, I came with three topics.  Did you?

CDM:  [look of disbelief] Uh. . .

Me:  Okay, then, I’ll start.  How about Pujols? [Note:  I know nothing about this topic myself.]

CDM:  Huh?

Now here’s where it gets a little interesting, because the Great Sandini stepped in from the sidelines, magnetized by the conversation, and contributed this:  “Yeah.  Bad deal for the Angels.  Batting average is 297.”

Anyway, this blog post is getting long and dull, exactly what we’re trying to avoid, so let’s breeze right by the rest of that gathering, during which I trotted out my other topics.  Without doing the blow by blow, I will let you know that after I mentioned the degrees of separation thing – how FaceBook has allowed researchers to confirm that we’re all connected by 4.7 degrees of separation rather than the 6 previously understood, The Great Sandini was able to share that his son went to college with Kevin Bacon’s son.  This went beyond my wildest expectations for conversation.   I’m not sure if you’d consider this success in the conversation game, but it’s the first time ever that the Great Sandini has contributed to a conversation that didn’t involve King County Code or SEPA, so all things considered, I think it went pretty well.

Party #2 was a lunchtime potluck in a cubicle with a bucket of Kentucky Fried Chicken, a small can of mixed nuts, and a gallon of apple juice. Anyway, I asked someone if she had come prepared with topics. 

Her:  Why yes!  Here I go.  So, I hear it’s snowing at the pass!  That’s good.  I was thinking about skiing this year.  Do you ski?  I’m considering learning to ski, what with all the snow.

Me:  Wait, this doesn’t even sound true.  For one thing, it hasn’t really snowed much in weeks.  For another, really?  Are you planning to take up skiing?

Her:  No, but it’s just a really good conversation topic. 

Okay, let’s just stop right there and say that these topics should actually be true.  The plan isn’t to just make stuff up.  Because I'm operating on the theory that we all like people and want to actually talk to them with the possibility of genuinely connecting, right?

I refreshed my topics and went to Party #3, which was lovely and populated with fun and kind people. R. asked about it the next day.  “How’d your topics work out?”

“Well, actually, they all happened to be about chickens, and it’s sort of hard to segue from idle chit chat to interesting items about poultry without coming out and just saying, hey, would anyone like me to drop some interesting items about chicken awkwardly into the conversation?  Luckily, there was a chicken coop outside, so if we were near the window, I could use that as a prop.”

“Yeah, I can see that.  So what’s your plan for tonight’s party?”

“I dunno.    What have you got?”

“Well, maybe you should stick with that degrees of separation thing. Anytime someone mentions Facebook, you can yell out ‘4.7!’ Or if chicken is on the menu, you could use that to your advantage.”

“Hmm, that might work,” I said, but I was a little skeptical.  I’m a little awkward, but I’m pretty sure just shouting out random associations isn’t the way to move the conversation along.  It’s not like a jeopardy party or anything.

Party #4 was a meal at a nice restaurant, me attending as the date of the coworker of the other attendees.  It went along pretty well until the person next to me asked about my job.  “Oh, my husband is a developer!  Maybe he knows you through work!”

“Yeah,” I say, chuckling uncomfortably, “this is where the party usually gets really awkward.”

“Ha ha,” said the others at the table, thinking I was being funny.

She turns to her husband, “Well, she works for the County!  Maybe you know her?”

He asks what I do, and I describe it a little vaguely and he comes back with, “So, what’s your title?”

That’s not normal, right?  Like, are we all going to go around the room and say our titles, or just me? I've never heard of that before at a party.  In fact, that's usually the question I hear directly before, “Give me your supervisor’s phone number.”  But I’m so obedient that when I could have just laughed and said, ‘no, ha ha, I was just kidding, I’m actually a nurse, I mean, a  teacher!  Yes, I’m a teacher.’ Instead, I told him my title, and he did that “Oh.” Where the tone says everything.

In the awkward silence that followed, I said, “Hey, I have some topics about chickens.  Is anyone interested in talking about chickens?”  But they didn’t get it, and who could blame them?  To explain it all would be a violation of Item B, above, so it truly wasn’t their fault, but it did give me permission to quietly shout out, “4.7!” when FB was mentioned a bit later.

I’m not sure what the take home in this post is, but if you figure it out, or more importantly, if you have any tips for me, let me know.

Best. Comment. Ever.

