Gosh!

I spent my Christmas vacation awash in some of my favorite books from my childhood - the Beverly Cleary books. They were interesting particularly because I just read her autobiography, and a lot of the stories are recastings of her own childhood experiences. Henry Huggins, the first one she ever wrote, is still the best.

I love the wholesomeness of the kids on Klickitat Street. They're always saying things like "Golly!" "Doggone it!" and "Well how do you like that!" and they're always doing projects together, like tinkering with their bicycles, or building a clubhouse. They look forward to growing up with interest, not fear. The boys have paper routes and wear beanies; the girls practice twirling batons or sew costumes for the spring parade. There is no excess in their world - money's always tight, and there's always just a single thing that they want and are saving up for, like a down sleeping bag or a sled. I like that kind of simplicity. I have more possessions than I ever have time to appreciate, which makes me feel obscurely guilty.

It's setting my sights ridiculously high to say I'd like to write books that would be as well-loved as hers. (Although I would.) Realistically, I'd like to write just one book that would be enjoyed and appreciated by a few people. Some of the things I'd like to be in it:

likable, funny characters
a crusader mission to right an injustice
having a crush on someone
exploring familiar surroundings at night/being someplace forbidden
very tactile and vivid descriptions of things - ice crunching underfoot, the taste of cantaloupe, kissing
the awkward and delicious experience of hooking up for the first time
emotional turmoil
the terrific pressure young people are under (from themselves or others)
dialogue that if I were reading it, would make me laugh
how it feels to be depressed for no particular reason
no snappy resolution, but rather a kind of understanding

I made a start on this years ago, but haven't worked on it at all recently. It's totally different from Beverly Cleary's type of writing - but still, maybe her stuff will inspire me to start work on it again.

Incense and Hymns

I went to the Christmas Eve service at the church I used to attend when I was a kid. I got there early and picked a seat in a pew about five rows back, to leave room for other people to sit in front of me so I could copy what they did. I was worried I wouldn't know when to stand, sit, kneel, etc. and especially when to go up for communion. I kept waiting for someone else to sit in a row ahead of me, but the church just filled up behind me, so finally, just before the service, I moved back a few rows so there was one person ahead of me. I felt mildly like an imposter, but I also really enjoyed the service, being in the familiar warm church I remember from my childhood, and listening to hymns that are poetry, if not invested with deeper meaning for me. Look how beautiful these lyrics are, for instance:

Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
the silent stars go by.
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
the everlasting light;
the hopes and fears of all the years
are met in thee tonight.

It's good stuff.

After the service, lots of people who remembered me from when I was younger came up and hugged me. I wish I could find a secular community that was as friendly and had as many opportunities for involvement, but I don't think such a thing exists.

Xmas Xpectations

This year I'm noticing more people than usual in my circle of acquaintance who don't have "typical" Christmas plans (family, tree, presents). Some of them don't celebrate Christmas, some of them don't have family in the area, some are just kind of disconnected from people right now. I bet it's a really difficult time of year if you're in that situation. Everyone else is running around shopping, making plans, with the knowledge that they have a warm safe default refuge to be in on Christmas Day, saying bland soccer-mom things like, "And what are you doing for Christmas?"

It's not anyone's fault that they don't have a family to go to, but the assumption that everyone does must be tough. You say things like "I'm getting together with a few friends on that day," and it's implied but not said, "And that's fine, that's what I want to do, I don't mind that I don't have a family to go to." And you probably don't actually mind, but you do mind the expectation that you should have more, and that it's somehow sad that you don't. If everyone else would stop implying and assuming and questioning, it would probably be fine.

Anyway, I'm lucky I guess that I do have a family to go to. I can't wait until the office closes this afternoon so I can get home to them. As a kid growing up, I always thought Christmas was hands-down the best day of the year, and not just because of the gifts. I always loved the decorations around town, the way people were moved by "holiday spirit" to make little gestures of kindness. And I loved spending the whole day with my family, all of us together in one room with no other commitments but one another all day.

Happy holidays to all folks - with families and without. May you all have love in your lives.

