It takes a spot of courage to stand up tall and a bit of derring-do to rise when you fall

Saturday, December 31, 2005

I Resolve To Eat Ten Thousand Donuts

because I think it's good to have an attainable resolution each year.

Anyway, on a possibly more serious note, everyone should list one tangible resolution (say, like, to lose 25 pounds).

and one intangible resolution (to wear a shield of kindness so that every interaction is countered with and interlaced thus).

More than one resolution in each category might be overwhelming. And better to accomplish one goal (or two) than to fail at twenty.

Farewell, Old Year. Adios. Arrivederci.

I'm not so fond of the endings of things (unless it's a project I've been dying to get done or, say, some remodeling. Now there's something I'd LOVE to see the end of). But I do get excited about fresh beginnings. I love the beginning of a week, the beginning of a month. There's nothing like the beginning of a relationship of any kind. I like the beginning of a book, a crossword puzzle---you name it. Beginnings are fun.

And it satisfies something in me when the beginning of something starts on the first: the first day of the week or the month. So, in this case, I'm especially liking that a fresh new year is going to begin on the first day of the week. It's the best way to start: at the beginning. The first day of the week, the first week of a new year. And it's going to be a good year.

Looking back over this past year, it seems in hindsight to have been a fairly unremarkable year for me personally. Remarkable things happened in this year---life-changing things happened in this year---but mostly to other people. People that I know and people that I don't. And I'm fine with a year like that. Small bumps, nothing major. Fun times, laughter, memories, vacations, and getting older a second at a time.

This coming year is a secret still, a lovely surprise that will unfold just at the right pace: one day at a time. This year, our oldest child will turn sixteen. Hard to believe. He'll be driving on his own, growing up even more, becoming more independent and a little further from us, his parents. And that's as it should be, but it's sometimes hard and a little scary to see him spreading his wings and knowing that soon he'll be flying away. But I don't want to hold him back! I won't!

So this year my boys will be getting older, smarter, more grown-up and filling in the spaces of themselves. Hopefully I'll fill in some of my own gaps---the places where I've needed to grow and change and improve.

This year will bring other changes, too, I'm sure. I want to face them all with courage and grace and good humor.

I wish the same for everyone.

Happy New Year!

Saturday, December 24, 2005

Merry Christmas!

I am enjoying a wonderful Christmas and festive times with my husband's family. All of his siblings are together, which doesn't happen all that often, and all of the grandkids on that side are together. This equals: loud screaming bursts of laughter, debates, games and more games, staying up late, sleeping in, eating and then more eating.

I consider myself to be one of the luckiest people on earth to have married into such an amazingly wonderful family. From them I have learned more about kindness and caring and sharing and loving and empathy than I have ever known before. My parents began the teaching of these basics, and this family of sweet husband mine has willingly, lovingly, taken an interest in my continuing education. Top-notch instruction. They're all top drawer.

I hope that everyone else is having a great Christmas day and an excellent holiday season. Be safe! Have fun! Enjoy! Send me the leftovers.

Bittersweet, But Mostly Bitter, And Actually Not Sweet At All

Just an update on the physician who disappeared about six weeks ago. Like was mentioned by Lisa who commented, the doctor was found in her car, submerged in water, in the Oakland Estuary. It appears that she got lost, took a wrong turn and drove into the estuary.

It was painful to see a picture of her weary and resigned-looking husband. It's hard to imagine the wave of emotions that would overwhelm a person in his situation---relief to have an answer, grief that had maybe until this point been kept in check, utter sadness that now all hope was lost. So good to have an answer; so sad that it was not the one desperately hoped for.

My thoughts linger with a family desolated at a time of supposed joy. I know there are many out there. I hope there are moments, even if small, of unexpected happiness for all of them.

Wednesday, December 21, 2005

Ready, Aim, Fire!

This is not a very couth observation nor is it a very Christmas-y kind of observation and I suppose it doesn't even bear mentioning, but I guess I will anyway. There's something that has puzzled me for some time, and it is this: males have something to aim with, so why is it they so often can't make it IN the toilet? I can't figure this out, and it sometimes drives me a little batty. Perhaps if the males were the sole cleaners of bathrooms, they would be more careful? Probably not, is my guess.

