I Hate Days Like This

where I accomplish absolutely nothing. I've got a list of probably ten things I absolutely should be getting done. I have probably no less than eight loads of laundry, no kidding. I have an enormous stack of who-knows-what I have to go through: magazines, mail, papers of every which kind and every degree of importance, junk mail, etc. It's been staring me down for days. Thus far I've been pretty successful at averting my eyes and going on. But the stares are getting heavier and more malevolent, so I know that soon there'll be no escape. Our office is incredibly, unbelievably messy. In fact, I have no idea---none whatsoever---how my husband accomplishes anything within those walls. I take one step inside the door and my insides go into panic mode. I feel short of breath, my heart constricts, I get the shakes and feel a need to rush to the nearest bowl (luckily there are about 12 within reach since my husband doesn't realize that they won't walk to the kitchen and put themselves into the dishwasher). (But I exaggerate. I think there's only about three. I'm afraid to go double-check just for the sake of accurate reporting.)

The only things I managed to do today were: get my kids up, dressed and to school (no small feat, mind you), go to the grocery store, and pick up my kids. That's all. All those hours in-between, and all I managed to do was plop myself in front of the computer and do nothing of importance.

I wish I could rewind and start over. The worst part is that instead there's every chance I'll do the same thing tomorrow.

I absolutely can't let that happen.

I make deals with myself like this all the time: Waste the rest of this day, keep blobbing around now since the day's virtually over, but then tomorrow get all the things on your list done. Deal?? Cool.

We'll see.

Petty Theft

Stealing a page from Bryan, I then decided to steal from Lisa. Hopefully the blog police are really busy somewhere else and not paying any attention to crimes committed here. So, until they show up, in case they decide to, here's something weird to explore:

Take a step---careful---into the elevator.

Serious As A Heart Attack

So it's been determined that yes, my dad had a heart attack. He's doing well and he's looking good but I'm not sure when they're going to release him from the hospital. It could be tomorrow or they could have him stay until he's scheduled for an angiogram.

I'm not sure if my dad will be able to make sufficient changes so this doesn't happen again. Will this be a wakeup call that he heeds? Are there even things within his power to change that could make a difference? Who knows. I guess it's going to be a new chapter that he'll figure out as he goes.

It's made me appreciate more this man whom I don't always feel so close to but would like to. It reminds me of a song I always think of in connection with my dad:

The greatest man I never knew
Lived just down the hall
And everyday we said hello
But never touched at all
He was in his paper
I was in my room
How was I to know he thought I hung the moon
The greatest man I never knew
Came home late every night
He never had too much to say
Too much was on his mind
I never really knew him
And now it seems so sad
Everything he gave to us
took all he had
Then the days turned into years
And the memories to black and white
He grew cold like an old winter wind
Blowing across my life
The greatest words I never heard
I guess I’ll never hear
The man I thought could never die
S’been dead almost a year
He was good at business
But there was business left to do
He never said he loved me
Guess he thought I knew.

Now, our relationship isn't quite that distant. We talk and I know he loves me and he's even told me. But there's a barrier there, an awkwardness that time has barely lessened. We don't have very long conversations and they're rarely anything personal. But I do know he loves me and surely he knows that I love him.

Sometimes these wake-ups, though, make us realize there are some things we don't want to leave to chance and we don't want to leave too late.

Fun Was Had By All

Beyond the serious part (see previous post), there were the other parts.

And the eating part was a success. No problems there. Undoing the damage, on the other hand, might be a little problematic. But it was worth it. Mmhmmm.

And then another part was the adventure part. Thursday night, after much eating and playing of games and um, more eating, everyone was asleep by midnight or soon thereafter. Everyone but me and my husband.

In the town where my parents live and where we were enjoying our Thanksgiving day, there is an outlet mall---presumably one of the biggest there is, not that that's relevant---and a new trend started this year: The outlets were open from midnight Thanksgiving to midnight Friday night. Who in their right minds would want to go shopping in the middle of the night? Well, I would for one ("right-minded" being in question)!! And the reason I thought it'd be a good idea was that I wouldn't have to deal with all the crowds and long lines. I figured there'd be a fair amount of people but it'd be better than facing the awful crowds later (there were a few stores I wanted to hit, and I don't make it to the outlets very often, so it was a perfect plan).

Or so I thought. I could not believe the amount of people out and about, shopping their guts out. And the lines!!! In quite a few stores, we just abandoned shop---as it were---because the lines were way too long. But I did manage to snag several good deals without too painful a wait. (Except the one store where a girl two people in front of us decided to let 8 of her friends cut in with her. They kept appearing from nowhere to purchase their items. It was amazingly annoying and rude).

My husband was a good sport, even standing solo in line while I ducked into the next store. What a guy!

