Dreamtree

Aicha

2007-11-07T21:18:00.000-08:00

Here is something for your listening and comedic pleasure:

http://www.geekoffice.com/search/index.php?searchword=pennmasala

That first song "Aicha" has hypnotised me. Evidently, this acapella group from Penn State is covering a version done by the group Outlandish, http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8krO7Q3vSyswhich is a kind of re-mix of the original French/Rai pop song http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3LFJY3tX9TE. The singer is Algerian, but the lyrics were written by a French Jew. Which is funny, because when I first heard the French version, the language made me think of the Song of Solomon. Here's something else,
the farther you get from the original, the less coherent the lyrics are. For example, the rap version says;

"She moves, she moves like a breeze"

This is from the French;

" I 'll go where your breeze leads me"

Song of Solomon:

"Whither thou goest, I would follow."

The first verse in English:

"So sweet, so beautiful.
Every day like a queen on her throne.
Don't nobody knows how she feels,
Aicha, Lady, one day you'll be real."

In French:

"As if I didn't exist
she passed me by
without a glance, -- "Queen of Sheba",
I said 'Aicha, take. It's all for you.'"

Is it me, or is Anglo-Saxon crap for love songs?

Anyway, this song is not under my skin because of the lyrics. It's the haunting, plaintive, heartbreak in the music. It's like slow sobbing in the key of D, opening up my heart chakra and reminding me that men are good for something.

Rocky Point

2007-09-14T22:42:00.000-07:00

These are difficult days.
2 weeks ago I spent a relaxed weekendwith a friend in San Diego, attending a Feng Shui seminar. At a certain point the instructor looked at my hastily drawn floor plan, scribbled with notes and tentative compass points marked out and said "You need to put a fountain here, in your career sector."
Subsequently, I did go home and put a fountain on my bedroom dresser.
Last Friday, I tore my boss and his secretary a "new one." I've been correct but tight-lipped ever since, and I can see everyone move to the edge when I enter the room. Yesterday, I put applications in to the local hospital and the dept. of Public Health. Then I went home, sat on my bed and looked at my dresser.

Coming True

2007-09-05T08:31:00.000-07:00

Here I am again. Summer has ended, school has begun, I'm back at work --a place I find myself hating just a little bit more every day, and the Dreamtree calls.
Here is the part where I list my current projects:
1) Lose weight. The neverending saga. This time I've decided to hire a Lifecoach, because I've tried everything else (except diet and exercise, of course, I'm not a fanatic). Love the lifecoach. I've exited both meetings with her exhilarated, aerated, and boyant. Unfortunately, the scale does not register that newfound lightness of being. --Yet!
I plan to continue with this activity in good faith for a while longer. I'm open to peripheral, yet unseen benefits.
2) Travel. I want to go to Turkey, goddammit! I haven't been anywhere except to my mother's house since I got married. Before that, I traveled all over the place, despite my student job poverty. My sister called me last weekend because her husband surprised her by buying tickets to Greece, where they will join one of my brothers. She wanted to know what there was to do in Athens, since she kne I had spent some time there back in the 80's. I have a dream, and that dream is to see Istanbul, a place I've never been, but from the pictures it looks like a fairy tale land. And a place where I won't have to veil and there will be flush toilets, hopefully. As a first step towards this dream, I have purchased a Learn Turkish set of CDs, which I play over and over as I drive kid back and forth all afternoon.
3) Shorter blog posts. 'Nuff said.

Extinguished

2007-07-05T13:32:00.000-07:00

This blog is no more. See you in the comments section.

meme by me

2007-05-13T14:14:00.000-07:00

Here are seven random facts about me:

1) My ears were pierced when I was 5 years old by a midwife in Naples Italy. Midwiffery must have been a lucrative profession in those days, because I remember her house as being huge and dark. My mother and I and our neighbor, a young farm woman, were all shown into a cavernous room full of furniture covered in sheets. The midwife came out, a very haughty well-dressed woman, who seemed very busy and kind of annoyed. Eventually she passed a needle through a candle flame, threaded it with some fine silk cording, and sewed a couple of loops into my earlobes. I screamed like a monkey when she did it, more in reaction to her manner than out of any actual pain, I think. Anyway, my Mom bought me a pair of little gold hoops with tiny rubies to wear in my ears, which I promptly lost, and for which I have been searching ever since.

2) Right after college graduation, I decided to take a trip to the Mainland and visit with some far away relatives and friends. After about 6 months, I decided to try and get a job, but had no winter clothing, other than a coat and some black winter boots. I was in Pennsylvania at the time, so I headed out to the King of Prussia mall with my last $100 to see what kind of a job seeking outfit I could come up with. After a discouraging tour of the price tags, I drifted over to the makeup counters, and noticed how elegant and well-groomed the women behind the counter were. Then I noticed they were all wearing grey smocks. I ended up buying a black skirt, a black turtle neck and spent the rest of the money on cosmetics and a manicure.

3) When I was about 15 or 16 I picked up a book on Tarot at my High School Library. It had big full page colour illustrations of each card in the Marseilles deck, plus various historical variations. I dreamed about those archetypical images for weeks. Since then I have an ongoing fascination with the communicative power of images.

4) Within the last 30 days I have learned that 2 of my best friends and one of my brothers has decided to become either vegetarian or vegan. Furthermore, my friends and my brother's girlfriend have celiac. Why is it that everyone I know has some kind of major food allergies or dietary restrictions? I predict that some day I will be able to eat only water and stewed prunes.

5) I dream one day of going to Istanbul, Turkey. I hope it doesn't get all bombed up before I get there.

6) I can't decide whether I am lazy, or incredibly competent in making my wishes come true. At this point in my life, all my goals of early adulthood have been realized. Oddly enough, I feel sort of trapped in amber, or like I am treading water, waiting to get back to my real life. I tell myself I'm living for everyone else right now, and that eventually they will all be gone. But what will be left?

7) I have three buttocks.

Not really. That was kind of juvenile, but it has taken me a week to come up with 7 random facts about myself. A little harder than what I would have expected. Oh wait, here's something

7') I can sew. Lately I mostly sew kids pajamas, because I can make them exactly like the ones int the catalogs, which sell for $40, for about $5. I give them as gifts, and make several for my own kids every season, because there is nothing better than a bath and a clean pair of p.j.'s at the end of the day.

8) BONUS FACT: I have developed a mild profanity habit. Ex: "A.J says he'll give you a ride home at 11:00pm? A.J can kiss my ass, I'll be there to pick you up at 9:00. --!" I have been told, repeatedly, that it isn't appreciated, especially by my co-workers, and yet I can't seem to discard the offensive wordage.

Note Taken

2007-05-02T19:23:00.000-07:00

Here is a comment I left on Greg's blog http://www.geeseaplenty.com/ this morning:

"Last week I saw a speaker on the subject of date rape, --Mike Domitriz. He suggests asking before making the Big Move. As in “I had a great time, I really like you, can I kiss you?” If they say no, you can always say, “Glad I asked, I’d have hated to make you uncomfortable.”
This is one of those ideas which is so revolutionary, and yet so obvious. If someone put their hands on your food, you’d know exactly how to react, but if they put their hands on your body, it’s all complicated and awkward."