Strange But True

In order to mop up a spill on the kitchen counter, you have to first get the sponge wet. You'd think it would soak stuff up best when it was super dry. But that is not the case.

Another kitchen tip is that you should not mix mac 'n' cheese in a colander. Cause you can't soak it.

This is unrelated, but I like blogging and email because you can disengage from the conversation any time you like. In real life I don't have that power in my conversations. I feel like I spend a lot of time helplessly trapped while a) coworkers give me stuff and spend time talking to me about it even though it's patently obvious to me what to do and I just want them to leave me alone so I can get to work b) random people tell me their life stories and just keep talking even though I haven't said anything except "wrapping it up" comments for the past 20 minutes and it's clear I am trying to get away. It makes me feel powerless and frustrated at the time, kind of angry later. It's my time too and why should they keep me there, for the purposes of their own social satisfaction? Some day I will defy etiquette, and just turn my back and walk away from someone who is talking relentlessly to me. So there.

New Age Bliss on the Way Home

What a great feeling it is to catch your bus - after a hard run of two or three blocks, dodging overburdened Christmas shoppers, icy air burning your lungs - then the moment of triumph: settling back in a seat, enveloped in warmth, to catch your breath as the bus steams past lighted shop windows in the gathering dusk.

Good first sentence for a short story? It sort of came to me yesterday on the bus and I got out my notebook to write it down. An old man across the aisle looked like he would have liked to know what I was writing. I wish it had been something more profound. But no, just what I was feeling at the moment.

A good motto for happiness, I think, is to live in the moment. Also, don't compare yourself to others, and remember to appreciate what you have. They're easier said than done, especially the second. But when I manage to do them, I am, however briefly, perfectly glad to be who and where I am. I once heard a yoga teacher say, "It is a privilege to live in these bodies." It's a little New Age for my taste, but I liked it anyway.

Words, Words, Words

Today I was thinking about literacy. I've always liked reading and probably spent the majority of my childhood engrossed in books, to the detriment of my social development. I used to hold a book up and read as I walked to the bus in the morning, navigating by peripheral vision. I read in between classes, at lunchtime, and after school instead of doing my homework. When my mom told me to go outside and get some fresh air, I went outside and read. This hasn't been without its consequences. I'm good at spelling and I know a lot of stories, but I'm also introverted and myopic as a myotis.

I think another consequence of excessive reading is that it changes the way you learn. I've found I can't remember people's names unless I write them down and see the name as text (or at least envision it as text in my head). Sometimes when my Spanish amigo is trying to teach me a new word, I can't even repeat it after him, until I've seen it written down. Then suddenly it's clear how to pronounce it. He's not big on writing, himself - when he writes words for me he does so slowly, and sometimes he spells words wrong. I think he's a little mystified about why I can't learn a word by hearing it.

At art galleries, I catch myself looking at titles and captions before I even glance at the painting in front of me - as if I can't appreciate it unless I know the context. This is a little disquieting, seeing as how the world is pictures, not text.

Ironically, this gives me insight into what it might be like to be illiterate. Illiteracy is having people show you text all the time and assume you understand, when that's just not how you learn. As soon as they show you a picture, or a gesture, it's obvious. I guess I'm fortunate that in a society where literate skills are highly valued, I'm oriented the way I am. I wonder if we had only an oral tradition, whether I'd have developed more abilities in that area, or if I'd be considered hopelessly backward.

Keeps on Slipping, Slipping, Slipping

It's a good thing that time is unidirectional. No matter how much you might be dreading something, it comes steadily closer, and then it's happening, and then it's over, and behind you, and you can relax. If time could flow backwards, you could never really sigh with relief that something was over.

I Wonder What the Eskimos Call It

There is a certain kind of snow that you notice on the streets before you can see it falling. Cars driving through intersections stir up a powdery white dust. It rises up in little spiralling dervishes, swirls around, and settles again. It's almost as though the snow is being created at street level. After a few minutes, you start to see bigger flakes tumbling down through the air, and you realize, "yes, it really is snowing!"

