Travels in the Occidental World

Does anyone want to live on the Oregon Coast? Because I have information on a house for sale, with ocean views, right here. My aunt and uncle are trying to retire so they can move to McCall, ID but they can't until they sell their house, so please, somebody please buy it. Thank you.

I never did talk about our trip to Seattle. (That is my way of providing you with some clever foreshadowing.) Last month, we went to Seattle. The airport here in Redmond is about.....five, no....six minutes away from our house, door to door. The flight to Seattle was an hour and twenty minutes, with free beer! It's the northwest, you see, and we're big on our microbrews although really I think it's the airlines' way of taking passengers' minds off the fact that they're on a little, tiny plane which may, or may not have the latest in flight equipment and whatnot. When the passengers are liquored up - but not too much - they're much happier! I think. It was the morning, we didn't drink, although I wasn't unhappy. Hm.

So, Seattle. What a great city! (Oh, but here is my confession: I don't have any pictures. I forgot my camera. It was a very "D'oh!" moment when I realized I had forgotten it.) We went to the Space Needle, of course. OC and her uncle ran around the deck, racing one another. The Needle sure has changed. I was there maybe 10 years ago, and it's much nicer. There are new displays and I'm not sure, but maybe new carpeting, too.

Near the Space Needle, Seattle Center has carnival rides for kids. OC liked the Viking Ship, and also tried the bumper cars, and the Tornado. After she got off the Tornado, having spent most of the ride with a serious face and her eyes shut, she told us with a big grin, "That was fun, and a little scary!"

I wanted to see the Olympic Sculpture garden, a new installation located on an old industrial site right on the waterfront, and which features a 35-foot Alexander Calder sculpture. I was the only one of our group to appreciate the sculptures, the other two adults with me called it, "a waste of metal". OC thought they were nice, and that the artists "did good work on them". It was worth seeing, with free admission, and there's a path so you can wander and end up on the waterfront. It's not a bad way to spend a little time.

We also went to Ballard, a neighborhood not far north of downtown, and found a wonderful bar with an extensive selection of Belgian beers. REALLY good beer. I have to hand it to the Belgians, really; I had NO idea they were so gifted! We were there for a couple of hours, eating from the appetizer menu and tasting beers, then splitting a turtle chocolate dessert. Ooooh, that was good! I forget the name of the place, otherwise I'd link you up.

Those were the highlights. The baseball game was good, albeit late at night. I forget who we watched, OSU? Portland Beavers? It was somebody Beavers. Anyway. We had a good time watching that, and otherwise spent time downtown and at Pike Place Market.

Moving on to this past weekend. We hung around our area, and on Sunday afternoon we went fishing on the nearby Deschutes river. Our model displays current stylings you may want to consider for your next fishing trip:



Notice the pink heart-emblazoned rubber boots, a must for any young girl this season.



The model, hitting her modeling stride, strikes a pose.



Best fishing companion EVER.

The month of June so far has brought rain every day. Some days, it rains for five minutes; other days, like yesterday evening and overnight, it has rained on and off for hours. I am loving that. It smells SO good.



Thunderheads rolling in. There was lightening, but I wasn't able to capture any on camera.

* * * * * * * *

Next trip scheduled: Washington D.C.

Sometimes it's Hard to be Introspective

I had a dentist appointment today to get my very old fillings fixed. They were old and leaking, a lovely thought.

(What is it with my life paralelling hers, anyway? We quit our jobs at the same time, moved at the same time, and now a dentist appointment on nearly the same day! What are the odds of that??? It boggles the mind, it does.)

I love my dentist. He is upbeat and effervescent. If any a dentist were NOT going to kill himself, it would be him. You've heard of that right? The survey that was done years ago that said of all the careers where suicide is likely, dentists rank highly? Well, not mine. He even makes train noises while he gives me the shot of novocaine (chuka chuka chuka chuka). I'm assuming this is to make the fact that he's sticking a needle into my mouth flesh more of a fun thing than it is? Maybe he thinks I look very young, almost childlike, and so would like train noises? I don't know, but he's eminently positive and I love that. It makes me feel good. Which is, rather obviously, the point.

There is a tv screen on the ceiling and they give you earphones and a remote. Today I watched an interview with Chris Rock on "Inside the Actor's Studio" and it was hard because it was so funny and all I wanted to do was laugh, but I couldn't laugh with all the dental equipment in my mouth. There I was, all dental-dammed and laughing - on the inside.

The Heaven Can Wait 5k run was this past Sunday. I told myself my goal was to complete it in 35 minutes, which changed when I thought to myself, "just finish in less than 40 minutes, please God" while in the middle of the race. As I approached the finish I saw the clock and it looked like it read 38 minutes. I couldn't tell, because the scaffolding was in front of it. I just knew it couldn't say 30 but was awfully disappointed that it had already been 38 minutes. And then! As I got closer and the seconds passed the minute mark, it read 31! I had completed the race in 31 minutes, 10 seconds. I couldn't believe it. Here is proof that praying works.

There were 2,700 people there (woot!) and 700 of them were runners. It was amazing to stand there with so many caring people who'd been through hell with their loved ones and friends. I was there for my dad, brother and young cousin who died of Leukemia; my great-aunt who died of breast cancer; my other great-aunt who had breast cancer but survived due to having a mastectomy; and for my father-in-law who survived Squamous Cell Carcinoma. Can I just say it's hard to get pumped up for a race when, in the minutes that precede the start, you are crying because you see things like a 10-year old girl with a sign on her back which says she is there in memory of her mom? Or, the mother/daughter pair who wore tank tops on which was printed "Heaven didn't wait for my soulmate" on the mom, and "Heaven didn't wait for my dad" on the daughter. The mom was crying, I was crying, and so were many others around me. Another intense moment came just before the start when the announcer asked all the cancer survivors to stand while everyone else knelt to the ground. Talk about profound silence. Then there was about 5 minutes of applause. And, more crying.

(Unrefined segway...prepare yourself for rapid change of topic just ahead.)

I have a friend who likes to analyze. People, relationships, situations, you name it; she is the one asking "what do you think they meant by that?" It makes sense that she would be analytical since she's a mathematical type. It's more inexplicable that I would be, except I am always searching for answers. (I happen to not give a fat frog's fanny about answers to do with math, sadly.) I think she's very wise, because all that inspection will eventually yield answers. I am not the friend in the above scenario, cleverly disguised by the pseudonym "friend", but I admit that I like to examine things, too. Probably too much.

Socrates said, "An unexamined life is not worth living." What I have to say to that is, you said it, brother.

There is a downside to being an introspective person other than the obvious one about not being the life of the party. Paris Hilton, I am not. People will never be think of me and then say, "She's always so much fun, let's invite her to our party!" Of course, I'm also not going to jail but that's not the point. The point is, the downside to being introspective can be a propensity to ask "Why?" and to not only NOT figure it out, but to place an unjustly serious tone on otherwise good conversation.

I watched a movie the other night called "The Fountain" because after reading her memoir, this is apparently my Ellen Burstyn period. (I plan to watch most all her work except "The Exorcist" because if I watch that film I won't be able to sleep at night for fear that our house is haunted or some other melodrama.) The film was done by Darren Aronofsky of "Requiem For a Dream" fame. The imagery was great at evoking feelings and creating mystery, but the story was a bit too mysterious in that I didn't really understand it. Hugh Jackman's character (maybe that explains it?) is that of a Spanish Conquistador who searches for the Tree of Life which was lost in the Central American jungles. Queen Isabella, played by Rachel Weisz, sends him on this search during the Inquisition in which her life is in danger. The two also have contemporary characters; she with the brain tumor, he the doctor searching for the cure.

I got to thinking, why do these characters want to live forever? I don't see the appeal. I mean, I see the appeal maybe knowing you will live to be 70 or 80, be in good health and not die young; but not the appeal in living forever. And, aren't there things we really aren't supposed to know? Furthermore, things which we'd be much better off if we didn't know? Like, how badly your mouth will hurt if you don't go to the dentist more often, you silly, stupid woman?? I'd be better of having known that, but then again, I did know that and chose to ignore it. Let that be a lesson to you.