Later in the day I thought that this is the kind of thing I should develop and post on my own blog. The thing is, I really don't have much more to say about it. It's a good idea, and I wish someone had suggested it to me when I was in Junior High.

The reason this is all on my mind, and why I went to program in the first place (http://canikissyou.com/ , by the way) is that next week I have to get up in front of about 100 Fifth Grade girls and show "The Film." You know, periods and stuff.

I also have to review all that material for 79 Sixth grade girls the day before. I was thinking I would focus on skin care and make-up this year for the Sixth, and maybe get into dating etiquette as well. I haven't really drafted it out yet, but here are some issues:
1) Most of these kids...wait, ALL of these kids are either first or second generation Mexican. They have no career plans other than marriage and motherhood asap, preferably right after H.S. graduation.
2) This town has held the record for highest number of teen pregnancies per capita for many years.
3) What do I know?

The thing is, I remember once, when I was about 16, my dad showing up at my bus stop to give me a ride home, -- maybe the one and only time that ever happened, and found me just off the bus talking to a couple of tourists, a long ways from Waikiki, who had gotten off with me. My father asked "Who were those guys, why were you talking to them?" I told him I didn't know them, they had just asked me about what to do on their vacation. He frowned and said "The hell with them, you don't have to talk to anyone you haven't been introduced to."
That little piece of Victorian, off-the-cuff advice would pop into my head many times during my future career as a Hot Chick, and no doubt saved me a lot of trouble. It was such a relief to have some guidance in that area. Drunken Frat boys? Don't believe we've been introduced. Guys yelling from construction sites? Nothing to do with me. Rough looking men in the streets who come up looking for the time, or money? Better ask a man. Anyone who wants to meet me, can just get themselves introduced.

I could have used a lot more of that kind of guidance.

Blue MoOn

2007-05-01T03:16:00.000-07:00

It is 3:16am and I can't sleep. Which means I have time to blog. Sadly, the only newsworthy thought in my head is the inch long pencil lead my colleague took out of a first graders ear this morning.
Yeah, that's what I said. An inch long pencil lead.
"She kept saying her ears were bothering her, but she had so much wax we couldn't really tell what the problem was.."
Until they found an inch long pencil lead.
The question now, of course, is what they'll find in the other ear.
"Probably the eraser!" says the Mom, which begs the question; where is the rest of that pencil?
Still, this isn't as bad as the Bean Story.
One of the women I worked with the last time I worked at a hospital told us all at lunch one time about how when she was little, she used to have "these really bad headaches." (Can you already see where this is going?) So her mother finally took her in to the doctor, who found she had some kind of an occulsion in one of her nostrils. He was able to get in there with a tweezers and dislodge what turned out to be a bean. But that's not all. This was evidently a magic bean, with a BEANSTALK attached. She said it took the doctor "a long, long time" to slowly tease out all the roots and shoots which had wound their way through the nooks and crannies of her nasal passages.
Can you imagine? I wonder if that doctor's knees were shaking that whole time.
"Josie!" I said, "Didn't they ever tell you not to put a bean in your nose?"
"Yes," she replied, "they did, but I was trying to talk to my Mom, and she wouldn't listen to me, and I just thought..."
Seeing this grandmotherly old lady still trying to justify putting the bean in her nose was almost as entertaining as anything else.

Commandment #4

2007-04-21T06:45:00.000-07:00

Looking over the schedule of events for today, I find that I just have time for a shower before heading over to the Tiger Scouts Day Camp. I'll have to watch the time because at 10:30 there is a walk-a-thon fundraiser/groundbreaking for the new gym at my son's school. At 1:00pm my 13 year old daughter has a facial, about which she is as excited as a bride.

Hmmm. It looks like from 3:00pm on I will have some time all to myself! Except for a little run to the supermarket, some weekend laundry, returning videos and library books and phone calls. Oh yeah, I will definitely have to get out into the yard and pick up the dog poop before it gets dark, and maybe get some seedlings planted into one of the beds. OK, That probably won't happen.

My brother is in the mainland from Hawaii. He'll be driving into town tomorrow and staying for a couple of days. Yaay! Looking forward to that.

Is it possible that my life is this boring? Or is it just that it's early? Time to check in with my fantasy future husband, Alec Baldwin!

He's in the news again today. AOL front page, negative press. I don't usually have enough interest to bother with the load time for celebrity "news," but as an obsessive fan, I need to know everything there is to know about A.B.

So, evidently his 6th grade daughter didn't feel like hanging around to take a phone call from boring old Dad at the appointed time. Sounds like it was about 10:00am on a Saturday. My guess, based on experience with girls that age, is her 12 yr old behind was still in bed, and that she didn't feel like rousting herself up just to for, "How are you doing, what's going on in school, what did you get on your math test," etc.

So,she let the machine pick up, a la "Please leave a message..." -- He left one, alright! I listened for the whole thing, which was kind of funny in the following sense: 1) Girl, you are so busted! 2) It's NOT just me! 3) Finally, a real parent, instead of the ones on TV. He may be 3000 miles away, but he is not going to tolerate bad behaviour.

I could hear the frustration and hurt feelings in his voice, along with the anger, of course. Why not? Not only was his morning wasted, because he probably scheduled his work around this call, which she couldn't be bothered with, but the whole rest of the week, instead of being able to look forward to a visit with her on the 20th, he had to grit his teeth and know that there will be confrontation and tears, and pouting and drama. But I'm pretty sure Alec is not going to back down, he is going to take his stand for his kid to meet her commitments, not to mention treat her father with consideration. It is not too much to ask, by God, and she will not be allowed to become a bratty little princess, like so many other rotten kids, who's parents can't be bothered to do the hard thing.

As a further bonus, the tape is being played all over the world on the internet, so he has to put up with commentary from Matt Lauer like "...disturbing...vitriolic...anger management...," (Oh shut yer pie hole, Matt! Like you know anything.)

OMG!!! I so hope Alec Baldwin has friends around him, support and all that. And I hope he doesn't lose heart, and he can keep going, and he will be strong enough to take all these slings and arrows, and that he will fight this thing down to the ground. As the primary male in her daughter's life, he is the template for how she should treat men, and how she should be treated by men. He needs to keep her from becoming Paris Hilton.

And as for his daughter, if her father tells her he is going to call at 10:00, she'd better be up and standing by the phone at 9:55!

Me Ke Aloha, ku'u homeo O'ahu

2007-04-18T06:39:00.000-07:00

There are a couple of areas in my life where my behaviour is completely irrational, and over which I don't seem to have any control. These are 1) losing weight and 2) Hui Hawaii.

There is nothing I can say about 1) that hasn't already been blogged to death by a million others, so I will proceed directly to 2). Hui Hawaii is a Hawaiian club started about a year ago by some local people in the town who have lived here for the last several decades. The oldest of them, people in their 70's, grew up in Hawaii, still have family there, but have lived here in the mainland for many decades. The younger members, most of them younger than I, were born and raised here, have family ties back in Hawaii, -- and ties just as strong here locally, I might add, most of them have Spanish last names.
Last Fall I got a call asking if my daughters could join a Keiki (kids) Hula Halau (troupe) they were forming for a Christmas Program. Evidently they had quite a few boys, but only a few little girls, who had never danced. Of course I was delighted to hear about the whole thing and couldn't wait to meet everyone and get involved.