By 3:00 or soon thereafter, we were back at my parents' place, tired and ready for bed. As we pulled into the driveway, a worrisome thought occurred to me: what if my mom got up sometime between midnight and 3:00, saw that the front door was unlocked, and locked it? What if that happened? She didn't know that we'd decided to go shopping, and so she would have assumed we were tucked downstairs in our beds.

Good ole Mom. Ever the careful watchdog. Ever the defender of unsuspecting sleepers. Ever the vigilant keeper of the lock.

And so. There we were. And it had started to rain at this point. And it was cold. We tried knocking quietly. My husband tried throwing pebbles at the closest bedroom window. We knocked some more. Finally we went back in the van, cranked up the heat for a bit and tried to figure out Plan B.

We didn't want to wake up the whole household if we could help it. My dad had plans to be at a job at 7:00 the next morning, so we didn't want to wake him. My brother and his wife have a baby who's not the best sleeper and we didn't want to be the cause for him waking up; we'd never hear the end of that one. So we had to find a way to arouse someone but just not everyone.

Every little bit my husband would go out and try something new. I called him on the cell phone and it sang its little song outside my brother's bedroom window. No go. Knocking didn't work. Calling out their names didn't work. We tried calling my mom's cell phone. Turned off. We tried calling my brother's cell phone. No luck. We didn't want to call the main house phone in case every room had a phone and we woke up the whole place. Finally, after an hour and a half of this, my husband rapped on the window where my brother was until he woke up. (Unfortunately, he also awoke my sister-in-law who was unable to go back to sleep and who then lay awake for an hour and a half. Sorry!! But we didn't wake the sleeping babe, so that was a plus). Another plus is that we didn't have to sleep on the trampoline.

SO....at 4:30, cold and tired, my brother unlocked the door and we were able to stumble down the stairs to our wonderful warm, soft bed and pillow. Nothing was as lovely as that moment. Bliss.

The next time I have a brilliant idea, somebody shoot me.

Every Now And Then Something Gives Us Pause...

My dad is in the hospital today, having possibly suffered a heart attack. They'll know more when they do the next blood panel early tomorrow morning. I guess we were all too much for him on Thanksgiving day---we did him in! Or all that food did....

I make light because it's too scary and worrisome to get my mind around at this point.

Maybe by tomorrow it'll make a little more sense---this warning, this little wake-up call.

Happy Thanksgiving

It's a good time for me to remember two pithy sentiments:

• When I am thankful, I am happy.
• Seeds of discontent can't grow in a thankful heart

Have a wonderful Thanksgiving holiday.

Turkey Day

A little message from my favorite hippies: The Flashback Boys.

(Don't forget to hit "PLAY")

On The Menu:

turkey, ham, two kinds of stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, to-die-for sweet potato casserole, green bean casserole, layered salad, roasted pear and gorgonzola cheese salad, rolls, sugar cream pie (a family tradition), apple pie, pumpkin pie, Better-Than-Sex cake, and various snacks.

Oh, my stomach groaneth.

Hurry up already!!

Calorie Check

If I just eat the crusts from my kids' pieces of pizza, it doesn't count, right? Right?

Blast From The Past

Does anyone besides me remember Freakies cereal??? And why did it stop showing up on the shelves anyway? That was my favorite cereal when I was a kid. I couldn't believe it when I discovered that there's a whole website dedicated to it, along with merchandise to buy. But I don't want a T-shirt, people. I want a bowl of cereal. A big bowl of Freakies.

Give A Hoot.....Don't Pollute

I don't mean to offend anyone---that certainly isn't my aim at all, and so I hope that I don't. If you're a smoker, don't snarl at me here. But today I was reminded yet again of something that really bugs me: Why do smokers think it's okay to throw their cigarettes out of their car window? Why is this not litter? Would they also throw their fast food (or other) wrappers out of the window? And if not, why is a cigarette different?

I'm following a Volvo SUV today with a smart- (as in fashionable) looking youngish woman driving. I can see her in her rear-view mirror. We're waiting at a light, and I'm not paying too much attention to anything when suddenly, out sails her cigarette onto the pavement, still smoking away. I look at it lying there on the ground, and my opinion (subconsciously formed) of this nice-looking, young, possible executive takes a huge dive. I am so tempted to get out of my car, pick it up (ew!) and hand it back to the woman: "Excuse me, ma'am, you dropped something." I have actually done versions of this a time or two and have always been met with disgusted sneers. Surprise, surprise.

I live in California where a person pretty much can't smoke anywhere. Not being a smoker, I haven't thought very long or very deeply (okay, not at all) about smoker's rights. But I'm not sorry to be able to go into a restaurant and breathe freely. I know people---my brother being one of them---where just the smell of cigarette smoke brings on terrible migraines. And there's no such thing as a No Smoking area. The smoke just doesn't get it. It refuses to be trained to not go past the little sign. That's like having a No Peeing section of the swimming pool. How many people do you think would be swimming in that pool? Because I bet pee hasn't learned any better than smoke how to stay on its own side.