I think a better question to ask than, "Why are we here?" is instead, "What is the best I can make of my time here?" Or even, "What am I supposed to learn?" I like that one.

I just don't think we're supposed to know the reasons for what we're doing here. I think we're supposed to figure out how to get along with each other, not unlike toddlers at a playdate. I think it's just that simple. Although I won't tell that to the Palestinians or the Jews, the Hutus or the Tutsis, the Khmer Rouge and the Cambodians. Good grief, there are a lot of terrible things in this world. Good thing there's a lot of goodness to counteract the bad. There really is a lot of good. Especially when you look for it, it shows up.

Ahem. Undue seriousness, anyone? I can dance on tables, really, just make enough cosmopolitans for me and my mood lightens right up. Is that what this blog needs? More cosmos?

Over the Mountains

In the last week I have had many posts written in my head but then have neglected to sit down and type them. Thus, due to a stunning lack of diligence coupled with an overabundance of beer in the fridge, these thoughts are lost to the infinite abyss that constitutes the voluminous area where I store the Things I Have Forgotten. There is only an entrance, with no way to retrieve topics once they've gone to this dark place.

I think I wanted to write more about Seattle. I know I wanted to write about a movie I saw. I just finished another book and wanted to talk about that. Oh, and there was this past holiday weekend, some new furniture was purchased a week before that, OC said some funny things, and then there was tonight and that lady who only had bad things to say about the things in my life. I definitely want to share THAT little gem of an experience.

I'm sorry to say that it will all have to wait because it's 10:45 pm and I have to get up and go to Portland tomorrow for a meeting. I'm driving so that gives me 6 1/2 hours roundtrip to come up with a doozy of a post to include all topics up to now. I'll find a way to link the Space Needle to Memorial Day, and how many degrees of separation there are between Kevin Bacon and Ellen Burstyn. Think I can make it in only six?

In the meantime, I'll be trying to narrow down which restaurant I want to go to for drinks and food after the meeting, because living in Redmond means restaurant choices are a little thin unless you have the memory of a goldfish. In that case, Jody's is like a new hamburger joint every time! It's getting better, but compared to Portland it might as well be the dark side of the moon, where I do not think they have any Indian food at all. Just like how they don't in Redmond. I'm afraid I'll be like a kid in a candy store, or maybe closer yet would be like a wayward nun going barhopping after 20 years of the cloistered life. Will Portland welcome me back? Its lost, wayward sister of comestible faith. I hope so. If overabundance of choice be my only complication, I say bring on the hitch, the botheration, the quagmire of decision.

Okay, it's really getting late now and Dictionary.com/thesaurus is getting ready to cancel my free subscription. 'night.

In Which I Discover New Body Parts

Today I ran 4 miles. It took 46 minutes, which is a little over 11 minutes per mile. That is very slow, but! I RAN FOUR MILES. It was hard and I wanted to stop, especially when I was about two-thirds of the way through and felt very tired. I kept going until I completed it because I have that 5k race (3.1 miles) coming up in less than two weeks. I kept telling myself that today's hard run will make the next time I do the same distance much easier. That will be Friday. Look here for more whining come Friday.

That's not what is scaring me, though.

I signed up for the Smith Rock Race which has either a 15k or a 7 mile Fun Run (P.S. Just because it rhymes with "run" doesn't mean it is "fun"). I am doing the 7 mile un-fun run, and that is a looong way. I have seven weeks to train for it, but still! Seven miles is a long way!

The good part has been watching my body change. I was shaving my legs today, for example, and I noticed this bump and I wondered for a second what it was. "Oh, that's muscle!" I said to myself, surprised.

That's not the only good part, there's the food part, too. I had to do some research about what to eat before and after a workout. It turns out I have good reasons to get fully crazy into cooking with whole grains now, because a body that works out needs plenty of fuel in the form of carbohydrates. I could live on rice, beans, pasta, and grains, so this is good news to me. Oh yeah, don't forget the dark chocolate with raspberries! One needs protein as well. Ahem.

This week I made chili-scented pork chops with jalapeno quinoa salad. It was not as spicy as you would think; it was a light, sweet spice. There was a lot of olive oil and lime juice, and I left out the seeds of the jalapeno, which helped keep the spice level reasonable.

The Smith Rock Race came about as a challenge from my husband, who is participating in it as well as the upcoming 5k run. I'm looking forward to it (being over) and seeing how well I do. I find that I work best when I have a goal in mind, otherwise I tend to procrastinate. I think my next goal will be: run four miles averaging 10 and one-half minutes per mile and then see how much chocolate I can eat without getting sick. Goals are good.

Cocktail Party Effect

It's hard to believe that with both my love of books and interest in writing, I've never kept a serious log of the books I've read. No matter, I can start now. I keep a pocket-sized notebook that now lists one book title. In addition to the title I've decided to list the date, author, publisher, and some notes about the book. My first entry:

May 19th, 2007:
Special Topics in Calamity Physics, by Marisha Pessl. Viking, 2006. About an intellectual teenager, her professor father, and their frequent moves around the country. She's in her final year of high school where she attends an elite school and falls in with a crowd called the Bluebloods. Also, there's a murder mystery.

It's well written with many book references that had me googling away, much as I hate to admit it. The books and author references are not all real. The plot is captivating and unusual, although it reminded me a little of The Secret History by Donna Tartt.

(Each of these books are their respective author's first novel.)

Of course, the movie rights have been optioned. Producer Scott Rudin - who began his career in theater in New York, eventually casting before moving on to movies - is known for wanting to make high-quality, art films. His work is diverse, including "The Addams Family", "Searching for Bobby Fischer", "Clueless", "First Wives Club", "A Civil Action", "Sleepy Hollow", "Wonder Boys", "The Royal Tenenbaums", "I Heart Huckabees", "The Hours", and "The Queen".

Not all of those are based on books, nor may some be in any way considered an art film, but all in all, not a bad list of titles. I'm always interested when a book becomes a movie. So many movies start as books or plays, and movies are a great way to find out about something new to read.

I appreciate the challenge of taking something from the page where there is all the time in the world for description and backstory, not to mention beautiful language, to the screen where there is about an hour and a half and stories must be totally visual. The transformation can be quite satisfying (Gone With the Wind, 1939; The Silence of the Lambs, 1991). Or, not at all (Congo, 1995). There are instances - very few, but I can think of at least one - where the movie is better than the book (How to Make an American Quilt, 1995). More often than not, the reverse is true (The Shipping News, 2001). There are movies that started as screenplays, and so the writing was never intended to be read, and you never have to worry about seeing the movie without reading the book because there is no book to read (Good Will Hunting, 1997; Finding Forrester, 2000; Lovely + Amazing, 2001).

The only problem is, like any other human endeavor, less desirable forces are at work. Forces like money, power, and who knows who. It's not random at all. Sometimes the system works, and sometimes it doesn't.

It's funny how, when you are engaged in the act of reading, you realize how much more there is that you haven't read. When I come across references to books or ideas I haven't read or am not familiar with, I look them up or jot them down to do it later, always feeling as though my booklist is growing longer the more I books I read. It's quite the paradox. Paradox! Another topic I want to read more about. Vicious circle, this.

Reading, and writing about reading is not exactly the stuff of great literature, but it is good practice. If I can advance my critical thinking and power of description to become something close to insightful (e.g. beyond "...it was a good book. I liked it...") it will be worthwhile. And hey, if it gives me more topics for conversation at cocktail parties, so much the better.

Sending Out an SOS

If that reminded you of a song by The Police, then you are of my generation. Or, you have listened to the radio at some point between 1979 - the year "Message in a Bottle" was released - and now. That's neither here nor there. What I really want to talk about is help, and the asking of help when one needs it.

I am in no way a poster child when it comes to asking for help. I would rather do it myself, thank you very much. Why? Oh, there are a myriad of reasons, part of a loooong story. Boring! It doesn't matter why, what matters is that it doesn't have to be like that.