At the appointed day and time came, I herded all the kids into the van and headed over to the address I had been given. It turned out one of the neighbor kids got caught up in the sweep, but since I was running late, I figured it would be easier to just include her, call her mom from the road and give her an afternoon activity she hadn't expected. She, like my kids, has been taking dance classes since she was 4 or 5 anyway, so it shouldn't have been any kind of problem. They were looking for girls anyway, right?

So, we got there. I met them. Right away there was stand offishness. I could see they were surprised by my whiteness. Out of that particular group, I was the only one who had lived in Hawaii, as opposed to visited, had gone to school there, grown up there. Out of all the little girls there, mine were the only ones who had ever danced before, and who were even familiar with a couple of the songs. I had brought some Hawaiian quilting stuff, to see if there might be any interest in getting something along those lines going. None of the women there had actually ever seen one made, or even many actual quilts. In spite of all that, it was like all they could see about me was my skin. I went to two of the meetings, and the whole time I kept hearing things like "We thought your girls were younger, we really wanted this to be all little kids," "I don't know yet if it's OK to open this up to the rest of the community (re: my little neighbor showing up). We might decide to charge..." "We decided we WOULD include the military people, not just 'Locals' (non-whites)" And on and on. I finally withdrew. I mean I paid the dues, and I check the email updates, but I took my too-old kids out of the Halau, and told them to let me know if they ever got an adult group going. They did, but I didn't find out until the first performance was publicized. I haven't attended any of the functions. I don't feel welcome.

The question is, why is this so hurtful? It is bad enough to live with all these Haoule people around me, but I can't tolerate being excluded by even pseudo-Hawaiians.

I hadn't really consciously thought much about any of this until last week when I was sitting in a doctors office. As a patient, I mean. I decided to address 1) and went to a Bariatric specialist in Sad Diego to see about getting some professional help with losing weight. The MD turned out to be from Waipahu, a little town near where I grew up. They were our big High School football rivals, actually! Anyway, he noticed my bracelet, I guess and started asking me about Hawaii. Like a real Hawaiian. I briefly mentionedthe above situation, and was just overcome with sadness and weariness about the whole thing. As he was charting the treatment plan he said kind of under his breath "You need to lose this Haoule husband, go home and marry a Local Boy."

OMG!! I think tears came into my eyes. What is that all about?

Magickal Arts

2007-04-07T20:03:00.000-07:00

What? Wait a minute... Yes! I am alone in the house with the computer, I have time and space and energy to enter the Dreamtree. What are my thoughts?

Uhmm,

Well, homeopathic medicine is on my mind.

My sister just had a baby, and in the genetic tradition of my family, he evidently suffers from a wicked case of infantile eczema. They live on the other side of the continent, so I haven't actually seen him yet, but I hear from everyone how bad he looks.

"His skin is all dry and cracked, like leather."
"He cries a lot, and he won't go to sleep, it probably hurts."
"His face is all red and rough and scaley."
"His feet and hands blanch when you pass your hands over them, then they get really red."

And so on. We all have some kind of skin thing. In fact, if I look up my maiden name in the encyclopedia, I find an entry for Baldwin, last christian king of Jerusalem, died during the battle of A----, suffered from leprosy.
Well, they called everything leprosy back then, but it sounds like a relative.

Anyway, my sister took the baby to the doctor, who told her to put Vaseline on him. Whoa! That sounds like exactly what they told me NOT to do for my kids. No petroleum, no oils. So, anyway, I stopped into a health food store yesterday to look for the Jason lotion I used to use. They used to sell that stuff in bulk at the place in Phoenix I used to frequent. I'd buy a liter at a time. Yesterday, there were only a few small tubes on the shelf. So I asked the helpful Ageing Hippie Health Food Store Lady what she could recommend for a baby with eczema. She ran over to look something up in a big dusty, dog-eared book as I groaned inwardly. Then she came back brimming with enthusiasm and information. She led me to a huge, aisle-long display rack for homeopathic remedies. She went on and on. As she looked up at me with her large, myopic blue eyes, brimming with sincerity and fanaticism, I could only nod attentively, my heart sinking.

Trapped like a rat.

I realized that there was no way I was going to get away without buying this stuff, and also that my sister would never in a million years give some dodgy pills to her 6 month old. --And she would never in three million years make sure it didn't touch any metal, or her hands, "so the energy doesn't get messed up." Aaarrghh!

So, I bought the little (very little) vial of pill. "I have some eczema," I thought to myself, " I'll try it and see what happens."

This morning I woke up and Whoa! Big difference.

So I spent today looking things up, ordering books. I'm tired now, though. All these pseudo-sciences wear me out. Astrology, Tarot, all that. My brain can't hold on to the info. One of the websites I found had a big long checklist, with things like "chest, skin, dry, heat, better." Then it gives you a diagnosis with info like "You have headaches that are better when you hold your temples." Wha..? Also, the dosing: "Take one dose, and see if there is a change. When you feel that it is no longer helping, take another dose." OMG! This is harder than nursing school. Thank God we didn't have to learn it to practice!

Tranquillity

2007-04-03T20:58:00.000-07:00

My house is full of teenagers. Chatty, giggly, restless teenagers, piling dirty dishes up in my living room. When did I become the coolest Mom?
Sunday, one of my daughter's friends, an exchange student from Germany, asked me if she could spend the night, and if I would make her an apfelkuchen. "Uhh...sure," I said. The next day she asked if she could stay the rest of the week. I guess my daughter said something to her, because the plans seem to have changed. She did come back today and had three big slices of kuchen, though. Something tells me that when she gets back to the Fatherland, the menu will be heavy on the saurkraut for a while.
That kid has packed on quite a few lb.s since she's been here.
Anyway.
A couple of Sundays ago, I drove 6 hours to visit a friend. She is a professional make up artist, who works on crews for television, movies, photographic shoots. My younger daughter expressed an interest in that career, so we took the drive and spent the day. This is the thing; the whole time we were there, this lovely woman, who is about my age, was jumping up and down, fussing with her kids, a 6 year old boy, and a 4 year old girl. She pulled out every toy, she chased them around trying to get them to eat, she asked every 15 minutes if they wanted something. Meanwhile, the little boy was like the Demon Seed, just the most obnoxious tyrant you can imagine.
Meanwhile, my friend is asking my advice about how do I get my kids to observe a bedtime, how do I get them to eat, etc. She tells me she has arrythymias. Her heart is actually damaged from all the nervous exhaustion. What the heck?
My question is this; why doesn't her husband put some pants on and take charge of that family? Nobody in that house wants to have a confrontation, or deal with complaints, so as a result, the kids are bullies of the first degree. I mean, I get that the mother is overwhelmed and desperately trying to meet her children's every potential need, but as a result she is punishing her husband, her mother and in particular her guests. Surely this is a little crazy. I get that her husband doesn't want a screaming child AND a screaming wife on his hands, but at some point, like maybe the point where actual heart damage is being done, I think you have to just enter the dragon. I mean, put the kid to bed, eventually all the weeping and wailing will die down, and everyone will get some sleep.
Anyway, I feel sorry for all of them. And I know it's hard.
During the long drive back I reflected and wondered about the role in the family of so many of my male friends. The best of them are the ones who haven't quit, who are still married to the mother of their children. Yet, in the family they seem to have a sort of shadowy, background position. All the engagement and drama is between the mother and children, the father is just some kind of mother's helper. And his needs are last on the list. I remember my own father saying things like "Leave your mother alone," "Don't talk to your mother in that tone," etc. Coming to the rescue, as it were. He didn't change diapers, but he wouldn't stand by and let her be tormented, or treated like a servant. He was like, oh, I don't know, another adult in the house, with authority and position, and maybe a more objective perspective on the dynamics. He was the relief pitcher, the coach and umpire all rolled into one.

