Back in 2005 I started a draft of a post that I never finished. It has poignancy now because it's from the pre-kid time, even the pre-marriage time. Here it is:
Someday I want to teach the "when I first came to this land" song to my kids, if I have any. But I'll write new words so the guy will name his animals nice things (and he won't get to name his wife). The melody is really pretty and it's fun to sing. I would like to be one of those families where the kids sing and roll down grassy hills giggling and we all genuinely like each other.
So that I don't forget - here are some more basic things I want to share with my kids:
The Wishing Song ("Oh, I wish I was a hole in the ground...")
Books like The Ox-Cart Man, The Runaway Bunny, and Goodnight Moon
Sunday walks and the Path Pioneer tradition
Corn shucking, leaf raking, and other excuses to be outside
How to interact with animals and read their body language
Making popcorn on the stove
Howling at a full moon
Saying "rabbits" first thing in the morning the first day of the month
Making a wish when you drive under a bridge that has a train going over it (you also have to grab a button and take your feet off the floor as you are wishing)
Listening to classical music
Having tea after dinner while watching PBS or Mystery, like my parents do
When a family member comes home, meeting them at the door and hugging/kissing them
So, that was the draft. And now I really do have a family and a kid I can share some of these things with. I do read the three books that I mentioned to her. And we do make popcorn together, listen to music, and hug and kiss each time one of us leaves or comes home. So that's all good. The Path Pioneer tradition is one that I was thinking about resurrecting just recently. It would be easier if she could walk further - right now we're pretty much limited to routes that are paved so I can push her stroller. But we'll get there. Soon enough, I hope, she'll be darting through the woods ahead of me, spotting bracket fungi and pointing out birds and collecting leaves and rocks for me to carry and urging me and my husband to hurry up.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Friday, November 20, 2009
Chopped Liver
The train was crowded as usual on my way home this afternoon. I was standing in the middle of the train car, gripping the bar above my head with one hand for balance and holding my book open with the other, crammed up against strangers on all sides.
As we pulled into one station, the guy sitting in the seat slightly to my left stood up and made his way to the door. I glanced at the man next to me on my left, checking to see whether he wanted the seat before I took it. Instead of meeting my eyes, he looked past me to another woman who was standing a few feet away and said, "Would you like a seat?" She smiled at him and said, "Why yes, thank you." She had to push completely past me to get to the seat. I had a moment of brief outrage when I almost said something. It's not that I wanted to sit down so badly. I just didn't understand why he had done that.
First I thought maybe he wanted to flirt with her. She was a bit younger than me. But she wasn't noticeably more attractive than me, and wasn't pregnant, carrying any bags, or otherwise in need of a seat. And the guy didn't speak to her or look at her again the rest of the ride, so he apparently didn't offer her a seat in order to strike up a conversation.
It was easier to pretend the whole thing hadn't happened, and to keep reading my book, than to speak up. I don't know what I would have said, anyway. "Hey, I'm right here!" was what I really wanted to say.
I guess that balances out the time in the train a couple weeks ago, when a young soldier hit on me. He was making eye contact from the time we were standing on the platform together, commenting on the crowd and the trains, though I tried to ignore him. Then when we stepped onto the train he started asking me about the bus schedule and I answered so as not to be rude. Before long he was talking about his time in Iraq, showing me a picture on his cell phone of his 6-month-old daughter (with an already-ex-wife), and telling me about his midterms. He was so forward. I wasn't being encouraging at all, not volunteering anything, just answering the bare minimum to not be mean. I did mention that I too had a daughter, thinking that would put him off. He scribbled his name and email on a piece of paper and gave it to me. He was obviously barking up the wrong tree, chatting up a married woman who's ten years older than him, but I couldn't help feeling a little "still got it" glow that someone noticed me.
As we pulled into one station, the guy sitting in the seat slightly to my left stood up and made his way to the door. I glanced at the man next to me on my left, checking to see whether he wanted the seat before I took it. Instead of meeting my eyes, he looked past me to another woman who was standing a few feet away and said, "Would you like a seat?" She smiled at him and said, "Why yes, thank you." She had to push completely past me to get to the seat. I had a moment of brief outrage when I almost said something. It's not that I wanted to sit down so badly. I just didn't understand why he had done that.
First I thought maybe he wanted to flirt with her. She was a bit younger than me. But she wasn't noticeably more attractive than me, and wasn't pregnant, carrying any bags, or otherwise in need of a seat. And the guy didn't speak to her or look at her again the rest of the ride, so he apparently didn't offer her a seat in order to strike up a conversation.
It was easier to pretend the whole thing hadn't happened, and to keep reading my book, than to speak up. I don't know what I would have said, anyway. "Hey, I'm right here!" was what I really wanted to say.
I guess that balances out the time in the train a couple weeks ago, when a young soldier hit on me. He was making eye contact from the time we were standing on the platform together, commenting on the crowd and the trains, though I tried to ignore him. Then when we stepped onto the train he started asking me about the bus schedule and I answered so as not to be rude. Before long he was talking about his time in Iraq, showing me a picture on his cell phone of his 6-month-old daughter (with an already-ex-wife), and telling me about his midterms. He was so forward. I wasn't being encouraging at all, not volunteering anything, just answering the bare minimum to not be mean. I did mention that I too had a daughter, thinking that would put him off. He scribbled his name and email on a piece of paper and gave it to me. He was obviously barking up the wrong tree, chatting up a married woman who's ten years older than him, but I couldn't help feeling a little "still got it" glow that someone noticed me.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
A Period of Celebration
I started my period today! Yay! I am ridiculously happy about it. It just feels so good to be normal again, at least for a little while. I don't know if I'll be able to keep it up, or if I'm just having this one period and then won't get another for another six months. I have been thinking of it in terms of a mental struggle, like it wasn't happening for me because I didn't want it badly enough (but I did want it!), and it won't happen again unless I really concentrate and try (but I don't know how to do that).
It shouldn't be like that. Most women don't have to concentrate and will their periods to happen, they just happen all by themselves. I guess it's mental for me because that's the only way I can have any control over it - I can't physically flex a muscle to make it happen - and because periods are responsive to your state of mind sometimes. Last time I talked to my obgyn about it she asked if I was worried or stressed out, implying that my period was missing because of my state of mind. I felt like she was one step away from saying, "It's your own fault that you're not getting your period. You must subconsciously not want to have another child." But I do want to have another child. It's been so frustrating and saddening to me not to be capable of that, when my first child is two and a half already, and all around me the mothers who had babies around the same time as I did are now having or have already had their second.
So, in short, I wasn't worried or stressed out before, but having this mysterious thing wrong with me was starting to make me that way. I've spent the past few months beating myself up mentally because I wasn't menstruating, and being angry at my body for being wrong and abnormal. Now, as relieved as I am that I am once again back in the realm of the normal people, I am full of fear that I won't be able to keep it up.
Well. For now, everything is fine. I will celebrate my normalcy and try not to think about whether it will continue.
It shouldn't be like that. Most women don't have to concentrate and will their periods to happen, they just happen all by themselves. I guess it's mental for me because that's the only way I can have any control over it - I can't physically flex a muscle to make it happen - and because periods are responsive to your state of mind sometimes. Last time I talked to my obgyn about it she asked if I was worried or stressed out, implying that my period was missing because of my state of mind. I felt like she was one step away from saying, "It's your own fault that you're not getting your period. You must subconsciously not want to have another child." But I do want to have another child. It's been so frustrating and saddening to me not to be capable of that, when my first child is two and a half already, and all around me the mothers who had babies around the same time as I did are now having or have already had their second.
So, in short, I wasn't worried or stressed out before, but having this mysterious thing wrong with me was starting to make me that way. I've spent the past few months beating myself up mentally because I wasn't menstruating, and being angry at my body for being wrong and abnormal. Now, as relieved as I am that I am once again back in the realm of the normal people, I am full of fear that I won't be able to keep it up.
Well. For now, everything is fine. I will celebrate my normalcy and try not to think about whether it will continue.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
Coffee, Carbon, and Climate
Today I drank three large cups of coffee. I never drink coffee. Hours later, I'm still feeling the effects - I feel a little queasy, a lot nervous, and my hands are shaking. I think the coffee is partly to blame for me picking a fight with my husband about global environmental change when I got home. The day of lectures on ecology and climate change that I attended, which inspired and depressed me, is more to blame, however, and is also the reason for the coffee. I'm so perpetually sleep-deprived these days that I didn't want to nod off and miss anything, so I kept slurping coffee in between talks. Maybe now I need a shot of whiskey to sober up.
The overriding theme of the day was that catastrophic change is, at this point, inevitable. All day long we looked at graphs of carbon dioxide levels rising up from 280 ppm in the preindustrial era, past 350 ppm (the limit to the "safe" range to which our environment can be expected to adapt), to 390 ppm today, on its way to 450 ppm in just a few years. Ecosystems all over the world are poised on the brink of a tipping point beyond which they can't be brought back. The Amazon rainforest generates a large proportion of its own rainfall, for instance, through evapotranspiration. The percentage of deforestation beyond which the region will be unable to generate this moisture and will steadily head toward desertification is 20%. Currently, we're at 19%. This was just one of many terrifying statistics I heard today from the top experts in the field, who are certainly in a position to know.
The comment that touched off the argument with my husband was something the keynote speaker mentioned. Someone asked him about the prospects for future life on earth. He said, "Oh, the planet will survive, of course. It will even recover its biodiversity to current-day levels. It will just take a long time. Our species will not be around to witness it." That concept really struck home with me.
On the way home, I listened to NPR, and the day's top stories were all about the situation in Afghanistan, and the Fort Hood shooter, and the politics of human societies seemed so petty in contrast to the enormous environmental spasm our planet is undergoing. I felt irritated that our political leaders were being distracted by these stupid trivialities when they should be focused on climate change, exclusively. It's like someone said, "rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic." It's so frustrating that the political will to change is so weak, and most people are so clueless and ignorant about what's happening. The argument started because my husband suggested that if I knew anyone involved in the Fort Hood incident, that I'd rate that as more important. And I just don't think anything is more important than climate change. Period. How could the deaths of a few people, or a few hundred, or a few million, be more important than the certain extinction of most of the species on earth, including our own?
I felt like there was a handful of climate scientists and ecologists who understood what was happening, and the rest of humanity was either blissfully ignorant or willfully in denial about it, and I wanted him to be with me in the handful.
The overriding theme of the day was that catastrophic change is, at this point, inevitable. All day long we looked at graphs of carbon dioxide levels rising up from 280 ppm in the preindustrial era, past 350 ppm (the limit to the "safe" range to which our environment can be expected to adapt), to 390 ppm today, on its way to 450 ppm in just a few years. Ecosystems all over the world are poised on the brink of a tipping point beyond which they can't be brought back. The Amazon rainforest generates a large proportion of its own rainfall, for instance, through evapotranspiration. The percentage of deforestation beyond which the region will be unable to generate this moisture and will steadily head toward desertification is 20%. Currently, we're at 19%. This was just one of many terrifying statistics I heard today from the top experts in the field, who are certainly in a position to know.
The comment that touched off the argument with my husband was something the keynote speaker mentioned. Someone asked him about the prospects for future life on earth. He said, "Oh, the planet will survive, of course. It will even recover its biodiversity to current-day levels. It will just take a long time. Our species will not be around to witness it." That concept really struck home with me.
On the way home, I listened to NPR, and the day's top stories were all about the situation in Afghanistan, and the Fort Hood shooter, and the politics of human societies seemed so petty in contrast to the enormous environmental spasm our planet is undergoing. I felt irritated that our political leaders were being distracted by these stupid trivialities when they should be focused on climate change, exclusively. It's like someone said, "rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic." It's so frustrating that the political will to change is so weak, and most people are so clueless and ignorant about what's happening. The argument started because my husband suggested that if I knew anyone involved in the Fort Hood incident, that I'd rate that as more important. And I just don't think anything is more important than climate change. Period. How could the deaths of a few people, or a few hundred, or a few million, be more important than the certain extinction of most of the species on earth, including our own?
I felt like there was a handful of climate scientists and ecologists who understood what was happening, and the rest of humanity was either blissfully ignorant or willfully in denial about it, and I wanted him to be with me in the handful.
Friday, November 06, 2009
And It's Not Even Thanksgiving Yet
I've cheered up. I never seem to stay down for long. Today a friend and I were counting our blessings, and we just kept thinking of more and more. She's a social worker so she sees a lot of people who are in desperate straits financially and don't necessarily have support networks to help them out - so one illness, one accident, or one downsizing is all that stands between them and ruin. We're so lucky that we're shielded from that kind of poverty, that we have families we could always go back to, that our options for employment are varied. Losing our jobs wouldn't be the end of the world for us. We're young and in good health. We both have the babies we always wanted and dreamed of having, and husbands we love dearly who cherish us. Neither of us has ever lost a parent, a sibling, or a close friend. The world is full of perils, but we're insulated from the worst of them. As we talked together, we felt better and better.
It's funny because we started out talking about all the things we're scared of - H1N1, rape, random violence. But then we just deliberately started thinking about how, more than likely, the worst wouldn't befall us. Which is not to get cocky about it - you never know what fate might have in store for you. But it is better to live appreciating your relative good fortune from day to day, than to live in fear of a multitude of disasters.
It's funny because we started out talking about all the things we're scared of - H1N1, rape, random violence. But then we just deliberately started thinking about how, more than likely, the worst wouldn't befall us. Which is not to get cocky about it - you never know what fate might have in store for you. But it is better to live appreciating your relative good fortune from day to day, than to live in fear of a multitude of disasters.
Thursday, October 29, 2009
Whine
Today I'm feeling terribly down on myself. I'm trying, but somehow I'm still letting everything slide. I make all these brave resolutions about eating well and staying on top of things and getting to bed at a decent hour, and they all come to naught. I end up staying up till 1 or 2 am, night after night, eating chocolate just to keep myself awake, working on things that were due yesterday. My willpower is weak and I self-medicate a lot to get myself through. I'm feeling frumpy and bulgy. My hair looks witchy. I'm so exhausted all the time and vaguely resentful that other people get to sleep and I don't. Sometimes, when I finally do get to go to bed, I waste the first half hour just lying there feeling sorry for myself, because I know I'll have to get up again in just a few hours, and it's not going to be enough. I wish I had my mom's ironclad willpower - she can resist anything - and my elf-friend's trim little figure - and my daughter's sleep schedule.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Love in the Time of the Brunch
Yesterday I sorted through a drawer of mementos that I kept from a particularly turbulent time in my life (and threw out most of it). There were poems written by The Wrong Guy, cards and love letters, ticket stubs from concerts I went to with The Right Guy, the receipt from our evening at a coffeehouse together, cartoons we drew together, a short story he wrote, and much much more. Also a lot of angsty lists of things relating to the Wrong Guy relationship and things that he wanted me to do differently. We were in crisis all the time. Reading it all reminded me vividly of how awful it was being with him. He really tore me up. I still haven't and probably won't ever forgive him. I just invested so much into trying to help him and in return I got all this emotional misery and blame and anger pinned on me and he made me responsible for everything that went wrong - including things that I obviously had nothing to do with and couldn't change - and he was vicious to me when I couldn't fix those things. He would scream at me until I was crying and physically knocking my head against the wall and he still wouldn't stop. I am such a calm, reasonable person normally, but if I'd stayed with him I would've been suicidal - it was only a matter of time. I do remember crying hysterically nearly every day during the two months that we dated. I am still astonished at myself for getting into such a hurtful relationship. I lost a lot of trust in my own judgment because of that.
Anyway, I came to my senses and got out. And now I'm with this guy who is just a model of normalcy in comparison. He's loving and sweet and emotionally whole and never tries to hurt me. Our daily life is serene. Just reading over some of my journal entries from the earlier time was making me start to hyperventilate, and I felt so frickin grateful that that's not my life any more.
But at the same time I got glimpses - especially in the journal entries from the early days - of the good stuff that lured me in. Early on, he seemed like just the type of person I was looking for. He was artistic and creative and took a real interest in my poetry. He encouraged my writing. I felt like, "Ah! Here's someone I can share all those types of things with." We had these intense, philosophical, all-night conversations and we read Thurber's The White Deer aloud to each other and sang old English madrigals together. He liked all that stuff just as much as I do. We would both get lit up about the same intellectual things. Tracking down one literary reference would remind us of another, and so on. We could spend hours just reading snippets of things to each other.
I miss that. There isn't much that my husband and I can share like that. I've tried to get him to read books aloud with me - one of my favorite things to do, and I think it's so romantic. I am actually really jealous of couples that do this. It's not something he enjoys. Today I mentioned the short story he wrote, the only one he's ever written to my knowledge. It's an incredibly good story. I told him again how much I liked it and said he should do more fiction writing. He just shrugged and said he doesn't see the point of fiction. He didn't even consider doing it.
Lately I have been doing a lot more of my own creative writing. I've written a few short stories. Nothing much good, so far, but the process is fun. And I know I will get better as I get my writing muscles back. I thought he might be interested or curious in what I was writing and ask about it, but he hasn't. So I haven't even had the chance to say "it's not good enough to show to anyone." He hasn't even asked me, broadly, what I'm writing about. I was thinking that if I could work up his interest in writing again, we could have our own little writers' club and share stuff with each other. I would love to read anything he wrote. And being accountable to someone else would keep me producing. All my writing in the past has been done for creative writing classes or for writing clubs that I started with friends. I seem to need to feel accountable, to someone, or I just don't write. (All the writing clubs ended the same way, with the other members flaking out.)
Anyway, I got pretty much a non-response when I brought up the idea. It was part of a larger idea of mine, really, that we should go out for brunch at a local restaurant every Sunday. There are so many good restaurants in our area that I'm interested to try. I also think going out for brunch is a real treat - it makes me feel excited and happy to think of it, like a kid. I thought it would be good for us to establish a tradition, because then we can start to anticipate and wonder during the week, "where will we go next?" and save up fun stuff to tell each other at brunch, and so on. At home, we often are like ships passing in the night. I'm busy feeding the baby and myself or doing chores, while he's tapping away on his laptop, not even in the same room, and sometimes it seems like we don't even make eye contact all evening, let alone have a conversation. I thought a weekly brunch when we could reconnect and talk about our relationship, plans for the future, etc. would be good for our marriage. It would be like therapy, except without the therapist - our time to work through stuff together, with a side of home fries and toast.
So today was our first brunch outing. I loved the restaurant that I picked for our inaugural brunch. The food was delicious, the atmosphere was good, I was feeling chipper. He was more or less like a block of wood through the whole meal. I kept chatting away, holding up my end of the conversation and more. I brought up my sharing writing idea, and how many kids we might want to have, and our friendships with other couples, and our plans for the landscaping around the house, and a book I've been reading, and my plan to enter some 5K races this fall. He hardly said anything the whole meal. I would introduce a topic of conversation, and say a few things, unhurried, open, warm, and invite his comment, but he would just sit there. So after a while I'd say a little more, give a slightly different perspective or ask if he thought such and such. He would shrug, or look down at his food. I would think of some more things to say, and say them, with appropriate pauses in between and more invitation of his opinion. He didn't even look at me throughout most of the meal. I was doing all the work. I had energy to do it, but I also felt saddened that he wasn't making an effort.
It's unfair of me to write in this vein, because he wasn't feeling well. Halfway through the meal I decided to call a spade a spade, so I came right out and said, "OK. It's your turn to think of a topic of conversation now." And I just waited and smiled at him. He seemed to be tuning in from a long way away. He looked at me (finally!) and said, "Actually, I'm feeling a little woozy." He's been having weird health issues lately, episodes of dizziness. I said, "Do you want to lie down or something?" He said, "Maybe." So he went out to the car to rest, while I ate the rest of my meal and supervised our toddler's meal and paid for the food and got a box for his and collected the diaper bag and coats in one arm and picked up the kid in the other arm and picked up the food bag in my teeth and went out. I felt sorry that he wasn't feeling well, particularly that it was a feeling-woozy kind of not well, because I know what that's like and it's so unpleasant. (He perked up later in the day.)
I had flashbacks to The Wrong Guy relationship, though, because he had so many health issues and was always needing to be cosseted. I think part of my impatience now with people who are sick or fragile is a reaction to that. It's like the takehome message I learned from that relationship was, don't cosset people. Because they will just make it all your fault that they're feeling poorly, and throw it back in your face if you're unable to help them. If I could go back in time I wouldn't buy into his manipulativeness; half the time I don't think he even was feeling bad, just trying to get my sympathy. And using it as an excuse so the attention would be on him and we could work on helping him with his issues (again), shelving mine (again).
So deep down inside I have this little warning voice telling me that my husband was just trying to get sympathy and to get out of having to talk with me. The one time we had all week, our therapy time, and he played the not-feeling-well card to get out of it. I know it's completely unfair of me to feel that way. He has been having these mysterious episodes, and it's a bit scary that we don't know what's causing it.
To be honest, though, even though it's unfair to feel this, I was annoyed that he was so unresponsive and wooden. He is like that a lot, even when he's not feeling woozy. It's a basic aspect of his personality. Back in the turbulent time a few years ago, I loved it that we were so stable together. We could just sit and watch a movie together and not fight, and it was bliss. It was actually possible to enjoy aspects of life when he was around, whereas with The Wrong Guy everything had to be about our drama-filled relationship, and he was quite willing to scrap the evening's entertainments in favor of raking me over some coals.
But I do wish my husband would make a little more effort sometimes. It's like riding a horse with a hard mouth. You have to haul around on the reins to get them to even notice. The Wrong Guy was a feather touch. Especially if I wanted to talk about our relationship, he'd give me his full, intense attention and be ready with all this touchy-feely emotional psychotherapy. He was always interested in sharing our feelings.
I love my husband to pieces. I'm grateful to have him, and I know that what we have together is good in so many ways. My whole baseline level of happiness is way higher than it used to be. In fact, just the other day we were riding somewhere in the warm car, with autumn foliage outside, and a great song playing, and I was so happy to be with him. I thought, "This would've been an oasis of joy, at other times in my life. Now, it's just normal."
So, I'm not having marriage-questioning doubts or anything. Just recognizing that yes, that woodenness that drives me crazy sometimes is here to stay. And if I want a literary/inspirational conversation, I'm going to have to find someone else to have it with. And if I want to feel supported or encouraged about my writing, I will have to find that within. No matter how much French toast we order together.
Anyway, I came to my senses and got out. And now I'm with this guy who is just a model of normalcy in comparison. He's loving and sweet and emotionally whole and never tries to hurt me. Our daily life is serene. Just reading over some of my journal entries from the earlier time was making me start to hyperventilate, and I felt so frickin grateful that that's not my life any more.
But at the same time I got glimpses - especially in the journal entries from the early days - of the good stuff that lured me in. Early on, he seemed like just the type of person I was looking for. He was artistic and creative and took a real interest in my poetry. He encouraged my writing. I felt like, "Ah! Here's someone I can share all those types of things with." We had these intense, philosophical, all-night conversations and we read Thurber's The White Deer aloud to each other and sang old English madrigals together. He liked all that stuff just as much as I do. We would both get lit up about the same intellectual things. Tracking down one literary reference would remind us of another, and so on. We could spend hours just reading snippets of things to each other.
I miss that. There isn't much that my husband and I can share like that. I've tried to get him to read books aloud with me - one of my favorite things to do, and I think it's so romantic. I am actually really jealous of couples that do this. It's not something he enjoys. Today I mentioned the short story he wrote, the only one he's ever written to my knowledge. It's an incredibly good story. I told him again how much I liked it and said he should do more fiction writing. He just shrugged and said he doesn't see the point of fiction. He didn't even consider doing it.
Lately I have been doing a lot more of my own creative writing. I've written a few short stories. Nothing much good, so far, but the process is fun. And I know I will get better as I get my writing muscles back. I thought he might be interested or curious in what I was writing and ask about it, but he hasn't. So I haven't even had the chance to say "it's not good enough to show to anyone." He hasn't even asked me, broadly, what I'm writing about. I was thinking that if I could work up his interest in writing again, we could have our own little writers' club and share stuff with each other. I would love to read anything he wrote. And being accountable to someone else would keep me producing. All my writing in the past has been done for creative writing classes or for writing clubs that I started with friends. I seem to need to feel accountable, to someone, or I just don't write. (All the writing clubs ended the same way, with the other members flaking out.)
Anyway, I got pretty much a non-response when I brought up the idea. It was part of a larger idea of mine, really, that we should go out for brunch at a local restaurant every Sunday. There are so many good restaurants in our area that I'm interested to try. I also think going out for brunch is a real treat - it makes me feel excited and happy to think of it, like a kid. I thought it would be good for us to establish a tradition, because then we can start to anticipate and wonder during the week, "where will we go next?" and save up fun stuff to tell each other at brunch, and so on. At home, we often are like ships passing in the night. I'm busy feeding the baby and myself or doing chores, while he's tapping away on his laptop, not even in the same room, and sometimes it seems like we don't even make eye contact all evening, let alone have a conversation. I thought a weekly brunch when we could reconnect and talk about our relationship, plans for the future, etc. would be good for our marriage. It would be like therapy, except without the therapist - our time to work through stuff together, with a side of home fries and toast.
So today was our first brunch outing. I loved the restaurant that I picked for our inaugural brunch. The food was delicious, the atmosphere was good, I was feeling chipper. He was more or less like a block of wood through the whole meal. I kept chatting away, holding up my end of the conversation and more. I brought up my sharing writing idea, and how many kids we might want to have, and our friendships with other couples, and our plans for the landscaping around the house, and a book I've been reading, and my plan to enter some 5K races this fall. He hardly said anything the whole meal. I would introduce a topic of conversation, and say a few things, unhurried, open, warm, and invite his comment, but he would just sit there. So after a while I'd say a little more, give a slightly different perspective or ask if he thought such and such. He would shrug, or look down at his food. I would think of some more things to say, and say them, with appropriate pauses in between and more invitation of his opinion. He didn't even look at me throughout most of the meal. I was doing all the work. I had energy to do it, but I also felt saddened that he wasn't making an effort.
It's unfair of me to write in this vein, because he wasn't feeling well. Halfway through the meal I decided to call a spade a spade, so I came right out and said, "OK. It's your turn to think of a topic of conversation now." And I just waited and smiled at him. He seemed to be tuning in from a long way away. He looked at me (finally!) and said, "Actually, I'm feeling a little woozy." He's been having weird health issues lately, episodes of dizziness. I said, "Do you want to lie down or something?" He said, "Maybe." So he went out to the car to rest, while I ate the rest of my meal and supervised our toddler's meal and paid for the food and got a box for his and collected the diaper bag and coats in one arm and picked up the kid in the other arm and picked up the food bag in my teeth and went out. I felt sorry that he wasn't feeling well, particularly that it was a feeling-woozy kind of not well, because I know what that's like and it's so unpleasant. (He perked up later in the day.)
I had flashbacks to The Wrong Guy relationship, though, because he had so many health issues and was always needing to be cosseted. I think part of my impatience now with people who are sick or fragile is a reaction to that. It's like the takehome message I learned from that relationship was, don't cosset people. Because they will just make it all your fault that they're feeling poorly, and throw it back in your face if you're unable to help them. If I could go back in time I wouldn't buy into his manipulativeness; half the time I don't think he even was feeling bad, just trying to get my sympathy. And using it as an excuse so the attention would be on him and we could work on helping him with his issues (again), shelving mine (again).
So deep down inside I have this little warning voice telling me that my husband was just trying to get sympathy and to get out of having to talk with me. The one time we had all week, our therapy time, and he played the not-feeling-well card to get out of it. I know it's completely unfair of me to feel that way. He has been having these mysterious episodes, and it's a bit scary that we don't know what's causing it.
To be honest, though, even though it's unfair to feel this, I was annoyed that he was so unresponsive and wooden. He is like that a lot, even when he's not feeling woozy. It's a basic aspect of his personality. Back in the turbulent time a few years ago, I loved it that we were so stable together. We could just sit and watch a movie together and not fight, and it was bliss. It was actually possible to enjoy aspects of life when he was around, whereas with The Wrong Guy everything had to be about our drama-filled relationship, and he was quite willing to scrap the evening's entertainments in favor of raking me over some coals.
But I do wish my husband would make a little more effort sometimes. It's like riding a horse with a hard mouth. You have to haul around on the reins to get them to even notice. The Wrong Guy was a feather touch. Especially if I wanted to talk about our relationship, he'd give me his full, intense attention and be ready with all this touchy-feely emotional psychotherapy. He was always interested in sharing our feelings.
I love my husband to pieces. I'm grateful to have him, and I know that what we have together is good in so many ways. My whole baseline level of happiness is way higher than it used to be. In fact, just the other day we were riding somewhere in the warm car, with autumn foliage outside, and a great song playing, and I was so happy to be with him. I thought, "This would've been an oasis of joy, at other times in my life. Now, it's just normal."
So, I'm not having marriage-questioning doubts or anything. Just recognizing that yes, that woodenness that drives me crazy sometimes is here to stay. And if I want a literary/inspirational conversation, I'm going to have to find someone else to have it with. And if I want to feel supported or encouraged about my writing, I will have to find that within. No matter how much French toast we order together.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Four Years Old
My blog's birthday was August 5 and I missed it. Four years old - how amazing! I haven't been writing much lately, for which I have lots of excuses... Want to hear?
1) Life is busy. There's so much work to be done around the new house. Unpacking, cleaning, organizing, yard work. Since we're starting from scratch getting the rooms in order, there's a kind of compulsion to do it perfectly - as in, don't just put the chair there, but take the chair apart and clean it and, after much hunting for the missing screws, reassemble it, all of which takes a while.
2) Life is rich. In my spare moments when I'm not looking for missing chair screws I have been reading like mad. It's because we finally have space for bookcases and I was able to bring over all my boxes of books from my parents' house, plus a friend lent me a bunch of her books. Reading is one of my absolute favorite things to do, and having one whole wall of the living room devoted to books is like being a chocoholic and living in a Cadbury factory. Because I am also a chocoholic, or at least borderline, lately I have been staying up until the wee hours combining these guilty pleasures. My waistline is bound to show the sad results soon.
3) Life is serene. I always write more when I'm upset about stuff. I wrote a lot when I was afraid my now-husband would never want to marry me, when I was trying to talk him into having kids, etc. Now, happily married with a beautiful toddler, I don't have any angst to pour out. I am finally in the warm place I've been striving for since I was a teenager. Alas for my readers (reader?), it doesn't make for interesting blog reading.
Anyway, that's why posts have been sparse. No worries, just happy.
1) Life is busy. There's so much work to be done around the new house. Unpacking, cleaning, organizing, yard work. Since we're starting from scratch getting the rooms in order, there's a kind of compulsion to do it perfectly - as in, don't just put the chair there, but take the chair apart and clean it and, after much hunting for the missing screws, reassemble it, all of which takes a while.
2) Life is rich. In my spare moments when I'm not looking for missing chair screws I have been reading like mad. It's because we finally have space for bookcases and I was able to bring over all my boxes of books from my parents' house, plus a friend lent me a bunch of her books. Reading is one of my absolute favorite things to do, and having one whole wall of the living room devoted to books is like being a chocoholic and living in a Cadbury factory. Because I am also a chocoholic, or at least borderline, lately I have been staying up until the wee hours combining these guilty pleasures. My waistline is bound to show the sad results soon.
3) Life is serene. I always write more when I'm upset about stuff. I wrote a lot when I was afraid my now-husband would never want to marry me, when I was trying to talk him into having kids, etc. Now, happily married with a beautiful toddler, I don't have any angst to pour out. I am finally in the warm place I've been striving for since I was a teenager. Alas for my readers (reader?), it doesn't make for interesting blog reading.
Anyway, that's why posts have been sparse. No worries, just happy.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Adventures in Bleach
The previous owners of our house were clean freaks, I've concluded. They left a lot of their cleaning supplies stashed under sinks and in cupboards - jugs of bleach, industrial-size refill containers of antibacterial soap, Windex and wood floor cleaner and Chrome Sparkle Enhancer. I didn't even know half those products existed. I've never used any of it before in my life. The only cleaning products I've used up till now have been Seventh Generation dishwashing liquid and laundry detergent. I read about environmental toxins all day and then I come home and I'm scared to touch that bleach bottle. I'm scared of the antibacterial soap too. What if I breed a new resistant superbug by washing my hands with it?
But, there it all is, and I hate to waste it. So I've cautiously been using it. For the past five years, we've been taking laundry over to my parents' house every week. Now, to my extreme delight, we have the capacity to wash clothes in our own home. I actually fall asleep grinning about this, it makes me so happy. Yesterday for the first time in my life I separated my laundry and did a load of just whites, and put a bit of bleach in with the detergent. I felt like such a typical suburban American as I did so - just freewheeling and not even worrying about the environment for once.
Gotta say I was underwhelmed with the results; my clothes came out clean, but not bright white like I was hoping. The socks in particular still looked kind of dingy. And all the clothes reeked of bleach, even after I put them out to dry in the sun for hours. I felt like my lungs were corroding with the fumes coming off them. But now I know. Reduce the bleach, and the expectations.
Our new home is a doorway to other "typical" experiences as well. When we lived at our apartment, I would put the baby in the stroller, sling a few canvas bags over my shoulder, and walk to the grocery store several times a week. Each time the amount I bought would be limited by what I could physically carry while pushing the stroller back. Now, because we're not walking distance to anything, I load the baby into the car and do a week's worth of shopping at a time. I push her around the store in a cart instead of a stroller. I wheel the whole cart out to my car to transfer the groceries. I almost feel like the rules don't apply, and it's okay to buy junk food and processed CheeseZips and so on. I have to mentally slap myself. No! Just because you're using fossil fuels just to GET to the grocery store does not mean you can throw nutrition out the window too!
On the positives list, we have a dining room now. Instead of balancing plates on our laps on the sofa, my husband and I can now eat dinner together at an actual table. We have conversations while we eat. It's such an improvement.
But, there it all is, and I hate to waste it. So I've cautiously been using it. For the past five years, we've been taking laundry over to my parents' house every week. Now, to my extreme delight, we have the capacity to wash clothes in our own home. I actually fall asleep grinning about this, it makes me so happy. Yesterday for the first time in my life I separated my laundry and did a load of just whites, and put a bit of bleach in with the detergent. I felt like such a typical suburban American as I did so - just freewheeling and not even worrying about the environment for once.
Gotta say I was underwhelmed with the results; my clothes came out clean, but not bright white like I was hoping. The socks in particular still looked kind of dingy. And all the clothes reeked of bleach, even after I put them out to dry in the sun for hours. I felt like my lungs were corroding with the fumes coming off them. But now I know. Reduce the bleach, and the expectations.
Our new home is a doorway to other "typical" experiences as well. When we lived at our apartment, I would put the baby in the stroller, sling a few canvas bags over my shoulder, and walk to the grocery store several times a week. Each time the amount I bought would be limited by what I could physically carry while pushing the stroller back. Now, because we're not walking distance to anything, I load the baby into the car and do a week's worth of shopping at a time. I push her around the store in a cart instead of a stroller. I wheel the whole cart out to my car to transfer the groceries. I almost feel like the rules don't apply, and it's okay to buy junk food and processed CheeseZips and so on. I have to mentally slap myself. No! Just because you're using fossil fuels just to GET to the grocery store does not mean you can throw nutrition out the window too!
On the positives list, we have a dining room now. Instead of balancing plates on our laps on the sofa, my husband and I can now eat dinner together at an actual table. We have conversations while we eat. It's such an improvement.
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Not at Home Yet
I wonder how long it will take to feel at home in the new house. When we first moved into our apartment, I remember I didn't want to spend any time there unless my then-boyfriend was there. I would come home from work, tired after a long day, but within moments of stepping in the front door I would think, "I just want to leave." He usually didn't get home until 8 or 9 at night. I would grab an apple and turn right around and go out for a walk, or sit in the park across the street - better to be obviously not home, than to be in this place that was supposed to be home and wasn't.
Right now, the new place doesn't feel like home. All our stuff is there, but I feel like spending as little time there as possible. I just want to get what I need and get out. Will it take months, like it did last time? Will it take having friends over and cooking a few big messy meals before I can feel like we've staked our claim? Even though the new place is good for so many reasons and I'm very happy we got it, I miss the comforts of our old apartment.
It must be even harder for our daughter, who's never lived anywhere else and who wasn't involved in the decision to move. For her, it was just a giant uprooting and upheaval. For the first time now she's sleeping in her own room instead of with us, and she's lost her neighborhood, the streets, parks, grocery store, and playgrounds with which she was so intimately familiar. The new house exists in a void because there aren't shops and such within walking distance - it's like opening the front door and finding that we're floating in outer space. You have to use the car to get anywhere, which is like a wormhole, so there's no connection or continuity to the geography.
To top it off she's starting daycare for the first time in her life soon. It will be so scary for her. I feel really sorry for her that everything is so new and frightening, and I wish I knew how to make it better.
Right now, the new place doesn't feel like home. All our stuff is there, but I feel like spending as little time there as possible. I just want to get what I need and get out. Will it take months, like it did last time? Will it take having friends over and cooking a few big messy meals before I can feel like we've staked our claim? Even though the new place is good for so many reasons and I'm very happy we got it, I miss the comforts of our old apartment.
It must be even harder for our daughter, who's never lived anywhere else and who wasn't involved in the decision to move. For her, it was just a giant uprooting and upheaval. For the first time now she's sleeping in her own room instead of with us, and she's lost her neighborhood, the streets, parks, grocery store, and playgrounds with which she was so intimately familiar. The new house exists in a void because there aren't shops and such within walking distance - it's like opening the front door and finding that we're floating in outer space. You have to use the car to get anywhere, which is like a wormhole, so there's no connection or continuity to the geography.
To top it off she's starting daycare for the first time in her life soon. It will be so scary for her. I feel really sorry for her that everything is so new and frightening, and I wish I knew how to make it better.
Tuesday, July 28, 2009
Attitude
This morning as I was riding the bus to work there was a huge thunk that made everyone sit up and look nervously around. An SUV had smacked the rear corner of the bus as it cut over to change lanes.
The driver immediately said, "Ah, man, why do people do that? Why, why? Did you see that? She just tried to cut across three lanes of traffic to make her turn." Sticking her arm out the window to gesture, she said, ostensibly to the driver of the SUV, although the driver couldn't have heard her, "Yeah, you DO need to pull over!"
Moments later, with the bus and SUV pulled over to the side of the traffic circle, the two drivers conducted a short conversation through the opened bus door. The SUV driver was inclined to be hostile, but the bus driver was in the better position. She was seated, looking down from a much larger vehicle, in uniform, with the trappings of authority about her.
"Honey, you hit me, it's your insurance that's gonna pay," she said, unperturbed. "It's all on camera. It's on camera. It's on camera. You can stand there and argue all day. It's on camera what happened. Now you give me your license and registration, and I'll give you mine."
The SUV woman told the bus driver to get out and follow her to get the information. "Oh no, that's okay, YOU can bring it back to ME," the driver said. The SUV woman said something snippy that I didn't catch. "All right, and that's how you wanna be, I hope you have a great day," the driver said in a mock-sweet voice. The SUV woman - a sharp-dressed professional in a power suit - stalked off, but she complied and brought the insurance info back. I was deeply impressed.
Here's how it would've gone down if I was driving the bus.
thunk
Erin: "Oh no! A car hit me! Ahh!... Oh I hope she pulls over. Oh, phew, she's pulling over."
I would then probably open the bus doors and hurry over to the SUV to conduct the conversation looking in her window from the sidewalk.
SUV woman: "What the hell were you doing?"
Erin: "I was just driving around the circle. I didn't change lanes or anything."
SUV: "You're an idiot. This had better be reimbursed." (gesturing toward her scraped front bumper)
Erin: "I'm sorry. Do you want to exchange insurance?"
SUV: "Yeah, you bring me yours."
Erin: "OK! Can you wait here?" (scurry back to the bus)
It's ridiculous, because even as the real-life conversation was going down, I was thinking how differently (and how badly) I would have handled it. I have one technique for dealing with authority or anyone aggressive: get really submissive and eager to please. It often works because people realize there's no point bringing out the big guns for a softie like me. They lighten up and get what they want without yelling. I can't handle yelling - it just destroys me.
Actually any kind of confrontation can leave me shaken up and replaying the incident in my head for days. When I do run into the occasional person who realizes they can jerk me around and I'll just go more and more belly-up, it's a bad scene. I wonder if, pushed far enough, I would be able to find the words to fight back. It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I go into such extreme "flight" mode in stressful situations, I can't even think what I should have said until hours later.
"Yeah, you DO need to pull over!" She was awesome. I should take lessons from her.
The driver immediately said, "Ah, man, why do people do that? Why, why? Did you see that? She just tried to cut across three lanes of traffic to make her turn." Sticking her arm out the window to gesture, she said, ostensibly to the driver of the SUV, although the driver couldn't have heard her, "Yeah, you DO need to pull over!"
Moments later, with the bus and SUV pulled over to the side of the traffic circle, the two drivers conducted a short conversation through the opened bus door. The SUV driver was inclined to be hostile, but the bus driver was in the better position. She was seated, looking down from a much larger vehicle, in uniform, with the trappings of authority about her.
"Honey, you hit me, it's your insurance that's gonna pay," she said, unperturbed. "It's all on camera. It's on camera. It's on camera. You can stand there and argue all day. It's on camera what happened. Now you give me your license and registration, and I'll give you mine."
The SUV woman told the bus driver to get out and follow her to get the information. "Oh no, that's okay, YOU can bring it back to ME," the driver said. The SUV woman said something snippy that I didn't catch. "All right, and that's how you wanna be, I hope you have a great day," the driver said in a mock-sweet voice. The SUV woman - a sharp-dressed professional in a power suit - stalked off, but she complied and brought the insurance info back. I was deeply impressed.
Here's how it would've gone down if I was driving the bus.
thunk
Erin: "Oh no! A car hit me! Ahh!... Oh I hope she pulls over. Oh, phew, she's pulling over."
I would then probably open the bus doors and hurry over to the SUV to conduct the conversation looking in her window from the sidewalk.
SUV woman: "What the hell were you doing?"
Erin: "I was just driving around the circle. I didn't change lanes or anything."
SUV: "You're an idiot. This had better be reimbursed." (gesturing toward her scraped front bumper)
Erin: "I'm sorry. Do you want to exchange insurance?"
SUV: "Yeah, you bring me yours."
Erin: "OK! Can you wait here?" (scurry back to the bus)
It's ridiculous, because even as the real-life conversation was going down, I was thinking how differently (and how badly) I would have handled it. I have one technique for dealing with authority or anyone aggressive: get really submissive and eager to please. It often works because people realize there's no point bringing out the big guns for a softie like me. They lighten up and get what they want without yelling. I can't handle yelling - it just destroys me.
Actually any kind of confrontation can leave me shaken up and replaying the incident in my head for days. When I do run into the occasional person who realizes they can jerk me around and I'll just go more and more belly-up, it's a bad scene. I wonder if, pushed far enough, I would be able to find the words to fight back. It's not that I don't want to. It's just that I go into such extreme "flight" mode in stressful situations, I can't even think what I should have said until hours later.
"Yeah, you DO need to pull over!" She was awesome. I should take lessons from her.
Monday, July 20, 2009
?, but no .
I haven't had a period in three years. It seems astonishing when I look back on it. My last period was in August 2006, just a few months after we got married. It started on my birthday, a day that we spent hiking with friends in the mountains. I remember retreating into some shrubbery off the trail at one point to change a pad. (No, I didn't litter - I took the old one with me, wrapped up.) That seems like eons ago.
I've done some reading online about amenorrhea. It could be primary ovarian failure, a scary thought considering that I was hoping to have a second child someday. Could my ovaries really be puttering out, when I'm only 32 years old? Or it could be a thyroid disorder. Or it could be a pituitary problem. Or it could be an ectopic pregnancy. For brief moments over the past few months I've wondered if it was a real pregnancy - that would explain the gut that I don't seem to be able to get rid of - but the gut hasn't changed in all that time, and we use birth control. And honestly, I just don't feel pregnant. Now that I have been, I would know if I ever was again.
A friend chuckled when I confided in her that I no longer have periods, and said, "You're lucky. Enjoy it!" I did for a while, but at this point I just want to be normal. I feel like some kind of anomaly in the world, cut off from the cycle of reproduction in my prime reproducing years. I feel the way I did at 14 and 15 and 16, when all the girls I knew had started their periods, and I hadn't. As convenient as it is not to menstruate any more, I know it means there's something wrong.
Yes, I've been to the doctor. I've had blood drawn. I'll find out the lab results soon. I hope it will be an answer I can live with.
I've done some reading online about amenorrhea. It could be primary ovarian failure, a scary thought considering that I was hoping to have a second child someday. Could my ovaries really be puttering out, when I'm only 32 years old? Or it could be a thyroid disorder. Or it could be a pituitary problem. Or it could be an ectopic pregnancy. For brief moments over the past few months I've wondered if it was a real pregnancy - that would explain the gut that I don't seem to be able to get rid of - but the gut hasn't changed in all that time, and we use birth control. And honestly, I just don't feel pregnant. Now that I have been, I would know if I ever was again.
A friend chuckled when I confided in her that I no longer have periods, and said, "You're lucky. Enjoy it!" I did for a while, but at this point I just want to be normal. I feel like some kind of anomaly in the world, cut off from the cycle of reproduction in my prime reproducing years. I feel the way I did at 14 and 15 and 16, when all the girls I knew had started their periods, and I hadn't. As convenient as it is not to menstruate any more, I know it means there's something wrong.
Yes, I've been to the doctor. I've had blood drawn. I'll find out the lab results soon. I hope it will be an answer I can live with.
Sunday, July 05, 2009
Labor
I visited my friend today and got to hold her brand-new, six-day-old baby. The baby was adorable with her little grunts and snuffles, and her wonderfully expressive face. Even though I had one of those myself not too long ago, I forgot how tiny they really are. Her arms and legs were so fragile, they were like wrinkled red little twigs. Her triangular little face registered first doubt, then annoyance, then confusion, melting into a thousand-mile stare. She frowned as she stared up at me.
My friend was equal parts lit up about this baby, just besotted with her – and rightfully so – and shell-shocked by her labor experience. It sounds like she had a truly terrible time. She was in labor for 30 hours, including about six hours of transition labor (the worst, most intense stage, where you're basically having a contraction for 60-90 seconds during every two minutes). She begged for an epidural and got one but it didn't take on one side of her body, so she was still feeling every contraction. When she was finally ready to deliver, her doctor had gone home for the night, and refused to allow my friend be delivered by the doctor on duty at the hospital – so my poor friend had to wait, blowing through every contraction in an effort not to push, for an entire 90 minutes before the doctor made it back to her side. She described it as "torture." I asked her how she coped with the pain, and she said, "I screamed. I was screaming so loud with every contraction, I thought the other women in labor must be terrified listening to me, but I couldn't help it." I felt like crying for her that she had to suffer like that.
I've never experienced pain on that level before. When I was in labor, it was the worst pain I've ever experienced, and I remember feeling desperate for relief, and doing a lot of loud groaning. Luckily, when I got an epidural it worked. Up to that point the worst pain I had ever experienced was a urinary tract infection that made me whimper audibly. I remember feeling astonished: "Wow, that hurt so much I made a noise and couldn't even help it." Maybe I'm just really afraid of losing control, but I tend to not make noise if I can possibly help it when I'm hurt. The embarrassment of making a sound seems worse to me than the pain. For something to hurt so much that I would actually scream out loud – I can't even really comprehend what that must be like. I guess if I ever have a natural childbirth, I may find out. Anyway, my friend is the same way. She's a quiet, mild sort of person, not given to dramatics and never wanting to be the center of attention. I can't wrap my mind around her screaming, or the degree of pain it would take for her to make noise.
My friend said that she is still feeling so traumatized by the whole experience that she is considering getting therapy to help her work through what happened to her. She's having PTSD-like flashbacks, feeling terrified of ever being in labor again. (Fortunately it hasn’t prevented her from bonding with her baby.) In the pictures of her and her husband holding their newborn moments after the birth, they look wan – smiling, but haggard. She looks like she's just been through hell. He looks like he just watched his wife go through hell.
It makes me wonder: how come some women have – not an easy time, necessarily – but a manageable time during labor, whereas others don't? I've read birth stories about mothers who calmly walked during their labors and pushed their babies out with little fuss; mothers who rocked and moaned quietly and were in control of their experiences. That's what I’d want, if I went natural – but I'm scared I'd end up like my friend, screaming and out of my mind with pain, and not in control at all.
Wednesday, July 01, 2009
Across the World, Then Not Eaten by Me
I bought a passion fruit at Whole Foods last week. I had never seen one before. It looks like a tiny purplish plum with a firm surface and a thin skin like a potato. I left it out for a while to ripen, but nothing seemed to be happening, so finally today I sliced it in half. Inside it was full of pulpy glop with hard black seeds about the size of apple seeds. I have no idea how to eat it. I tried a bit of the glop, but it was hard to eat around the seeds, and I don't think you're supposed to swallow them. They splinter like apple seeds in your teeth.
This little fruit grew on a tree in New Zealand, on the total opposite side of the world, was picked by some unknown farm worker and packaged, and was shipped across the globe, consuming fossil fuels all the way, all to arrive in a bin at Whole Foods and be bought at an exorbitant price by me. And I'm not going to eat it? What a waste!
I feel like such a privileged member of society, because throughout history, how few people have ever had the opportunity to eat the range of foods that is available to me? I pretty much have access to any food grown anywhere in the world. I live on a level far above that of any emperor of the ancient world.
All right. I have sufficiently guilt tripped myself that I'm going back in the kitchen now to give it another shot.
This little fruit grew on a tree in New Zealand, on the total opposite side of the world, was picked by some unknown farm worker and packaged, and was shipped across the globe, consuming fossil fuels all the way, all to arrive in a bin at Whole Foods and be bought at an exorbitant price by me. And I'm not going to eat it? What a waste!
I feel like such a privileged member of society, because throughout history, how few people have ever had the opportunity to eat the range of foods that is available to me? I pretty much have access to any food grown anywhere in the world. I live on a level far above that of any emperor of the ancient world.
All right. I have sufficiently guilt tripped myself that I'm going back in the kitchen now to give it another shot.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Reasons to Miss the Old Place
1. Walking home today (something I won't be able to do after we move), I passed a full jazz band playing "When the Saints Come Marching In" to an admiring crowd on a street corner. They were just getting to the part where it goes, "Oh when the saints! Oh when the saints!" and it was so peppy, I couldn't resist getting a spring in my step. City life is so full of vibrance and pulse and energy. I'll miss the excitement of feeling like we live in the heart of everything.
2. Despite being pretty antisocial, after living here for five years we know a fair number of people in our neighborhood. It's a friendly sort of area, and we run into the same folks over and over. Our regular supermarket cashier, the apartment manager next door, my mom friend a few streets away, the guy at the library, our two favorite sushi waitresses at the restaurant down the block, our upstairs neighbor and her grandson, my babyswap friend and her little boy with whom we have weekly playdates, and the building maintenance guy who greets me every morning are all people that we have friendly conversations with on a regular basis - and who I'll miss once we're gone. I guess we have put down roots.
3. Nine playgrounds, two libraries, a toy store, five grocery stores, and tons of restaurants within walking distance.
4. Living, eating, and working all in the same room. This is also a thing that I complain about. But I wonder if once we move, and after supper we all disappear into separate rooms to spend the evening on separate pursuits, I won't miss these days of enforced family togetherness.
Onward we go, eagerly, but not without a backward glance.
2. Despite being pretty antisocial, after living here for five years we know a fair number of people in our neighborhood. It's a friendly sort of area, and we run into the same folks over and over. Our regular supermarket cashier, the apartment manager next door, my mom friend a few streets away, the guy at the library, our two favorite sushi waitresses at the restaurant down the block, our upstairs neighbor and her grandson, my babyswap friend and her little boy with whom we have weekly playdates, and the building maintenance guy who greets me every morning are all people that we have friendly conversations with on a regular basis - and who I'll miss once we're gone. I guess we have put down roots.
3. Nine playgrounds, two libraries, a toy store, five grocery stores, and tons of restaurants within walking distance.
4. Living, eating, and working all in the same room. This is also a thing that I complain about. But I wonder if once we move, and after supper we all disappear into separate rooms to spend the evening on separate pursuits, I won't miss these days of enforced family togetherness.
Onward we go, eagerly, but not without a backward glance.
Friday, June 26, 2009
Reasons to Love our New Place
1. Being able to park the car in our own driveway, right next to the house! It will be so great to just walk out the front door and there's the car, instead of having to cross a busy street and walk a block or two to get to our parking space. And unloading groceries, etc. will be so much easier.
2. My own office where I can set up my computer, printer, and files. When I want to scan something, I'll be able to just reach over and turn on the scanner. Currently my "office" is also the library, and contains two bookcases, a desk, a chair, and boxes of paperwork. And it's also Pigtopia where our guinea pig races around and nibbles on my toes as I work. And it's also the breakfast nook. And it's also about ten square feet in area.
3. Not seeing a roach or two scurry across the floor every time I turn on the light in the kitchen. (I hope.)
4. Bedrooms. One for our kidlet. One that is all for us. :)
5. Space for a dining room table, so we can invite guests over for dinner.
6. A gorgeous big yard backed by trees where I can grow vegetables, graze the pig, frolic with the kidlet, and hang my clothes on a ecofriendly clothesline to dry.
7. A deck where we can eat dinner on warm summer evenings. We'll sit out there watching the fireflies blink, feeling rich beyond measure.
2. My own office where I can set up my computer, printer, and files. When I want to scan something, I'll be able to just reach over and turn on the scanner. Currently my "office" is also the library, and contains two bookcases, a desk, a chair, and boxes of paperwork. And it's also Pigtopia where our guinea pig races around and nibbles on my toes as I work. And it's also the breakfast nook. And it's also about ten square feet in area.
3. Not seeing a roach or two scurry across the floor every time I turn on the light in the kitchen. (I hope.)
4. Bedrooms. One for our kidlet. One that is all for us. :)
5. Space for a dining room table, so we can invite guests over for dinner.
6. A gorgeous big yard backed by trees where I can grow vegetables, graze the pig, frolic with the kidlet, and hang my clothes on a ecofriendly clothesline to dry.
7. A deck where we can eat dinner on warm summer evenings. We'll sit out there watching the fireflies blink, feeling rich beyond measure.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
GOT THE HOUSE!
Yay!
I am so happy and excited. It has a beautiful kitchen, four whole bedrooms, a deck, and it even backs onto the park. I can't believe how fast the whole thing happened. We've been house-hunting for about a month, going to open houses every weekend, and made one offer on a house last week that wasn't accepted. I was pretty sad about that. Then last Sunday we found this house, which is even better than the last one - put in our offer on Monday, and it was accepted on Tuesday! I get happy all over again every time I think about it.
Now, all we have to do is sell our first-born to pay for it. haha
I am so happy and excited. It has a beautiful kitchen, four whole bedrooms, a deck, and it even backs onto the park. I can't believe how fast the whole thing happened. We've been house-hunting for about a month, going to open houses every weekend, and made one offer on a house last week that wasn't accepted. I was pretty sad about that. Then last Sunday we found this house, which is even better than the last one - put in our offer on Monday, and it was accepted on Tuesday! I get happy all over again every time I think about it.
Now, all we have to do is sell our first-born to pay for it. haha
Monday, June 15, 2009
In Limbo
I'm waiting to hear back.
Yesterday, I interviewed for a new job. A big jump in pay and responsibilities. I have the background and skills to do it, and I think I did all right in the interview, but a lot of people were applying for this job, so I'm not sure what my chances are. Today, we made an offer on a house. Very exciting. Again, it's a super competitive situation; multiple other people submitted bids on the same house.
I'm trying to tell myself that it doesn't really matter, that if I don't get that job I can just keep doing the one I have, which I'm good at and (most of the time) enjoy. And if we don't get that house we'll find a different one. I feel like there is a truck-load of disappointment waiting for me, right around the corner, and I'm trying to mitigate it by telling myself that chances are, I will not get the job or the house. Statistically, the odds are against it.
I can't even say for sure that I would be happier in this new more lucrative job, or that we would be happier in this new house. But I think we would. Oh man, I hope it works out.
Yesterday, I interviewed for a new job. A big jump in pay and responsibilities. I have the background and skills to do it, and I think I did all right in the interview, but a lot of people were applying for this job, so I'm not sure what my chances are. Today, we made an offer on a house. Very exciting. Again, it's a super competitive situation; multiple other people submitted bids on the same house.
I'm trying to tell myself that it doesn't really matter, that if I don't get that job I can just keep doing the one I have, which I'm good at and (most of the time) enjoy. And if we don't get that house we'll find a different one. I feel like there is a truck-load of disappointment waiting for me, right around the corner, and I'm trying to mitigate it by telling myself that chances are, I will not get the job or the house. Statistically, the odds are against it.
I can't even say for sure that I would be happier in this new more lucrative job, or that we would be happier in this new house. But I think we would. Oh man, I hope it works out.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The 100 Things
I read about a guy who decided to be spartan and whittle down his possessions to just 100 items. He spent several months getting rid of things - giving away furniture, donating clothes, throwing out paintings and other art projects he had done. His final list included mostly electronic gadgets and t-shirts. He had an iPod, cell phone, BlackBerry, laptop, DVD player, TV, etc. and associated chargers. He also used up 20 items in his quota just on shirts. His rule was that if anyone gave him a gift during the "Year of 100 Things," he would have to choose one thing to get rid of, or else regift what he had been given. Sounds tough!
I thought about what 100 things I'd choose. I'm always complaining that I live in the midst of clutter, overwhelmed by possessions, so the idea of having such a spare existence has its appeal. I'd draw the line at throwing away things I had created, though. At the end of the year, he can go out and buy back the stuff he's been missing, but he can never get back his artwork, and someday he might really regret that.
Here's my list, based mostly on the things I use every day:
1. contact lenses
2. glasses
3. underwear (He "cheated" and grouped a bunch of pairs as one item, so I'm doing that too. Don't think I would try to get through the whole year on one pair of underpants.)
4. bra
5-10. shirts
6-15. sweaters
16. jacket
17. socks
18. sneakers
19. dress shoes
20. winter coat
21. makeup
22. deodorant
23. comb
24-25. laptop and recharger
26. backpack
27. cooking pot
28. frying pan
29. mug
30. Brita pitcher
31. silverware
32. umbrella
33. car
34. knife (for kitchen use)
35. hair clips
36-37. cell phone and recharger
38. pillow
39. toothbrush
40. workout clothes
41. shorts
42. broom
43. dustpan
44. pens/pencils
45. notepad
46. mattress
That's all I can think of. I'm looking around the apartment and I don't see a single other thing that I use often that I would miss. Lots of stuff I use daily, like the stroller, but I think that counts in my kid's quota, not mine. And the microwave, but I think that's built in as part of the apartment. And I have photo albums and diaries and such, but they're at my parents' house. I think I could get by just on the list I have. I'm surprised to see some items in there, like the laptop that I've only had for a year or so - but already I really depend on it.
Simplicity rules!
I thought about what 100 things I'd choose. I'm always complaining that I live in the midst of clutter, overwhelmed by possessions, so the idea of having such a spare existence has its appeal. I'd draw the line at throwing away things I had created, though. At the end of the year, he can go out and buy back the stuff he's been missing, but he can never get back his artwork, and someday he might really regret that.
Here's my list, based mostly on the things I use every day:
1. contact lenses
2. glasses
3. underwear (He "cheated" and grouped a bunch of pairs as one item, so I'm doing that too. Don't think I would try to get through the whole year on one pair of underpants.)
4. bra
5-10. shirts
6-15. sweaters
16. jacket
17. socks
18. sneakers
19. dress shoes
20. winter coat
21. makeup
22. deodorant
23. comb
24-25. laptop and recharger
26. backpack
27. cooking pot
28. frying pan
29. mug
30. Brita pitcher
31. silverware
32. umbrella
33. car
34. knife (for kitchen use)
35. hair clips
36-37. cell phone and recharger
38. pillow
39. toothbrush
40. workout clothes
41. shorts
42. broom
43. dustpan
44. pens/pencils
45. notepad
46. mattress
That's all I can think of. I'm looking around the apartment and I don't see a single other thing that I use often that I would miss. Lots of stuff I use daily, like the stroller, but I think that counts in my kid's quota, not mine. And the microwave, but I think that's built in as part of the apartment. And I have photo albums and diaries and such, but they're at my parents' house. I think I could get by just on the list I have. I'm surprised to see some items in there, like the laptop that I've only had for a year or so - but already I really depend on it.
Simplicity rules!
Friday, May 22, 2009
The Road Not Taken
I'm in touch, sporadically, with a couple of old boyfriends. We're not really friends, but we do email now and then. One of them - the first guy I ever went out with - is now married and they're expecting their first child in a couple of weeks. It gives me a funny quiver in my gut to look at their online photo albums: the two of them setting up the crib, him with his arm around her shoulders at the baby shower, shots of her in profile documenting her increasing roundness each week. They look like they're very happy together. Even the captions on the photos express what a cute, bantery relationship they have, full of inside jokes and affection. I'm really glad for them. I loved this guy, back when we were together, and I wanted the best for him even if we weren't right together. It's great that he is about to experience the amazing roller coaster trip of parenthood.
Still, there's that funny quiver. Why do I feel this way? Is it jealousy, because it's hard to ever accept that someone who once loved me doesn't love me any more? Do I just feel left out because they're basking in all the attention now as glowing soon-to-be-parents, and it's (rightfully) all about them, whereas with a two-year-old I'm old news and people no longer stop me in the street to coo over my baby? Is it a flicker of annoyance that whatever I had to offer him, it wasn't enough, and what she offered was better? (even though, as I recall, I left him.) Is it just imagination whiplash, because we were on that marriage track for a while, and I thought that we would be setting up a crib together someday, and it's just odd now thinking about what might have been?
We broke up for good reasons, and we each married people we're better suited to than one another. But I can't help feeling, when I see his happy grin, that he was really a nice guy with a lot of good qualities, and feeling a bit sad that I'm so shut out now from his life. Being selflessly happy for someone else is not always that easy.
Still, there's that funny quiver. Why do I feel this way? Is it jealousy, because it's hard to ever accept that someone who once loved me doesn't love me any more? Do I just feel left out because they're basking in all the attention now as glowing soon-to-be-parents, and it's (rightfully) all about them, whereas with a two-year-old I'm old news and people no longer stop me in the street to coo over my baby? Is it a flicker of annoyance that whatever I had to offer him, it wasn't enough, and what she offered was better? (even though, as I recall, I left him.) Is it just imagination whiplash, because we were on that marriage track for a while, and I thought that we would be setting up a crib together someday, and it's just odd now thinking about what might have been?
We broke up for good reasons, and we each married people we're better suited to than one another. But I can't help feeling, when I see his happy grin, that he was really a nice guy with a lot of good qualities, and feeling a bit sad that I'm so shut out now from his life. Being selflessly happy for someone else is not always that easy.
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