Several years ago, I needed to search out a good daycare for my daughter. The place she had been attending was no longer working out. I felt overwhelmed with the responsibility. It was all on me to research, make appointments, go and visit places and meet people, and ultimately decide. What if I picked a bad place? I would have to take time off of work to do this, which took time away from vacation time that I could spend, oh, I don't know, with my daughter??? Besides, how would I make such an important decision? What if I misjudged and OC was miserable or, what if something bad happened?

I talked to my counselor, and she said to me, "Why do you think you have to do this alone?" I was stunned. I didn't have an answer. There WAS no reason why I had to do it alone, I just assumed I did because....because....well, because no fairy godmother showed up when I needed her. I always relied upon myself, end of story. She suggested I involve a trusted friend, and it was one of those moments where the clouds part and the heavenly music plays. It was also a "DUH" moment because, duh, why didn't I think of that?!?

This morning I went for a run while OC rode her bike. I am training because I have signed up to do a 5k. I've been training since mid-April, and this week is to be my hard week, where I run the longest distances. OC has been fine riding her bike the 4 miles of basically flat, paved, pedestrian/bike path in the dry canyon. Being my usual self, I thought that OC on her bike and me running made sense. Except, it didn't work. She was cold, then she was tired, then she got off to walk her bike and fell. There was crying, I was sympathetic but also, annoyed.

When we got home, I called another mom whose daughter played soccer with OC this spring. I like her. She beads and is talkative and funny. Anyway, I thought I'd ask her to help me out this week by having OC over for the two mornings I need to go running this week. Do you know what she said? You probable knew the answer all along, didn't you? Well, she said yes. Holy Toledo! Now, I can get my long runs in, and OC can play with a friend. Everybody wins! It's an damned ABC afterschool special.

The worst that would've come from asking for help was if the mother had said no. And, so what if she did? I could ask another one of the moms. If no one could do it, we'd try the bike again. It wouldn't be the end of the world.

This asking for help thing is The Shit! In a good way.

Someone answered my SOS, and it would not have happened if I hadn't asked. My counselor would be so proud.

Bits of This and That

Don't you hate bloggers who don't post regularly? It's so annoying. What is their problem, anyway? Do they think we have all this time on our hands to refreshrefreshrefresh just to check if they've added another overly analytical, self-important post to their overly analytical, self-indulgent blog?

I don't have any pictures of our Seattle trip because I forgot to bring my camera. Yes, we have crappy cell phone pictures but I can't be bothered to figure out how to transfer those to my computer. When I think about the time I would spend figuring that out, versus the quality of the pictures I expire like postdated yogurt. My husband's cell phone takes pretty good pictures...Nope, still can't be bothered.

Today, the contractor called 30 seconds before the workmen came to begin tearing the old shingles off the roof. Thanks for the notice, buddy. Anyway, the roofer is a nice guy. His crew speaks no English, at least that is what I gather from their conversations and from listening unwittingly to their radio station of choice which is blasted from my rooftop. I would like it better if he spoke to me in Spanish as well, since I need the practice. We haven't been going to Spanish conversation group lately, what with jaunts to Seattle and lazy, better things to do-ness. Why does that make me feel guilty, as though Spanish conversation group were necessary to keep me sober? I'm off the wagon, with nothing spoken but pure English these days. With the exception of offering popsicles on a hot day in exchange for an extra-good roofing job. Quieres una paleta?

Also, I have a blister on my foot. Waaaaaaaaaaaaaa. Just wanted to whine, over my Merlot wine. HAAAA! Am funny drunk person. Bye now....

Friday Meme Time

I was tagged for a meme a few months ago and hadn't posted. I found a partial list that I had started as I was digging through saved drafts today, so I thought I'd finish.

Here we go, six weird things or habits about me:

1. I write the occasional letter on paper and send them through the United States Postal Service. Weird!

2. I can rationalize anything. Anything. A.n.y.t.h.i.n.g. Seriously. You want cake for breakfast? It's got milk and eggs in it = go for it.*

3. I am hopelessly optimistic, yet at the same time, cynical. This means I can see the positive in most people and situations but still find things to complain about. It also means that, instead of being a cute quirk, it more often manifests as psycho nutjob who can't make up her mind what with seeing ALL points of view ALL the time. *sigh* It's so HARD being me...

4. I read magazines from back to front. Why? I don't know. I didn't even notice it until one day I did and thought, "huh".

5. Piles of things is one form of organization I employ with enthusiasm. I know where everything is (except the futon hardware) and hey, I know the dishes need to be washed but did you see how neatly they are rinsed and stacked on the counter, all ready to go into the dishwasher? Surely, that counts for something.

6. I feel that doing something in some part is better than doing it not at all, and yet I have the hardest time doing said thing in entirety (see #5), and I think it's because it means I have to do it and when I have to do something it looks like no fun at all and so I don't. Maybe that's why there are piles?


* agreeing with Bill Cosby

Notice Anything Different?

The new template came about because I accidentally deleted, in near entirety, the old template when I was making edits late last night. I learned a valuable lesson or two from all of this and now I will share them with you.

One, don't think that while editing in html mode that you've selected part of your template because you probably haven't. And two, that fancy preview button is not just there for looks, it can actually save your fanny if you make a mistake before you make your stupid mistake permanent by saving your changes. Dummy.

The change is good. I was getting very tired of the old blue 'n orange. I was holding out to switch to another format entirely, so I didn't want to go to the trouble to change my template. I don't know why, it's not hard to do. In the process I learned that you can recover your old template if you do a search for your blog name and title of a recent post. I tried that but couldn't find anything that used my template, only sites that changed it into their own (e.g. Bend Blogs) which is fine except for when you need a cached version of the old one that includes colors and links and all that crazy css.

*sigh*

And then I remembered how I used to keep a text document of my template with all my special color settings and super-special sidebar witticisms - not to mention a kajmillion links - saved in a location that, apparently, only God knows. I couldn't find it anywhere. Oh well, I made a new text document with the new template and it's on my desktop. The template is easy to replace, it's the links that take F-O-R-F-R-E-A-K-I-N-G-E-V-E-R. I only made it up to the m's so far, because I am a lazy slut.

I also learned that I can probably learn CSS faster than I first imagined. I also need to advance my html/javascript knowledge, which is, at the moment, pathetic. I haven't used it in nearly a YEAR, which technologically speaking means I know the equivalent of how to code Pong on a Commodore 64. Well, maybe it's not quite the same. Oh well, as Nelly Furtado would say, no hay igual.

Tomorrow we're hopping a private jet to sip champagne (read: small commercial prop plane which serves complimentary northwest microbrews) to Hong Kong (Seattle) to watch baseball (actually, yes) and shop (hell, yes!) and check out that new sculpture garden park by the waterfront I read about in a recent Sunset magazine, the one with the Alexander Calder sculpture(s). I can't remember if it was one sculpture or multiple, but who cares? It will be cool to see just one towering, geometric wonder.

Two trips within one month? I really am the Occidental Tourist.

The Spheroid Fruit Does Not Plummet an Extensive Length From Its Apogee of Origin

In other words, my daughter is just like me.

...just like me...just like me... I can hear that sentiment echoing off the canyon walls which are near my house and followed closely by my mom's joyous, cackling laughter, not unlike the track meet announcer's voice which was carried on the winds to our house last night and made me think there was an unseen riot in the street until I realized riots don't generally involve a 400-meter relay. Or bullhorns.

Wednesday is library day. Every week, we take our library cards and a tote bag and head out the door to walk the six blocks or so to the county's branch library. Each week, we take a stack of books to return and then check out a stack to bring home. Today - and every day - I have to remind OC to brush her teeth and hair, locate her tote bag, pack the books to be returned, and to bring her library card. Today was no exception.