Real Moms

2007-03-27T21:35:00.000-07:00

I must say, I had no idea how fun it would be to open up this blog and see comments, -- even if most of them are from myself. It's like walking along a shore and finding messages in a bottle, except the messages are in response to whatever thoughts you sent out to the horizon the day before.

As it happens, I have been "tagged" by Zany Mama at http://zanymothering.blogspot.com/ to finish the sentence "Real moms..."

A cascade of images has been running through my mind for the last few days. They come from everywhere, an NPR broadcast about civilian casualties in Iraq, the ragged, needy kids I see at work, The tired, patient women I see at bus stops and cleaning offices, a documentary about Pinochet, the young Mormon women of this part of the country. I can't think of how to fit it all into my bottle, but the time has come to cast upon the waters.

Real moms pick up the dog poop every Saturday, even though they promised.

Real moms make dinner every night, even if it's pancakes, even with morning sickness.

Real moms get dressed and go to Walmart at 10:00 pm, because someone just remembered at 9:30 pm that they needed reindeer shoes (what could those be?) for their performance in the school Christmas Musical tomorrow.

Real moms put 4 shirts on their first graders when it gets cold, just in case they take off their jackets when they get to school.

Real moms send their kids to live with relatives in a foreign country so they can learn English and have a better life, even though they know it will be years before they see them again.

Real moms sit on an aluminum bleacher for 2 hours 4 times a week instead of watching Trading Spaces.

Real moms go to work in a foreign country holding and comforting other people's children so they can provide for their own.

Real moms climb up on the gurney to calm the baby down, even though she herself is injured and bleeding.

Real moms always cry when the State comes to take away the kids. They never forget and they never forgive themselves, -- at least none of the ones I've met.

Real moms run their hands over the bones of a young male recovered from a mass grave, just so they can touch the baby one last time.

Rehab is for Quitters

2007-03-17T19:48:00.000-07:00

I'm sick today, so not much to say.

Just want to say that I've noticed a bit of a backlash against Rehab in the popular culture. Things like this song:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=8914101
(scroll down and click on the Amy Winehouse link).
Now, I'm in the medical profession, and I see way too much of what a diet of toxins can do to bodies and families, but I think this is funny, and it cheers me up.
That's wrong, isn't it?

5 Reasons

2007-03-11T07:17:00.000-07:00

1. So many of the blogs I like to read (and comment on) have stated, with varying degrees of encouragement and hostility, that I "should get my own blog," that I thought I would at least give it a try.

2. I thought that putting my desires and aspirations into words might help to actualize them, in the sense of being the first step to making the inchoate concrete. After all, I am the Queen of Lists.

3. It's kind of fun to explore topics that no one around here has any interest or patience with. Like the bombing of Pearl Harbour, like Middle Eastern music.

4 . It's a good way to waste time when I need to do something tedious, like housework. Blogging "seems" productive.

5. I love the comments! Hate chat, love comments. Hate small talk, love comments. There is something about this forum that brings out the best in people's thoughts. Concise, pithy, to the point. I may or may not be a blogger, but I am definitely a commenter.

Love and Marriage

2007-03-09T22:43:00.000-08:00

Once there was, and once there wasn't a teenaged girl living in a foreign land. Her parents were or weren't from India, although she herself had grown up in Orange County. At any rate, she finds herself, now in her 14th year, living in a small frontier town on the edge of the Mojave desert, her father in prison, her mother, no less imprisoned, running a small motel day and night. Even more astonishing than this unlikely turn of events, is the fact that she has somehow become reincarnated as a Mexican. It's a lot to deal with during Freshman year.

She called a couple of evenings ago, "I need to ask your Mom about Mt. St. Helen for my science paper."

"Mt. St. Helen? What do you need to know?"

"...science project...blah blah blah...I can't talk to my Mom about anything. She never talks to me. I've already broken every rule of Hinduism. I want to try out for cheerleading. My Mom will never let me. I had a boyfriend, but he betrayed me. Boyfriend, boyfriend, boyfriend. I can't have a boyfriend until I finish college and medical school! My mom doesn't drive and doesn't speak English. That's why we have satellite, so we can get Indian channels."

"Uh...I was in Hawaii when Mt. St. Helen erupted."

Man. I have no idea how to help this poor kid. Clearly, she needs to have more to do besides sit around cooped up in a motel watching over-heated romantic Indian romances, and dreaming of being a cheerleader, but what can I do? I have my own daughter chasing tennis balls every night. It is all she can do to eat, finish her homework and fall into bed exhausted before she can think much about boys. Heh heh.

Anyway, that's not what this post is about.

This post is about arranged marriages. I said earlier that I wondered if they were one of those societal conventions which distinguishes the more highly civilized from the barbarians. This is a concept that came to me in an Indian restaurant once. It was my husband's first experience with Indian food, so we were discussing the entrees and the menu and so forth. He really liked the daal soup, and asked what was in it. It came to me that the list of ingredients were not what made the soup so good, rather the combination of flavors, subtly synthesized so that none really stood out, but they created a sort of dance across the palate. I made a comment about it which ended with the statement "...this is just one of those things left over from a more advanced civilization." Arranged marriages might be another of those things. After all, "falling in love" is all well and good, but can you really base a lifetime on hormones and adventure?

Evidently, you can about %46 of the time. I'm not sure what the odds are for arranged marriages lasting, but I do know that when it comes to my own kids, I really don't feel good about leaving such a major decision completely up to them. Surely a consensus among the adults in the situation would be a much better way to go into the future?

I don't know.

When I was an undergraduate ( I took a BFA in French, BTW), my boyfriend, Bah'man/Hossein/Jack, told me that his late father had had three wives. His mother was the youngest, and the only one with children. The wives lived separately from each other. The second wife was the widow of some relative, and his father married her rather than leave her homeless. Or so the story went. Evidently, the father was a big womanizer in general, and none of the wives were happily married. I have an image of them all stuffed into the back seat of a car, tight-lipped and cordial. B/H/J loved all of them and called the co-wives his Aunts. The thing is this: what is the difference between having three wives, and having a wife and two ex-wives? -- You can't put them all in the back seat, for one thing.

Since then, I've met many couples who's parents were matches made in living rooms and over tea tables. They seem to be as happy or happier than anyone else's parents. My daughters asked me once how it all worked, if you just showed up for your wedding, or what?

"It's not like that," I said. "You get to a certain age, and maybe some boy notices you, so he asks his mom. Everyone more or less knows each other anyway, so the mom and maybe the sisters just happen to pay a visit to your mom. They talk about different things, then someone starts asking about "the kids." Then, maybe some pictures come out, and the idea occurs to someone that it might be nice if you two got to know each other. So something is arranged, a dinner party, or another visit, or something. They everybody gets feedback. If you like each other, it goes for a little while, then you are expected to declare what's going on, engaged, or just friends, or whatever. If you don't like the person, then your mom starts visiting other moms. You do get a choice, and some input, depending on the type of family you have, but it's just not all up to you."