Irreverence

Today I was walking around the top gallery in the Hart building, which has a huge atrium with a giant black sculpture in it, and I noticed that there are some tiny paper airplanes resting on the flat surface on top of the sculpture. I walked around to see it from different sides and there are some on several of the level surfaces. They must have been flown there by people leaning out over balconies on various floors.


This isn't a great picture, but you can sort of get an idea of how much space there is and how big the sculpture is. I just had to laugh, wondering who the culprits were, and whether they get a kick out of it every time they walk past and see their airplanes sitting up there. The sculpture (and the building, and the suits) all take themselves so seriously - and then there are those airplanes. I love it.

Wabbits

Yesterday's post gave me the kick in the pants I needed to do something about the rabbits. I called the cathedral grounds office again and talked to the woman who has charge of them. I think most of my fear about making the call related to the sense that I was crossing social boundaries by trying to participate in the care of animals that don't belong to me. But if an animal is not being treated well, I think it's the responsibility of anyone who notices to do something about it, regardless of ownership. So I tried to pretend I was about 45 years old and a staunch community member who had a perfect right to say what I was saying.

The woman I talked to said that the rabbits were under the care of a veterinarian and they were just following his guidelines. I explained that the rabbit rescue societies I contacted said the rabbits should not be kept outdoors, and that if they were, they should be given hay for warmth and should be housed on Carefresh pet bedding, not cedar chips. The woman sounded like she was listening to me, and said she would ask the vet about it and would look into using Carefresh.

There are bigger fish to fry than these two rabbits, I know, and the amount of time I have spent worrying about them is probably ridiculous. But if I was a rabbit living in a wire pen outside, I'd want someone to take an interest in my welfare, so I kind of felt obliged to do something. It also seems like a tragedy of the commons situation. Because they're on public property, everyone probably assumes that someone else will look out for them. But ever since I heard about Kitty Genovese I've felt that I couldn't assume someone else would fix whatever was going on.

I still wish I could do more. But I think that aside from visiting to check on them periodically and give them hay on cold nights if they don't have any, I have done what I can.

Bricks

I feel anxious lately. It seems like I have a lot of worries that just don't ever leave me - and often hit me in idle moments like a sack of bricks in the gut. They feel like tasks I've been avoiding. Some of the things on the list:

- The rabbits that live in a hutch behind the cathedral. They're domestic short-hairs and shouldn't be kept outside - they have a wooden hutch but it's only thin plywood, and they don't have any hay or other nesting material to burrow into, just cedar chips which are toxic to rabbits. Plus, they're being kept on wire which is hard on their feet, and will eventually cripple them. I feel like I need to do something for their welfare, because if I don't, who will? But I'm afraid to make confrontational phone calls. The one time I did so far, the cathedral ground-staff guy just told me that they were "fine" and not to worry, and then he hung up. I'm not sure if I should call the humane society next, or what. Every night that dips below freezing, I feel guilty about them being out there in the cold, because I'm not doing anything to help them.

- My friend who teaches me Spanish during his evening rounds at the office. The other night I asked him if he was married, and he said sadly that he was not. I asked if he would like to be, and he said, "Yes, yes, very much. I always wanted. But maybe will not happen." He's so nice, and his whole family is in El Salvador, and he hardly knows anyone here. The other cleaning staff don't even seem to talk to him much. The thought of him going home and spending Christmas alone is very sad. I feel like I can't even talk with him about things I'm looking forward to, like Christmas and getting married, because it will make him feel bad.

- My father. I worry about him being lonely and sad, too. He's got my mom, but he's essentially alone otherwise. I know he feels depressed. I feel like I should be there for him more, and working more to build bridges between him and the rest of the world, but I'm not doing it.

- Having a baby. Sometimes I imagine I'm pregnant, in the home stretch coming down to labor, and I feel a wash of panic sweeping over me. I'm so afraid of labor. It's something I have to do, because I want kids, but it also feels like something I will not be able to do, no matter how much I read about it, so I dread it.