I recently heard that a study was done on this (some people don't have enough to do apparently) and it was noticed that when something was placed in the toilet to actually aim at---little flushable targets---there were fewer incidents of not making it in the toilet. So unless it's a competition of sorts, it's not worth the effort??

Also note that this practice is dead set against age discrimination.

Sunday, December 18, 2005

In Case You Find Yourself With Time On Your Hands

The following found its way into my email again, and every time I see it, I find myself laughing out loud. It seemed especially appropriate to post this now, considering Erik's important news regarding Walmart.

THINGS TO DO IN A WALMART

Things to do at Wal-Mart while your spouse is taking his or her sweet time:

1. Get 24 boxes of condoms and randomly put them in people's carts when they aren't looking.

2. Set all the alarm clocks in Housewares to go off at 5-minute intervals.

3. Make a trail of tomato juice on the floor leading to the rest rooms.

4. Walk up to an employee and tell him/her in an official tone, 'Code 3' in Housewares..... and see what happens.

5. Go the Service Desk and ask to put a bag of M&M's on layaway.

6. Move a 'CAUTION - WET FLOOR' sign to a carpeted area.

7. Set up a tent in the camping department and tell other shoppers you'll invite them in if they'll bring pillows from the bedding department.

8. When a clerk asks if they can help you, begin to cry and ask, 'Why can't you people just leave me alone?'

9. Look right into the security camera; use it as a mirror, and pick your nose.

10. While handling guns in the hunting department, ask the clerk if he knows where the anti- depressants are.

11. Dart around the store suspiciously, loudly humming the "Mission Impossible" theme.

12. In the auto department, practice your "Madonna look" using different sized funnels.

13. Hide in a clothing rack and when people browse through, say "PICK ME!" "PICK ME!"

14. When an announcement comes over the loud speaker, assume the fetal position and scream "NO! NO! It's those voices again!!!!"

And last but not least:

15. Go into a fitting room and shut the door and wait a while and then yell very loudly, "There is no toilet paper in here!"

Stores And Shopping And Stupid Parents

I ventured out last night and again today to Christmas shop. I figured that maybe I should start, what with Christmas Day looming large and all. And I have to say that it was a completely unstressful experience. By some stroke of luck, I was always able to find a parking place after a minimal amount of time looking. I never waited for more than five to ten minutes in a line (I'm adding the ten minutes in case I forgot a line, but I really can't remember waiting even that long). No one was rude or obnoxious or overbearing.

I only have a few small items left and the places I need to go are a breeze. Overall, a much better experience than I'd anticipated.

I did see something today, however, that made me a little crazy. At the very end of my shopping excursion, I made a quick stop at 7-11 for a Diet Coke (super big gulp, to be precise). Just covering the necessities. When I came back out, there was a car parked next to me, still running, with three small children in it. One child was asleep in a car seat--perhaps two years-old. Another child was maybe four or five and then the oldest one looked to be maybe seven. There they sat while Dad went inside---not only with the doors of the car unlocked but with the car running. I couldn't believe it. Do people not realize how incredibly quickly the most precious things on earth to them could be gone? Do they not realize how fast a car-nabber is in the car and gone? Why are people so completely sure that it's never going to happen to them? Things like that just drive me nuts----that, and seeing people driving down the road with their two- or three-year-old bee-bopping around the car, not in a car seat. In the event of an accident, where do you suppose that little free-floating missile is going to be? And since accidents aren't planned events---hence the name---how is it possible to know when it's a "safe" time to not be in a car seat and when it isn't? Are there brains in these people's heads or just dank, empty space--fluffy, cotton-like filler? It really makes me wonder.

So.....a handful of shopping experience, mixed thoroughly with bouts of rain, and a last-minute dash of bearing witness to unworth-it risktaking. All in a day's work.

Saturday, December 17, 2005

If You Can't Hear The Rain, Does That Mean It Isn't There?

Anymore I rarely think about what my two youngest sons miss out on by being deaf (when they have their processers off). Because they hear basically everything we do when they're wearing them, I don't think much about their deafness. And because I'm not deaf, I especially am lulled into a place where I can forget that they are and that no matter how great they hear, there's still some things they don't.

I'm reminded of that in a poignant way tonight. One of the greatest sounds to me is rain on the windows and roof at nighttime while I'm snuggly and cozy in bed. I realized again tonight that my sons will never hear that sound, never feel the happy, safe feeling it gives. When they go to bed at night, they take their processers off and instantly become completely deaf. This has its plusses: nothing wakes them up in the night; they sleep a deep and untroubled sleep. (Waking them up is another issue entirely.) Often they'll take off their stuff and lie in bed to read. They like this quiet time, I think. But I'm sad tonight to realize they're not hearing what I'm hearing. They don't know that raindrops are falling above them, pounding on the roof in a comfortable rhythm. The entire experience is outside the boundaries of the silent world where they sometimes exist.

Excuse Me, Waiter, But My Soup Tastes Like Squares

There is a medical condition that I find utterly fascinating called synesthesia. It is a rare condition in which those "afflicted" see numbers as colors and can sometimes feel tactile shapes while tasting food. Certain emotions reveal themselves as colors---for instance, one woman feels pain, stress and/or anxiety in the color orange. If she goes to the dentist, she envisions her tooth completely orange and her eyes are flooded with the color orange while the dentist is performing a procedure. Others see the the letters of the alphabet as different colors, in varying shades and degrees of brilliance. A newspaper isn't a page of black and white print; it is a beautiful symphony of color.

The letter "A" might be a bright blue to one person; a shade of green to another. And so on. One woman tells the story of how she first realized she was different. When she was seven or eight, she blurted out to a friend one day while they were walking home, "Isn't the letter "G" the most beautiful color?" She fully expected her friend to excitedly agree only to see a strange and bemused (and perhaps a little frightened) look on her friend's face. She knew then that something was different about her. She never mentioned it again---just kept enjoying the brilliant world of color that she was surrounded by---and never heard or learned anything more about it until years and years later. One day while sitting at the table with her father, she decided to mention that the letter "N" was the prettiest shade of bright yellow. Her father brusquely responded, "It's a dull, burnt yellow." And he never raised the subject again. But she was astounded! This colorful world that she'd lived in and assumed was a solitary existance was known by others, her own father included! This prompted her to begin researching and she uncovered a name to her condition and others who shared it---information she'd longed for for years.

It's hard to imagine a world where the colors are brighter, where street signs don't display their names but bright color instead, where food isn't salty or sweet perhaps but round or square. What a fascinating place to live!

And they say that synesthesia seems to be especially prevalent among highly talented and gifted people. This does not surprise me. Every day I eagerly pick up the nearest book, hoping to see blue yellow green red. It's still just black and white to me.

Friday, December 16, 2005

As Far As His New Eyes Can See

Today my husband got Lasik eye surgery done. He's been wanting to do this for some time, and so with nervous excitement he found himself in the waiting room this morning, ready to go. I was excited for him, yes, but mostly nervous. I've considered the idea of laser eye surgery for myself but mostly I'm a big chicken. What if I'm the one in a million that has it go wrong?? What if there's a freak moment when the machine goes on the blink (as it were) and oops. Just kidding!! Heh, heh. (I told you I learned well how to worry; I've got it down.)

They asked me if I wanted to watch his surgery. Are you kidding me?? I might get the itch to do this someday and if I watch, you can be sure I'll be cured forever. So I declined. Thank you very much but no I don't believe I'll watch my husband get his eyes sliced open flapped about put my back in whatever it is you do. I'll pass.

Dozens of people I know have had this surgery done and every single one of them has loved it. Positively would do it again---so perhaps I'll get my courage up soon. Until then, these handy little things called glasses will do just nicely. (For some reason I've abandoned my contacts which I have worn for more years than I can even believe. Mostly that's due to laziness.)

Anyway, he's doing great, he's already seeing great and he only had a couple of hours, apparently, of discomfort afterward. He's been trying to keep his eyes shut as much as possible and is wearing these classy little goggle things and is bored out of his mind. This too shall pass. Tomorrow he should be fine. He'll be able to drive and basically be back to business as usual. Amazing stuff, technology. No more contacts. No more four eyes. Woo-hoo!

SIDEBAR: In a funny coincidence, we found out today that my brother got this surgery done yesterday. He lives close to us, we see him probably every week. He and my husband haven't ever talked about having the surgery. Out of the blue and out of the several years in which they each have had the opportunity to get it done, they wind up getting the surgery within a day of each other. One of those odd little happenings.

Put A (Red Velour With White Fur) Sock In It

Everywhere I go, I hear this:

"I'm already done with all of my Christmas shopping!" OR "I've already got everything wrapped and under the tree!" OR "I only have one more present to get for Great-Aunt Evelyn and I'm completely done" OR "Christmas shopping?? Oh! (tinkling laugh) I was done in July!"

Do you get a special medal the earlier you get done? Do you get bonus points if you're finished before a certain date? Are you telling me that I should be concerned because I haven't bought even one present yet?

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Desperate Measures

In my house is a recumbant bike. Used for exercising.

If I ride nonstop from now until next Thursday, can I lose 25 pounds?

I sure hope so.

Is There, Like, A Class I Can Take?

because I keep flunking the word verification test. I can't tell you how many times recently I've typed in the flipping mumbo jumbo only for the big red YOU HAVE FLUNKED message to come on. Well, it doesn't say that, but that's what it means. If they want you to type in some gobbledygook, why do they make it so impossible to detect sometimes? Half the time I'm guessing what letter they want: is that a "v" or a "w"?? A "q" or a "g"?? Seems to me it would work just as well if the letters were a little more clearly stated. Or maybe it's just me. And you can't say, well maybe you need glasses, because I'm already wearing them.
Talk about feeling dumb.
Geez.

Tuesday, December 13, 2005

The Years, They Pass So Swiftly

Today it's Happy Birthday to my baby! My baby who is now 8 years old! When did that happen?? Just a little bit ago he was in diapers and then I turned around to find him all grown up. No more pitter patter; now it's all crash boom bang. He's my sweet little guy.......

And sometimes he's as crazy as can be!

That Which Requires Consideration

There is an event that took place not far from where I live. It took place at 12:01 tonight at San Quentin Prison. Stanley "Tookie" Williams was sentenced to die (and I'm assuming did) for four horrific murders, a not-insignificant crime by any means or standards---murders that he claims he didn't commit and has never, from what I understand, expressed remorse for. No matter what side of the fence one stands on concerning the issue of the death penalty, this is a sobering day, a sobering event.

Did he deserve clemency? Should his life have been spared? Had he changed his spots? Had he proved that he had turned his life completely around? Is it possible for that to be a factor? How could it be measured or determined? Is the death penalty barbaric? If you're a Christian, is it Christlike? Does that point even factor in? Is it relevant? Is it the fundamental underlying point? Does the death penalty solve anything? Is it a deterrent? Is it proposed to be such? Is it merely punishment and not meant as a deterrent? Should it be an overwhelming defense against it when you consider that innocent people die? Does it make sense to kill for killing? Do we have the right to "play God"? It is civilized? Is it justice?

These are questions being pounded over the airwaves, talked about over coffee, written about in newspapers, hashed over on talk radio. Each side has a definite answer and definite reasons and sees it clearly from its point of view. And it's not impossible to see a strength on each side, to each side's argument. You see people like Richard Allen Davis (the man who killed Polly Klass, kidnapped this young girl from her bedroom, raped her and killed her), you hear of him smirking in the courtroom---clearly unrepentant---and the death penalty seems too easy a consequence. And then you hear of men being cleared by new evidence, DNA, uncovered witnesses, being freed after years in prison---and you wonder: how many innocent men have died? How many? How many?

It's a serious issue. It's a life-or-death issue. What is the right answer? Is there one? If there isn't a definite right answer, isn't there a best one?

Monday, December 12, 2005

...Until You Walk A Sign In His Shoe

A favorite picture from our summer vacation.



I have no other point.

Saturday, December 10, 2005

Whining For Dummies

Well, it's another one of those days. You know the kind I mean. When you just don't feel on top of things....There was nothing wrong with the day itself. It was a gorgeous, sunny, even warm day. Everywhere else in the country, it seems, people are dealing with terrible cold, snow, storms, ice---just the worse sort of weather. And we enjoyed a glorious day. Can't complain in that department; no doubt about it. Gold stars there.

But there's something about having to get up before 6:00 on a Saturday that just kind of throws the day off. My oldest son had an all-day wrestling meet and had to be at his school by 6:30. By the time I got home, it took me awhile to fall asleep again. It felt like I'd only been asleep for five minutes when the doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of workmen for the kitchen. Yes, the remodel project that will not die. Over the course of the next two hours while I tried to be slothful, I had only mild success; I kept hearing staccato bursts of laughter and muffled conversation which intertwined with my semi-wakeful dreams and made it seem like only a form of sleep----not quite there but hovering in the vicinity. Soon thereafter the phone rang and I abandoned my pathetic attempts to sleep.

So....not the most promising start. Not bad---it's a beautiful day, remember---but not what it could have been. Next it happens that today I had occasion to see my husband's ex-girlfriend. She was at a gathering where we were, which happens a couple times a year, I guess---this matter of our paths crossing. The history goes something like this: she was first his good friend, then serious girlfriend, then ex-girlfriend for the various and sundry reasons that exes happen. I like X a lot and think she's great which makes it hard to hate her because she's beautiful. And has a great body. And is fabulously successful. Hmmm. Finding it hard to measure up here! Wondering how if I can see all the obvious discrepencies, my husband isn't going to. I teased him about it and he said all the right things, and I even believe him because that's the kind of guy he is. But it doesn't stop me from comparing myself to her and finding myself utterly deficient. Doesn't stem the tide of feelings that spill out from sloppily closed boxes which sit behind not-quite-shut doors. Their labels read like this: Blobby. Ineffective. Mediocre. Blah. Unfinished. Miscellaneous Baggage. The list is quite long; I don't want to overly bore you. You get the idea.

And then I come home to a house in which every single room is bordering on disaster. When did this happen? It seems to happen in a single day---from okay to the aftereffects of tornado in a single day. Not even a clean towel to be found. Why is keeping up so hard??? Fill in all the curse words you want here. It's the appropriate time.

After making a few pathetic attempt to clean, I realize I'm too tired. Seeing Miss Perfect (who, by the way, is happily married to a great guy and has two adorable kids) on too-little sleep was just too much. And, if you remember, I awoke before six. On a Saturday, no less.

Thank goodness tomorrow is another day.

Thursday, December 08, 2005

Sometimes My Kids Are Strange

They have these odd little quirks:

My 7-year-old (almost 8, I'm reminded daily) wants me to tickle his back, his face, his arms, his feet every night before he goes to sleep. Not rub them soothingly. He wants me to tickle them lightly. It "helps him go to sleep". ?

My 10-year-old sings at the top of his lungs in the shower sometimes even though he can't hear himself when he's in there (his processors can't get wet and so he takes them off, rendering him completely deaf). In general, singing when you can't hear yourself isn't a great idea. In this case, his sweet off-key songs are music to my ears. But what prompts him to sing if he can't even hear it?

And my normally handsome, fine-looking 15-year-old routinely takes odd and silly pictures of himself which don't really resemble him, looking instead something like this:




There's no figuring them out sometimes.

Ham And Cheese Releases Latest Album

I like sandwiches. I like all kinds of bread---Dutch Crunch, whole wheat, homemade, herbed---you name it. Add some yummy spreads. Piles of meat or even no meat. Avocadoes, tomatoes, cucumbers, pepperocini---pile it on. Erik's Deli is one of my favorite sandwich places, and right now they have a sandwich apparently with turkey, stuffing and cranberry sauce. Sounds like something I might need to try....Hey! It's almost lunchtime!

So...I do love a piled-high sandwich, and I'm pretty open to just about anything on it. But I think I'll skip this. Thanks anyway.

Tuesday, December 06, 2005

Frivolous Gymsuit

Explain to me why a woman, going to the gym to do a workout, would wear a tiny camisole that would be appropriately worn either to bed or conceivably under a shirt or cute jacket for a night out on the town. Explain what possible motivation there would be for wearing something which allows shocking and ample (and most likely fake) amounts of twin peaks to gush out everywhere while your intent is supposedly to exercise.

We would all still know she wasn't lacking in that department if she wore a T-shirt. She could even have a tight one if necessary and have big words written on it that said "Look At My Chest" in case there was one or two people who hadn't noticed. I guess she didn't want to take that chance.

Needless to say, people mistook me for a 12-year-old boy standing next to her. I suppose that could be the root of the problem here.

Monday, December 05, 2005

Wing Damage

Lately I've seen the meme where people list, as part of it, the however-many places that they've been. And some of them are pretty exotic. Some of them are pretty cool. Which makes me feel pangs of envy because I've been so few places in my life. Some of that's because it costs money to go anywhere---there's always that catch---and I've never had an especially abundant money tree.

But mostly the reason, I suspect, lies in the fact that I've never had the courage to go. When I was younger and the time was ripe, I was much too afraid to venture very far. My mother saw to that.

Now, don't get me wrong. I love my mother dearly. She's a good woman, and as the years have passed, I've come to appreciate her more and more. But one thing she does excellently is worry. When I was young, like as now, she worried about every conceivable likelihood of what could possibly happen and then when those ran out, she imagined the rest. Which isn't to say we didn't run and play and fall and scrape ourselves up plenty when we were kids. We did. In fact, back in those days and in the little town where I lived, it was common to hop on your bike in the morning and not return until suppertime. Times have changed.

But she managed in subtle ways and unconscious ways to stifle every attempt to soar. Every weak attempt to fly to the world which existed outside of the narrow lines of my childhood was met with worry and fretting. I try to remember exactly how she dampened what might have sprouted into an adventuresome spirit. This wasn't a crime of intent or malice. I don't believe her goal was to keep me imprisoned. She thought, rather, that she was keeping me safe. We love our children, and we're desperate to keep them safe. I know this.

So, like I mentioned, I've tried to figure out how exactly it was that she managed this feat of keeping me grounded. I know that she would list the things that could happen if this or that were attempted, and you could see the real fear she lived with regarding those possibilities. And so then I, too, would contemplate those possible consequences---some realistic and others ridiculous---and fear was born. Fear of trying. Fear of failing. Fear of getting in a crash on the way. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of getting lost. Fear of getting kidnapped. Fear of strange people. Fear of the unknown. Fear of running out of resources. Fear of strange dogs biting me and then getting an infection and winding up in a hospital bed with no one around to help. You know: Fear.

And I discovered that upon entering "adulthood" (supposedly), fear didn't dissolve and dissipate like childhood fog. It clung. It had silently sunk its talons into the innermost workings of courage and poisoned the seed. Crippled the origin, the core. When I would contemplate the door of Going Away To College, I realized: how scary. I could fail. When I would contemplate, even beyond that, Going Away To a Faraway City To College, I could even become paralyzed by fear of all the possibilities. When my thoughts might flit and land, temporarily, on the idea of getting a job that would include travel, I would lurch past it into safer waters. Something near. Local.

More than I was afraid for myself (except for in the areas of being afraid of failing), I worried for my mom. I imagined her fretting and stewing and crippling her days with worry for me while I was gone, and I just couldn't bring myself to do it. I realize now that the very best thing I could've done was go far far away and let her see that life would go on. For her. For me. That the bogeyman wouldn't get me (but what if he had? he could've and what if he had? then it would have just confirmed every worst fear. better safe than sorry).

I did manage to go from Northern California, where we had been living through my high school years, back down to Southern California where I grew up. That was as far as the rope would stretch and that was only workable because I was moving into my uncle's house, the home of my mother's brother. Something nice and safe. Of course, there were the distances I was traveling on my own for work, navigating the freeway systems of Southern California---which was no small feat---so there was always a fresh crop of worries. (Oh, if only she knew!) But they were manageable compared to what they could have been.

One would think that after I was safely "married off", my mother could sit back, breathe a sigh of relief and transfer the job of worrying onto the broad and capable shoulders of my husband. Who would then have shrugged them off permanently to rot on the side of the road. But marriage wasn't the end of the worry road for me mum. Well, I suppose marriage itself might have been but once children entered the scene, there were new levels of worry. To this day, if I go away for a weekend with a girlfriend, say, my mother frets. In the beginning, when I would go somewhere, she would say, "But what if something happens to you? What will your kids do? They'll be without a mom!" She has since said less and less but I know that the worry is there. It comes off of her in waves, like garlic.

When I know that I'm planning such a getaway, I fret about when to tell my mom (because there's not really any way of not telling her. We live close to each other and talk practically every day. It would be an obvious omission and would hurt her feelings, even if the motivation was only to spare her the worry). Timing is critical. If I tell her too early, her worries will infect me and rob me of any fun anticipation. They fuel my own worries because, yes, I now have the same ones. If I tell her too late, it would be---like I mentioned---an obvious omission. I know, I know. I'm an adult. But I don't like to hurt people's feelings if it can be avoided, especially my mother's.

I regret that I'm making her out to be someone psychotic. She isn't. She just lives with the disease of worry. It has crippled her in many ways and has managed to mangle me in maybe just as many. It's a cancer I'm desperate to stop. I'm trying to figure out just how this illness starts, what feeds it and how it grows so that I don't infect my children. If I can give them a gift, I want to give them the courage to do what they want and to go wherever they feel the urge to fly---whatever state, country, whatever continent or planet. I'll be here at home base, perhaps in a puddle of fear and worry for what might befall them---it's a powerful fear. But let me hold my tongue! Let me be silent and give them wings that are healthy and strong and daring.

Fly, baby, fly.

Saturday, December 03, 2005

The Best Sort-Of-Boy

This is a long story with probably way-too-many details. But anyway.

The other day heatherfeather talked about her sort-of-boy. (And she was meaning, really, a boy that's sort-of hers. I'm using it here to mean the sort-of boy my boy is). And I've gotta tell you, I have just the best sort-of-boy.

Some background:

I'm not much of a girly-girl. I don't spend time doing my hair (some days I don't realize until the evening that I haven't even combed it! I just pull it back in a clasp and am done with it). I don't wear jewelry. I don't spend a lot of time on my clothes. All these things are true but it doesn't mean I don't feel badly about it. I wish I was that kind-of-girl. For my husband's sake, I wish I was. And it doesn't mean I can't manage it when it's called for, but it'd be nice to look well-put-together every day. Alas.

The point of all that is this: despite all that makes me a tomboy, there is one thing that keeps me a girl: I LOVE purses. I love the different shapes, the textures, the colors. One could never be enough (One! I can hear my husband yelp in disbelief. Try twenty! Thirty!) In my defense, I buy purses cheaply. I go to Ross or Marshalls or T.J. Maxx or I buy them dirt cheap wherever else. It's far more satisfying to find "the" purse (of the month) for bargain prices.

So, for several days, I've had my eye on this purse. I walked into TJ Maxx, milled about the purses a bit and immediately spied it: the perfect purse. It was The One. We connected on that visceral purse level. Me and the purse: a match. Until I glanced at the price tag. ARGH!!! Why do I always make a beeline for the practically-most-expensive purse in the store?? Why do they call so loudly to me? So with resignation, I bid it farewell. Someday. Someday I'll purchase a purse such as this but certainly not now. Maybe when the kids are gone and I'm working and making scads of money (hah!) I'll sport me such a purse.

Last night, we were talking a bit about purses. My in-laws are here, having just returned from Siberia and Ukraine where they've been for four months, and my mother-in-law was showing me a beautiful little purse she bought at a shop in Bratsk. After admiring it, I mentioned the purse I'd been lusting after, described it a bit, and we moved on.

Imagine my utter shock when later that night, before I went to bed, I glanced down and saw THE PURSE sitting by the couch. I was completely and utterly confounded. My husband and oldest son were sitting around, watching this unfold. (My mother-in-law, who knew what was coming, had given up on my noticing it and had gone to bed). What was THE PURSE doing by my couch? I couldn't wrap my mind around it. My husband meanwhile was laughing at the blank look on my face, seeing the wheels just a-spinning. You see, I had never thought for a moment that he would go get it. I didn't even think he'd been listening when I'd been talking about the purse. After all, a purse is a purse is a purse. I hadn't even gone into very much detail. I never thought a thing about it when he went to run an errand. So since there had never been the glimmer of a thought of that purse being mine---certainly not purchased by my husband---I could not get what I was seeing to make sense.

It only took a minute, I'm sure, but those seconds of confusion lasted long. I don't think I've ever been so successfully surprised by anything. What a guy!!! Not only did he think I'm going to go get this because she wants it but he actually found it!! I don't think he's probably ever stepped foot in this store before, and I'm sure he imagined that he'd see a small row of purses and the The One would be obvious. Instead, he was greeted by rows and rows of purses. And still he found it! He said that as soon as he saw it, he knew it had to be the one. It was me. I knew it had my name on it.

He accumulated buckets of husband points for this! But that's just the sort-of-boy I have. Lucky me.

And here's just a little gander:


Friday, December 02, 2005

Into Thin Air

There has been a news story (to us, a news story; a terrible reality for the family) that has been bothering me since the day it happened. One day, approximately three weeks ago, a 50-something-year-old doctor left her medical office, was seen getting into her car, and then proceeded to vanish off the face of the earth between said office and a seminar she was planning to attend five miles away.

There has been no sign of her since. There has been no sign of her car. There was nothing in her personal life that would indicate she would leave by choice. Her husband, by all appearances, is genuinely distraught. He was home with the flu the day she disappeared. He last talked to her that morning when he tried to discourage her from going to the seminar. Apparently she wasn't a confidant driver, the weather was bad that day and maybe he worried that she would have trouble getting from her office to her five-mile-away destination (how did she get to and from work each day? I'm assuming she drove but maybe not). She has a newly-married daughter in the area (an hour away) and another daughter nearby. Nothing indicates she would "run away".

So where is she? How does a grown woman, a professional and respected doctor in the community, disappear? How is this possible? As much as this bothers me---someone completely unconnected---I can't imagine how it must torment her family. The possibilities would loom large and all of them would be terrifying. Did she drive into the Bay? (Incidentally, they have searched the waters, the section where she would have most likely driven into if that were the case, and they have been unable to find any sign of a car.) Was she carjacked? Was someone waiting in the car when she got in and kidnapped her? And what would be the motivation? Some are concerned that it could be connected to the fact that she's Muslim, and they want the FBI to become involved. There has been no activity on her credit cards which makes a carjacking/kidnapping for money purposes seem unlikely and also makes a "runaway" situation seem implausible.

It's a mystery. It's a tragedy. It's one of those things that gnaws at you and keeps pestering the back of your mind because we want answers. We don't want someone to be able to just disappear. Not a grown, capable woman. If it could happen to her.....could it happen to me? That question must be there at the back of our minds when something so horrific and inexplicable happens.

For the sake of her loved ones, I hope there are answers soon.

Thursday, December 01, 2005

It's Raining, It's Pouring

...and you know what the old man is doing. Hey now! I'm talking about the one who's snoring.

I can't remember when I've seen it rain so hard here! Absolutely dumping. Cats and dogs. And squirrels. And other small animals. It's definitely a day to stay inside, cozy and warm, and not venture out. Unfortunately, some of us have no choice, and so then it's Go Out At Your Own Risk. WHY CAN'T PEOPLE DRIVE IN THE RAIN? We don't even have real "weather" here like some places do----I can't imagine snow driving or driving in terrible storms. But even so, we do get rain and everyone seems to forget how to drive. (Except a few of us, of course). Slow down, the pavement is, uh, wet. NO, do not go 25 miles below the speed limit because then YOU are more dangerous than the rain. Etc. Etc.

I think I've had enough. It's hot chocolate and a good book for me. Oh wait, actually it's laundry and housecleaning for me. Either way, it's not driving on these streets with all these crazy drivers.