A the end of the day, my conclusion is that there isn't really such a difference between Moslem, or Hindu, or Chinese or Christian marriages. There is no divorce, really, here or there or anywhere. You can spend money, and feel like you've solved a problem, but at the end of the day you still have to deal with these people, especially if you have kids. There they are at the weddings, the funerals, in sickness and at Graduation. Not to mention finances. All you can really do is put space between you and add more people in. At least in the East there is a protocol, and a hierarchy, and everyone is expected to get along.

--Not that I'd want to live that way, mind you. Oh no, I've been raised to demand my God-given right to equality...but I can see the appeal. Frankly, there are days when I wouldn't mind a younger wife or two to help out around here, and it might be nice to have a baby in the house without having to go through that whole pregnancy ordeal.

So this is what I tell my kids, when they worry about if we are going to get a divorce. Don't worry, I say. There is no such thing.

If Not Now, When?

2007-03-04T07:06:00.000-08:00

Here's a thing. I just overheard a conversation wherein a youngish, obviously affluent man was earnestly explaining to another how his "girl"friend wanted children, but he felt he wasn't ready. The use of the word girl in the previous sentence is quite loose, I'm sure, as the speaker had to be in his mid-thirties at least, and he mentioned that she was a year or so older than he.

This is not the first time I've heard this line of thought. The perception seems to be that in exchange for sexual favors, an innocent and decent person will be saddled with an unbearable load of debt and obligation.

OK, that's not entirely wrong.

BUT, it does seem to be such a tiny, reductionist, niggardly way to look at family life. My mental response is always "yeah, I get it. YOU're the baby."

I, myself, waited pretty long before having children because there were THINGS I wanted to get done. Education, some travel, living on my own. Eventually, though I felt ready to move over and give up center stage. Living for and by myself all the time just kind of got...stale. I wanted to come home to a group of people happy to see me, I wanted to share. It seems to me these guys (and there are a lot of them), are all about "what can you do for me" in their relationships. They can't commit. They aren't sure.

-- Bullshit. If you can commit to 5 years of car payments, or a 15 year mortgate, than you can stand up before God and your family and commit to stand by your mate. It's about "I take this woman and we are a family," not "I'm afraid of being inconvenienced if I don't keep my options open."

I hope the unlucky "girl"friend my earnest, young Mr. Sensitive was discussing dumps him on his narcissistic ass and finds a Grown Up some day. If there are any.

Grrr.

Collectibles

2007-03-02T18:45:00.000-08:00

In 1971 I decided to forgo attachment to the material world. I don't remember what exactly triggered the decision, but I do remember rising from a pink frilly bedspread, crossing a pink rug to a small maple bookcase (against a pink wall), taking three ceramic figurines from a shelf and divesting myself of them at school the next day. Ommmm.

I'm pretty sure the idea came to me from certain books I had read which introduced me to ideas of Zen, and Buddhist thought. -- I'm talking about books like "Tales of a Japanese Grandmother," and "The Tao of Pooh." -- Kid's books. I was big into folk and fairy tales. I'm afraid the libraries on American Military bases are pretty limited as far as their selection of children's reading materials.

The constant changing of residence in my youth ( every 6 months or so during most of my college years) has helped me develop my taste for lightness and freedom from stuff, but has also left me with very little of a tangible nature from the past. I don't scrapbook, or have "good" china, or any of that kind of thing.

I do however, have a few collections, just like the civilian girls!

One of the things I collect is stories of what people were doing when Pearl Harbour was bombed. -- These are getting harder and harder to get, by the way. So far I have 5 that I can recall right now.

The first one came to me during the summer of my sophmore year in High School. I had a summer job tagging merchandise in a huge, dusty, rat-infested warehouse. An old Japanese lady, who I think might have been trying to keep me awake, told me that when she was a girl she lived in Honouliuli (a little plantation town up the road).

She and her sister were getting ready for church when they saw the planes coming over the pass. They didn't think much of this at first, because there were, and still are so many military bases all over O'ahu. The planes were flying in formation, and heading towards the open sea. "Oh, they're doing War Games," said the sister, "Let's watch!" So they decided to watch what they assumed to be USAF training manoeuvres. As the planes swept down the mountains they flew almost directly over their house, closer than they had ever flown before. So exciting! They could really see the planes right up close. The girls were surprised to see that there were suns, or the Japanese crests, painted under the wings. "Wow," said my friend, "They make these games so realistic, with mon and everything!" Then they saw what looked like rain coming from under the planes. Again they exclaimed excitedly to each other on how real it all looked.
It was only when smoke started billowing up from the harbour that they began to feel uneasy. When the sirens started, my friend ran and hid under the bed. She stayed there crying for a long time until they came and told her it was a War.

I'll tell you some more later.

Requiem

2007-02-28T05:47:00.000-08:00

Finally! Here's some news: I can't post from my work computer.
Everyone knows the best blogs are the ones frequently updated, which puts this one closer to the "crappy" end of the spectrum, I'm sorry to say.
I'm not ready to quit yet though. I WILL find a way!
Too many blogs are dying lately. Why the mortality rate, I wonder? I can see that there is a certain attrition rate to be expected. People's lives change, they get busy. But you'd think they would come back to it. Doesn't seem to be the case.
The first blog I ever read was Hunkabutta.com, a picture blog by an expatriate living in Japan. The photos he took were absolutely beautiful, and included short commentaries. The best part, though, was the comment section. Funny, witty, and many, with new additions every time I turned on my computer. Eventually Hunkabutta returned to the States and the blog ended. It wasn't just that he was busier, although he was, having bought a fixer-upper somewhere on the Oregon coast. He said that he lost the inspiration of wanting to document the strange, exotic world of the Orient. By then he had started a family, and his attention was attuned to his personal life, which he didn't care to display so publicly.
Another blog I really enjoyed was Kindofcrap.com, another American-in-Japan journal. The updates were frequent, and the writing was hilarious. The guy really had a gift. Eventually, he came home, though and sank into silence. He did make a half-hearted attempt at another blog from the US, but couldn't sustain the interest, or something.
The archives for both of these sites are still up, if you have some time to kill, and want to pass it with a visit into a creative mind with a unique perspective on the world around it.

St. Sebastian's Day

2007-02-14T21:45:00.000-08:00

Today was an orgy of sugar and red dye #2 at work. Mounds of sugar, piles of pink and white whipped fat, death by chocolate. My omentum hurt just looking at all of it, so I stayed out of the lounge.
They brought it to me anyway, and of course I ate it all. Before 10:00am. So weak, so very, very weak.
It's so strange that this minor, fake Hallmark holiday is more celebrated than Christmas, or New Years, or anything else in these parts. It must have something to do with bright and sweet and cheap.
Anyway, I find myself responding to physical beauty again. It's been so long! When I was a teenager, I could be absolutely hypnotised by the faces of the girls at the convent, or light moving on banana trees, or mist along the koolau mountains. The face of the coxman on the boat launch I used to take to school. -- He always looked so warm, with his cold weather gear and his dark skin.
Anyway, I was sitting in Barnes and Noble book store last weekend with my little boy, drinking tea, and looking at the beautiful artwork on the covers of the books around me, and it somehow the lighting, the space, the rich, muted colours all settled into a feeling of tranquil joy and well-being.
It feels good to be back.

