What do the following have in common?
Edamame (both fresh and frozen)
Fresh blackberries
Goat's milk
Fontina cheese
Tuscan bread
Apricot preserves
Cabernet
These are all impulse buys that I found in my shopping cart when I stopped by Trader Joe's today to buy veggies and something for dinner (TJs cheese enchiladas). I swear, my eyes popped out of my head as I unloaded the shopping bags.
Oh, and fresh cut flowers.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Saturday, March 07, 2009
not my finest moment
Wow. I am such bitch. Seriously. And I am so glad I didn't have me for a mother.
Q was asked to be in both the 7th grade and the 8th grade bands this year. He's a good little clarinet player; he's 1st chair in the 7th grade band and plays 1st part in the 8th grade one. The 8th graders had a competition today (identical to the UIL competitions I went to in Texas). They prepared 3 pieces for their concert performance and then had a sight-reading portion right afterward. Q has been so excited about being in the 8th grade band. He came home this fall and found a recording of one of their songs on the internet so I could hear it. He hums their songs all the time. And *I* have been so excited about going to this. It takes one second of being in the hallway outside a school auditorium, sounds of bands coming from all around, seeing band directors racing through the halls and parents filing in and out of the auditorium to bring back a flood of memories. The palpable tension in the warm-up room with the band director trying to hide his own nervousness while calming the rest of the group down...the SMELL of the building...the quiet click click click of shoes tiptoeing up and down the hallway and the hushed whispers, trying not to disturb the judging...
So anyway this morning, Q had an early baseball practice for 2 hours, then had an hour to come home and shower and get back up to the band hall to catch the band bus. He had a good practice at BB but somewhere within the hour at home, he started to feel sick. I persisted in getting him out of the house and into the van and drove him to the school. By that point, he was miserable, so I went to tell the band director that he was feeling ill and that I would drive him down to the contest so he wouldn't have to ride in a school bus.
I stopped at a pharmacy on the way and pumped him full of Tylenol cold medicine and bought him a sprite. We drove 45 minutes down to the site of the contest. Q slept most of the way. When we got there, he started complaining to me that he couldn't do it - he just couldn't go through with it. Being the loving mother that I am, I told him I wanted him to please give it a try and that if he didn't think he could participate, he would need to tell his band director himself. I'm pretty sure I didn't think he was faking it - Q doesn't do faking well, and plus, his sister has spent the last 24 hours throwing up. So it was no real surprise that he would have been getting sick.
The rest of the band arrived and Q and I found Mr. Hodges.
"Hey buddy, you gonna make it?" Mr. Hodges asked. Q shook his head and started mumbling "I can't do it, I can't do it." I looked up at Mr. Hodges in a panic, wanting him to plead with Q to please try. I'm the boy's mother, so I'm supposed to be the empathic one, right? It was Mr. Hodge's job to be the one pushing him. Mr. H was clearly not thrilled at losing one of his players 1 hour before competition, but he told Quinton to go home. "Thanks for trying buddy - just go home and get better."
I walked Q back to the van and drove straight home without saying a word to him. Q apologized several times, but I did not want to say the wrong thing, so I remained silent. Quite honestly, I was *upset* with the boy. Some things are bigger than we are. Some things are worth giving more of yourself to than you dreamed was possible. A sign of true character would be pushing through the pain - putting the group ahead of yourself - pushing yourself beyond limits that you thought were there. He should have gone with the band and played through the competition. Then I could have bragged to everyone about how selfless he is and how dedicated and determined. You are not supposed to only excel, but you are to excel well beyond expectations. Right?
Good god, I suck.
In my defense, I KNEW that if I were to start talking to him, I would be unable to NOT vocalize disappointment in him, and despite my being smack in the middle of a massively heartless Mommy Dearest moment, I DID realize deep down somewhere just how awful I was being. I tried to protect him the only way possible at the time. Of course my silence did come across to him as disappointment, but I figured it was the lesser of two evils. Of COURSE I know I should have been comforting him and rubbing his shoulders and simply being a mother to him. That's what normal mothers would have done.
We got home and Q immediately fell into his bed and fell asleep. I did remove his shoes for him and straightened his covers. I also leaned over and whispered to him that I was never upset with him - that I was disappointed in the situation and sad for him that he had to miss the contest but I was not upset with him. He kind of grunted so I think he heard me.
How my children will survive me, I do not know.
Q was asked to be in both the 7th grade and the 8th grade bands this year. He's a good little clarinet player; he's 1st chair in the 7th grade band and plays 1st part in the 8th grade one. The 8th graders had a competition today (identical to the UIL competitions I went to in Texas). They prepared 3 pieces for their concert performance and then had a sight-reading portion right afterward. Q has been so excited about being in the 8th grade band. He came home this fall and found a recording of one of their songs on the internet so I could hear it. He hums their songs all the time. And *I* have been so excited about going to this. It takes one second of being in the hallway outside a school auditorium, sounds of bands coming from all around, seeing band directors racing through the halls and parents filing in and out of the auditorium to bring back a flood of memories. The palpable tension in the warm-up room with the band director trying to hide his own nervousness while calming the rest of the group down...the SMELL of the building...the quiet click click click of shoes tiptoeing up and down the hallway and the hushed whispers, trying not to disturb the judging...