Wednesday is also the day I have SMART (and exercise great restraint when I answer the question "do you have any paper to color on?" with a resounding "no" four or more times. In a row. Asked by the same child.) and there are special nametags for SMART volunteers so you don't run around the school unidentified, a system I wholeheartedly support. However, I often forget that I am wearing the name tag and wear the thing home, every passerby able to know that I am SMART VOLUNTEER OCCIDENTAL GIRL. Hello, nice to meet you.

And so, I see where OC's forgetfulness comes from, and am reminded that patience is a good thing - also, a virtue! - since none of us are perfect, either. After all, I'd hate to get grounded because I was too preoccupied to follow simple protocol.

It rained today. Yay! Big, fat drops that splattered and made it look and smell like western Oregon, although it felt a lot colder than western Oregon. The cold here is a nastier, meaner older sibling to western Oregon's cold, the kind that warned you not to touch it's stuff, now you're going to get it.

It didn't rain this morning, though, and on our walk to the library OC noticed a mudpuddle and said to me, "Mama, look! You can see the sky right there, it's a reflection in the water!"

Hello! My child is a science genius. She's talking about reflections, at age six!

And then, she looked down and read the words "No Parking" that were painted on the blacktop.

Can you be any more proud of your kids at times like those? I know I complain a tiny little bit about the challenges of motherhood, and I maybe sort of exaggerate her level of genius, but I get so excited about these things and it's only fair to share these along with the, uh, more annoying aspects that I've rambled incessantly about already.

She is quite a girl. She may have a few traits both admirable and challenging that are like me, but she is 100% her own person. I'm nuts over her.

Larger Than A Horse's Ass, Lower Than Pond Scum

When you think of mothers, you generally think of women who self-sacrifice and are ever-mindful of others. Other words that come to mind? Thoughtful. Considerate. Concerned. Mothers are women who inquire of other mothers when they know, for an entirely random example, that Another Mother had an appointment last Friday with the pediatrician because she has an appointment with a neurologist but not for another month because that's the soonest she could get an appointment. In the meantime, this Other Mother talked about how she was uncomfortable doing nothing for ONE ENTIRE MONTH without knowing WTF was going on with her young child. Possibilities included seizures - again - like the seizures he had as an infant, right after he came back to life after being clinically dead for two minutes. He needs physical therapy several times a week, and now something is not quite right but no one knows what and this Other Mother wanted to be proactive and seek medical attention even from a general practitioner so she could better wait out the month until the appointment with the specialist.

Guess which Mother was me? Totally not hypothetically speaking.

If you guessed: The Idiot Who Went On and On Talking About Her Walk in Town This Morning and Seeing the Art Gallery, Not Asking Other Mother About the Doctor Visit Because She is a Huge Ass.....you would be right. I am THAT mother. I felt less than two inches tall after someone else walked up and asked her about it as we chatted about the stupid art gallery. This mom - and potential friend if I don't muck it up too badly - was very gracious and said it was okay and even gave me a ride home. I could better describe the feeling as more lowly than pond scum to be so entirely thoughtless and forget to ask about something so important. I know I forget things, but good grief!

Methinks I doth dwell too much on my own pathetic problems...

Speaking of which, have you read this article about Joseph Democko, California's youngest foster parent? A truly inspiring story. Makes me want to stop being the gunk that is lower than pond scum, develop into a multi-cellular being, and be a better one at that.

I Can Handle the Truth

The truth behind yesterday's post and the SMART-induced crankiness is that it was not SMART-induced. My SMART experiences of not listening were on top of a morning filled with OC not listening. Roll it together into a big ball of Why Do I Even Try? and that's where I was by the time SMART happened.

Lovely. Way to be a grownup, eh?

Yeah. Some days are harder than others. My daughter is wonderful - exceptional even - while she is also a normal child who does not like to listen to every little thing her mom says. Imagine that!

Sometimes I don't want to be needed by anyone or any being, the way my daily life includes a constant need for my attention by many sources: the cat who puts his paws on my leg to be up in my lap as I type; the cat who pukes on the carpet, always on the carpet and not the easier-to-clean floor; the other cat who rubs against my legs asking to be pet even as I sit on the toilet minding my own business; the child who talks and talks to me, constantly demanding my attention when she has a whim to mention something of consequence to herself, all throughout the day, heedless of any visual clue that I am otherwise engaged.

I have noticed that OC often replies to a suggestion of mine with her own. It happens more and more often. When I say, "Go get dressed" she'll respond with, "Okay, then I will watch a movie."

Wait a minute....what?!? Sometimes she asks, sometimes she informs, sometimes she completely changes what I have said. If I give her choices - choices! It's so Parent magazine of me! - "we can go for a walk or go out back and play soccer" she might return with "or we could go to the park". Um, yes, or not.

Sometimes we do what she suggests. I want to hear what she thinks, most of the time. Other times I just want her to listen and do what I've asked her to do. It seems like it's such a struggle just to get back to what I said in the first place.

Instead of being pleased with her copious ideas - and I should be - I am often caught by surprise by this and end up overwhelmed with too many possibilities and wondering where my parental authority has run off to. The question I have is one of balance and fairness: when do I let her have her way, and when do I not?

She's getting older. She's not a toddler anymore, and I recognize that as she grows she needs to have her ideas considered more often while being mindful of the balance of giving kids control vs. giving them a say.

It's all part of growing up, though, isn't it? Expressing yourself and compromising. I am the one who is behind the curve. My daughter is expressing herself, and I need to get with the program.

I Picked a Bad Day to Stop Sniffing Glue

I cut the fric and frac out of my legs today while shaving with a cheap razor. I hate that. Now I am experiencing the aptly titled condition, razor burn. Lovely.

Today was SMART (Start Making A Reader Today) and I was a bad SMART lady. My first child, a first grader, liked the shoe project we did the last two Wednesdays that she wanted to do another one. Thanks to Nike for the farming out of market research to schoolchildren, cleverly disguised as a contest for kids - aka Young Influences on Parents' Pocketbooks - to covertly discover what children really want in a shoe if they could have anything they wanted. Of course, they want to do this the entire time I'm with them. You know, the time where I'm supposed to READ TO THEM.

We have half an hour to read a few books, people, which is not nearly enough time to delve into the inner shoe fantasy world of grade schoolers. The kids wrote things like, "I want the fastest shoes ever!" and decorated the page with foam stickers.

Really? Great, I want fast shoes, too! But there is more.

We read the first story, which she listened pretty well, then she said she wanted to write her own story. I thought this meant in the bigger sense, like, later, but no, she meant she wanted to do it right now. On the one hand, I didn't want to stifle her creativity; on the other we're really pressed for time and I want to do what we're there to do, which is read. A student sitting nearby offered a piece of paper, and I was like, "Well, we're really here to read books, so if you want to write a story I think that's great. You can do that anytime, like during free time in class or even at home tonight!"

Before us sat the second book she had picked to read, and we were running out of time. Her class gets back to their room after the time we're supposed to meet, which cuts into our meager half hour, then we have to walk to the library and I wait while she peruses the bookshelves. We barely have time for one or maybe two books. It's a struggle to get to two.

I said the thing about being here to read, all the while feeling like an idiot. She waited a minute before she said, "I really want to write a story." I repeated the being here to read bit, and exhibited more enthusiasm to get to the next book, hoping I could distract her with a shiny new story. It was not a minute later that she said, "There's a pencil over there" motioning to someone else's pencil atop their folder, the student nowhere in sight, at which time the vein in my forehead popped.

Being fully annoyed with a First Grader, and also completely unsure of what to do makes one feel a bit ridiculous. I couldn't get girlfriend to listen, or to get down with the concept. We read, we only read, we do that thing with the reading, with the exception of when we do that thing with the shoe. But there is no thing with the shoe today, or ever again if the gods smile on us. I'm glad she wanted to write a story, I encouraged her to write when she went home tonight, but holy freaking heck I just wanted to read!

My second child, a second grader, is a talkative one. She's very excited about maybe getting her ears pierced tonight, maybe not, and debated with herself whether or not it will hurt, like, nonstop. I read one book to her while she interrupted only about 600 billion times. The second book, she read to me. She did great, I was so proud of her when she worked through words she didn't know.