I got the best comment ever yesterday, and I thought it should be called out as an actual post because I haven't laughed so hard in a while.  If you have a blog, Anonymous, please let me know.  And her's the comment on the Ham in a Can post

Betsy, I see your ex-husband's girlfriend's dead customer's ham, and I raise you an ex-husband's girlfriend's dead brother's couch.

Here's the scenario: I'm at my former home, now my ex-husband and girlfriend's home, on some brief piece of business or other. He opens the garage door, from behind which I'd noticed a whirring sound. The garage is filled with belongings of the dead brother of his girlfriend (<--yes, the family friend he'd left me for). The brother had died alone in his house, and unfortunately the body had not been discovered for some time. I will spare you the grisly details, however, the whirring sound was an ozone generator meant to remove all smells from the furniture. My ex-husband gives me a brief tour of the belongings, and we stop in front of the leather couch. He bends down to take a whiff of it and says, "Hey, smell this couch." Which I do, gawd help me. As I am sniffing it, he asks "Does this couch still smell like dead guy?"

And it was at that moment, Betsy, that I realized two things: 1) I am entirely too accommodating and 2) by initiating that divorce, the former family friend/current girlfriend had actually done me an immense favor.

Thank you and your ham for reminding me of this stunning moment of clarity, which I will now attempt to re-bury for perpetuity.

Astrological Jack Frost*

Aries (3/21 – 4/19):  That giant field of trash the size of California has been making its way here from Japan.  Some smart modeler guy says it's already arrived but we just haven't noticed it yet.  Aries, let's not focus on how that could have go undetected.  Instead, imagine that the beach will be turned into a giant garbage pile that's like a rusty version of Best Buy.  Let me know if you need anything.  C. ordered a bra, which I think is a good bet -- things without too many moving parts.  But Aries, I think you already have everything you need.  Enjoy it.

Taurus (4/20 – 5/20) : The other day, I sought out e-bro to see how it was going.

“Betsy, how many people who read your blog even care that you love your kids?  Seriously, you’ve gone on way too long about that.  And your daily updates?  Fail.”

"Hmm, I just don’t have much to write about right now."

“Isn’t that your whole point, to write about nothing?  Just stop writing about your kids so much.  Nobody cares.  Well, actually, you could write about The Boy kid.  That’d be okay.  Or work.  Write about work.”

“When I write about work I just sound bitter ….”

“No, you don’t sound bitter, you ARE bitter.”

Taurus, don't be bitter this week.  Of all things, bitter is the most unbecoming.  Oh wait, maybe the most unbecoming is miserly.  Or enormous fat pods hanging from the armpits. It's a toss up between those three, I'd say.  Above all else, try to avoid the Unbecoming Trifecta.

Gemini (5/21 – 6/21):  One of the cool things about having a blog is that you can tell what people searched for to arrive here.  That picture is just the last few days, so it doesn't really reflect just how many people worldwide are constantly searching for "ham in a can."  By itself, that's not so amazing, but what is amazing is that this blog is on about page 24 of google results.  Those ham in a can people are seriously desperate, and I hope they find what they need here.  But Gemini, I spend way too much time wondering wtf is going on with those ham in a can searchers.  I suspect serious problems.  (Really, once you start thinking about it, you won't be able to get off -- try to imagine just one scenario in which you'd need to go to page 24 of the search results for anything.  Now add the canned ham.  See what I mean?  Don't even start on the "big bump on inner thigh" thing, because that's even worse - this blog is hit #310 for that search.  I can only hope they found what they're looking for here, because I'm guessing Hit 311 is even worse.)  Gemini, if you're having an actual emergency, please close this screen and call someone useful.

Cancer 6/22 – 7/21:  Have you been tracking this thing that's been flying all over the internet?  Me too.  It's super sad and pathetic, and just goes to show that Gawker is aptly named, and I'm not proud that I've read the whole thing and half the comments.  Cancer, don't waste your life like this. 

Leo (7/23 – 8/22):  The amazing Leos are so organized they put the rest of us to shame.  Making lists and creating order seem so effortless -- do you Leos even believe in the second law of thermodynamics?  If you want some evidence of it, swing by, I've got plenty to share.

Virgo (8/23 – 9/22):   Is this pathetic, or hilarious?  Virgo, be more hilarious than pathetic this week.  I think you've got what it takes to make that happen.