So anyway this morning, Q had an early baseball practice for 2 hours, then had an hour to come home and shower and get back up to the band hall to catch the band bus. He had a good practice at BB but somewhere within the hour at home, he started to feel sick. I persisted in getting him out of the house and into the van and drove him to the school. By that point, he was miserable, so I went to tell the band director that he was feeling ill and that I would drive him down to the contest so he wouldn't have to ride in a school bus.
I stopped at a pharmacy on the way and pumped him full of Tylenol cold medicine and bought him a sprite. We drove 45 minutes down to the site of the contest. Q slept most of the way. When we got there, he started complaining to me that he couldn't do it - he just couldn't go through with it. Being the loving mother that I am, I told him I wanted him to please give it a try and that if he didn't think he could participate, he would need to tell his band director himself. I'm pretty sure I didn't think he was faking it - Q doesn't do faking well, and plus, his sister has spent the last 24 hours throwing up. So it was no real surprise that he would have been getting sick.
The rest of the band arrived and Q and I found Mr. Hodges.
"Hey buddy, you gonna make it?" Mr. Hodges asked. Q shook his head and started mumbling "I can't do it, I can't do it." I looked up at Mr. Hodges in a panic, wanting him to plead with Q to please try. I'm the boy's mother, so I'm supposed to be the empathic one, right? It was Mr. Hodge's job to be the one pushing him. Mr. H was clearly not thrilled at losing one of his players 1 hour before competition, but he told Quinton to go home. "Thanks for trying buddy - just go home and get better."
I walked Q back to the van and drove straight home without saying a word to him. Q apologized several times, but I did not want to say the wrong thing, so I remained silent. Quite honestly, I was *upset* with the boy. Some things are bigger than we are. Some things are worth giving more of yourself to than you dreamed was possible. A sign of true character would be pushing through the pain - putting the group ahead of yourself - pushing yourself beyond limits that you thought were there. He should have gone with the band and played through the competition. Then I could have bragged to everyone about how selfless he is and how dedicated and determined. You are not supposed to only excel, but you are to excel well beyond expectations. Right?
Good god, I suck.
In my defense, I KNEW that if I were to start talking to him, I would be unable to NOT vocalize disappointment in him, and despite my being smack in the middle of a massively heartless Mommy Dearest moment, I DID realize deep down somewhere just how awful I was being. I tried to protect him the only way possible at the time. Of course my silence did come across to him as disappointment, but I figured it was the lesser of two evils. Of COURSE I know I should have been comforting him and rubbing his shoulders and simply being a mother to him. That's what normal mothers would have done.
We got home and Q immediately fell into his bed and fell asleep. I did remove his shoes for him and straightened his covers. I also leaned over and whispered to him that I was never upset with him - that I was disappointed in the situation and sad for him that he had to miss the contest but I was not upset with him. He kind of grunted so I think he heard me.
How my children will survive me, I do not know.
Friday, March 06, 2009
more sundry yet again
Here are some random thoughts/things I've had or heard over the last few weeks that have either tickled me or touched me, or both.
My son Q made the baseball team at his middle school. Despite the HEAVY load for practices (every single school day until 6 pm and also on Saturdays for the love of Pete), I am simply ecstatic for him. He is ultra shy and reserved - and more than a bit of a geek. I thought that making the team would be a much needed boost for his confidence, especially since he's only a 7th grader. There are only about five 7th graders that were selected. Plus, I figure the label of "jock" can't hurt in the geek label department. Not that there's anything wrong with being a geek (spoken from vast experience). But still. The additional label of "athlete", as long as we're labeling, is a good thing, IMO. He is, in fact, very happy and has been doing well. But, back to the geek department, he is addicted to wearing this blue fleece jacket...which he buttons ALL THE WAY up. It drives me absolutely crazy. It's slightly too small for him so it barely hits his hips and stretches up to his nose, thanks to the excessive buttoning. Here's his chance to move into the "cool guy" department and he's walking around with no neck. On the way home one day, I asked him "Q - why on earth do you wear your jacket buttoned up like that?" He rolled his eyes and told me that it was a "reflection of his personality"... that he's a closed and private person and his jacket tells the world that about him. OK then. Can't argue with that.
My house is apparently smack in the middle of a major migration route for noisy black birds. It warmed up enough today that I turned off the heat, opened the windows in the sunroom and laid back on my comfy couch with my favorite soap opera on the TV. Unfortunately, I couldn't HEAR it because of the extremely loud birds. It was like I was in the middle of the Amazon. I am not exaggerating, I swear. I looked out into the woods behind our house and could see literally thousands of birds, all perched in the trees directly surrounding my house. They were being extraordinarily loud, too. I've no idea what it was they were so worked up about but they were certainly busy telling each other about it. I knocked on the window, opened and shut the door, let Roxy bark, and yelled loudly at them. Other than flicking the proverbial bird at me, I was totally ignored. I had to satisfy myself with calling my neighbor Mary and cursing them out to her. At least she understood.