- My job, sometimes. The balance of praise and punishment is exactly arbitrary enough so that I never know what to expect. On the way to work I fret that I'm going to get bawled out for something random, and I race through the possibilities trying to figure out what it will be. I haven't been bawled out recently, and when I have it's been very mild, but it's still been unjustified as far as I'm concerned, and the praise comes randomly too, so I just never know what to expect. I know this is a sort of high-strung racehorse-temperament complaint - my work environment is pleasant and supportive compared to some, perhaps even most. Yet I still can't stop worrying.

- My boy, sometimes. He can be a tough nut to crack, emotionally. Especially because getting married was my idea, I feel it's my job to make him happy. But I'm never quite sure that he is, or that I'm doing all that I should. My instinct is to just pile on extra affection, but that would be for my own reassurance, not what he would want. I spend a lot of time being alert to his moods and trying to pick up on clues about what he's feeling.

Tomorrow's post will be more upbeat, I promise.

Triple X

Today's post is brought to you by the letter X. I love x. It's the weirdest, most unknowable, squirrelly letter there is. Even people who try to use it to be cool, like David X Cohen or Maxx Barry, can't diminish its coolness.

X can mean trans (xfer), cross (xing or xed out), Christ (Xmas), or any variable in algebra. The x entry is the shortest entry in the dictionary, but it contains all the most interesting words. X is forbidden (X-rated), it's foreign (xeno-), it sees through you but it's not seeable (X-rays). It's like a star that is brightest in peripheral vision, and vanishes when you stare at it straight on. X is a secret agent leaning against a wall in Diagon Alley and when you look straight at him, he gives you a half-smile and a long slow blink and disappears.

Winter in the City

I think one of the best feelings in the world is being safe indoors, looking out of your apartment window on a cold winter's night. Traffic swishing through the snowy streets far below. Snow falling, visible only in the pale yellow glow of the streetlights. The tick of the radiators heating up, keeping you warm, and warm kitchen linoleum under your bare feet. Very late at night is good, and the next day being a holiday is good. Someone you love being in bed waiting for you is good. I wonder how many of these impressions (well, not the last one obviously) are leftovers from my childhood when I used to spend every Christmas at my grandparents' apartment in New York City, when the city was always decorated to the max and the apartment smelled of Christmas-tree and cookies, and it always seemed to be snowing.

Today's Rant...

...is about complacency. I feel like I've run into it a lot recently - people boldly making declarations about all the friends they have (and will always have), how much money they make, how well-liked they are. I feel like all of these are a matter of good luck as much as skill and effort, and not to be taken for granted. I don't think I can expect to always have friends (much as I'd like that). Some really nice people end up isolated and sad. I can't count on always being in good health and able to work, either, or always being middle-class. I could end up having my feet amputated due to my Guinness World Record bunions, and then lots of opportunities would be lost to me. Although then I could play wheelchair rugby.

I'm reading Barbara Ehrenreich's book Nickel and Dimed. She spent two years "undercover" working service jobs in the U.S., and her experiences are an eye-opener. I never thought that a lot of waitresses, hotel maids, and other people might not even have a place to live, but among Ehrenreich's coworkers housing was a continual source of stress and disruption. Because they couldn't afford to pay the security deposit and first month's rent on an apartment up front, many of them were living at hotels on a more-or-less permanent basis, spending the first six or seven hours of work each day just earning what they needed to pay that night's hotel tab. A fifth of homeless people are working full or part time, and they still can't afford housing. I think it would be awful to work hard all day and not have anywhere safe or comfortable or permanent to go home to at the end of the day.

I'm so lucky to have had all the opportunities in my life. I've never been homeless, always had two parents who were involved and caring, always had the financial means to go to school. It's crazy that I whine sometimes and think I'm getting a raw deal, when I'm getting advantages most people in the world can't ever hope for.

The People Fight Back

There's an ad campaign that's been running in the city buses, promoting abstinence-only education. Actually abstinence-only is a generous way to describe it. It's essentially anti-birth control. It features pictures of troubled-looking teenagers with headlines like "Give Me A Chance...Not A Condom" and "Just Because You Did, Doesn't Mean I Will" (referring to unprotected sex). The text under the headlines says stuff like "Mom, Dad. I know you think I'm going to make mistakes. But I need you to believe in me. I want to do the right thing. I just need your encouragement to do it...Don't give me condoms, give me your support."

From day one this campaign irritated me - because it purports to speak for adolescents, but actually it's backed by some pro-life group; because it's clear to me that if you want to reduce the number of unwanted pregnancies you should offer teenagers more access to protection, not less; because it suggests that parents who are responsible enough to make sure their teens have birth control available to them are "not trusting" or "not believing in" their kids. Please. Every time I see one of those ads, with its smarmy assumptions about teens and sex and parenting, I get annoyed.

This is why I am so happy to see that people have started scrawling retorts on the posters in magic marker. On one poster, the headline was altered to read "Give Me A Chance...AND A Condom." On another, under "Don't Give Up On Me," someone wrote sarcastically "Make Me Have A Baby!" On another, someone crossed out all the text and wrote, "Condoms Protect Against HIV and Pregnancy." I felt like cheering each time I saw one.

To be fair, I suppose the group that sponsors these ads believes that if you don't offer teens condoms, they won't have sex. So they are interested in stopping teen sex, not in making teens have unsafe sex. But that's so naive. I can't help but think the sponsors have seriously skewed perceptions about teen life and priorities, and are more interested in what they wish was true, than in what really is. And their misperceptions have the power to hurt people, if anyone takes them seriously.

I'm still scared to do any magic marker work myself - partly I keep forgetting to bring a marker, partly it's because the bus is always jammed and I feel weird about standing up to scrawl on a poster while everyone watches. Technically it is vandalism, and I guess you could get in trouble. Anyway, that just makes me that more grateful to people who take the risk to speak out against stupid propaganda.

The Lost Love Poem

Here's a love poem that was scribbled on a bookmark in a book bought at a second-hand book store. I don't know if it ever reached its intended recipient, but I hope it did.

Here and now

We have left each other
too many times
The airports of the world
conspire to separate us
But though each time
I am lifted miles high
and each second pulled
farther away
I remain
I am always with you
I can see you right now
I can hear, feel, smell you.

Soon our paths will be one
They will be one
I love you.

Double Take

I saw something really cool today. I was walking around during my lunch hour, and I passed a designer clothing store with models in the window, the kind of store that's so posh they change the outfits on display almost every single day. Today they had a bride in a kind of shimmery silver-white gown and veil, and two girls wearing cashmere sweaters and skirts, in a faux winter scene with big glittery snowflakes hanging from the ceiling behind them.

The cool thing was that the models were alive. The bride was moving through a series of vaguely artistic-looking poses, draping her arm on the ledge behind her, holding her hands behind her head, pointing a toe and gazing at it reflectively, moving smoothly from one to the next and holding each for about the same amount of time. The two girls were turning their heads to look at things, and resting their hands on each other's shoulders or waists. They really looked like mannequins, too. All three of them had very pale white skin and rosy cheeks, and wavy hair sculpted back in a bun. They looked very beautiful, but like they had never smiled before - not a single line in their porcelain skin. I smiled at them, but their expressions didn't change, like beefeaters. I've never seen live models in a window before, I've never even heard of a store doing that. It certainly was eye-catching.

Double Speak

Sometimes I get so bored during meetings at work, I resort to mindlessly copying down the fragments of corporate double-speak I hear around me. There is a set group of phrases that gets tossed around every meeting. I don't think they can adjourn unless each of the following has been said at least once:

leverage the announcement
it resonates with the public
context that for him/her
we'll need to finesse it
table it for now
follow up with them
we can wordsmith it later
this issue has legs
it's the wrong ask
we'll have to sit on it
let's throw that in the mix
it's been a fruitful discussion

Today's meeting was particularly pointless and some of the people in the group seemed to be getting pretty frustrated. At a certain point, when it was clear nothing would be settled, my boss said in order to wrap things up, "Well, this has been a fruitful discussion," and I almost burst out laughing.