After I was done for the day, the SMART coordinator gave me some pictures she had taken the last week of me with the kids. I felt like such a dork for getting mad at stupid things like one of them wanting to write a story and the other interrupting to say things she felt were important. It's supposed to be fun. Sometimes all I can do is follow the rules and it makes me act like such a wet blanket. Rules are there for a reason. I like reading as many books to them as I can, we only have half an hour! And, Type A! Type A! Oh, for Pete's sake...

I saw the first child when she was walking home from school and I was on my way to pick up OC, and she said hi. I was glad she said hello, and I said the same in return and smiled, glad to have seen her. I only hope she didn't notice the contusion on my forehead from the vein explosion.

Things I Forgot to Say

About our time in Sacramento:

Some friends of my husband's live in Sacramento, and so we went to dinner with them the first night to a popular restaurant, Buca de Beppi. After a significant wait, we finally were seated in a corner table located behind a large party with about as many kids as there were adults who were celebrating a birthday. OC was seated near the outside of the table rather than against the wall. This was in case of bathroom trips were needed, and they were, and so this was more convenient.

The birthday group were having a great time, with the kids climbing around and shouting while everyone talked over the noise. The mood at their table was boisterous and loud. The mood at ours was low-key, bordering on murderous, because none of us could hear a thing, or else you were forced to shout if you wanted to talk. We decided informally to wait to have our conversation because it looked like they would leave soon and because it was so much work to try to shout and listen when all we wanted to do was plug our ears with our fingers. They did leave, just before we had gotten our dinners.

We enjoyed the food and when we were done, I was surprised at what happened next. A man and a woman were seated next to us. They were in the middle of dinner and as we put on our coats they caught our attention and said, "Your child is a joy to be around. She is so well-behaved! It restores our faith in children. Thank you."

I wish I could take credit! OC is a naturally good kid. REALLY GOOD, in spite of my faulty parenting.*

I was SO PROUD of her. She is a great kid. She fits in to whatever we're doing while being her refreshing, honest, observant self. I made sure she knew that I was proud of her and why, even though she was right there when the compliment was given.



And now I will reveal the secrets to happy dining out with a child: Polly Pockets. All those little pieces can keep them occupied for hours while you sip your mojito and wait for the loud people to leave. Also? Take OC with you when you dine out. You will not be disappointed.

I also forgot to mention that, when we were in Old Sac, we went to the California Railroad Museum, and it is awesome! Even if you aren't particularly interested trains but like history, like myself, you will enjoy going to see it.

They have a sleeping train on display - among many, many others - and it is set to move back and forth as though the train were in motion. OC loved that! She took me through that one three times. There is a dining car set up with all the different dishes throughout the years. It's attached to the sleeping car so we went through that three times as well.

I felt like a kid again, watching those model trains go around and around on their loops of track, through the town buildings in the front and then disappearing behind trees and into tunnels in the back, only to emerge again in triumph. Yay! Trains are cool.

The best restaurant that we experienced in Sacramento was in Old Sac, and it was California Fat's. The Fat family came to Sacramento from China a long time ago and are well-known names in the town and have three or five restaurants, we never figured out the final tally. California Fat's is an Asian/California fusion (I don't think this word is used enough - fusion, fusion, fusion...) of taste sensations.

Most importantly, they have really good mojitos. And can I just say? OC was an angel in that place, too. That's why we can travel with her, you know. It's nothing I'm doing, it's her. She is the coolest kid ever.

Now that I've remembered everything, I think, I can tell you about the Nevada leg of the trip, with pictures, which will be a shorter post.

* It's not the first compliment I've gotten about her behavior. I used to have to bring her to work occasionally, if she had pink eye and couldn't go to daycare but was well enough to be out and about, or whatever. My previous boss was at first reluctant to have her there because he thought she'd be loud and obnoxious and into everything. You know, a normal, curious kid who gets bored? Yes. She'd sit in my cube or at the light table and draw, look at books, find office supplies to play with, pull things off the printer and take it to whoever printed it out, or visit my coworker's cubes for a little chat. On his way out of the office, my boss looked at her and told her with a smile that she is welcome here anytime, she was so well-behaved.

I can't take credit for it. I'm bragging about her, but it's not about me being some great parent. It's her.

I know how it is when, as a parent you can't necessarily get your child to behave a certain way. It happens to me all the time, more so when she was a toddler. That's called NORMAL. OC has a personality that makes her observant and act like the people around her are acting, mostly. She's six, and she does that more often all the time. If we're in a museum for example, she looks at what other people are doing and if they're quietly looking at displays then she quietly looks at displays. As soon as she is bored, she tells me quietly that she is bored and asks to leave in whispers over and over again until I cannot concentrate anymore and we leave.

She can last for hour-long funerals. She is perfectly content on overnight flights to Europe. I've complained about her enough, it's time to write about some good things.

You may be wondering why in the hell I ever complain about her. I can only offer that it is because I suck. Or, I have a low threshold for parenting. The point is, you should try California Fat's if you are ever in Sacramento. And take the kids.

A Tour of Northern California

April, 2007:

California/Oregon border. It had just rained, so the road is all steamy.



The rest area at the border has this marker showing you are at the 42nd line of latitude. If you are dorks like us, you stop and get out to read the historical signs and take pictures of them. I took pictures of them so I could read them later. (If you want to pretend like you don't know me, I understand why.)



Our first overnight was in Redding, Ca. We went to the Turtle Bay Exploration Park, which features, among other things, the Sundial Bridge:



It is environmentally sensitive because it doesn't have any bridge structural elements in the water, it is architecturally gorgeous because of its clean lines...



...and startlingly simple design...



I highly recommend Redding and Turtle Bay Park. I had no idea how nice it was in that area, and would go back again. There's Shasta, Trinity, and Whiskeytown lakes for camping, boating, swimming, and hiking. Not to mention all kinds of sites to see, like waterfalls and mountains and old west towns.

If you ever find yourself in the area driving south from Redding, I highly recommend stopping in Chico and go to the Sierra Nevada brewpub for lunch. Or dinner.

What I don't recommend is stopping for gas at a station in Gridley and, after getting gas, listen while your spouse complains about how irresponsible you've been to let the gas tank get so low and wonder at your audacity to not know the precise mileage from where you are to the next town with a gas station when asked by same spouse who was, up to then, napping, and who won't hear of it when you complain that his mapreading duties have been reluctant and only performed when asked which has been irritating.

No, don't do this while your car sits there with a full tank of gas and your daughter watches while snacking on popcorn, because that would be not only pointless, but go a long way toward ruining your day. Moving on.

The state capital of California is Sacramento. They have a lovely capitol building...



...the inside is pretty, too...



...you can take a tour of the building and photograph the inside of the dome, like I did:



The seal of the state, in stained glass:



The Governor's Office. The word "Governor" is embossed into the marble, while the words "Arnold Schwarzeneggar" are done in relief (sticks out from the background), painted gold, in case you might forget the Governor's name.



This is purported to be the oldest cathedral west of the Mississippi. I would have to argue with anyone who says it isn't the prettiest. It's absolutely gorgeous! We went inside, where we saw a marble baptismal font, gorgeous wooden pews, amazing stained glass, ceilings that went high into the sky, and tile floors. It's amazing. I can't offer enough exclamatory words to appropriately describe it. I'm not Catholic, so I don't have a lot of cathedral time under my belt, but I'd say this one is amazing, amazing, amazing...



We also visited Old Sacramento, which is just a quick walk under Interstate 5 through a lighted, mural-painted pedestrian underpass away from downtown and the capitol area.

I call this one Gorgeous Child, With Carriage:



Old Sac, as it is referred to, contains many gift shops where we resisted the urge to by "The Governator" t-shirts. It was very, very tempting. Also, I enjoyed the contrast between old and new:



More old and new:



On our way east toward Nevada, we stopped at Folsom. The place with the prison:



After that, I couldn't get Johnny Cash songs out of my head, which was not a bad thing at all, and nothing like the time I got "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain" stuck in my head. I don't know how that happened, except for listening to the All American Folk Song radio station, which doesn't exist, so I still have no explanation.