WRT the cafeteria at work - it has gotten to the point where the cafeteria workers no longer even want to joke with me about how much of a rut I am in. I get the same sandwich every day (veggie sub on wheat, no mayo, extra hot peppers) and a diet Dr. Pepper. Used to be that the ladies making the subs and the ladies working the registers would smile at me and say things like "Hmmm, so what might YOU be getting today? Ha haha ha ha ha." Lately, they just make my sub and ring me up and send me on my way. I'm in so much of a rut within my rut that it's not even fodder for jokes anymore. In fact, I'm afraid to get anything different now. The spotlight on me would be too much to take. (Refer to my first story of my introverted son Q. NO IDEA where he gets it. No idea.)
I've been spending way too much time looking through blogs of global warming deniers lately. I've been doing a lot of thinking and psychoanalysis about why these people are so angry and so hateful, and so loathe to listen to "expert" opinion. I have several theories, all of which are kind of depressing. Global warming/climate change is a really big weight on my heart. It sure would be a lot more simple if I didn't love my children so much, you know?
For those interested in my daily activities: daughter E has been unable to eat anything solid for about 24 hours now. High fever, vomiting and other assorted illness symptoms abound. It is just so sad to look at her pale, pathetic face. I certainly hope this bug moves on quickly so I can get my sassy daughter back. My sweet puppy is also under the weather with an ear infection. Medicine bottles and measuring spoons and thermometers decorate my kitchen cabinets. Q goes to district band contest tomorrow. Sniff. You'd better believe I'll be there with my ear pressed to the door during sight-reading. I sure miss those days.
By the way. Q got his Toano Baseball sweatshirt today. I think it may have replaced the hated fleece jacket. I was thrilled. Until he pulled the hood up. "NO!!!!" I cried. "No, Q! You don't actually wear the hood over your head!!!!"
He looked at me calmly and said "I do if I'm cold...."
My son Q made the baseball team at his middle school. Despite the HEAVY load for practices (every single school day until 6 pm and also on Saturdays for the love of Pete), I am simply ecstatic for him. He is ultra shy and reserved - and more than a bit of a geek. I thought that making the team would be a much needed boost for his confidence, especially since he's only a 7th grader. There are only about five 7th graders that were selected. Plus, I figure the label of "jock" can't hurt in the geek label department. Not that there's anything wrong with being a geek (spoken from vast experience). But still. The additional label of "athlete", as long as we're labeling, is a good thing, IMO. He is, in fact, very happy and has been doing well. But, back to the geek department, he is addicted to wearing this blue fleece jacket...which he buttons ALL THE WAY up. It drives me absolutely crazy. It's slightly too small for him so it barely hits his hips and stretches up to his nose, thanks to the excessive buttoning. Here's his chance to move into the "cool guy" department and he's walking around with no neck. On the way home one day, I asked him "Q - why on earth do you wear your jacket buttoned up like that?" He rolled his eyes and told me that it was a "reflection of his personality"... that he's a closed and private person and his jacket tells the world that about him. OK then. Can't argue with that.
My house is apparently smack in the middle of a major migration route for noisy black birds. It warmed up enough today that I turned off the heat, opened the windows in the sunroom and laid back on my comfy couch with my favorite soap opera on the TV. Unfortunately, I couldn't HEAR it because of the extremely loud birds. It was like I was in the middle of the Amazon. I am not exaggerating, I swear. I looked out into the woods behind our house and could see literally thousands of birds, all perched in the trees directly surrounding my house. They were being extraordinarily loud, too. I've no idea what it was they were so worked up about but they were certainly busy telling each other about it. I knocked on the window, opened and shut the door, let Roxy bark, and yelled loudly at them. Other than flicking the proverbial bird at me, I was totally ignored. I had to satisfy myself with calling my neighbor Mary and cursing them out to her. At least she understood.
WRT the cafeteria at work - it has gotten to the point where the cafeteria workers no longer even want to joke with me about how much of a rut I am in. I get the same sandwich every day (veggie sub on wheat, no mayo, extra hot peppers) and a diet Dr. Pepper. Used to be that the ladies making the subs and the ladies working the registers would smile at me and say things like "Hmmm, so what might YOU be getting today? Ha haha ha ha ha." Lately, they just make my sub and ring me up and send me on my way. I'm in so much of a rut within my rut that it's not even fodder for jokes anymore. In fact, I'm afraid to get anything different now. The spotlight on me would be too much to take. (Refer to my first story of my introverted son Q. NO IDEA where he gets it. No idea.)
I've been spending way too much time looking through blogs of global warming deniers lately. I've been doing a lot of thinking and psychoanalysis about why these people are so angry and so hateful, and so loathe to listen to "expert" opinion. I have several theories, all of which are kind of depressing. Global warming/climate change is a really big weight on my heart. It sure would be a lot more simple if I didn't love my children so much, you know?
For those interested in my daily activities: daughter E has been unable to eat anything solid for about 24 hours now. High fever, vomiting and other assorted illness symptoms abound. It is just so sad to look at her pale, pathetic face. I certainly hope this bug moves on quickly so I can get my sassy daughter back. My sweet puppy is also under the weather with an ear infection. Medicine bottles and measuring spoons and thermometers decorate my kitchen cabinets. Q goes to district band contest tomorrow. Sniff. You'd better believe I'll be there with my ear pressed to the door during sight-reading. I sure miss those days.
By the way. Q got his Toano Baseball sweatshirt today. I think it may have replaced the hated fleece jacket. I was thrilled. Until he pulled the hood up. "NO!!!!" I cried. "No, Q! You don't actually wear the hood over your head!!!!"
He looked at me calmly and said "I do if I'm cold...."
Saturday, February 21, 2009
this is why this man is my hero
">edited: Anyone know who said these quotes? They're all from the same person...
Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.
You can't convince a believer of anything; for their belief is not based on evidence, it's based on a deep seated need to believe
We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology.
The well-meaning contention that all ideas have equal merit seems to me little different from the disastrous contention that no ideas have any merit.
I maintain there is much more wonder in science than in pseudoscience. And in addition, to whatever measure this term has any meaning, science has the additional virtue, and it is not an inconsiderable one, of being true.
Science is not only compatible with spirituality; it is a profound source of spirituality.
In science it often happens that scientists say, 'You know that's a really good argument; my position is mistaken,' and then they would actually change their minds and you never hear that old view from them again. They really do it. It doesn't happen as often as it should, because scientists are human and change is sometimes painful. But it happens every day. I cannot recall the last time someting like that happened in politics or religion.
Absence of evidence is not evidence of absence.
You can't convince a believer of anything; for their belief is not based on evidence, it's based on a deep seated need to believe
We live in a society exquisitely dependent on science and technology, in which hardly anyone knows anything about science and technology.
The well-meaning contention that all ideas have equal merit seems to me little different from the disastrous contention that no ideas have any merit.
I maintain there is much more wonder in science than in pseudoscience. And in addition, to whatever measure this term has any meaning, science has the additional virtue, and it is not an inconsiderable one, of being true.
Science is not only compatible with spirituality; it is a profound source of spirituality.
In science it often happens that scientists say, 'You know that's a really good argument; my position is mistaken,' and then they would actually change their minds and you never hear that old view from them again. They really do it. It doesn't happen as often as it should, because scientists are human and change is sometimes painful. But it happens every day. I cannot recall the last time someting like that happened in politics or religion.
Friday, February 13, 2009
facebook stole my brain
My mom asked me why I don't write in my blog anymore. I can only blame it on facebook, which allows me to think and communicate in one-sentence snippets rather than spending the time and thought required to construct meaningful and informative (or at least entertaining) essays.
I've had plenty of ideas for blog posts. For example, the public distrust of science and scientists continues to astound me - as evidenced by things like recent polls showing the very low percentage of Americans that "believe" in evolution, or the continued "debate" in the media over the vaccine/autism connection or global warming. (Note the word "debate" is in quotes because I hate to characterize the shrills of a minority versus the near-consensus majority of scientific opinion as anything close to a real debate).
Anyway. Rather than research and write and edit on these topics, it is so much easier for me to opine "Jen likes the ravioli she just ate for lunch" or "Jen wishes it would snow" and be done with it. It's easier but increasingly unsatisfying. Facebook seems a lot like the Jerry Springer of the internet. My brain is feeling a bit over-sugared with trivial pursuits. I think it's time to switch modes before it's too late to go back.
But it may already be too late. Yesterday, as an exercise to get back into thoughtful writing, I submitted two long comments to two of my favorite blogs, neither of which has shown up on the blogs yet. One I know for sure was never received, and I'm suspecting the second may have reached the same fate, since I can't imagine my comment was too controversial to have been posted. I suspect FB is involved somehow, in a clandestine attempt to maintain control of my brain.
In the meantime, Jen is trying.
I've had plenty of ideas for blog posts. For example, the public distrust of science and scientists continues to astound me - as evidenced by things like recent polls showing the very low percentage of Americans that "believe" in evolution, or the continued "debate" in the media over the vaccine/autism connection or global warming. (Note the word "debate" is in quotes because I hate to characterize the shrills of a minority versus the near-consensus majority of scientific opinion as anything close to a real debate).
Anyway. Rather than research and write and edit on these topics, it is so much easier for me to opine "Jen likes the ravioli she just ate for lunch" or "Jen wishes it would snow" and be done with it. It's easier but increasingly unsatisfying. Facebook seems a lot like the Jerry Springer of the internet. My brain is feeling a bit over-sugared with trivial pursuits. I think it's time to switch modes before it's too late to go back.
But it may already be too late. Yesterday, as an exercise to get back into thoughtful writing, I submitted two long comments to two of my favorite blogs, neither of which has shown up on the blogs yet. One I know for sure was never received, and I'm suspecting the second may have reached the same fate, since I can't imagine my comment was too controversial to have been posted. I suspect FB is involved somehow, in a clandestine attempt to maintain control of my brain.