The pros and cons of smoking is not really the issue here, not what I meant to address. Mostly it's this practice of throwing cigarettes on the ground, in parking lots, onto sidewalks, in the park. No place is off-limits apparently. This past summer we were camping at a beautiful spot of earth, Mammoth Lakes. We pitched our tent right next to the rushing creek/river. The trees surrounded our little campsite and kept us feeling like we were the only ones around. It was gorgeous. One morning I went exploring along the river's edge where we would occasionally see someone fishing. As I sat there on a rock, watching the water, I happened to look down. And what do I see? A cigarette. It looked grotesque somehow to me, sitting there marring the perfection of nature all around me. I would have felt the same about a wadded up bunch of garbage. Because that's what it was: garbage. It was garbage there, uglifying the place, and it's garbage when it's thrown onto a street or the sidewalk or wherever.

So I ask again: why is this not litter? I really actually am curious.

Time To Celebrate

Soccer season is over!!! YEAH!!! Woohoo!!!

This year my middle son, who is a really good soccer player if I may say so, was on a team that was---shall we say---less than great. In fact, today at the end-of-season party he got an award for scoring the most goals. He scored four goals. So that might give you an idea of how the season went. There are about 10 or 11 games. I think one or two kids scored a goal somewhere in there. And he scored the most with four.

The kids never seemed to mind much that they never won a game (they possibly won or tied the first game). They didn't mope or pout or ever be poor sports. I was impressed with that. But seriously, how fun can it be to play a sport and NEVER win a game?

This league is not a competitive league (clearly) and so you wind up with teams where some of the players have rarely played the game, others are okay, and there's maybe one or two really strong players. While that makes it nice to even things out, I'm not sure how much improvement or progress gets made.

At any rate, the torture is over. The rushing back and forth to practices is over. The suffering through games ending usually with no goals for our side is over.

Ahhhhhhh. Can you tell how disappointed I am?

Well, Duh!!!

People Magazine has named Matthew McConaughey the sexiest man alive. Again, I say: Well, duh!!!!

I'm sure there are some differing opinions out there, though I'm not sure why. If not him, then who should be at the top of the list?

That's What Happens When You're Mean

Your head feels like it's going to explode. You have pain that goes down one side of your jaw and your throat hurts too much on that side to swallow. That's what you get for saying mean things about a woman at the gym who was just a little too loud (see below). Maybe that's just what happens when you're not nice. Or maybe you've been getting way too little sleep and your body is about to dissolve or implode or both. Either way, the two Tylenol aren't working, and the only thing left is to hope that punishment for meanness isn't another night of little sleep.

Powered By Excessive Hot Air

Usually when I work out, I'm in my own little fog, on my own personal planet, and don't really notice anyone around me. Their conversations float around me, over me, beside me but don't really penetrate. I'm not a big socializer while I exercise.

Every now and then there's someone, though, who's like a dull-edged pushpin that pops the whole mental bubble thing:

Loud voice, on the verge of strident: "We went out again last night." Pant, pant.

"I'm not much of a steak person." Huff. Maniacal laugh. "I like chicken really. I'm more into chicken. But I had a really good steak."

I try to re-enter my own fog again but *pop*:

"I really liked it. It was a great place. You should go sometime." Pant. Wheeze.

"----so snobby. I don't know why we even go anywhere with her. I mean, geez, enough already, you know?"

Luckily, at this point I'm done on the bike and hie myself over to the weights. I'm five minutes into my workout.

"Is this right?? Because I don't feel anything in my butt. Is this supposed to be working my butt because I don't feel it at all. Only in my hamstrings."

Are you serious? I can't shake her. Everywhere I go, there she is. Five feet away! And even if I manage to escape momentarily, I can still hear her.

I wonder if anyone would notice if a 12-pound weight slipped out of my hand. In the vicinity of Lady Strident. Oops!! So sorry!

Pop Quiz

So here's a little something to do (thanks to Michelle) while you wait for something meaningful to appear on this blog:

This Is My Life, Rated
Life:	7.3
Mind:	7.3
Body:	7.5
Spirit:	7.2
Friends/Family:	6.5
Love:	7.3
Finance:	6.6
Take the Rate My Life Quiz

Modern Communication

Sometimes my husband and I will be in two different rooms of the house and IM each other. We have whole conversations this way.

What will be next? Sitting at the same table and calling each other on cell phones?

When Your Kiss Is On The Fritz

So I had to shake my head at this bit of weird news:

Park Hyatt hotel maid Louise Kelsey, 58, testified in August in Melbourne, Australia, that she was kissed against her will in 2001 by a hotel guest (an Uruguayan soccer player in town for a World Cup match) and suffered a post-traumatic stress disorder that led to her being declared legally blind in 2002. Though a doctor for the defense derided it as "the most powerful kiss in history," the hotel's insurer agreed to its liability in October and said it would negotiate the money amount. [Daily Telegraph (Sydney), 9-1-05; Herald Sun (Sydney), 10-7-05]

Is she still blind? Is this even possible? And they agreed to pay her for this? How could they prove it?