Nevada pictures will be in another post. Hopefully it will happen tomorrow, or at least on Monday, but with my track record I would advise you not hold your breath.

I Cannot Take Credit For This

My friend sent me the following email. I did not write it and I don't know who did, but it's funny. You may have already seen it. If not, enjoy! It cheered me right the hell up:

It has been scientifically proven that if we drink 1 liter of water each day, at the end of the year we would have absorbed more than 1 kilo of Escherichia coli (E. coli) bacteria found in feces.

In other words, we are consuming 1 kilo of Poop. However, we do not run that risk when drinking wine (nor rum, whiskey, beer or other liquor) because alcohol has to go through a purification process of boiling or filtering and/or fermenting.

WATER = POOP
WINE = HEALTH

Ergo: It is better to drink wine and talk stupid than to drink water and be full of shit. There is no need to thank me for this valuable information. I am doing it as a public service.

* * * * * *

Currently Experiencing a Down

Lately marriage - or, my marriage - has been difficult; fraught with discord, argument, anger, and resentment. Maybe there has been too much togetherness?

I was uplifted today when I came across this passage from a book I happened upon in a display while leaving the library:

"Like so many other things, people have also misunderstood the position love has in life; they have made it into play and pleasure because they thought that play and pleasure are more blissful than work; but there is nothing happier than work, and love, precisely because it is the supreme happiness can be nothing other than work.

It is also good to love: because love is difficult. For one human being to love another human being: that is perhaps the most difficult task that has been entrusted to us, the ultimate task, the final test and proof, the work for which all other work is merely preparation."

--- Ten Poems to Open Your Heart, by Roger Housden. The passage is taken from a letter written by the poet Rainer Maria Rilke to another writer. See page 81, located in the appropriately titled chapter, "The Ache of Marriage".

The thing is, I'm having a hard time with the work of love. I know people for which love does not seem to be that much work. I envy them! I do not like fighting with my husband, steeling myself for another round of his excessive anger. The ups and downs of his mighty anger wears me out. Not knowing what to do about it wears me out. Not saying the right things to placate him wears me out.

There is something else, the omnipresent cloud that colors my everyday: I do not like living here. I do not like the cold and the dryness and the constant sunshine, being isolated from my friends and everything that I enjoyed. Greenness. Rain. People I knew. The extremely excellent school OC attended. I miss home.

I make the best of most days, I get out and meet people. I do try to have a positive attitude most of the time. But I cannot deny the reality that I do not like it here.

I like our house, where it is because at least we are in town and close to things; I like teaching my daughter to read, finding good books to read myself, working at knitting, making new beaded jewelry.

Mostly, I feel lost. I don't know what I'm doing here. I feel as though I have been forgotten about by Life and God and the Universe, that I don't have a place, that I am disconnected. I don't know what to do about that. I suppose I'll have keep going. I don't have any better ideas. Concentrate on the good, and keep going! Whoop de doo.

I'll keep reading Datinggod. She's always good for a spiritual uplift. I don't know how she stays so positive.

I have a lot to learn.

Triumphant Return

I realize I may have written the last post too hastily. When I wrote "Back with more state capital photos" underneath photos of my child with our cat, it didn't make much sense.

See, we have this goal of traveling to see every state capital in the U.S. Why? I don't know, it's just a goal we have. It is a challenge, it will take us to places we wouldn't normally plan a family vacation (e.g. Jackson, Mississippi; nothing wrong with Mississippi, but it isn't a destination since we have no family there, or other real attraction to make us travel that far to get there) and I think that makes it interesting.

I have some pictures to share, but they are not ready yet. In the meantime, check out this website. I love the design! It's Flash, apparently, and you can scroll around on the left half of it, click and look through what's there. My cat liked to watch the bug fly around and get zapped in the light. Then, you can go to the right half of the page and there are things to read. I found it after following a link from Cape Buffalo.

I like this a lot. Hope you do, too. See you tomorrow!

Here Are Those Photos I Mentioned

OC loves Dakota:





I'll be on vacation this week starting tomorrow. Official vacation, that is. The past few days have been hard. I started writing about it but I am not finished. Between houseguests and readying to go on vacation, I've had plenty to do other than sit down and write.

Back with more state capital photos next week!

Blahhhhh

Met today with a contractor to talk about a new roof and new windows. The roof is really bad and must be replaced soon, and the windows are oldoldold and are not energy efficient. That's going to be a hefty chunk of change, but worth it since our utility bill was nearly $200 one month! It is VERY cold here, yet we keep the ol' thermostat at 60 degrees, wear sweaters and drink a lot of alcohol.

Earlier this spring, I signed up OC for soccer. The first practice is tonight. She is SO excited. I guess this means it's official: I am a soccer mom. Oy vey! I can't believe it. Now just let me find my SUV and my travel cocktail shaker and work that stereotype....

I am bored with this blog's design. I bought a new URL but need to find a web host and start designing a new site. Trouble is, I don't know much about how to design a functioning blog. I need to learn about CSS and how to use interactive coding. I know there are people out there who design blog templates and headers and things, but I AM a graphic designer - albeit sans the proper equipment at the moment - and I want to do it myself!

Witness: Creative Frustration.

Harrumph. Bah humbug. And razzberries.

I can't really devote much time to it right now because of other pressing issues that need attention. Nothing exciting, just crap that needs to get done which means I can't spend time on the redesign of this site quite yet.

Meanwhile, I think what I need to do is share more photos and do less whining....starting tomorrow.

How To Drive Me Crazy

No, not THAT FedEx. What, you thought this was Britney's blog? I still have all my own hair, thank you.

Federal Express - the large shipping company - left a note on my door yesterday which said something to the effect of:

Sorry we missed you! We'll be back tomorrow...sometime. Be available all day until 7 pm, please! Thanks. P.S. You can't sign this tag, you have to be home to sign for it otherwise you're not getting your package, beyotch. Hugs! FE

By way of explanation: my mom shipped some wine to us from Hawaii; couldn't ship it to her home; will pick it up when she comes to see me today on way home from long road trip; end of boring story.

I wanted to go out for some exercise this morning. Get up off the floor! Yes, I do exercise occasionally out of doors. Then I remembered the FedEx note that smacked of the cable company. Honestly, can I not leave the house the entire day lest I miss this delivery which you insist must be done at your convenience and which needs my signature or we wait another day?

I'm a problem-solver. Here's what I did: I called FedEx and entered the number, but it didn't give me any more detail than I already had. I wrote a note on a Post-It and put it on the front door. It read something to the effect of: I am out from (this time) to (that time). Can you tell me when you'll be here and I'll be sure to be home? Please??? Thank you! Me. No Hugs.

And then I went rollerblading.

Yes! Rollerblading!!! What?????

Anyway, it turned out that the delivery guy showed up just before I got ready to get into the shower, but not before I left him another Post-It note. And because I didn't want to tell the guy in a note that I was in the shower lest he, I don't know, try to break in or something, I instead wrote that I was indisposed.

I told him when he showed up that it made me anxious and I felt I couldn't leave the house, and he laughed. I laughed, too. But I was serious. I mean, I have groceries and important things to do, man.

Don't fence me in, FedEx.

Irony, Defined

Apparently I suffer from a lack of comprehension. I read this, and then did nothing. All she was trying to do was give me this:



Thank you, Mrs. Chicken for the acknowledgement. I love you, too!

A Thinking Blogger Award for a Non-Thinking Blogger. At least, a Non-Paying-Attention one.