In the meantime, Jen is trying.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
breaking away
By the time we've reached middle age, we usually have a pretty good idea of who it is that we "ARE." I don't mean to imply that I think we should have ourselves completely figured out. Half the fun in life, after all, is constantly discovering new things about ourselves. But we should certainly have a good idea of what our "core definition" is (I just made that term up).
For instance, in my case, I know that I'm defined by being a "good girl." I always have been. I'm not totally happy about that, by the way. I imagine that if I were not such a good girl, I would have had a lot more fun. The number of times I have acted outside of the box can be counted on one hand and I wouldn't even use all my fingers. I did skinny-dip once, but it was with my best friend, with no members of the opposite sex nearby, and under cover of darkness. I believe we also had our swimsuits firmly in hand underwater, ready to quickly slip them back on if we heard voices. Back home in Texas, I was too scared to go into the Meacham Ranch house that was purportedly haunted, despite the rest of my friends having a grand old time exploring it and the ghosts that they met there. The one time the police tried to pick me and my band-geek cohorts up (for toilet-papering a house), we convinced them to let us go because our parents knew where we were anyway. I did get drunk enough in grad school once to end up at the house of a guy friend. When he started to get a little affectionate (which would have been a huge mistake since we were slated to become housemates in a few weeks), I threw up on him. So even in a drunken stupor, I am somehow able to keep my actions in line with expected behavior.
Once middle aged, I think the wise thing to do is to simply accept our core-definition. While it might be momentarily exciting to try to crack out of that mold, to do so holds the potential to release a torrential outcome that we're really not prepared to accept.
(By the way - this post is completely opposite of what I normally believe. By next week, I will think these pompous pronouncements are complete crap and will once again ADAMANTLY disagree with the premise that who we "are" is set in stone by middle-age. I have no doubt I will be back to urging us all to throw caution to the wind and be unfettered by anything in, of, or slightly resembling the past. But for the purposes of this little story, bear with me.)
When Mare was visiting me last week, we drove out to Tuckahoe Plantation, on the west side of Richmond. This old house is where Thomas Jefferson spent most of his young childhood. It is also the plantation that was the site for a TV series (Legacy) that Mare was a big fan of years ago.
It was a very cold day, and when we arrived, the place was deserted. Mare had tried to arrange a tour, but was told that there were no guides available that day. We were told to feel free to wander the gardens and grounds, however.
I love old houses. I also love Thomas Jefferson. I was excited to be there, and Mare was over the top. The only negative was that we were disappointed we couldn't see inside of the house. I wandered around the windows and tried to peek in. I turned every doorknob to see if perhaps one had been inadvertently left unlocked. Around back, we found an entrance where the wooden interior door was open, but a thin glass storm door was locked. We could peer inside, and doing so we saw beautiful wood floors, a carved wood staircase, a gorgeous grandfather clock, and other antique furnishings.
Here is a picture of me at that door.
Mare wandered off to see more of the gardens. I pulled gently at the storm door. It was quite flimsy. Seriously flimsy. I could tell that with one sharp pull, I could have it open. I looked around at the empty gardens and empty parking lot. I jiggled the door again. I stood there in a deep quandary and let the argument inside me play out. I have always been a good girl. I've never really ever been "brave" enough to jump across that line. I tried hard to convince myself to do it.
I walked away, pissed at and disappointed in myself, and mentally berated myself for ultimately being a coward.
At that VERY instant, someone walked up to me. She was a tour guide for the house, and had a meeting set up with a couple she was looking for. As I chatted with her, she waved at a young man who walked out of the house. Turns out he was the son of the couple that owned the house and who lived there.
"People live here?" I questioned the guide. She nodded, as a young woman came out of the house. "Oh yes, and they have both of their children visiting this weekend. It's a full house!"
Huh. In the meantime, my inner critic had slunk off, no longer berating me for being such a rule-following coward. Can you imagine if I'd walked in on this family? It'd be hard to convince them I hadn't broken in, what with the storm door lock being freshly broken and all. At that moment, I was quite happy with my core-definition. Good girls rule. In fact, the tour guide was as nice as she could be and ended up giving Mare and me a personal tour of the inside of the house as soon as her meeting was over. She discounted the price for us because she thought we were so nice.
I am still on the lookout for a moment to break away from my good girl persona. I think I trust myself a little bit more now, though. If it happens, I will know the time and the place. More importantly, if it happens, it will be because the good girl is willing to go along with it. Because as much as I sometimes want to move away from her, she's kind of nice to have around.