Libra (9/23 – 10/22):  If you were thinking of making these, I've gotta warn you, they aren't as easy as they look.  Be sure you have an alternate wick on hand, because the fact of the matter is that the pith of an orange is not super flammable.  We already knew that, right?  When's the last time you heard of a house burning down and learned, yep, it was the oranges.  Idiots were keeping a giant box of satsumas in the house, and poof, the whole thing just combusted.  Never.  No one has ever said that, but soon, you just wait, I'll be the number one hit for oranges burning, and each week I'll get hits from those orange arsonists, and this, my friends, is what leads to the insomnia of the bloggers. 

Scorpio (10/23 – 11/21):  Tis the season for the cocktail party.  Let's all try to be interesting this year, shall we?  It takes a tiny bit of pre-planning.  You should have three topics at the ready that meet the cocktail chatter criteria:  interesting, don't require a huge long introit, and non-controversial.  I'll tell you mine, and so far, they're working swimmingly.

1.  Puholz.  That's all I have to say, and the men all go on about the 10 year, $250 million guaranteed contract, the 297 batting average, and so on.  This one is good when you really want a safe escape path.  You toss the name into the conversation circle, and then you can make a cruelty-free exit.  
2. Degrees of separation.  It's been reduced from the 6, that we used to all be connected to Kevin Bacon with, to 4.7.  Based on the ginormous FB sample set. 
3. Blue whales.  Spotted on the WA coast.  (I think the giant field of flotsam may actually be a better topic.  I thought enormous marine mammals would go down sweet with the coffee from a styrofoam cup laced with non-dairy creamer, but alas, the whale thing kind of flopped.)

Scorpio, be prepared or be bored.  Those are your choices.

Sagittarius (11/22 – 12/21):  Some offices have parties at this time of year, the kind where people dress up a bit, bring a partner, eat nice food.  My office is having a potluck tomorrow that only some of the people are invited to.  It will take place during the work day for 30 minutes in a double-wide cubicle with one chair in it.  This is how we celebrate in the government.  I will try to avoid my rant about potlucks (see Taurus.)  Wait, no, I'm not even going to try.  It's a potluck, people!  Don't come around with your stupid sign up list on a clipboard and tell me what to bring.  I bring what I bring and you eat what shows up.  But since we have a list, I'll tell you what people have signed up for so far:  a bucket of KFC, a gallon of apple juice, and a small can of mixed nuts.  I have so many questions, but I'll just ask this, Sag:  do adults even drink apple juice? 

Capricorn (12/22 – 1/19): I was sitting at my desk the other day in front of the full spectrum light with my giant baggage handling earmuffs on, when my boss walked in.  I thought I'd try to engage him in conversation, which is increasingly difficult.

“Hi there!  I heard Temple Grandin say that fear is just as bad as pain.  What do you think?”

“Um, yes.  Here’s your new hard hat.”

He handed me a white hard hat with the county logo and my full name on it.  If I had a metal lunchbox, I would be my own worker-man cliche, but I don't.  I put it on and wore it all afternoon, but no one commented, making me fear that I am that person.

The point, Capricorn, is that fear is just as bad as pain, but you can avoid it by just letting go.  Easier said than done, which is where the hardhat comes in.

Aquarius (1/20 – 2/18):  For the past seven weeks, 5 coworkers and I have playing the lottery, not as a fun game, but as a desperate measure.  We each kick in $5 a week, and so far, out of about $200 dollars worth of tickets (I know!), we've won two free ones.  Now that's some freaky odds, wouldn't you say?  Odds of winning a free ticket are 1:3, so we should have claimed about 60 by now.  Two wins is such bad luck that it comes all the way back around and becomes good again, if you follow.  That's what your week will be like, Aquarius.  (Before you judge us too harshly for all that waste, let me just let you know that we are completely aware that this is loser behavior.  In fact, the originator of the whole thing has gotten so embarrassed by walking down to the gas station every week with a wad of ones to blow on the lottery that he makes us do it now.  I used to think the lottery proceeds were at least helping the state budget, but my research indicates that a big chunk of the money goes to help problem gamblers.  Yeah, I know.)

Pisces (2/19 – 3/20):  Who doesn't love a girl in a sparkly dress, Pisces?  Just have it back by Saturday.  Godspeed, except for the god part.



*A word about the title:  I was trying to be clever, but couldn't summon it, so I looked on the internet for things that rhyme with forecast.  Thinking maybe I'd get a tiny jump start on clever.  Yeah, they have Jack Frost as rhyming with forecast.  Have I been pronouncing those things wrong all these years?

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.

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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.

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!

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.

Finally legal

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

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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.