Who knows what would've happened to her if he'd moved past first base.

There's More Where That Came From

Heatherfeather left her own list of Things To Be Happy About in the comments section. It was quite excellent. I don't even mind that it leaves mine in the dust. Henceforth, anyone who visits, please leave your Things To Be Happy About for all of us to enjoy.

Things To Be Happy About

• finding something important that you lost
• a summer day in November
• peanut butter M&Ms
• rain on the roof
• a sleeping bag big enough for two
• a spontaneous hug from someone you love
• Diet Coke
• getting a gift for no reason
• road trips
• sunset at the beach
• sunrise at the beach
• getting a letter in the mail from an old friend
• roasting marshmallows around a campfire
• "Illegal Smile" by John Prine
• riding the cable cars in San Francisco
• a good workout
• a great book
• sleeping in
• discovering a new restaurant that you love
• tree-lined streets
• carnival music

When June Shows Up In November

It's far too beautiful a day to brood (not that yesterday wasn't beautiful, but...). I think there must be a correlation between the temperature and the desire to mope (though I prefer "brood" because it seems like a more meaningful, deep activity). Today is in the high 70s and tomorrow it's supposed to get into the 80s. Can ya beat that? The middle of November. The sky is completely clear and so-blue-it-hurts-to-look. The trees all all yellow and orange. I shake off the blues and do a little jig for no reason at all, which is perhaps the best reason of all.

The weather will turn, the cold will creep in, the wind will blow the leaves around and that will be okay. And maybe the cold will creep inside but I'll just wrap an extra memory--a particularly happy one--like a scarf around my thoughts and hopefully that will help to keep the mopes away.

A Brooding Season

I love the Fall. I love this melancholy season that evokes in me more emotion than any other time. I love the windy days and the clear crisp skies and the floating leaves, burrowed hands in coats, chin hidden in scarves, and ruddy cheeks. It leaves me in parts both invigorated and remote. It makes me feel alive and it makes me brood. And today is a brooding day in this, a brooding season.

It's a day like today when I crave aloneness. When I want to find myself wrapped in a blanket, alone on the beach in Santa Cruz, somewhere along West Cliff Drive, leaning against a rock, watching the ever-moving sea. I need it like the body needs nourishment---air to breathe, water to drink, food to eat, time to be alone.

But alone time is hard to come by and won't be my portion today. I'll just brood, I guess, surrounded by people, with the danger of infecting everyone. Hopefully just a little brood will shed and not all the buckets I feel.

Turn A Different Corner

Someone I know, someone I admire, someone I appreciate and enjoy, is getting a divorce. This isn't exactly a shock considering circumstances as they were, but there was always a hope that some miracle would happen.

I think the emotions felt by this person are more relief, perhaps, at this point than sorrow. But I'm overcome by the sadness of what it must feel like to realize that what one expected and anticipated out of life has become something quite, quite different. How do you really accept the death of a dream? Of what you thought life was going to be? Of the direction you planned on it taking? Well, you have to accept it, don't you? At least to the point where you can keep living and where you can heal and where you can learn how to find a place of happiness and strength again.

I don't know how people do it.

And thinking of gathering up the years, I feel overwhelming sadness for those, for my friend, who's handful will be much smaller than expected. May life bring new places of hope. May the passing of days strengthen the heart and mind to keep going to a clearer, sweeter place.

Remembrance Day*

Well, my husband is hating himself (temporarily) because today he became a cliche. He hates when that happens. Let me explain:

Today was our anniversary. And you guessed it: he forgot! He became the typical cliched husband who forgot his anniversary. Oh, how the mighty do sometimes fall. BUT! it wasn't quite the typical I-hung-around-the-house-all-day-and-looked-at-your-mug-and-never-once-thought-about-the-fact-that-it-was-our-anniversary kind of forgetting. He was in Atlanta all week on business, attending a conference, and also he has tons of relatives there. So by day he was conferencing and by night he was merrily out whooping it up with kin (wonderful folk, they). So there was plenty in the way to block any thought process that might have formed concerning said anniversary. (an aside: this anniversary was kind of unique in that it was the 11th one on the 11th day of the 11th month).

Now, I realized he was going to be gone on our anniversary before he even left, and so I had a dilemma: I could say something and make him feel really bad and maybe cause him to change his flight (at considerable cost). Or I could've mentioned it at some point while he was already gone, but again---he'd feel really bad and it would have dimmed some of the pleasure of his time away. And today he would have been feeling badly all day that he wasn't here and he would've mistakenly been thinking that he'd made me really sad. So I said nothing. But it wasn't all selfless: I figured I'd make some really good wife points! Also, I knew the look on his face when I mentioned it would be priceless----and that sounds really mean and heartless, but I didn't do it out of malice! Honestly! If I knew that I would've been upset about him not being here on our anniversary, I would've brought it up when I first realized. But I'm not one to really get all gooey and oozy about things (much to my husband's disappointment many times). I didn't have to celebrate our anniversary on its actual day, though that would've been nice. I didn't feel cheated or forgotten or angry. None of those things entered my mind, so I felt like it was okay to have a little fun with it.