For instance, in my case, I know that I'm defined by being a "good girl." I always have been. I'm not totally happy about that, by the way. I imagine that if I were not such a good girl, I would have had a lot more fun. The number of times I have acted outside of the box can be counted on one hand and I wouldn't even use all my fingers. I did skinny-dip once, but it was with my best friend, with no members of the opposite sex nearby, and under cover of darkness. I believe we also had our swimsuits firmly in hand underwater, ready to quickly slip them back on if we heard voices. Back home in Texas, I was too scared to go into the Meacham Ranch house that was purportedly haunted, despite the rest of my friends having a grand old time exploring it and the ghosts that they met there. The one time the police tried to pick me and my band-geek cohorts up (for toilet-papering a house), we convinced them to let us go because our parents knew where we were anyway. I did get drunk enough in grad school once to end up at the house of a guy friend. When he started to get a little affectionate (which would have been a huge mistake since we were slated to become housemates in a few weeks), I threw up on him. So even in a drunken stupor, I am somehow able to keep my actions in line with expected behavior.
Once middle aged, I think the wise thing to do is to simply accept our core-definition. While it might be momentarily exciting to try to crack out of that mold, to do so holds the potential to release a torrential outcome that we're really not prepared to accept.
(By the way - this post is completely opposite of what I normally believe. By next week, I will think these pompous pronouncements are complete crap and will once again ADAMANTLY disagree with the premise that who we "are" is set in stone by middle-age. I have no doubt I will be back to urging us all to throw caution to the wind and be unfettered by anything in, of, or slightly resembling the past. But for the purposes of this little story, bear with me.)
When Mare was visiting me last week, we drove out to Tuckahoe Plantation, on the west side of Richmond. This old house is where Thomas Jefferson spent most of his young childhood. It is also the plantation that was the site for a TV series (Legacy) that Mare was a big fan of years ago.
It was a very cold day, and when we arrived, the place was deserted. Mare had tried to arrange a tour, but was told that there were no guides available that day. We were told to feel free to wander the gardens and grounds, however.
I love old houses. I also love Thomas Jefferson. I was excited to be there, and Mare was over the top. The only negative was that we were disappointed we couldn't see inside of the house. I wandered around the windows and tried to peek in. I turned every doorknob to see if perhaps one had been inadvertently left unlocked. Around back, we found an entrance where the wooden interior door was open, but a thin glass storm door was locked. We could peer inside, and doing so we saw beautiful wood floors, a carved wood staircase, a gorgeous grandfather clock, and other antique furnishings.
Here is a picture of me at that door.
Mare wandered off to see more of the gardens. I pulled gently at the storm door. It was quite flimsy. Seriously flimsy. I could tell that with one sharp pull, I could have it open. I looked around at the empty gardens and empty parking lot. I jiggled the door again. I stood there in a deep quandary and let the argument inside me play out. I have always been a good girl. I've never really ever been "brave" enough to jump across that line. I tried hard to convince myself to do it.
"I am nearly 45. Just when am I going to let loose and be free? When am I going to live life? Seize the moment? Experience the thrill? Why do I continue to let myself be constrained by the edicts of society? Just what is it that is telling me not to break into this house? My own morals, or those of a society that I have forced myself to conform to?"The other voice said things like,
"Oh for god's sake woman. You have children! What? Do you want tomorrow's headlines to read "NASA scientist and mother arrested for trespassing on federal property?"I pulled the door a little harder.
"If not now then when? You are free. You are an independent spirit!"
"It's against the rules."I couldn't do it.
I walked away, pissed at and disappointed in myself, and mentally berated myself for ultimately being a coward.
At that VERY instant, someone walked up to me. She was a tour guide for the house, and had a meeting set up with a couple she was looking for. As I chatted with her, she waved at a young man who walked out of the house. Turns out he was the son of the couple that owned the house and who lived there.
"People live here?" I questioned the guide. She nodded, as a young woman came out of the house. "Oh yes, and they have both of their children visiting this weekend. It's a full house!"
Huh. In the meantime, my inner critic had slunk off, no longer berating me for being such a rule-following coward. Can you imagine if I'd walked in on this family? It'd be hard to convince them I hadn't broken in, what with the storm door lock being freshly broken and all. At that moment, I was quite happy with my core-definition. Good girls rule. In fact, the tour guide was as nice as she could be and ended up giving Mare and me a personal tour of the inside of the house as soon as her meeting was over. She discounted the price for us because she thought we were so nice.
I am still on the lookout for a moment to break away from my good girl persona. I think I trust myself a little bit more now, though. If it happens, I will know the time and the place. More importantly, if it happens, it will be because the good girl is willing to go along with it. Because as much as I sometimes want to move away from her, she's kind of nice to have around.
Thursday, January 22, 2009
crowded streets
You may recall that in my last post, I wrote that I am, at the core, a solitary person and I enjoy quiet and being alone. So you can maybe imagine my discomfort on Monday given the following:
There were more people there than I have ever been around in my life. At one point, we couldn't move very well for about 30 minutes, as we were in the middle of a large sardine crush. I was wondering how soon I would know if I were, in fact, being crushed to death. Would it happen quickly, or would I be aware during the whole thing?
Quite honestly, it was the perfect setup for a dangerous situation. There were too many people in the city relative to the preparations. There were not enough police, and not enough information dissemination. So many people, frustrated and crushed together, is a toxic combination.
But I was quite amazed and heartened by the fact that it never even almost went the bad direction. People were smiling and laughing at the situation (though obviously pissed off at what was happening in general). There was no taking out frustrations on each other. Rather, there was a feeling of being in a rotten situation together and what more could you do than share in it? We shared horror stories with other folks all day. We helped elderly ladies who were lost as we were strolling down the interstate, and laughed with people as they struggled to crawl over the medians.
I was there in DC to celebrate the end of a presidency that I abhored, the beginning of a presidency that I have much hope for, and the historic moment that it was wrt the inauguration of a black president. I did all of those things and enjoy the fact that I can say I was there. But the most striking thing for me that day was the realization that humans, en masse, might not be as bad as I have always assumed. There was mob patience shown that day, mob kindness, and a general wish to just share the moment with each other. It was a nice thing to learn.
There were more people there than I have ever been around in my life. At one point, we couldn't move very well for about 30 minutes, as we were in the middle of a large sardine crush. I was wondering how soon I would know if I were, in fact, being crushed to death. Would it happen quickly, or would I be aware during the whole thing?
Quite honestly, it was the perfect setup for a dangerous situation. There were too many people in the city relative to the preparations. There were not enough police, and not enough information dissemination. So many people, frustrated and crushed together, is a toxic combination.
But I was quite amazed and heartened by the fact that it never even almost went the bad direction. People were smiling and laughing at the situation (though obviously pissed off at what was happening in general). There was no taking out frustrations on each other. Rather, there was a feeling of being in a rotten situation together and what more could you do than share in it? We shared horror stories with other folks all day. We helped elderly ladies who were lost as we were strolling down the interstate, and laughed with people as they struggled to crawl over the medians.
I was there in DC to celebrate the end of a presidency that I abhored, the beginning of a presidency that I have much hope for, and the historic moment that it was wrt the inauguration of a black president. I did all of those things and enjoy the fact that I can say I was there. But the most striking thing for me that day was the realization that humans, en masse, might not be as bad as I have always assumed. There was mob patience shown that day, mob kindness, and a general wish to just share the moment with each other. It was a nice thing to learn.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Thoughts on things that give me comfort
Rain. The sound and sense of soft, steady, cold rain while I'm in my bed or cozied up on the couch with a book makes me feel warm and drowsy. The idea that I am cocooned in a safe place, in my personal harbor against the rest of the world, gives me a sense of gentle power over my own destiny. It doesn't matter that in reality, any power I have is an illusion - it's the feeling of the moment that I cherish. I will also sit on the steps to watch the rain as it moves the trees and the grass. I look up at the clouds and marvel at how enormous the sky is. That a single drop of rain finds its way from the majesty of the sky to land on the leaf of the plant beside my foot makes me feel integrated with the world. I'm not a visitor on the earth, but I am of this world.
Nighttime. To watch the sky as twilight fades into darkness is magical. The cover of light that essentially blinds us to all but our local world slowly slips away, and the reality of our small place in the depth and breadth of the stars and galaxies can finally be seen. It as if the door to reality opens as the universe is revealed. I find this enormously comforting. I go to the night sky to remind myself that I am not the focus.
Odors. Baking bread and brewing coffee. Warm cookies. The bite of sauteing onions and garlic. The crispness in the air that comes with a clean and tidy house. The darkness of smell that comes with a wood fire in the fireplace. The smell of laundry fresh from the dryer as I hold its warmth in my arms. I picture these odors as lovely ribbons of dark color that slowly wrap around me.
Solitude. I am naturally a very solitary and quiet person. I enjoy the peace of solitude. I have tried to rewrite my genetic code to be more of a people-person but it never feels honest to me. I am most comfortable in the quietness of my family or one-on-one with a friend. There is too much beautiful simplicity in the air around me that I miss when the focus is on frenetic human activity. I find comfort in quiet.
Creativity. The act of baking. I find comfort in the repetition of kneading bread, of mixing ingredients, the feeling that I am nurturing and providing for my family. Cooking and baking is a creative experience for me. I love the idea of a recipe. In this, a final creation is broken down into its individual components, the combination of which is often surprising and larger than the sum of its parts. I feel much the same about knitting. (This is something I've given up over the last several busy years and would love to rediscover.)
Order. A clean and tidy house. I crave order. I would love to have a month and an unlimited budget to organize and clean my house. I am not very good at either cleanliness or order, so this is a constant struggle in my life. I realize that it sounds quite shallow and artificial, and much at odds with my love of the chaotic natural world. Perhaps I love science because it is a way to understand the workings of nature, and understanding brings a sense of order to the seemingly unstructured.
Connections. My friendships are devastatingly important to me. To find someone that is genuinely interested in me, in what I believe, in what scares me and what gives me comfort - is a treasure. These are friends that don't define me or pigeonhole me. It is a fluid relationship, and we find worth in the act of constantly changing and learning with each other. In real connections, there is no judgment, and differences are cherished as much as similarities. These connections are very rare, but that I have found some lasting ones gives me much comfort and peace.
Nighttime. To watch the sky as twilight fades into darkness is magical. The cover of light that essentially blinds us to all but our local world slowly slips away, and the reality of our small place in the depth and breadth of the stars and galaxies can finally be seen. It as if the door to reality opens as the universe is revealed. I find this enormously comforting. I go to the night sky to remind myself that I am not the focus.
Odors. Baking bread and brewing coffee. Warm cookies. The bite of sauteing onions and garlic. The crispness in the air that comes with a clean and tidy house. The darkness of smell that comes with a wood fire in the fireplace. The smell of laundry fresh from the dryer as I hold its warmth in my arms. I picture these odors as lovely ribbons of dark color that slowly wrap around me.
Solitude. I am naturally a very solitary and quiet person. I enjoy the peace of solitude. I have tried to rewrite my genetic code to be more of a people-person but it never feels honest to me. I am most comfortable in the quietness of my family or one-on-one with a friend. There is too much beautiful simplicity in the air around me that I miss when the focus is on frenetic human activity. I find comfort in quiet.
Creativity. The act of baking. I find comfort in the repetition of kneading bread, of mixing ingredients, the feeling that I am nurturing and providing for my family. Cooking and baking is a creative experience for me. I love the idea of a recipe. In this, a final creation is broken down into its individual components, the combination of which is often surprising and larger than the sum of its parts. I feel much the same about knitting. (This is something I've given up over the last several busy years and would love to rediscover.)
Order. A clean and tidy house. I crave order. I would love to have a month and an unlimited budget to organize and clean my house. I am not very good at either cleanliness or order, so this is a constant struggle in my life. I realize that it sounds quite shallow and artificial, and much at odds with my love of the chaotic natural world. Perhaps I love science because it is a way to understand the workings of nature, and understanding brings a sense of order to the seemingly unstructured.
Connections. My friendships are devastatingly important to me. To find someone that is genuinely interested in me, in what I believe, in what scares me and what gives me comfort - is a treasure. These are friends that don't define me or pigeonhole me. It is a fluid relationship, and we find worth in the act of constantly changing and learning with each other. In real connections, there is no judgment, and differences are cherished as much as similarities. These connections are very rare, but that I have found some lasting ones gives me much comfort and peace.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
question
I've always been in awe of the natural responses of our bodies - evolution is a beautiful thing. The pumping of adrenaline at times of crisis, vomiting at the ingestion of poison, sneezing...
So why is it that at the times when you most need to be fully aware and filled with boundless energy that my body reacts with insomnia?
It's going to be a long, long next few weeks.
So why is it that at the times when you most need to be fully aware and filled with boundless energy that my body reacts with insomnia?
It's going to be a long, long next few weeks.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
A quiet start
It's much TOO quiet this New Year's Day morning.
Last night around 11 pm, Q's friend called from his house next door and asked if Q could just stay there and sleep over. Before I could answer I could hear E and her friend asking if E could sleep over too. I asked to speak to their dad, and suggested that the girls come over here and the boys stay there, but he said they wanted their kids to stay at their own house. Hmmm. So I reluctantly agreed - I figured my kids deserved to have some fun their own way, too on NYE. But I made them run home to give me some New Year's Eve hugs. I also made them promise to come home as SOON as they woke up on New Year's Day. Meanwhile, DH and I fell asleep on the couch watching TV.
Now this morning. Ack. DH is still sleeping, I've been up for a few hours, and I keep looking at my kids' empty rooms. (I know it's projecting, but I am not looking forward to the day when they move out.) Hopefully, they'll be back soon. It's much too quiet in a bittersweet way over here. I'd rather start the year off with the pattering and pounding of feet running across the floor and sleepy good morning hugs than even this peaceful quiet. Besides, I've bought a bunch of delicious breakfast foods for the year's first breakfast and I want to share it with them. I can't eat all those sweet rolls and sausage patties and hash browns myself...
Happy New Year to all!!!
Last night around 11 pm, Q's friend called from his house next door and asked if Q could just stay there and sleep over. Before I could answer I could hear E and her friend asking if E could sleep over too. I asked to speak to their dad, and suggested that the girls come over here and the boys stay there, but he said they wanted their kids to stay at their own house. Hmmm. So I reluctantly agreed - I figured my kids deserved to have some fun their own way, too on NYE. But I made them run home to give me some New Year's Eve hugs. I also made them promise to come home as SOON as they woke up on New Year's Day. Meanwhile, DH and I fell asleep on the couch watching TV.
Now this morning. Ack. DH is still sleeping, I've been up for a few hours, and I keep looking at my kids' empty rooms. (I know it's projecting, but I am not looking forward to the day when they move out.) Hopefully, they'll be back soon. It's much too quiet in a bittersweet way over here. I'd rather start the year off with the pattering and pounding of feet running across the floor and sleepy good morning hugs than even this peaceful quiet. Besides, I've bought a bunch of delicious breakfast foods for the year's first breakfast and I want to share it with them. I can't eat all those sweet rolls and sausage patties and hash browns myself...
Happy New Year to all!!!
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