La Vie Interieure

2007-02-02T23:17:00.000-08:00

I am thinking about Maya Deren tonight, for some reason. I guess I saw her name somewhere and it reminded me of when I read her book "Horsemen of the Gods," in Graduate School. It was a good book, all about her research into Haitian voodoo (or Voudoun, as she calls it) culture and dance. She starts off studying the native dances, anyway, with some kind of grant from the Guggenheim, but eventually she plunges fully into the ceremonies and rituals of induced trance and spirit possesion. In fact, the last paragraph of the book describes her feelings of losing consciousness and sensing the approach of the Goddess of water, youth and beauty. It's a great ending, because one can't help but wonder what happened next. Did she have sex with everyone there, did she just dance around naked? What did she say? It's like you almost get to meet a Goddess, but then you wake up.
According to google she went on to become a Voudoun priestess, returned to live in Greenwich village, produced, directed, and acted in movies, had a job doing PR for a dance company, wrote more books, had three husbands and was generally a major influence on American 20th century art. Then, of course, like almost everyone I find interesting, she had a major drug habit, amphetamines and sleeping pills, this time.
What I wonder is this: was she lonely? Did it ever depress her she was poor? Maybe living in Greenwich village and being so busy with projects kept her from dragging. It says she hung out with Anais Nin, what did those two talk about, I wonder? I see them both meeting, air-kiss, air-kiss, sitting at some fashionable place like the Russian Tea Room, wrapped up in enormous wool/fur coats with some weird-but-chic hat/turban headwear framing their wan little faces, while they puff away at cigarettes and stare into the distance. No chit-chat for those two.
I wonder if Maya was as beautiful in real life as she is in pictures. I love the famous picture from her first movie, of her standing behind a window, looking dreamy and introspective.
Jean Cocteau, Leni Rufenstiehl, that woman who discovered x-rays, I am so fascinated by these people.

Heathcliff!

2007-02-01T05:56:00.000-08:00

When I come to this blank page, an image arises in my mind. I recognise it from the book "Siddhartha," by Hermann Hesse. In the back of my mind I see an old man and a young man (me), standing across from each other, with a river between them. The old man is explaining to the youth that life is like the river, blah, blah, something about watching it go by. Then I put my hands on the keyboard, ready to set down something original, wise and insightful, -- yet subtly entertaining.
Then I usually take my hands off the keyboard and let the dog out.
This is my blogging experience so far.
Today, however, I have a message worthy of putting into print.
Alec Baldwin is looking for ME!!!! http://www.glamour.com/news/feature/articles/2007/01/lunchdatealecbaldwin
OK, one part of my brain knows how stupid it is for me to have this crush on a mythological character, but I'm tellin' yah...
Every once in a while, I find myself in a car full of women, and as a conversations starter (or finisher, in my case), someone will ask the age-old question "What Movie Star do you like?" I can never think of any. Even the guys who's acting I admire are not the kind of guys I would ever want to hang out with. Even the allegedly sexy ones seem like they would be sort of girly in real life. Anyway, I usually draw a blank. Sometimes a name will pop into my head as a candidate until I remember they have a major heroin addiction or some other fatal flaw (see Robert Downey Jr.).
Be that as it may, for the last 6 months A.B. has been on my mind. I was never attracted to him when he was a young, chisel-jawed leading man, but something about the overweight, middle-aged Alec speaks to my libido. -- And as for his tough-guy explosive anger problem, and obnoxious political demagoguery, uh...I'm thinking I can take him.
OK, I'm not going to write in to Glamour Magazine about how Alec needs ME to be happy. First of all, I wouldn't make the cut appearance-wise. Based on his red carpet dates, he likes tall ectomorphs in their late 20's. Anyway, where do you go from Kim Basinger? Of course, he's wrong about those women, but he'll have to find that out himself. Furthermore, I couldn't bring myself to behave like a fan/stalker (outside of my own head, I mean). Especially a public figure like Mr. Baldwin. I'd have to be introduced.
Oh yeah, then there's that whole husband and kids thing.
Clearly, the best I can hope for is that Alec will get together with someone like Janeane Garofalo. Someone short, dark, messy, irritable, probably bi-polar --yet somehow fun, true-blue and steady as she goes. Only then would I be able to lay down this wild romantic yearning and say, "I yield, I can't compete with that."

East or West

2007-01-23T06:20:00.000-08:00

I just read this on one of the blogs I check into now and then, (Zany Mama):

"whining doesn’t suit me (not to mention the fact that it’s off-putting), and I am not a “naked” blogger – one who shares every feeling that comes to mind, no matter how morose or self-pitying."

Hmmm. Something to think about, there.
Certainly, the world doesn't need more whining or moroseness. It does seem that if I sit down with more than a few minutes to myself, what wells up into my mind is not the pleasant Saturday morning surprise birthday canoe trip I set up for a friend who is turning 50, rather the knotty, problems to be unsnarled, the things that aren't going well.
Things I need to think about before I can move on them.
Right now, for example, I'm thinking that it is time to get my gear on and get my daily walk out of the way. Therefore I blog.
Anyway, not to be coy, I will address the "almond-eyed life."
Hmmm.
On one level it's just a phrase that popped into my head during the set-up of this blog. I forget the question that prompted it, but the first couple of answers were rejected, so I picked something that I was pretty sure no one else would. A private joke, if you will. I had no idea it would be publicly displayed, and I feel a little foolish when I see it now.
As for what it was doing in my head in the first place, that's a little harder to explain. In brief, because I grew up in Hawaii, one of my first jobs was as a sales clerk at Tutu's Grass Shack in the Ala Moana Shopping Center, just off of Waikiki. There I learned to speak a very rudimentary Japanese. In those days, everyone more or less had to take Japanese as a second language in High School, except the dummies, who took Spanish, and the stuck-up Haoles, who took French (that would be me). Whether one studied it formally or not, Japanese was the language of tourist sales in those days, and probably still is.
Later in life, I found myself working for an import/export company in Central California, working on market development in Japan. When my grim, jean-clad, agragian co-workers discovered my abilty to translate faxes from the East, they were both surprised and unduly impressed. One day, as I was being hypnotised by the monotonous tedium of running mass copies, the Packing Shed Foreman bent down to murmer in my ear something about "a certain almond-eyed exotic traveler something something something." I was startled, not only be the fact that I hadn't seen him coming, but he was kind of a little too far into my personal space. Plus, I had no idea what he was talking about. I also noticed peripherally, that a couple of secretaries nearby had stopped to look at what was "going on." After a minute or two, I realized with a click that the Shed Forman was talking about a recent shipment of promotional products I had requested. There was something a little insinuating about his manner, though, that made me ponder that strange choice of words. I wondered if he might have been talking about me, in some way. I did feel then, during my first years on the Mainland, like an outsider. Here I was in America, but I felt as foreign as ever. Where in Hawaii I had actually made an effort to cultivate a European persona, here, among "my people," I felt more Asian than anything else.
As for my physical appearance, my eyes do not have epicanthic folds, and do not appear particularly oriental to anyone except those who have never really seen any actual people from Asia. I am caucasoid. My mother emigrated from Ireland in 1950. That said, we are not the blue-eyed, freckly, blond kind of Irish people. It turns out that 2 generations back, her great-great grandfather was himself an immigrant to Ireland from Portugal. Furthermore, he was from a part of Portugal called the Azore Islands, which were once Phoenician colonies. So we do have a kind of Spanish-y Mediterranean look to us. We have high cheekbones and actually, from certain angles, my mother's eyes do look slanted, as I suppose do mine as well.
I don't want to talk too much about my personal appearance, or post pictures of myself, because the great thing about blogging, and the internet in general, is that I don't have to. Women, especially, are so judged by their appearance, and it is freeing to be able to sidestep all that. At the end of the day, I have a fairly generic look, -- I blend. I do look more or less Iranian, and Jewish, and Mexican. In France I was asked several times if I was Lebanese. Even as I shook my head I would think "Well, maybe!"

My Life as an Iranian

2007-01-21T20:38:00.000-08:00

One sunny, subtropical morning, when I was a Sophmore at University, I stood dreaming at the window of my work-study "job." Italy, and how to get back there, was on my mind. Suddenly, like the answer to a prayer, a very Italianate-looking boy crossed my field of vision. Light-eyed and olive skinned, he turned and our eyes met briefly. Turning, he disappeared without breaking his stride. "Wither thou goest," I thought.
Approximately one and a half minutes later, he was standing in front of my desk with a question,
"Do you want to go dancing?"
Uh, no thanks, Complete Stranger.
"So, what, dinner? Do you ever eat at the cafeteria?"
Now I'm scared. No thanks, no thanks, NO THANKS.
He came every day at the same time, same question. Bringing coffee with cream and sugar. He told me he was Mexican, and a cook. Strangely, he didn't know what a quesadilla was, though. Hmmm. I told him I thought he looked Italian when I first saw him, he said he was "half." I asked him what part of Italy he was from, and after a little more BS, he finally told me he was from Iran, here studying Engineering.
That was interesting.
I had seen photos of the Shah of Shah's Jubilee, or whatever it was, in National Geographic. Images of fabulous, over-the-top floats, peacock colours, Byzantine-like potentates, berobed, bejewled and bedazzled. Marching bands, school children waving flowers, military battalions from ancient biblical kingdoms, Hittites, Chaldeans, Assyrians. The photos looked like the freizes from the Louvre had come to live, rows of men with black beards, gold armbands, white kilts looking fierce and pretty tough, I must say. Not so much like the Hollywood version as you might think.
Anyway. He continued to stalk me, and find ways to entice me into spending time with him.
"I'm going to an Iranian New Year's Party Saturday, would you like to come? --There will be a lot of foreigners, it will be very interesting. You can try the food."
How could I say no?
Eventually, all my spare time was accounted for, I had new clothes, rides everywhere, and I was a Girlfriend for the next 6 years.
He was a great guy, though. So were his friends. Actually I learned to cook from his roomate, Saeed, who had been in political prison in Iran. All the guys who had been in prison could cook, I guess they all had to take a turn in the kitchens.
I know now, and I knew then that he loved me and wanted to marry me. He told me once that no matter how hard he tried to be worthy, he thought that somehow I didn't trust him, which I didn't understand at the time, but maybe I do now. I knew he would never cheat on me with other women, or treat me badly. I did believe that he would always do what he could to protect and take care of me. He was always coming up with things I needed before I even knew that I needed them.
Somehow, I was restless though.
You know, Italy.
I think maybe I was afraid that he was so good at distracting me and pulling my strings, that if I gave him any more power, my whole life would be gone out of my hands, and I would be swallowed up and stuck. -- Like that didn't happen anyway!
In the years that followed, after I left and came here, I did think a lot about Islamic and Western societies, men and women, and freedom and family relationships. I missed that tight little world, where everyone is always together, and the rules of fraternization are clear. Courtesies are observed, boundaries are respected. The people are the most important thing. When I was alone, in Graduate School on the mainland, I didn't miss my family, but I did miss Saeed's cooking, Masood's girlfriend, my ex-boyfriend's shoulders.

Oooh...Sparkly!

2007-01-17T18:33:00.000-08:00

I am obsessed with a certain infomercial product I saw recently. Not even the whole thing, just the first and last 5 minutes. -- That's how I watch all TV, up and down, in and out. Anyway, this one was for yet another calisthenics exercise program, packaged under the name "Fluidity." Just for thinking of that name makes me want to give these people money. Yeah, FLUIDITY. Doesn't that sound cool and easy? Like floating down a river. Plus the images they kept flashing of what were obviously professional ballerinas delicately poised on one toe in gravity-defying positions, every rippling muscle highlighted and caressed by some seriously sophisticated lighting. I want it! Plus, it comes with a barre, which folds up and is easy-store. For only $200! The thing is, 3 years ago I lost 30 lbs. My regime was simple, one meal a day, processed carbs only when I cheated, 30-45min of walking every day, and an hour of this same type of exercise about 3-4 times a week. I used one of my high-backed dining room chairs as a barre. I slimmed down, felt better. Oh also I took some prescribed medication. Then, as is the usual (98%) scenario in these cases, circumstances changed, my job changed, I ran out of my prescriptions, the old coping mechanisms crept back, one by one. And so I find myself back at the exact same point of my all-time-heaviest weight. The real problem is that I can't seem to get back on the horse and do what needs to be done. Is it that I'm defeated by defeat? If defeated feels like a dull, heavy anger, than that certainly might be it. I think there might be something here about the general lack of control over my life going on as well. Can "Fluidity" be the answer? Wu-wei*? On the one hand, I don't need to buy anything to practice this regime. On the other hand, sometimes a new toy can be the missing motvational factor. On the other hand...uh, foot, I really don't want to spend money on toys right now. Hear me, oh Universe! Send me motivation! *http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wu_wei

Cosa Nostra

2007-01-16T19:37:00.000-08:00

Here's a thing. My First Husband has lost his business, and so I can fairly expect my fortunes to change. It seems exciting, like the clean scent of winter in the air. He informed me that he would begin divorcing me right away, so I shouldn't worry. I don't follow the logic here, but I told him there is no particular rush.
Yay! I returned paragraph!
Anyway, there is no discernible difference in the day-to-day. The bills are paid, the same amounts are deposited in my bank account, noone can tell that my measly $600.00 a month is our family's only income. Still, I can feel the desperation and fear emmanating from his wretched apartment.
He won't discuss it, and resents any of my attempts to bring it up. The question is, what is my role here exactly? Should I quit my job and go back to full-time, top wages? Or wait until I'm asked? I have the feeling now would be the time to move to Florida, as in his secret heart of hearts he is wishing we would all just vanish off the face of the Earth, and leaving him free of any and all responsibility other than wallowing in self-pity. On the way home from work today, I heard several ads for The Sopranos on the radio. Big Tony kept insisting, "Once you're part of this family, there's no getting out." I feel like that pretty much sums up my marriage vows. So, I'll hang for a while. And twist.

RE-BOOT

2006-12-31T06:29:00.000-08:00

It's been a while, hasn't it? The journal thing doesn't seem to be taking very well. I'm finding that at the end of the day, when the time comes to sit down and reflect, I'd rather find out what everyone else is doing around the blogosphere, how their day went, how their dramas are unfolding. Mine are stale already. -- Still unable to return paragraph, BTW. At any rate, today is New Year's Eve, which automatically empowers all bloggers with a theme, and maybe that is the key. 1) Once again, lose weight. Just thinking of this is like pulling the plug on all energy and happiness, which I can feel draining away as I type. Even here, on my secret blog, I haven't the heart to deal with this. So maybe my resolution should be amended to 1a) find motivation to lose weight. Onward. 2) You know, there is no 2. My ongoing failure to achieve 1 is such a drag I can't even bother with the rest. Hmmm. That's a little weird. OK, I'm starting to get that claustro, stale, too-much-in-my-head feeling. Change of subject. I recently read something about the value of noting something positive about each day. Fair enough. Most of the positive things about my life are what is missing, poverty, hardship, pain, suffering, traffic, stress. Other than that I can say that last night my parents arrived from Florida, the children were beautiful and well behaved, the house was lovely, with candles and christmas lights reflecting off all the polished floors and warm woods, the soup and bread was nicely presented, --since I took it out of the styrofoam take-out boxes and put it in my fancy serving dishes,-- and my First Husband deigned to be here to greet and welcome them, and so we presented a pretty picture of exactly what they were hoping to see. So that went well. Today we have a BBQ at Alicia's house, where I have instructed her to invite all the older generation of her large Mexican family. My parents, ageing hippies that they are, so love meeting Friends from Foreign Lands.

Good Morning, Heartache

2006-08-27T22:10:00.000-07:00

...And we're back. The Florida Trip is over, and all went well. Not only was the weather great, cool and rainy, but they all rallied around and made us, well me, really, the focus of all attention. I can't remember that ever happening before. Ever. What's more, Lethargy and Ennui were banished by busyness and camraderie. Sadly, they seem to have resumed their seats.

Expletive Deleted

2006-07-05T06:49:00.000-07:00

A few days ago, I decided the weight thing was getting serious, and I need to really lose at least 7 lbs before I see my Mom. Day 1: Good. 2 lbs down. Day 2: Fair enough. 2 lbs down. Day 3: Good -- until it was No Good. Heckfire! Walked in virtue all day, sorting closets, doing laundry, letting the kids make the traditional Fourth of July American Flag cake, -- and that was my downfall. At 9:00 pm we walked across the field, bearing our folding chairs and cake to watch the free (for us) fireworks. I had like 6 pieces. Talk about melt in your mouth. It's hard to believe anything can be so fattening when it doesn't really fill you up. BTW, the ingredients to this delicacy are, Betty Crocker White Cake Mix, Jello gelatin, Cool Whip and sliced fruit (strawberries and blueberries). Anyway. I dreamed last night of chewing some kind of blue glue-y, plastic-y medicinal gunk. Chewed and chewed, but it wouldn't break down, so I finally spit it out. What is my body trying to tell me? Sigh. Back in the saddle today.

The Middle Passage

2006-06-30T06:10:00.000-07:00

What could be better than sitting alone in the wee hours, sipping coffee and reading the blogs? This is the fourth time I've started an entry here, only to be interrupted by the mayhem as usual. Hopefully, I can make it to the publish button this time.
So, once again, the best of the recent news is that Brother #1 stopped in for a few days last week. He was in New Mexico for some kind of anti-terrorist training, and took a 4-day layover to hang out in Cactus Town with us. I had tried to make some plans, maybe drive up to the mountains and get out of the hellish desert heat, but he nixed all that, and we spent most of the time hanging out in the house, or "The Resort," as he calls it, watching the FIFA games on the Mexican channels. So that was easy. It was great having him here, actually. I guess I forget how nice it is to have another adult around, especially one who can make pleasant small talk, and is up for a movie or a trip to the supermarket.
The plan for today is to load up the van and drive 5 hours to pick up my daughter, Sweet Child, from Girl Scout Camp. I predict the first words out of her mouth will be an accusatory "Why didn't I get any letters or emails??? I was the ONLY one!" Sigh.
I'm looking forward to seeing her though. Then another 2 hours back to the hotel in Phoenix. So, all in all a long day's journey.
These are the days to cherish, I think. A road trip with all three kids together, with a clean hotel bed at the end of the day. Beautiful Girl is almost 15, Sweet Child is 12. There are only a few more years of this. The Boy starts Kinder this fall, so I do get a kind of childhood's coda.

Beating Against The Tide

2006-06-16T07:14:00.000-07:00

Where was I? Oh yes, the meeting with the counselor. All went well until about the middle of the session, when My First Husband announced he would be serving me with legal separation papers, -- at work, so as to spare the children any anxiety. It's those little considerations that make me wonder where it all went wrong. Anyway, haven't seen anything yet, and yesterday was my last day of work, so I hope it's expensive to serve someone.
Yaay! I'm able to return-paragraph! Blogger must have received my pleading e-mails.
Otherwise, what. Nothing accomplished on any of the projects. Well, I did join the Parent Teacher Organisation for my son's school. He'll be starting Kindergarten in the Fall. That's looking like a good entry into society point. Gigi talked me into it, and since she and her 8 siblings have all ruled this town for 60 years, she knows everyone. --She has turned out to be such a good friend, I can't believe she's lived just across the street all these years!
Last Sunday she invited me to breakfast with two of her sisters, a niece, a daughter, and a local artist. One of her sisters held forth about the DaVinci Code, Michael Ledwith, and the secret life of Jesus. It was probably the most interesting conversation I've had in this town, outside of a classroom. Then we all went to the Artist's house to look at her paintings. Which I now desire.
So social life is good.

Driving to Distraction

2006-06-12T06:34:00.000-07:00

Today I am driving 6 hours to spend 1 hour with a therapist. I will be meeting my First Husband there, the topic will be our middle child. We've been married 15 years, but 18 months (or so) ago, FH decided he preferred to be single again, moved into a ratty little apartment, and has been busily doing everything in his power to create a life without me. He has told all our neighbors and acquaintances that we are getting a divorce, that I threw him out, and on and on. Anyway, I haven't seen any paperwork, just anger, hostility, and that irritating look of pity from the general population. Evidently, the children are having some trouble processing their feelings about the situation. So we'll see what comes up. My take on the deal is that we are still a family, with one member who wants his own space, and isn't comfortable unless he's alone in a room. Anyway, it looks like a long day, but any day off work is a treat! So, still can't use the return key to start a new paragraph. Maybe this blog will have to be in the form of some kind of dreamy, stream-of-consciousness poem.

Out of Chaos

2006-06-10T09:36:00.000-07:00

Here we are at the first post. Hmmm, so many decisions, so many rejections during the set up. I'm exhausted, and what was the point again? Mostly I'm thinking this is going to be a journal of change. I'm hoping that some documentation will get some kind of actualization of desires going. Here are my goals: 1. Find out how to start a new paragraph. -- Every time I hit return, blogger kicks me down to the publish button. 2. Lose weight. 3. Get an online BS in Nursing. 4. Go to Turkey. 5. Manage my finances as per David Bach's excellent advice. 6. Put together the perfect wardrobe, as per Doris Pooser's excellent advice. 7. Develop a social life.