And I did. I had a little gift and card on the seat when I picked him up from the airport. And the look on his face was priceless, so I wasn't disappointed in that regard. Maybe I'll get some mileage out of it---but only in a playful sort of way!---and so all has not been lost. And because my husband is normally very sweet and very kind and very romantic and very sentimental, I can be sure that it will never happen again.

So, happy anniversary to me, and I'm a very lucky girl to be married to such a wonderful man. Even if he forgot this one eensy weensy thing.

tee hee.

*In Canada and Australia (and probably other places?), November 11 is called Remembrance Day. I didn't realize that fact until after we were married, and I always thought that title was very appropriate. For its reason and for mine.

Don't He Make Us Proud!

Because I'm bored (and it's not boredom of the I-don't-have-anything-to-do kind. It's purely of the I'm-putting-off-everything-I-should-be-doing ilk), I'll mention a tiny bit of information about Erik that I happen to know. When Erik was really little---like maybe two---and couldn't say all his words correctly (unlike now where he waxes poetic and eloquent), he would always be so excited when he saw the "deet-deeny" coming. Awwww....Widdle Ewik couldn't say "street cleaner". Good, honey, good try. Yep! There's the deet-deeny!

Isn't that cute?

I only thought of that today because I was moving the cars from streetside to driveway so that the deet-deeny wouldn't miss the front of our house. It desperately needs a good deen.

Gathering Up The Years

I have a friend I've known for three-quarters of my life. (He's 30 years older than I am in case the following numbers have you thinking I'm more advanced in years than I really am. Please. I'm holding fast to the number I'm at.) We keep in touch sporadically and I recently found out that his wife passed away a few weeks ago. A sad time. Not old enough to be done with living---still so much life left to explore.....

What has amazed me, though, are the numbers: They were together for 52 years, 47 of them married. I can hardly get around those numbers! That's a whole lotta years, folks. I know there are some scattered few who can rival such an anniversary, but not many. And I would venture that fewer and fewer are going to be able to lay such claim.

I admire what it means. You know for a certain that all those years weren't rosy, weren't all peaches and cream. There were probably bad times. Maybe even terrible times? Ups and downs. There were wonderful years and wonderful memories. Happy times. But possibly there were stretches of boring times. Years perhaps where the two individually wondered---maybe there's something more exciting out there somewhere for me. But did they go in search of such unattainable ends? Did they dump their investment when things weren't going perfect? I admire that they didn't.

I'm not saying that some marriages aren't unhealthy and damaged and even dangerous. I'm not saying that some people have no choice but to abandon ship and it's vital they do so. But I would propose that those types of marriages are the exception. Mostly, someone loses interest in keeping the love alive. Someone looks outside the lines drawn because that's more exciting and forbidden. The familiar becomes routine and boring. One partner or both start thinking only about themselves, about what they want to do for themselves, about where they individually want to go in life and do in life. It stops being a partnership. People start thinking, "I deserve more than this. I deserve the fairy tale." Good luck. If it were true, if there was a fairy tale to capture and live, there wouldn't be so many individuals on their third and fourth marriages.

I'm also not saying that many times people don't go and get married for the wrong reasons and thus wind up with something incompatible. A puzzle where the pieces aren't ever going to fit. This happens of course. You try to force a situation, you marry for this dumb reason or that spastic reason, and it's a sham. It's also a shame---a shame that something so serious and so profound has become something so trivial and temporary for so many. The feeling more and more, it seems, is: "Well, we're going to try this and see if it works." Hel-loooooo. You've already opened the door to failure.

Well, this wasn't originally going to be a soapbox about marriage (not that it's a bad soapbox, mind you)......I mostly have been thinking about what's represented by five decades of togetherness. I hope that I'm fortunate enough to live long enough to be able to claim the same prize.

Kids Can Make Ya Nuts

In a million different ways they can. Here's one:

I mentioned that my two younger sons are deaf. When they take a shower, they have to take off their cochlear implant processors. Once the processors are off, they hear nothing. Nada. So, off one of them goes to the shower. Time passes. I'll be thinking to myself, "That's an awfully long shower" when suddenly I'll notice him sitting and reading a comic book or some such thing! ????? He's left the flippin' water running!! Who knows how long he's been done with his shower! Who knows how long the water's just been flowing down the drain! He couldn't hear it, forgot that the water has to actually be turned off (hel-loooo!) and so there goes our water bill. Ka-ching. Not to mention the waste.

My oldest son just takes that long of a shower. Which is another story.

Nuts, I tell ya. Nuts.

Oh Johnny Depp, Was That You?

Did you hear about the cruise liner that was attacked by pirates off the coast of Somalia? Pirates. Luckily no one was hurt badly and the captain of the liner was able to outrun the pirates. I guess I don't get out very much, but there's something just kind of cool about that. Okay, okay, I know they're the bad guys, and I don't think it's cool that in this particular area food relief efforts are being sabotaged by these very creatures but still.....all that serious, important stuff aside: Pirates.

An understatement from one of the passengers: "We're always looking for adventure, but this is probably a little more than we would normally look for."

Fringe Benefits

It always feels like cheating somehow when I get to wear flip-flops in the middle of November.

I'll Just Hum A Few Bars

Thanks to heatherfeather I've got music on the brain---in particular, Leonard Cohen's "The Partisan". I thought I didn't have it---didn't even know what album it was on---and then I found it on one of my Leonard Cohen's greatest collections. (I remember now that it's on his "Songs From A Room" album). How dumb am I? I'd even forgotten that not only had I heard the song before, but I really like it. Duh. In my defense, it's been a really long time since I've heard it.

Anyway, about ole Leonard: I can hardly reconcile the voice singing "Partisan" with the one singing, say, "A Thousand Kisses Deep". Listening to "Partisan" again, I thought for a minute that I was listening to Townes Van Zandt or something. Cohen's voice has gotten so nicely raspy as he's gotten older (and probably smoked himself hoarse?)....

And so I was in the mood then to listen to some good old music that I haven't heard for awhile. I've got a friend from way back who's made me a few collections of music that are awesome. In fact, I think he has introduced me to almost every one of my favorite artists, including (but not limited to): Leonard, Townes, Lucinda Williams, Natalie Merchant, David Gray, John Prine. To name a few. I think of this friend as my music guru. At any rate, it's always fun to be exposed to new music---which is why I like it when heatherfeather makes her lists.

Regarding other Leonard Cohen stuff, as much as I love his music and his songwriting, I can't say the same for his books. They don't do much for me. Maybe I'm just not deep enough, which is highly possible, but they're just a little too grim and sacrilegious for me.

And lastly, he has a new album out which I don't have but want to get. Somewhat ironically, it's called "Dear Heather". I think he didn't mean to drop the "-feather". Maybe it wouldn't fit on the cover or something?

It's time for a new music collection, actually, but I have a feeling that my guru isn't going to be forthcoming any time soon. It's as though he has a job and a million other things to do or something. Whatever. Until then, I'll just listen to the old good stuff until I get some new good stuff.

Is There A Pill I Can Take?

Is there anyone on the planet more disorganized than I am or a bigger procrastinator? I think not. I can never find anything I need. I have a pile of papers yay high and it must be organized, like, last week. At any given time, there is something I'm doing instead of the dozens of things I'm supposed to be doing. This leads to feelings of lethargy, guilt, defeat.

I love the idea of clean, organized, spartan space. Love it. But clearly I'm allergic to it. Is there a cure? There's a great website called Flylady but I've found that you actually have to do the stuff to make progress. There's always a catch somewhere.

Two Weeks! Two Weeks!

If anyone reading this hasn't seen The Money Pit (old movie with Tom Hanks), let me briefly explain the battle cry "Two Weeks!" The movie is about a couple who are remodeling (or building a home from the start? can't remember) and they keep being told by the contractor that the job will be done in "two weeks". Naturally, that's a hysterical joke and thus follows a not-fiction-enough experience. Remodeling is not for the fainthearted.

So our two weeks has extended into, let me see, about six years? That might be right. It might be a little more. We've done it in fits and starts, and we're actually on the last leg---extending our kitchen. At any rate, the roofer came this morning to do the dab of roofing that needs to be done. Maybe a little more than a dab but not an enormous job. About two hours ago he arrived, realized he forgot a tool he needed (??) and left. He'd be back soon. Has there been any sign of the roofer? No. Did he leave his tool in Minnesota? Do we want to know anything more about his tool? Probably not.

My kids don't even remember a time we weren't remodeling (maybe the oldest one has vague memories). They think it's normal to live in a house that has weird splotches of sheetrock here and there, where baseboards are either not on or not painted. Where rooms are half-done. I make it sound a little worse than it is----at a first glance, these things wouldn't be that noticeable. But I know they're there, and they drive me crazy. Sometimes. Other times, I don't give a rip. Whatever. It's just a house. It'll never grace the pages of any magazine anyway. The kids are happy and don't care. We aren't starving or living on the corner. So who cares if the sheetrock is entirely off that one wall? And who really sees any more or notices that the beadboard in the bathroom still isn't painted? Who cares that my counter in the kitchen is really melamine and has figures written on it indicating where this and that will be going? Doesn't matter in the whole scheme of things. Good friends don't notice or care.

I just hope that if the roofer returns he isn't drunk or stoned. That would be a plus.

A Postscript

I have been thinking about my last post and realized that I don't want to imply that there is something unbearably awful about deafness. I don't mean to send that message. My grief and my sense of loss were profound because of what I enjoy in a hearing world and what I wanted my children to enjoy too. I know there is a large Deaf community who would disagree with me, and I respect their position. I know that deaf people who never choose the option of hearing achieve wonderful things, they live perfectly happy and successful lives. I have been amazed and have greatly admired what deaf people have achieved without what I consider to be the "benefit" of hearing.

I respectfully disagree, however, that the only option for my children is to remain deaf and in silence. If that is a choice that they, my children, wish to make later in their life, all they need do is remove their processers and voila! Silence. The choice can be theirs. However, if my husband and I had never made the difficult decision to provide them with the option and ability to hear while they were young, if they would have wanted to choose that option later in life, the possibilities of what they could have achieved would be far diminished.

Again, I respect anyone Deaf who chooses to remain so. I know that there are beauties in life that are enjoyed regardless of whether one hears. We just decided that we would let that choice be our children's: this way, they can choose to keep hearing. Or not to hear. It can be up to them. (But I can almost certainly guarantee you what their choice will be.)

I mentioned the grief and profound sense of loss I felt. One aspect was the silence I envisioned for them: no sound of laughter, no sound of music....but that was only part of it. As any parent of a child with any sort of disability can tell you, when you find out (especially early on) that a child has something "wrong", you feel robbed of your baby. You feel robbed and cheated and betrayed. I'm glad that time and action and the love of a baby can ease those feelings and turn them into strength and courage and acceptance.

This has been a minor challenge compared to what many face, I know---and like I mentioned, there are those who would disagree wholeheartedly that our situation was a problem or a challenge or a reason to grieve at all. Regardless, these kinds of experiences, to whatever degree and depth, are gut-wrenching and life-changing. But I've been made glad that through all of the hardness of it, there has been so much good and so much positive that I could never have dreamed possible. I wouldn't have picked it but I can't imagine anything different.

Standing In The Light

Today I stand in a place that I couldn't see ten years ago---even five years ago. Then, in large part, I was stumbling in the dark.

My two youngest sons were born deaf. At the time, I knew nothing about what being deaf meant. I had no idea what the possibilities were for a deaf child---if indeed there were any. I pictured a silent world for all of their lives. I envisioned limits and boundaries and silence. I grieved. I mourned what they would never hear, would never do.

And then we were given a video called "Dreams Spoken Here" created by Jean Weingarten Peninsula Oral School for the Deaf (an oral school which my children would later attend). On this video it showed a handful of children, different ages, who were deaf. These children were talking and discussing things things about their life, things they enjoyed doing, things they were involved in. And I was stunned. I never imagined such a possibility, that my deaf children could actually learn to talk! It changed my life, our lives. I would later learn, through this difficult and miraculous journey from silence to sound, that my deaf children would learn to hear and to talk and to whisper and to recite poetry and to read and to perform on stage. I would learn that there were NO LIMITS for a deaf child.

This past Saturday my husband and I were again on a parent panel put on by the Let Them Hear Foundation, a wonderful foundation founded by Dr. Joe Roberson. (This is the "miracle" doctor who performed cochlear impant surgeries on both of my children. They each have bilateral implants.) There were two other sets of parents of children who are deaf and have cochlear implants. It was an honor and a privilege to answer questions from an audience comprised of educators, audiologists, speech therapists, etc. It was an honor and a victory to share the experience of deaf children mainstreaming in regular classes, regular schools, regular life. And it was a milepost, a measuring stick, of where I am now compared to where I was before. Where my children are now compared to where they were before. I am humbled and in awe of their resiliance and courage.

Where once I grappled and groped and saw only darkness, I now stand in a brighter place. I know there are challenges ahead; I know that there are rough spots and work to do always. But I am enjoying the light at the end of the tunnel.

Words Are Weird

I love words (and there's probably a word for that but I don't know what it is). But they can be strange and illogical. For instance:

There's empathy and sympathy. Almost identical, right?

BUT....we go from that to: empathic and sympathetic.

Why are they different? Why is the adjective form of the word different from the noun form? Why are we missing an "e-t" in "empathic"? The solution for millions is just to say "em-pa-thet-ic" which is actually incorrect. I imagine the amused condescending thoughts going through people's minds when I say "empathic"---"poor girl, doesn't know how to pronounce that word right". I wonder if, when I do happen to use the word, anyone goes home to look it up. In my dictionary, under "empathetic", it says (you guessed it maybe): EMPATHIC. And then the second definition actually defines what empathic is.

I hate this new trend where, if a word gets said incorrectly enough, the word police just succumb and make it a word. Take "irregardless". Irregardless is not a word---or it wasn't a word until it was said so many times by people who meant to say "regardless" that it now gets put in the dictionary as a word. In fact, a sister-in-law of mine lost a bet in law school because she said that irregardless wasn't a word and wouldn't be in the dictionary. It was in the dictionary, and the definition? Yep: "REGARDLESS" Hel-looo! (I definitely think that was a bet she should have won, and I'm surprised that she wasn't able to pull off a sound-enough argument, being a law student and all. Of course, she was surrounded in like manner so maybe she was just outnumbered).

On the flip side of that, I love that language isn't static. I love that it can change as society changes, as cultures intermix and -mingle. I love that it isn't set in concrete....So, you can see that I'm of two minds here. As long as both minds delight in words, I'm fine with that.

A Touch of Irony

So I admit I had to laugh when I read that actress Sutton Foster (?) fell and broke her arm while rehearsing "I'm An Accident Waiting To Happen" for the musical "The Drowsy Chaperone". I don't want to appear heartless in any way but it was such an ironic coincidence!

Sonny, Where's My Cane?

I gave a ride home today to one of my son's friends. He's probably 10 years old and happens to be a master crafter of tales and an expert in the art of exaggeration. At any rate, they were talking about old movies they'd seen, and this young little sapling mentioned an old movie he saw the other night. I have no idea what it was but what made me bark with laughter was when he said: "It was really, really, really old. Like 30 years!" He couldn't believe something could be that old. Granted, that is kind of old for a movie (and I question it was even that dated), but it isn't that old for a person!! I protest! I'm past the expiration date if that's the case.

Trivial Gripe Of The Day

Dear Cereal Company (or Company Who Boxes Said Cereal):

Regarding the bag that goes inside the cereal box: can you PLEASE make a bag that doesn't require a flipping chainsaw to open?? Is this asking too much?

I try to gently open it, to no avail. I try to forcefully open it, to no avail. I'm now pulling with all my might and weight, one leg braced against the wall, when the whole thing shatters open. And does it open across the top seam? Of course not. It splits down both sides, still managing to stay sealed like concrete at both ends. So now, the little cereal that remains in the bag (the rest has exploded across my kitchen) still cannot be poured into a bowl. It half-comes out the bag and half-slides down into the box, between the bag and the box.

I hope you get the picture.


Thank you very much,
An irritated consumer

Where's The Justice Now?

Just read about this in the paper today. First paragraph of article:

"Two decades after charging that school employees sexually abused him, a child accuser in the infamous McMartin Preschool case now says he made up the allegations at the urging of authorities."

This is nuts! I'm dating myself here, but I remember when this was going on. This boy/now man, Kyle Zirpolo, was an 8-year-old at the time. Can you imagine urging an 8-year-old boy to lie about something so incredibly serious?? Urging a child to lie about anything is criminal; this, however, crosses a HUGE line. I'm not being naive here----I know it happens all the time. I'm just amazed, though. Forget what it might do to the boy. Who cares if it messes him up forever. For whatever reasons, we've got an agenda, and we'll go to any lengths to accomplish it. Oh, look, this little child here will be our means to an end. Perfect.

Luckily, the defendants were aquitted of almost all the charges and jurors were unable to reach verdicts on the others. Even though they didn't serve time, however, their reputations were ruined--I'm sure--and a stain has been on their names ever since. Outrageous! Again, I know this isn't an infrequent thing. I guess because I remember this particular case, it's particularly repugnant to me.

I'm glad this man had the courage to now say that it was a lie. Probably it wasn't an easy decision, but I hope it's one that's brought him some peace. And maybe there's more here than meets the eye---maybe things were going on but he just didn't happen to be one of the victims; I don't know. Like they say---where there's smoke, there's fire. But what if the smoke is manufactured? Scary stuff.

I hope that Kyle and company can settle this all somewhere in themselves and go on with their lives. It pained me to read when he said, "I never forgot I was lying." That's just painful! He's lived with that all these years. What a burden. And what mixed feelings this news will be greeted with, I'm sure. Regardless, I hope that those involved will be able to make peace with it, like I mentioned, and move on.

And what about the so-called "authorities"? What about justice for them?

My Latest Addiction!

This is so fun. Try Sudoku. Be careful, tho---it's addicting.

What Was I Thinking?

So becoming a brand-new me on Halloween day, in retrospect, wasn't the greatest bit of timing ever. I even considered that but thought, Nah. Not a big deal. I don't even really like candy. Except for those little Butterfinger bars and the peanut M&Ms. Well, and maybe those little Snicker bites. And the Reese's peanut butter cups. Those are pretty good. Except for those things, I'm not a huge candy fan.

BUT....I'm not discouraged. I'm not put off by that little derailment. And the derailment of kids getting my cough and not going to school and thus not allowing me to go to the club to work out. I'm not going to let that discourage me either.

Onward from here I go! To success!