In my most non-obsequious tone, let me tell you that I do love Mrs. Chicken for many reasons. She makes me laugh; she's smart; she is so relatable; and she's not afraid to tell you the good along with the bad. We have quite a lot in common, too. We both just moved to new places for our husband's sake and left a lot behind and are still finding our respective ways around new towns; we have daughters; we bemoan the lack of shopping in our new areas of residence. Oh, and then there's the horrible disease that had a devastating affect on both of our families at nearly the same time. But it's mostly good things we have in common. If only we lived closer to one another, we could have coffee and shop online together, geography be damned!

And now, to show that I'm not a complete, non-participating jerk, here is my list of five bloggers who make me think:

Wait. Before I list anyone I want to say first that this is by no means a comprehensive list, and that there are many bloggers who I read on a regular basis that I love - LOVE - and may not be listed here. If it were up to me I would just point to my blogroll and say there! There they are! Those bloggers all make me think! But I have to do this so I can get off the shit list, if I am, indeed, on one, for this or any other reason. Actually, if there's another reason (and let's face it, I probably am) I'll have to take care of that later. For now, here's this:

Julia {Here Be Hippogriffs} talks about her pain and her joys so honestly, it's heartbreaking.
Mimi Smartypants is way too smart, but every once in awhile I get the reference.
Mother Reader is a mom, AND she reads. I didn't know you could do that!
Izzy Mom is not afraid to talk about anything, be it an embarrassing personal story, or debating important social topics.
Eva Las Vegas is just so cool.

Allright, I have completed my assignment. As a current Type A and former slacker*, I think we can all agree that I must feel SO MUCH BETTER right now, not having let this go undone.

I just want to know, what is a hippogriff, and where, exactly, are they?


* Former? Who am I trying to kid???

Dry Humor

It is dry here in Central Oregon.

How dry is it?

It is so dry that I have to put lotion in places I have never, ever thought would need it before. I have to put it on my back!

Just thought you'd want to know.

My Life is a Dream

This morning, many events conspired against me to prevent further sleep:

4:30 am: Husband's alarm rings. No, not rings. It plays "We Will Rock You", the song that happened to be playing on the radio station the alarm is set to. Husband does not jump, as I did, when this song trumpets the arrival of Way Too Early In The Morning.

4:35 am: Husband's alarm now plays "Tiny Dancer".

4:42 am: OC comes in, tells me she's wet the bed. Up to change sheets. First time in a long time since that's happened. Must've been that last glass of water right before bed? Note to self: don't give OC glass of water right before bed.

5:25 am: husband in to say good bye.

5:26 am: husband in to see if we have a spare key for the back door. No, I say. It's a skeleton key. Oh, he says. I knocked it off the peg and it's behind the water heater. I can't see it.

5:32 am: (hand stuck deeply into 55 year old dust behind water heater) No key.

5:35 am: Get ruler to fish around in dust where I can't reach. Still no key.

5:39 am: Go to back room where the door has been left open. This is a bad sign. The cats could have gotten in here. Look for magnet. Ohhh, the cats DID get in here, at least one of them did, I found the spot with my slipper. Great. Still no damn key. Go look for ruler or other tool, don't know what.

5:41 am: Husband finds key in bucket that was near door. "From now on I will always turn on the light before I reach for the key. Sorry. I won't keep you up anymore."

Thaaaaaaaaaaanks, dear.

I'm up. There was just way too many interruptions. I can't go back to sleep after just three times being awakened, much less this morning's extravaganza. It was a real problem when OC was an infant. I was desperately tired, but my body was like, Hell No, Woman! It's been three times, you're up now! Stupid body.

I'm up now, why don't I tell you about my dream?

But not before the cat tries to jump into my lap and digs his claws into the flesh of my thigh.....

Ouch!!!!

I love the damn cats, but am so over their preferred methods of communication. Things like, I don't like where the litter box is = pee on floor! Or, I want to be held even though you're doing something = scratchety-scratch! scratch scratch scratch!

* * *
Grrrrrrrrrrrr.

There are three clean litter boxes, furry dudes, plus that time I held you last night and cleaned your ears. Figure it out...

* * *

Okay, the dream.

I was at a small gathering to hear a performance. It was "Prairie Home Companion" mixed with "This American Life", Garrison Keillor was hosting stories related to a theme. A roomful of people were listening while it would be taped for broadcast.

OH and found a spot to sit and listen, talking to people on the way in. He must have heard me, because then Garrison comes over and asks me to tell a story. Except I've forgotten all my stories! I start writing things down on any surface I can find.

This show has great stories every week, and if I'm going to be one to contribute than I'd better have it written down. I can't find paper, so I write in my spit on tile. Spit is clear, so I can't see it. This makes no sense to me either. I know I'm a better problem-solver than that.

I think I tried to use coffee or Crystal Light on a napkin to write, or something else, and then a woman starts to give me her recipe for homemade lemonade. I feel all distracted and that time is running out, and then I find some paper. For some reason I meet a guy who tells me some his stories. For some other reason, I listen. He's from Vanderbilt University (NCAA, anyone?) and I'm writing his stories down as a way to tell about this guy I met because somehow it makes my story more interesting until I realize I can't remember the end of his story.

So I'm writing, writing, writing and hoping I'm not the first one called to talk. A few other things happen, can't remember, and then I hear "We will, we will, rock you!"

And now that I feel tired again, it's time to get up.

Weekend Update

In an effort to put ourselves out there in this new town, we decided to go to a Conversational Spanish meeting. The flyer said it is an informal group that meets to practice spoken Spanish, all levels would be welcome. Well, it was, we did, and there were.

When we first walked into the mate shop and got in line to order a drink, we saw the group. It consisted of a woman and a man speaking in what sounded like pretty good Spanish. After a minute, though, I noticed that the man, while he had an extensive Spanish vocabulary, did not at all try to adopt a Spanish accent. He had a heavy American accent that, it sounded like to me, he was determined not to lose.

The group was cool, getting up to ten people. It did not include an Hispanic person, however, but the original woman speaking to American Accent Man told me that this is a portion of the members and that it sometimes does include Hispanic people.

I am motivated to get more fluent. Besides the fact that my husband speaks better Spanish than I - and there's nothing that's more motivating to me than a competition with my husband involving who knows more language - we plan to go to Mexico again and I don't want to be the stupid American who can only say a few words.

This past weekend I was back in the Valley (Willamette) for my niece's birthday party. It is amazing how green it is there, and how brown it is here. It is strange going back, because it brings back all kinds of memories....and longing.

*sigh

In sports news that probably no one will care about, my ranking moved up in the NCAA men's basketball tournament office pool from low; very, very low; to second place! I am now in third place.

It should be noted that, being the only woman in the office pool, I'm particularly proud of this random achievement of mine, done by wild-ass guessing. Go, me! (The office pool, as you might know, is with my husband's office. I am currently without office. On the upside, if I had my own office pool, I would be number one, which would double for first and last place.)

In news that you may care about, my previous supervisor from my job when I was employed is participating in this year's Team In Training ride for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. The crazy thing is, the first year he rode in this, 2005, he himself was undergoing chemotherapy.

I know! He totally kicks ass!

Anyway, if you want to donate money, it's tax-deductible and will go to a great cause. The cool thing is you can do it online. Click here for his brief story, and donation page.

I mention that because I have known way too many people to have leukemia, and especially WAY TOO MANY who have died. There was my nine-year old cousin, my 33-year old brother, and my 62-year old dad. I know bloggers who've lost people to cancer. I hate leukemia.

Buenos dias, mis amigos.

Confession

Are you watching the men's NCAA college basketball tournament?
I was up late last night picking my teams. I'm not a huge sports fan, but there's something about college basketball that's exciting. Maybe it's the Indiana heritage in me which stretches back through multiple generations that bubbles to the surface, spans time - and half the country - to surface now and pique my interest in the phenomenon known as March Madness. Or maybe not?

Whatever it is, I'm off to make a new pot of coffee, and may the Lord help me in that endeavor.

Mom-opomorphizing

Yesterday was the kind of day that started with an overflowing coffeepot onto a white tile countertop.

When I say it was "...the kind of day that..." what I mean is, "...in reality, it literally occurred...". Coffee grounds + white coffeemaker + white tile + white grout = big fucking mess. It was my fault. I added too much coffee to the coffee ground receptacle bucket-thingy.

After I managed to salvage one jarful of the liquid gold with a filter and more mess-making, the morning continued. Next was a two-hour dentist appointment where the hygienist politely pointed out that while my teeth and gums were relatively healthy, that six-year hiatus from regular dental visits (long story - stop judging me - please!) was not a good thing.

Oops. I know.

I know!

The excitement was continued that afternoon when I met with the new tax preparer. I thought I was prepared for the meeting, but she kept asking for things - things I did not have! - necessitating appointment number two next week.

Boy, was I ever ready to get that day over with.

Enter: today.

The thing about kids is, you never know what you're going to get from day to day. I'm talking specifically about behavior and attitude, but it could, of course, include anything. One day, OC will be the sweetest, most helpful child in the world, so much so that I will feel like blogging about it just to brag. The next moment - or hour, or day - she cops an attitude so fierce it makes me think we've skipped all the years between 7 and 12 and gone straight to 13.

I am not ready for that. I can barely keep up with six years, two months and nineteen days much less a teenager.

The good thing about six years old is that once she's in trouble, she's much more likely to want to get out of it than another older age may be. This morning, for instance, was the day that I lost my patience with all the equivocating she's begun to do. I asked her if her bed was made. Yes! She answered. Fine, go watch cartoons with my blessing, dear one. I'll just be the mommy with the coffee over here right now.

Later, when I went up to her room, her bed was most decidedly unmade. Now, I'm not looking for hospital corners here (not until she's seven - ha ha ha ha ha ha Type A haaaaaa). I just want the covers pulled up and kind of smoothed out so that it looks good. I told her how unhappy and disappointed I was in her, and then she started in with contrition. Oh, the contrition!

We spent the morning cleaning, all the while I told her I loved her, but the lying will not be tolerated. If there's one thing I cannot stand, it's lying. (Lying, and coffee-stained white tile kitchen counters.)

And then, poof! I turned into my mom.

When did this happen, I wonder? When did I become a rule-making, rule-enforcing, list-making, errand-running individual? When I gave birth, is when. The transformation, it is involuntary. It's also hit-or-miss, which makes me wonder what else I have to look forward to. Maybe one day I will leave the house in the morning with my kids in the car and then forget they are there so instead of dropping them at school I will try to drive to work? (That was classic! Circa approximately 1989-1990.)

However, in my mom's defense I can say that she has never filled up the coffeepot with so much coffee that it overflowed all over the place, nor did she let six years go by between dental cleanings. It does make me cringe when she adopts the overly-gratified tone in her voice and tells me, "OC is just like YOU!!!"

Post Meeting Fervor is Over

Hi there.

I was up late last night in some sort of post-meeting fervor. Now that I have re-read last night's post, it does sound kind of nuts. I mean, I'm glad I met people and all but the exuberence I felt over the whole thing did not translate well to the post. Did you notice I didn't talk about the substance of the meeting? Because I was more concerned with the social aspect? (shallow!) Ahh well. Today is another day, Scarlett.

We went to the library the other day and found this wonderful children's book: The Red Lemon, by Bob Staake. The story was good, fine, lovely; but the illustrations! So fabulous. Loved them. What is with graphic designers being great illustrators? I am not one of them, but I admire those with the ability to do both.

I came across a cool site that tracks books left out in public spaces, much like the Where's George? idea. Search by book title, or by location. I thought it would be fun to do while on a trip, especially if there aren't any books in your area. There aren't any in Redmond. Unless...I could start off this city with a title. Even better, along with the book I could leave one of OH's t-shirts and a hat.

Provide a public service + amuse self + clean out the closets = Genius!

Speaking of books, I recently signed up with Library Thing in order to replace my sad, outdated booklist in this blog's sidebar. I have been thinking about changing this blog, actually. I'm getting tired of the template, but really I want to venture forth into the land of My Very Own Domain and experiment with more tools, more design, and more freedom.

But not today.

Today is Friday, which in our house is movie day. Arriving today in my very own mailbox: Goldfish Memory.

What's your next Netflix?

Community Meeting Fever

I am fresh from a community meeting tonight where I:

• met another mom of a Kindergartener, although her child attends a different elementary school than OC;


• met and spoke in depth with a school board member who used to live in the town we just moved from;


• met the Parent-Teacher Organization president at my child's school;


• heard the school superintendent, mayor, city manager, and other school board and community members speak about issues in the town: rumors circulated over past bond levies, complaints about education, etc. Not exactly Harper Valley-juicy, but good;


• experienced a heady rush from being in proximity and interacting with other adults and having a grown-up conversation.

I even got someone's phone number. Let's just take a moment to enjoy that fact, shall we?

. . .

I MET someone! A mom! With a kid! My age! And everything!

I was at the refreshment table when I said a few pleasantries to a friendly woman getting coffee. She poured me a coffee, and we got to talking. In the conversation that followed, I found out that she knew exactly where I lived because EVERYONE knows that house, apparently. She knows the family who lived here before us.

That family is the Kevin Bacon of Redmond; everyone knows them, somehow. Everyone also seems to know this house. (I hear this all the time: "Oh, you live on the corner of blankety and blank, in the green house? I know that house"...OR..."I know the people who used to live in the house"...OR..."I waited for that house to come up for sale before we bought our house"...!!!!!)

Weirder yet? The family that used to live in our house have two daughters. One is Kindergarten-age. Oh yeah, you guessed it: she's in OC's class, and what's more is, they are good friends. I thought we could have them over to play...on their old play structure in their old backyard. Or sleep over...in their old bedrooms.

Then, I found out that my new BFF works for the library. Hello! I love the library. I visit the library a LOT. Because there are people there, and if that doesn't work, there are books to read while I'm waiting to meet the people.

I was talking about the event last night. Right. The boring part is that it was the first in a new visioning process for the schools in this town. And boy, is there some history here! There's mistrust of the school district because of a bond levy a few years ago to do with a new high school, something about how the building would be used. I don't know, I wasn't here. That confusion came about because there were rumors circulating, information was not delivered or deciphered correctly, blah blah blah. I don't know anything more specific except that it was voted down.

When we were considering in which town to live in Central Oregon, a big black mark for Redmond was that it wasn't funding a new high school, while everyone we talked to who knew this town said the high school was overcrowded. We didn't want to live in a community that would have an attitude like that. But, we have a Kindergartener, and there is a new elementary school, so we decided that we had time to see what would happen and that it was likely a new high school would be built by the time OC got to high school-age.

Now, I've met some people. Finally! I have seen my future, and it includes more community meetings and lingering by the coffee and food tables in order to get phone numbers.

Good Days

It is not All Bad, All the Time around here. Yesterday morning OC and I walked, tote bags in hand, the six blocks to the city library; I enjoyed our lively conversation, with OC being her talkative self.

This morning, I was downstairs when a loud crash came from upstairs.

"Are you allright?" I asked. OC had just gone up to her room.

"Yes, and nothing's broken. Kola (the cat) is okay, too. He was a good mile away," came the reply.

Lately she's been saying things "sure are" something or other, or her reply to something said in conversation will be: "that's for sure!"

I know I need to soak up these moments of her six year old self. One day she will want to forge her independence (even more), and will crave her own space and privacy. Already she has began to want to be alone while she gets undressed for a bath. Not every time, but the day is coming where I won't be able to see those naked bunsies anymore.

My kvetching and complaining are due to frustrating moments, but that is all they are. The moments soon pass (I would do well to keep in mind), and there is so much of The Funny and The Cute with this girl.

Here, OC is soaked through from a short walk through the rain to town and back from our condo at the beach. This is what she calls 'madface' and is perfectly captured here as it is usually performed, which is to say, through laughter:




This is her impression of a kangaroo, given against the backdrop of a particularly stunning sunset at the beach last month. We bought that polka dot dress for summer, but she wanted to wear it all the time while we were indoors:




OC self-portrait: