christmas in review

We made a successful spanikopita yesterday (it would take actual effort to ruin one) and brought it over to my friend's house. It was a small celebration. There were eight of us -- my friend and her husband, their son (who is my age), daughter-in-law, granddaughter, and the son's 85-year old neighbor (who's a pistol). There was a fair amount of tension between and among generations, but I kept thinking "Of course your parents push your buttons -- they installed them." And the tension was fairly good-natured. The best part was that we felt warmly welcomed into the fold. It was all pleasantly low-pressured, with lots of good humor and interesting conversation.

I'm amazed at how long it takes to outgrow the trauma of Christmases past -- maybe forever at this rate. It's been a long time since I've had an "awful" Christmas, and even those, as my mother points out, weren't purely horrible. She's right -- they were merely laced with trauma rather than filled with it. Nonetheless, I'm pleased to have sailed through this Christmas, with all the busy (but not overwhelming) preparations, unscathed, ready to go back to the "real life" of the other eleven months of the year.

life's little and big victories

Well, sometimes procrastination pays off. I learned this long ago when I was a programmer and discovered that you never code something until you absolutely need to. Otherwise, if you code something too early, the requirements or the interface will change and you'll have to do it all over again anyways. Why bother?

Avoiding going to the grocery store until late was a smart move today -- the aisles were more crowded with displays than with people, there was plenty of food left on the shelves, and I didn't even have to wait when I was ready to check out. In previous years, it's been hard to find a grocery basket (no problem this year) and the checkout lines have stretched into the aisles. The store was emptier when I was there today than it is on most Saturdays. What a treat.

******

I continue to be grateful for this quiet, low-pressure day. It's been an eventful year, one that's brought on many strong emotions. At times, I've felt like I've been digging into my deepest resources to get through. Peace and quiet are a tremendous gift right now.

After my friend Char got sick, she would try to name five things each day for which she was grateful. (Her husband Mark was often on the list, of course. She was so lucky to have had the foresight to marry him.) I've noticed that my friend K also makes a practice of gratitude. And I know that I have much to be grateful for, starting with having a nice place to sleep every night, being warm in the winter, having enough to eat, and knowing that I am loved and that I can love in return. (Those latter two are victories in themselves, stumbled upon relatively late in life.) The rest, and there's a lot of the rest, is all gravy (vegetarian, of course).

I will try to remember this quiet moment as we continue through the early-winter holidays.

******

My thoughts go out tonight to all those who are experiencing their first Christmas without a loved one who was with them (or us) last year. Time does heal, though it does not heal completely. Recent wounds are made deeper at times when we are used to gathering our loved ones near.

quiet thoughts on a quiet day

Today, I've taken a vacation day -- a real one. I got up early, read for a while, fell back to sleep, and then Robert and I just hung out for a while before getting up. We had a late breakfast, including my friend Jen's excellent stollen bread (darn her -- now I will never enjoy anyone else's!!), followed by reading the newspaper and working some puzzles while the cat took a long snooze on my chest. (darn Robert's brother for introducing me to these puzzles. Now I'm addicted. They're called nonograms or griddlers (an example) and they're much more popular in the UK than in the US. Next time we're in London, I'll pick up a few more books.

I still have to go shopping for tomorrow's feast. I'm now down to cooking one dish, but it's a favorite -- spanikopita.

We bumped into a friend (our hair dresser, actually, but I've known her for a long time and like her a lot -- who else do you regularly get to spend nearly an uninterrupted hour with every month? And I've been seeing her for well over ten years. We've followed the ups and downs in each others' lives and have cheered each other and comforted each other through many of them). She was so eager to get Christmas over with, looking forward to it, but tired, and ready to rest at the same time. You know, I'm not feeling that way. Time can move slowly right now, and that's just fine.

The mother of a former boss (TomP) died a few days ago. I was privileged to meet her a while back when Robert and I were invited over for tea. She was very charming and funny and delightful. Unfortunately, I was in a dark period of my life when it was hard to create new connections and to keep them going. (I still struggle with that, though it's easier now. I still don't claim to do a great job of it, but I'm heartened to have seen some improvement over the last ten years.) And she was starting to struggle with her memory, so she couldn't keep it going either. I'm sorry I didn't see more of her, but I recognize that I couldn't have done it differently, despite my good intentions. I've had some brief emails with Tom in the last few days and hope to go to her memorial service in January.

Robert and I are going away on Monday to Provincetown, one of my favorite places on earth, especially in winter. We'll be there for a few days and enjoy more savoring of slow time. One friend who lives there has already let us know that his annual trip to Michigan will exactly coincide with our visit there, alas. But perhaps we'll bump into other friends, as we often do.

late december

Yesterday, I had my regular six-month dental appointment. I spent many years not going to the dentist (many more than I like to admit). I think it had something to do with early bad treatment that makes me face-shy (I'm trying to be a little delicate here. I wasn't punched in the face, at least, but it was along those lines.). But a while back, a tooth crumbled and I finally went to a dentist whom friends had been recommending for ages.

With the tooth repaired (the waiting, sleepless nights and all, were far more traumatic than the event) I ended up with a hygienest who was in a terrible place in her life at the time, and she told me about it while she was cleaning my teeth. At the end of the cleaning, she gave me a big hug. Six months later, she told me how much it had helped to talk to me (I had managed to say a few things during that initial meeting) and how grateful she was, and now we hug at the end of every mouth cleaning.

Yesterday, I actually relaxed during the cleaning. It was good to see my hygienest, and the hug at the end is a much better present than the free pencil I could get at the front desk.


Robert decided to send an anonymous Christmas present to a dear friend. The friend first suspected me, because she says that she doesn't have any friends more creative. But all signs really do point to Robert. He sent it to a name that's a bizarre combination of the names of the two adults in the household, from a return address near his office, postmarked from Stow. And he looked really guilty when I asked him about it. There's apparently a main present linked to an old residence of my friend's husband, but he threw in another present (which sounds fascinating) because the guy down the street is obsessed with the topic and therefore would be likely to give them that present. (This was supposed to throw them off the trail.) And there's another present that, well, I'm not sure I ever understood it except that it was supposed to be interesting too. Before I understood that it was supposed to be anonymous, (as if it could be with all those glaring clues), I suggested that perhaps my friend could ask Robert herself, because I know I can't begin to explain it in a way that will make her laugh as hard as I did.


And in a delightful surprise move, we were invited to Christmas dinner by a friend I used to swim with and still keep up with (her intense master's class meets at another pool now). How lovely. I always think that Christmas is a family-only holiday (perhaps dating to the time that my boyfriend was specifically not welcomed at our Christmas dinner and ended up eating a turkey sandwich at a local diner; but perhaps it was just as well -- our holidays were not always to be witnessed). So it's a particular honor to be invited to someone else's house. It's kind of nice because it's one of those years when I was thinking of having Christmas with others, but not sure how to go about it, and also really ok about just having it with Robert and me. So it's especially nice that an invitation came around when I wasn't feeling desperate for one, but was still open to one.

Camel Kitty

My little camel kitty soldiers on. Tonight, with supervision, I stuck the needle in her, remembering nearly everything I was taught last week. She flicked her neck like a horse trying to get rid of flies, but settled down. The liquid went in fairly quickly and she seemed totally unconcerned. (The liquid goes under her skin and gets absorbed into her system over the course of the next day. So for a while, she has a little gel-like hump that slowly moves to her underside and then dissipates.)

I was horrified, though, to realize that her weight dipped, but barely, below 6 pounds. She's supposed to go in the other direction! Her weight never goes down by much (this time, it was one and a half ounces), but the trend is fairly evident. I do hope we can stuff more food into her over the holidays. Problem is that she's on a special low-protein diet, which she sometimes wolfs down and sometimes won't go near.

I'm crossing my fingers that this treatment will help reverse some of the damage. We'll see.

things are better

Robert seems to be doing fine, though if the doc said anything during the test, the drugs prevented him from remembering what it was. He'll call in eventually, but I assume that if something is actually wrong, they'll call first.

We didn't have a fancy birthday dinner last night; perhaps that will wait til we get to Provincetown, if fancy restaurants are open mid-week. We did go out to our favorite Indian restaurant and had very little white food (yeah). The colors were vivid -- made by turmeric, cayenne, and lots of vegetables. And it all tasted so good, too.

When I woke up, it was 1 degree (fahrenheit), cold, yes, but glorious too. The early morning sun is casting a brilliant light on the snow outside. I know it'll all go on Thursday, when we're expecting rain, but that's the nature of living in New England. I view most all of our changing and quirky weather with a detached amusement.

The Kat is due for her third hydration treatment tonight. So far, so good. I like both vet techs I've seen, but I'll be glad to see the one we had last week again. He's excellent with the cat, but perhaps as important, he's great with humans. He's a good teacher and very reassuring. He even told us that everyone who starts out in vet tech school is initially terrified of hurting the animals, and you learn a certain amount of confidence. I thought that was very sweet.

white stuff, white food, true love, and weird memories

Just went out and shoveled snow, at least the first round. (I let Robert sleep, because I imagine he had a rough night.) Now that I'm inside, it's snowing even harder.

Yesterday, when I was talking about our both eating white food, I was reminded of a little tradition in my family. In the summers, we all moved to a big house with my mom, her parents, and her mom's parents (and lots of visitors). Every night before dinner, we had a cocktail; I even had little fizzy tablets that were put in a glass of water so that I could have my own cocktail. Very civilized.

My great aunt (my grandmother's sister) and her husband (the one who died recently) kept the same tradition. In my great aunt's older years, she was no longer allowed alcohol. So they continued to have a drink before dinner, except that it was always some kind of tasty juice. My great uncle went off all alcohol during that time. When my great aunt died, my great uncle went right back to his cocktail with alcohol, and kept that up, I believe, until after he'd stopped eating dinner.

[Footnote: when you grow up in an alcoholic household, this type of tradition can no longer hold. We were always looking for blankets in the blanket chest and finding empty bottles in the top layer. My mother could keep liqueur in the house, but no wine or the type of booze that people of that generation typically served to guests. She finally discovered that she could keep alcohol for guests in her shoe closet -- the one hiding place that my step-father never went into. A few years ago, we visited a family friend in her summer place, and we noticed a half-full bottle of scotch on a table. My mother pointed out that you never saw that in our household -- either a half-full bottle, or a bottle out in the open.]

quiet weekend

It's been a quiet weekend. Robert is about to undergo one of those icky tests that grownups have to go through. I feel a bit like Mrs. Portnoy (though I'm not banging on the door, and I know he hasn't been eating french fries with shiksas. Still.). We've been eating mostly white food of late, though today we went to a party where he ate almost nothing, and I got to indulge in all sorts of goodies (with a generous side-helping of guilt -- I feel a little bad eating yummy things while he can't). I think we've also been feeling a little stress about the test, though the doc is looking for something that's supposedly treatable, and of course, it might be nothing -- a mystery that disappears as fast as it came on.

Tomorrow is his birthday and also the test. By late afternoon, when the test is over, I hope we'll have some answers, and that he'll be feeling much better. We'll either have a nice dinner tomorrow evening, or a quiet evening with quiet food and a rain check. We'll play it by ear.

December is always busy, between shopping, charitable contributions early in the month, and Christmas cards later in the month. Today, I wrote my 84th Christmas card. I may write a few more before the season is out -- I always get a few delightfully unexpected cards, often late in the season. And I try to respond to those, too. It's the one time of year that I write letters to people, lots of them, so it takes me a while. My one concession in recent years has been to print address labels. It's not very elegant, but it allows me to concentrate on what we in the biz call "content."

The party today was supposed to be a reunion of my old workgroup -- the one that was split up in the fall of 2003. Some of my favorite people were there, but it was a small crowd, so I didn't get to do *all* the catching up I had hoped for. Still, it was a lot of fun to just relax with friendly folks, people with whom I'd been through so much.

One of the attendees brought her six-day old baby. Having dealt with the other end of life so much, it's always a pleasure to see someone at the very beginning of life, someone whose every gesture is adorable. This one is a real snuggle-bun -- she just wanted to curl up in mom or dad's arms. She also has a healthy set of lungs, but the parents are already tuned into what's ailing her, and were so incredibly attentive to her. Very sweet.

The cat has made out this weekend. She's had two days in front of the woodstove, and lots of time with her people. She's always loved to claim her spot on the hearth rug (which she'll occasionally deign to share with me if I decide to nap in front of the fire). But lately, she's taken to curling up on the brick just under the lip of the stove. She gets too hot and moves half-way across the living room, lying there limply until she gets cold again, at which point she moves back to the brick.

Time for bed; the workweek starts up again tomorrow, and it's my last week of work before the New Year. Oh -- one more thing. One of Robert's friends wrote a hilarious parody of the children's book "Everyone poops" (honestly, there is such a book). The parody (which you shouldn't show to children unless you've reviewed it carefully yourself) is Everybody pees. I wish I was half this creative.

Robert quote

As we were driving home today, we spotted a neighbor doing something strange. Robert said in his typical dry style, "If we saw anyone else spray-painting the inside of a garbage can, we'd think they were crazy, but fortunately we know she's (the neighbor) only half crazy."

thanksgiving leftovers

At our Thanksgiving table this year were "the real guests" -- a mother, recently (two years ago) widowed, her son and daughter, and her son-in-law. Interesting family. Very close. Robert surfed for the son and discovered his friendster persona. This is his mom's testimonial for him -- ouch. (Do note that this might be a particular brand of humor, but one that I'm quite unfamiliar with):

My son Harry is a wonderful boy. I hear he is doing very well these days -- a big 'macher' with all the politics and such. I used to see him often but lately it is few and far between. He'll be very upset when Im gone and he thinks about all the time he spent not calling me.

from a conversation yesterday

Do you ever take the phone receiver away from your ear and stare into the speaker with disbelief? Is it me? Did I mishear something? Well, this is what I did hear:

. I quit my job recently.
. Oh, why?
. I couldn't stand the suspicion and interrogation anymore.
. What happened?
. Well, I worked at a hardware store, and there's always shrinkage at those stores. It seems like they wanted to waste their time accusing the employees and I could no longer stand to work in that kind of environment. I mean, everything I took I either returned or intended to return.
. [Brief calming noises from this end. Don't choke. Don't cough.]

do not adjust your cameras

I awoke this morning just after dawn and noticed high scattered clouds. Then I realized that the sky was a deep lavender sky field covered with pink polka dots -- the clouds were reflecting the sunrise. These color combinations often cause photo printers to attach stickers to their work, in effect saying "the colors you see are not our fault; there's something wrong either with your camera or with you." Those often turn out to be my favorite pictures.

internationally published author

Our book has been translated! This arrived in the mail yesterday. That's me, second name down in the black box. Robert sounded out the names for me, and then sniffed that the screen shots hadn't been translated. However, the software hasn't been translated either (except into Chinese, as far as I know), so there's no great loss there.

eldercat

I spoke to the vet yesterday, and at her strong suggestion, we've decided to start hydrating the cat, Juliet. This has been a hard decision. We've had it done a few times, and she doesn't much like it, though she does get used to new uncomfortable things after a while. She's twenty years old. So we've been trying to balance quality of life against the benefit of starting her on this type of program.

Juliet has had kidney disease for several years now, and her weight and other test numbers have been gradually declining. We've mostly managed it so far through a special diet. A friend who's a veterinarian says that the good news is that our human friends with the same disease tell us that there's no physical discomfort from the disease itself. Yet, as Juliet's vet points out, the hydration can reverse some of the damage (actually bring the numbers up) and help keep a small event from turning into a large setback.

This is a little harder than it would be with a human. I can't talk to Juliet to understand what she wants, how she'd like to live the rest of her life, whether she ever is in pain. She can't appoint me as her health proxy or make decisions about her own medical care. The best I can do is make educated guesses based on non-linguistic clues -- does she seem relatively happy? does she seem to have an enjoyable life right now?

So far, the answer to both questions is yes, and unless this treatment turns into a battleground, for now, it seems relatively uninvasive and low impact. However, I'll be trying to notice any cues she does give after we've done this a few times. If there is a huge battle, we'll need to reconsider.

still bristling

I'm still mad about Thanksgiving, and the more distance I get on it, the madder I get. The world is such a nutty and mean place; it seems ridiculous to have to go to your own family to get bad treatment. At the same time, I'm still kicking myself over my slow realization of how unwelcome we truly are, and how welcome the "real guests" are, year after year. OK, one of the weirdest aspects of the whole thing is that one of the players is... a psychotherapist. One of the least sensitive and perceptive ones I've ever met, but one nonetheless. And somehow he thinks that behavior that's unbecoming of a three-year old is appropriate in a septaugenarian. And it's also frustrating because at one time, I *was* welcome in that household, and I felt like I was developing a nice relationship with that part of the family. Alas.

OK, back to being thankful for so much else, and especially so many other people, starting with Robert, and moving on to other friends and acquaintances who seem to value having us in their lives.

We've (R&I) scheduled a little getaway after Christmas, to the cape, to our current favorite b&b. I'm already looking forward to walking on the beach and sitting in the hot tub and just being there.

the endless fight within

From my friend Carl D:

A Cherokee Indian elder was teaching his grandchildren about life. He said to them, "A fight is going on inside me... it is a terrible fight and it is between two wolves. One wolf represents fear, anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self- pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other stands for joy, peace, love, hope, sharing, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, friendship, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion, and faith. This same fight is going on inside
of you, and inside every other person, too."

The children thought about it for a minute and then one child asked his grandfather, "Which wolf will win?" The old Cherokee elder replied simply ... "The one you feed."

turkeys for Thanksgiving

This year, New York did not sit well with me. It was dirty and bleak, with bad architecture, even nastier people than ever (Robert, the ever polite, got the finger from a very pretty, well made-up driver). And my family... shall we say that if I was twice as gracious as my uncle, I'd feel ashamed of myself? The funny thing is that when we see him with "real guests," he's amazingly gracious, funny, and pleasant. But he went from crabby in previous years to downright abusive this year. My aunt was only slightly better, though I did have some pleasant conversations with her when there were just two of us. It was clear we were barely tolerated, which was better treatment than my mother got.

Robert, in his sweet way, opined that my aunt and uncle haven't wanted to host Thanksgivings for years now, which may be true, but I feel so much pressure from them to show up. Perhaps we should give them a break next year. We'd do better, I think, to have Thanksgiving by oursleves or to wangle an invitation with someone up here, or just to go to Ptown and have a relaxing weekend.

One highlight (for R, my mother, and me) was visiting Robert's sister and her family. The kids took a while to come out of their shells, but once they did, they were very sweet. The girls worked puzzles and danced, and the whole family sang together. The baby played quietly by himself and got lots of snuggling from the five adults present. Robert's sister even prepared a meal for us, a very lovely surprise, and something she hasn't been able to do for a while for obvious reasons.

We came home and talked to our United States parents, went out to dinner for south Indian comfort food, sat in front of the fire, and worked a puzzle ourselves. After a night's sleep in my own bed, I'm feeling much better. Oh, and even more grateful for my acquired family.

sad news from a friend

I heard from my dear friend Kevin tonight. I've known Kevin for years, and he often calls when I least expect it. He used to call me from Ireland, and then he moved to California and continued to stay in touch. He's had some outrageous and hilarious adventures, at least in retrospect, and is now married to a man he's known for over a decade (and whom I also like a great deal). Kevin and Dick are very settled together.

So I was delighted to hear from Kevin this evening. Alas, he was calling with sad news -- his father died yesterday or the day before. I last talked to Kevin just before his October trip to Ireland; he was bubbling about seeing his dad and finally having the opportunity to introduce at least one of his now grown children to Dick. We ended that conversation on a very hopeful and happy note.

And then today's call. It turns out that Kevin's father was visiting K's brother, Brandon, in Long Island. Things have been going right for this family; Brandon is happily married, they have a young son, and they just bought a house. During the visit, Kevin's dad somehow fell down the basement steps, and somehow while Brandon was calling 911, managed to walk back upstairs under his own steam. There was internal bleeding and surgery to correct it, followed by a heart attack and eventually, his heart stopped.

And yet, so many things to be thankful for. Kevin came east fairly quickly; Dick followed a few days later. Kevin's sisters arrived from Ireland. So they were all able to be with their dad near the end. This family seems to get along. Kevin, who doesn't hold back, has nothing but kind words for his siblings (and I'm sure, they for him), and they all adore Dick. And Kevin knew that his father loved him.

But still. And now they're all headed back to Ireland on Thursday and Friday -- all four siblings, Dick, Kevin's dad, and perhaps others. I am so grateful that Kevin called me and so saddened at this news. Kevin has told me so many delightful stories about his father. I wondered aloud if he might try to gather some of these stories and write them down (both Kevin's father and Kevin were and are excellent writers).

And a PS -- my friend Marlene's husband, Rick, died a year ago Monday. Such a sad time.

late November

24 degrees this morning and we awake to a hard frost. My car is now in its garage so I just need to start and go when I leave for the pool in a few minutes. I'll have a shorter swim today, then a longer one tomorrow; I've swapped days off to have a longer holiday.

Daniel continues to be on my mind. He inhabits a little corner there and comes to the forefront as we go through this first year without him. I'll stumble across something I know he'd enjoy or that I'd be sending email to him about. I'll think about him dancing slightly awkwardly, but always with an enormous grin on his face. That's one thing I know we shared -- that intense joy that dancing brought and brings us. And of course, Thanksgiving. In years when we didn't go to Manhattan, we often ended up at Daniel's house, surrounded by parts of his birth and acquired family. Graham might be there, perhaps a sister and her family, and always a quirky assortment of delightful others. The chaos that accompanied his preparing a large meal was blessedly different from that of my own birth family's chaos. I took a lot of comfort from being part of his family, as I know many people did. I miss him and sometimes my memories bring me a smile rather than a tear.

work -- the only thing constant is change.

well, work has been getting more fun. I can tell because I'm getting into it more and not minding staying til I get to a good stopping point. Alas, though, my boss, whom I very much like, is leaving. It sounds like there's a bad mismatch between him and the pres, although the pres originally hired him. I've been lucky enough to spend time talking to my boss about how he feels and what led up to all this, and the group and the company.

They've already hired a replacement. I was of course concerned that things would get awful, but... this guy seems really good -- sensitive, astute, smart as a whip. I've also spent time talking to him, both in email and in a 1-on-1. I was quite frank with him (up to a limit) about strengths and weaknesses, and easy and hard things, in the organization. (On the topics that I didn't want to get into, I at least suggested whom he should talk to and the very vague areas he should ask about.) We've talked about technical issues and people issues. And I've gotta say I'm impressed -- he seems to get it, and he seems to have observed some of the potential trouble spots already. Even my current boss, gracious and dignified man that he is, seems to like him a lot. So I'm hopeful that things will continue to go at least as well as they have so far.

And you know what? Quitting a job once this year has given me tremendous courage. While I don't want to offend anyone, I'm also trying hard not to hold back. And I realize now that quitting isn't nearly as hard as I thought it was. I'd like to stay, but now I feel like I have true options should things not work out. And that feels good.

battening down the hatches and a celebration

We've been getting ready for winter. We don't go through enouagh wood every year to warrant an annual delivery. Somehow with all the construction, we went through very little wood last year, despite the cold weather. So we haven't had to worry this year about carting and stacking firewood. But I did my next-to-last mow two weeks ago, followed by a fair amount of snow that stuck and eventually melted, and I did my last mow of the season yesterday. About mid-October, we turned on the heat, and all the windows were closed. The new storm doors are up; the garage door openers are in (so no more morning scraping!). And this weekend, I changed from percale to flannel sheets on the bed. Except for getting the snow blower tuned, I think we're ready for what comes at us over the next few months.

I must say that unlike my sistern and brethern, I *loved* watching the snow come down last week. It was stunning.

Now for the celebration. Robert received an invitation to GLAD's (Gay and Lesbian Advocates and Defenders -- glad.org) one-year anniversary celebration of the legalization of same-sex marriage. We went. It was in a big fancy Boston hotel with hundreds of people there. (The paper said 300; I think there were more.) The first part was a panel discussion with three advocates, including Mary Bonauto, lead attorney for the case, and one of the married couples, Julie and Hillary Goodridge.

Bonauto got a standing ovation (that lasted forever) just for being introduced; she deserved it. As the panelists spoke, the message I heard was that this will be a long struggle, but there's a lot of hope, and we need to keep fighting not only for our own rights, but for rights across the states. We heard that the nation is shifting its attitude, and that the loss in the eleven states (eleven states voted to amend their states' consititions to ban gay marriage) was expected, difficult, and still, we shouldn't lose heart. Discussion ranged from suicide among gay youth, to whether this issue cost the election to the Democrats (general feeling is it didn't) to what the experience of the Goodridge family has been like (they've received far more support than they expected). Lovely.

And of course, we ran into many friends, including some we'd lost touch with. We saw Mary and Bonnie from down the street -- I was at their commitment ceremony in 1990 and they just got married. They're retired now, and living a happy life. And we talked for a long time to a man we met in Wakefield a year ago -- he was the main speaker after a celebration for the SJC ruling, itself. He also wrote one of the friends-of-the-court briefs, and earlier, had clerked for Margaret Marshall, our state supreme court chief justice. Lovely man. I hope we cross paths again.

a helping paw

Last night, at a local theater, we met a woman accompanied by an enthusiastic young dog in a cape, a superhero of sorts. Turns out that the dog is being trained to assist a lucky deaf or disabled person. And the woman is its weekend foster mommy. During the week, the dog lives up at the local prison, and has been raised since it was small by a prisoner (great program). But it turns out that dogs who stay in prison only are spooked by the outside world -- pictures on the walls and so on (and what does that say about our fellow humans who are in prison and then get out). So to make the eventual transition a little easier on the dog, it stays in prison just for the work week and has a foster parent on the outside for weekends. This animal was bright and alert and loved all the attention it was receiving, but was absolutely quiet during the play, better, I think than most humans. I'm sure it will provide great service to some deserving person.

I told the foster mommy this story: my friend Jeff has an assistance dog named Ember. Jeff and Ember used to live in a household in which Sean and his pal Polar lived. Polar noticed that *some* dogs got treats when the microwave rang and they let their human know. So Polar made it a point to bring her (hearing) human to the microwave next time it rang and then expected a treat too. Smart animal.

random...

Just read that a 56-year old woman gave birth to twins. More power to her -- it means that she'll be 75 and probably hobbled by arthritis and high cholesterol by the time they graduate from high school. (Not to mention those middle-of-the-night bad dreams when she's 60, though who's to know whether the initial awakenings will be hers or her kids.) And she chose this?

My dad voted in a US election for the first time since he voted for JFK. Somehow, the US citizenship laws changed, so he's now able to claim dual citizenship in Canada and the US. He told me he voted a straight Democratic ticket out of Chicago, but I assume that in keeping with his anti-traditional style, he voted only once. And he was alive when he did it.

Two sites meant to comfort the 49% minority:
No good American will be left behind
http://www.marryanamerican.ca/

Sorry World -- we tried
http://www.sorryeverybody.com/
Truly delightful.

And my friend Dr. Curmudgeon has *truly* redefined marriage:
http://www.cafepress.com/drbanks.14525788

Meanwhile, work continues to be (mostly) fun. It took 6 or 7 weeks for the honeymoon to be disrupted, but not destroyed. Been having some good conversations with co-workers, and I'm just pleased as punch that my writing coworker has arrived (yeah!). I have a peer! Further, we're releasing the next version early next week, and I've been able to contribute in a fairly satisfying, if not entirely significant, way without stretching myself too thin. I really like the engineers -- they're for the most part incredibly sweet and enthusiastic, and they cheerfully write first drafts of technically complex material for me. I'm stunned.

Meanwhile, back at the (well, it's not exactly a ranch), we've been having fun with some last decorating projects. The garage is nearly cleaned out, with more going tomorrow, and Robert slowly getting rid of some last electronica that he no longer wants. Next week -- garage door openers. For some reason, not having them has felt like a hardship (ok, go ahead and laugh, but I *like* putting my car in the garage, and I'm already getting tired of scraping frost). That, and during the coldest part of last winter having to go downstairs in the middle of the night to pee and just having subflooring to step on. Icky. But that part of the project is well behind us. It's nice living here. Sometimes I come home and think "oooh. Real grownups live here. Oh yeah. Welcome home."

And much as I enjoyed my solitary lifestyle for so many years, I like having someone to share this place with. I love coming home to a devoted kitty; it's even nicer that there's another human here, one whom I like and love.

Back to watching the random stream flow by, with more selections to come.

updates on the state of my contentedness

The excitement continues around the wedding. We've gotten some lovely emails and cards and phone calls. One friend sent a letter with a Jane Austen-era-looking piece of clip-art of a couple eloping (the man is helping the woman down a ladder; very cute). A friend of Robert's wrote "Good God! I just got some sort of hoax card, purportedly from you. It said something about eloping, which implies marriage, which has to be a joke, right?" Ok, I thought it was hilarious. Primarily, we've been bathed in warmth, kindness, delight, and some wonderful humor. I'm pretty darned happy myself, and I greatly appreciate the sense of celebration around me. After less than a month, is it ok to say that it's just getting better?

The job is quite interesting. Tonight, Robert said "It must be great to feel like you can accomplish something everyday." It's true. I've gotten right in there and have started writing error messages, have produced a credible first draft of the release notes for our upcoming release, have interviewed several customers about their documentation needs, and have written a documentation vision and most of an initial doc plan. There's a surprising amount of laughter during the day (today was especially silly). And I keep thinking about how grateful I am to have landed in a place so different from the one I left.

For example, the very first day I was there, I wrote some text that ended up, at least briefly, on the company's home page. In my old job, I had lost track of who maintained the web, and never would have had the opportunity to work through the bureaucracy to contribute anyways. Or, talking to customers -- I'm sure that in the later days at my old job, it just couldn't have happened. In fact, officially, to talk to people who talked to customers, I was supposed to go through management first, but some people were kind enough to just talk to me. Here, I ask for permission, and people look at me as if I was a Victorian in the 23rd century.

It feels good to be contributing again, especially because my contributions feel important and wanted. At the same time, I'm reminded of how tiring it can be to work hard -- to actually accomplish something every day. I've been taking Fridays off all along; next week, I'll start taking Tuesdays off, too, though I'll remain flexible if needed.

I have a smallish project to do for my dance group which shouldn't take too long. I'm also eager to get started on the much-delayed second book. Perhaps this fall, my co-author and I can make some headway. There's more to do on the house. Basically, I look forward to having that double life of working and not working in some kind of balance as long as that balance lasts.

We've also hired my counterpart, another part-time writer who will start toward mid-November. I'm pleased. I like her personally and respect her work and think she'll do a great job with us. And finally, after nine years of trying, I'll get to work with her.

We've seen some fun performances lately. We went to a play when Robert's parents were in town. Maynard has its own little live theater now, and I'm trying to support it. The play we saw concerned a nearly-successful playwright who, in seeking funding to stage his next play stumbles into a crowd of mafia minor godfathers. Very funny, with good timing. In a different vein, this Sunday, I got to see Sharon Isbin, a classical guitarist, perform with the Boston Classical Orchestra. One of the pieces she performed was a Vivaldi lute concerto, transcribed for guitar. I was pleased to know the piece well enough to recognize her ornamentations. It was pure pleasure to sit and listen to her. The orchestra performed well too.

We have a baby shower, a dance, and a get-together with a friend this weekend, and I'm looking forward to all our events. Life's good right now. I'm content.

tired...

It's been a busy month plus a few days.

Robert moved in September 1 and sold and closed on his condo.
We've been to three weddings, including our own, hosted guests all of one weekend, went away another, went to a memorial service, and I attended a wake last week. Oh, and I started a new job (I'm in my fifth week already). Forgive my long silence, but I'm tired.

This coming weekend should be a little quieter, but only because I held some dates thinking I was going away. I think we will spend some time resting.

Back to my quiet state for now...

and finally, tears come

Our marriage ceremony was Saturday afternoon. As I mentioned, it was an intensely small and intensely loving affair. We cut short our dinner so that Cen, Robert, and I could dash into Arlington for Daniel's memorial service.

What a time that was -- the place was packed. There were two ministers, both close friends of D. Graham gave the eulogy, a long-but-could-have-been-longer portrait, full of love (and it was the love-him-as-he-was kind, not the adore-him-on-a-pedestal kind). Many people gave shorter speeches, trying to make sense of it all. There was some beautiful music (including the Ash Grove and the King of Love My Shepard Is, both, I learned, favorites of D), and poetry and other readings.

Truly a full day. I felt deeply at the service, and perhaps a little watery-eyed, but mostly quiet. In the last couple of days, however, I've noticed myself being a bit weepy, perhaps during those in-between moments. I've certainly been thinking a great deal of Daniel as I try to understand his absence. I feel like I've entered another stage of understanding.

Funny, two people asked me "whatever will we do without Daniel?" Clearly, the world is a poorer place without him. My answer, which was probably totally inadequate but the best I could do, was that we each incorporate a tiny piece of him -- we think about his good works and are inspired to continue them in whatever small way we can. It's our way of keeping him alive in our hearts, for as long as we can, or perhaps a way of keeping a small part of him within ourselves.

There is of course no sense to any of this -- his brief illness or his death -- but I do feel that my heart is slowly catching up with my head-full-of-facts.

I continue to hold his caregivers -- especially Graham -- in a special place in my heart. I know them all to be true heroes.

surprise...

Well, this was indeed a day of joys and sorrows, in true Unitarian tradition. Today was Robert's and my wedding day -- we eloped right into the living room downstairs. Our friend Cen performed the ceremony, beautifully, I might say. We had readings from Rumi and Gibran and Sappho. Everyone present said something. We had champagne, and then we went out for Indian food. Very simple and small. Very loving and warm. The news is now public, but we'll probably make a more official announcement in the coming weeks.

I may write more about the day tomorrow.

another completely random memory

Just remembered it this morning, in fact.

Daniel loved shiny things. For a while, Robert and I collected interesting shiny things, ridiculous little objects with no value and no meaning, as if we were crows. We had a spot for them in my car, in the otherwise unused ashtray. Perhaps it was our way of carrying a little bit of Daniel around with us wherever we went.

It's odd, isn't it, how these connections between people flow.

commitment ceremony, daniel

Four years ago Thursday, Daniel performed Robert's and my commitment ceremony. I was just rereading his words. He spoke of our committing to each other, marking a milestone along our journey together, while the larger community of friends gathered and friends not present made a commitment to us. He said:

Friendships are the sacred threads that weave the web of life, and the ties of friendship can help to bind our seemingly fragmentary lives into something like whole things. Part of living in community, however defined, is supporting each other through all of the things life brings to us. Moments of rich reward, ... times of sorrow and loss, and everything that spans the spectrum in between. The everydayness and the extraordinary, the peaks and the sloughs. We all need one another in all of these times.

So true. I am grateful to Daniel for performing our ceremony and managing to capture in words all that we felt on that lovely day. He will be in our hearts today, as present as he can be from his resting spot in Maine, as we experience the moments of rich reward and the moments of sorrow and loss, a great deal of life in one short day.

words are coming

When I said that I didn't have words about Daniel, I meant that I had thought a lot about our last encounter, and I'd worked through much of it. Graham helped enormously with that process. And I was flooded with images of him, some horrible imaginings that came to me in the middle of the night, some peaceful connections while he was in the hospital, some of Daniel when he was healthier. But that was it.

Yesterday, I had some memories, mostly fun ones. We've spent at least one Thanksgiving, maybe more with him. For several years, we attended his seders -- fun affairs held on a convenient night, not dictated by the calendar. Daniel had an assortment of haggadahs (some of which Robert and I gave him one Christmas). We'd each take one or more. I usually took the "angry lesbian haggadah," which, depending on my mood was either dead on or hysterically funny, and one other one. Then we'd go around the table and read our section, and if anyone else's section was different, that person would speak up. The discussions were fascinating and I learned so much. (This is what you get when a bunch of former divinity students get together. What a great place to be a fly on the wall.)

We were privileged to spend time with Daniel at his family camp in Maine, a grand old house on a lake that itself has seen many tragedies. We spent mornings in our pjs in the kitchen and cooked huge dinners which we ate on the porch. Daniel's sister and mother are there; Daniel will be there as of today.

And Daniel had so many communities from which he developed friendships -- English dance, LCFD dance, divinity school, workplaces, the greater gay community, the Unitarian church, political action groups, and probably others. He was constantly finding friends and bringing them home, introducing them to other friends. And yet last night, during the early part of visiting hours, I recognized very few people. A wide net indeed.

And his stuff! Graham had books, Daniel had things (and many of them were large) -- many family heirlooms. He also had china; he wanted his every day china to match, so he had a lot of it, maybe 12 place settings. And I remember helping G&D pack their Morrison Ave house and then unpack in Wakefield. I did a lot of unpacking in the kitchen, but I concentrated on a generous built-in china closet in the dining room, artfully arranging items so they could be showed off. The next time I visited, the entire closet was crammed with twice as much stuff, and it's possible that more was in boxes. There's a storage room off the mudroom which contains vases; Robert calls it the vaseoleum.

Last night at visiting hours, I mentioned to D's brother-in-law, Jeff, (the new husband of D's angel-sister Rachel) that there's a huge community of dancers who would love to help. When Daniel was starting to get sick, he had started the process of selling his house. I asked Jeff how they were going to handle all the stuff, and he admitted that they'd need some help. I said that it would be healing for me, and possibly others, to help with the last packing. So perhaps I and other dancers will work on that in the coming weeks, when the family is ready to call us.

I'm still not making sense of it, and I know that. As Robert said, sometimes we'd see Daniel several days in a row (perhaps at a dance, then at a party, and he might drop by to visit). And then we wouldn't see him for months (though I did have a fairly regular email correspondance with him; I tried to have a phone corresondance, but he was rarely home). So, except for dance camp, it's as if we're continuing to have a normal relationship with him, minus the email. I feel that I'm entering into that new space, but am not quite there yet. Perhaps tomorrow night, the memorial service will help.

Daniel has died.

Daniel Eaton Pentlarge
January 7, 1958 -- September 21, 2004


I don't have a lot of words right now. So I'll use what Graham wrote:

Shortly after 1:00 p.m. this afternoon, my former partner and closest friend, Daniel Eaton Pentlarge, died at Mount Auburn Hospital in Cambridge, Massachusetts. He was forty-six years old. The exact cause of his final illness and death is still under exploration; what is clear is that his body failed to mount an effective defense against a catastrophic fungal infection of the lungs.

Born in Boston, Daniel was a proud resident of Worcester until his adulthood, and a proud resident of Boston thereafter. Disappointed in his lifelong dreams of Unitarian Universalist ministry, he went on to become an important lay leader in every congregation of which he was a member. He frequently worked in social services, and had a special empathy for plight of the mentally ill; most recently, he was an administrator at Kurzweil Technologies.

I am glad that I had some part in introducing him to contra dance and English Country dance, both of which brought great joy to his life. Some of you may know Daniel as the author of "Be a Dance Angel," which is an important distillation of his strong views about the creation of community through social dance (CDSS News Mar/Apr 2004, #177).

Daniel was cherished for his compassion, wit, geniality, and intelligence. We are all impoverished by his death.

dance camp

Dance camp was lovely as always. The callers were superb, the music was wonderful. We were in a new place which was fine, but not spectacular. (And of course, the monsoon on Saturday made running between buildings a little tough.) But the real treasure was in the people, many of whom I"d never know if it weren't for our twice-yearly camps.

I spent a lot of time with G, Daniel's former partner. I've missed him a lot since he moved away. It seemed to me that we spent very little time talking about daily life stuff. Instead, we got right to the big stuff. (For one thing, he's part of the very small "inner circle" for Daniel, and has been visiting him from his home about 100 miles away.) I don't know if we said it all, but we said a lot. I'm quite pleased to see G standing on solid ground, making a new and important life for himself. I don't think I've ever seen him so peaceful, and that in the middle of Daniel's crisis.

I surprised myself by deeply feeling Daniel's absence at this camp. I realized that he's been such a big part of camp for several years now.

I also talked to David F, whom I've known for a while, to Andre, the brother of someone I know better. And Michael H, whom I've seen quite a bit but never conversed with. We had a marvelous conversation about his life work and how he can start doing it and where he might live that has meaning for him. And I talked to Dawn about travel, and a host of other people too.

All these people are dear to me, and the connections so important. I start out at dance camp feeling eager to go, but reluctant once I arrive. And then slowly, I open up, possibly through dance, until I'm in a loving space, one with fewer barriers than everyday life. When I leave, I'm often near tears at the thought of not having this for another half year or more. I still haven't figured out how to recreate that magic in daily life, but I'll keep working on it.

OK, gotta go swimming, so will leave off for now.

daniel is still with us

Daniel is still with us. Yesterday, I wrote to a friend,

At dance camp, I was able to spend some time with G [Daniel's former partner], a real treat for me, and I hope for him too. He got at least one phone message that essentially said "Daniel is still alive." I try to think about where Daniel is right now that the fact of his being alive is news. I try to imagine what he's experiencing and what he might remember, should we go to the next stage and there's more (happy) news. I try to imagine what getting better might mean and what he might have to learn in the process. I hope that he's not scared right now, that he feels peaceful and safe.

I greatly admire those who are making this journey with him -- his doctors, nurses, sisters, G, and other loved ones.

dancing the weekend away...

We're off for a weekend at dance camp, our twice-yearly gathering with friends, loved ones, and potential new friends. It's like being a kid again -- you get fed by the camp staff, there's singing, crafts (we make name buttons), swimming (usually), hiking (on our own), and activities (dance, dance, dance). We also have a variety show (which is purposely not called a talent show), and we sleep in cabins and dorms. Oh, and on Sunday mornings, we worship at the altar of English dance. Sometimes we go to the church of Michael; this time, we're scheduled to go to the church of Graham. Looking forward to the renewal.

job update

I started my new job on Monday, so I've been there all of two days. These people are like the old Rational folks -- HAIR ON FIRE. Things happen quickly, and there are few barriers that I've noticed to getting work done. Nearly everyone in the company sits within shouting distance (not that anyone does shout -- it's fairly quiet; people seem to use instant messaging), making communications quick and easy.

First impressions:

• People are nice, but not terribly social. I'm going to have to get over being shy if I want to make any work-friends there. I'm making a little bit of progress on that front and need to do more. And I'll have to make a point of eating in the lunchroom from time to time -- at least weekly if not more often. That's where a lot of the engineers seem to gather and they're a little social there. (They still mostly talk about work, which is fine. They seem to have interesting discussions.)
• The product is complex, but a lot of the hard stuff seems to be reserved for admins. I'm starting to form a framework of the kind of work I'd like to do there. But that of course is dependent on what the real customers feel are their pain points, and any new work coming up. My two goals right now are to do some initial interviews about what people (especially those with customer contact) are hoping to see in the documentation and to learn the product.
• My boss is great. I'm getting to know him little by little. Yesterday, I was concerned about some issues with paperwork, and he agreed about some of the points. But he finally said, "listen, I'm thinking long-term. When I move on to my next position, I'm going to want to take the best people with me. Why would I want to cause you to mistrust me if that's my long-term goal?" Wow.
• There's also another boss, not actually my boss, but someone I both sit next to and will interact with a lot. She's done a nice job of taking me under her wing, but so far, I haven't leaned on her very heavily.
• Oh and I should mention that the place is incredibly diverse. Women are in fairly short supply, though they seem to have important positions there (except that there are no women engineers, and no women execs). The execs are mostly white guys except my boss. But in the rest of the company, we have folks from many different countries and with lots of different skin colors. In so many companies, the "diversity" is just non-white uniformity. I'm impressed by this aspect of the place.

So far, so good. No regrets yet. I'm looking forward to what's next.

life, death, both

Wow -- 47 degrees this morning. Still haven't admitted that fall is barrelling down on us, so I haven't started closing the windows at night. I will admit to a small bit of decadence, though. I turned my floor on this morning. I have a heated floor in the new bathroom and I'm very much looking forward to taking a shower in a few minutes and stepping out on warm tile. Toasty toes.

Daniel is still with us, "stable," as my correspondant calls it. I assume that means that he's still unresponsive. But they're giving him platelets and dialysis. There's a plea for blood and platelet donations, but even though it's for Daniel, I'm not sure I can do it. I often think of other things to do (besides feel massively guilty) around blood donation time, so maybe I'll think of something this time too.

Oh, and I hope NOT speaking of which, there was a great article in the paper yesterday about hospice, an institution I think a lot about. Traditionally, hospice has been reserved for people who have gotten to the point in their disease that they can turn away from healing and move toward dying. So entering treatment typically means no longer receiving treatment except for comfort care. But it also means that people often don't get a lot out of hospice services because they sign up so late in the process -- often in the last week of their lives. (I actually knew someone who was in hospice for just a week, another person who was there for just a few days.)

The new trend is to allow some overlap -- some treatment along with preparation for possible end of life. I think this is a healthy approach; I remember long conversations with one friend about living his life on two paths -- preparing for the worst and hoping for the best. This approach seemed to help a lot. He could work on getting better while still putting his affairs in order. Toward the end, he didn't have to scramble; everything was in order.

I hope this new trend takes off. We rarely see things in black and white. It's too hard to predict the future, for one thing. Miracles DO happen, and hope is such an integral part of living a full life, even at the end of that life.

daniel's adventures...

Well, Daniel is still with us on this amazing roller coaster adventure. It was hard to interpret the last email about him, but apparently he's not entirely in hospice, from what I'm reading. He's "unresponsive" (which may mean he's in a coma), he's not as heavily sedated as he was, but he's being kept "comfortable" on a mild dose of morphine. His kidney's don't work right now, so he's received dialysis, and his immune system is in disrepair.

And one of the lines in the email was that we're all still hoping for a "miracle." I think the concept of "miracle" takes on new meaning at times like this. It sounds like at least several minor miracles have already happened and it remains to be seen whether there will be others. We all hope so.

grimmer

The email about Daniel today said that he's not going to make it but they'll keep him comfortable. There are many things to be grateful for -- his excellent medical care, the attention to his changing needs, and his circles of family and friends -- many many people care for him and have been sending him supportive and loving thoughts.

It is nearly time now to turn our attention to his caregivers, heroic people who have accompanied him on his journey. Soon, their paths will diverge; his survivors will need to walk back toward light and life, and make sense of what it all means.

As Dave Barry would say, "I'm not making this up."

Maybe I should check the political affiliation of my doctors? How frightening.


News article:

POPLAR BLUFF, Mo. (Reuters) - President Bush offered an unexpected reason on Monday for cracking down on frivolous medical lawsuits: "Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."

The Republican president, long known for verbal and grammatical lapses, included the anecdote about obstetrician gynecologists in his stump speech attacking Democratic presidential rival Sen. John Kerry and his running mate, Sen. John Edwards, a former trial lawyer.

At a rally of cheering supporters in Poplar Bluff, Missouri, Bush made his usual pitch for limiting "frivolous lawsuits" that he said drive up the cost of health care and run doctors out of business.

But then he added, "We've got an issue in America. Too many good docs are getting out of business. Too many OB-GYNs aren't able to practice their love with women all across this country."

Unfazed, Bush went on to deride his rivals as "pro-trial lawyer," and concluded, "I think you've got to make a choice. My opponent made his choice, and he put him on the ticket. I made my choice. I'm for medical liability reform now."

big sighs of relief

Two major things happened today.

Most importantly, Daniel is apparently still with us. He made it through the night and I haven't yet received *that* dreaded phone call. From what I understand, he's in a form of suspended animation. He's on a ventilator. He's also heavily sedated so that the ventilator can do its job with no interference. I've been trying to imagine what it would be like if my whole job were to breathe, or allow a mechanical device to help me breathe. Breath in. Pause. Breath out. Pause. Each breath a minuscule but crucial step toward the possibility of coming back.

Of course, this is our job every day, but one of many, and one we take for granted nearly all the time. Breath in. Breath out. Breath in. I'm hoping that in the coming days, weeks, and months, Daniel will add more jobs. For now, he's "stable," though, a very good thing. I think I'll hope for some more "stable" for a while.


On a completely different note, I appear to have a new job. My partner, B, will not be coming with me (sniff!!!), but it sounds like I'll get to work part-time (after some intense ramp-up time) and we'll find a virtual B, not as good as the original B, though. Not bad. Not bad. I'm amazed at how hard we worked to get this job, and I'm very impressed at how hard the people at the company worked to get us. I hope they're pleased with the results.

Oh. The company is Idiom, a "mature startup" with fewer than 50 employees, though they're trying to grow. Interesting product, fascinating and enthusiastic people.


With these two pieces of news, I feel like a tremendous weight has been lifted, like there's some new energy somewhere in there. Hooray. And onward.

no news is ...???

Well, the news about Daniel got a little worse today around 1pm, or maybe I just heard more of it. It sounded like the family had been summoned and there was just watchful waiting. And then... nothing. I'm hoping that no news is indeed good news, at least for now, at least for this minute, and the next. Fight, Daniel, fight!

Disconnected and grim news

Many things happening this weekend and I can't say much more than that. Suffice to say that I'm feeling a little weird, a little down, somewhat disconnected, in fact a lot disconnected. I keep feeling that "the connection is broken," but it is and is not a specific connection. It's an odd feeling. Lots of weird dreams last night, with appearances from people with whom I haven't been connected to in a while, but from whom I haven't had a specific break. Some of the discombobulation involves my sitting and waiting. For other parts, the ball is in my court and I'm not particularly moving, at least not right now.

My friend Daniel and I actually did have a rupture -- I felt dismissed by him late this spring and as a result haven't been in touch, though I've certainly been thinking about him. We have been close at times. In fact, he performed Robert's and my commitment ceremony four years ago and did an admirable job. Earlier this spring, I was actually rather stunned to find myself sitting on the outside of his circle when moments earlier I was inside.

Well, by my calculations, Daniel has been in the hospital for over a month. I didn't hear about it when he first went in. But since I found out, I have tried to stay updated about his condition and to offer my support to those who are closer to him right now, including his former partner and dear friend, G.

He was quite sick and quite weak, but started to make some good progress and was even moved to a "normal" room, if any such thing still exists. Apparently, last week, he suggested that it might be nice to see me or hear from me. And of course, last night, I finally had the wherewithal to start working through the small circle of caretakers to ask if he still had the same wish.

This morning, I got the following email:

Daniel is back in CCU and he is not doing well. His breathing was getting more and more difficult and he was put on a ventilator last night. The doctors have been unable to determine what process is going on and so don't have any specific way to treat it.
At this point it seems that the only way things will resolve is if Daniel is strong enough to fight off whatever is going on. He is in a very weakened state and it is unclear that he will be able to do that.

Very grim news indeed. I've been feeling stunned all morning. The connection tightens, the connection loosens a little. Right now, I am hoping that Daniel has some hidden reserve of fighting strength and that he's able to overcome this setback. I know that he has a huge community of caring friends who are all hoping the same thing.

Anatomy of hope

Oddly enough, this weekend, I finally picked up Jerome Groopman's latest book, The Anatomy of Hope. JG is a hematologist and oncologist and both performs research and sees patients. His book aims to explore the role of hope in healing. Some of the patients described had hope and died anyways; others needed to be encouraged to find hope somewhere before they could proceed with healing. And one in particular had no hope whatsoever, believing that she had brought God's wrath on herself and didn't deserve to hope or to live. Some of the people in the book were doctors, themselves, people who treated the very illnesses they were suffering from. And JG describes his own personal hopeful journey, an experience that I'm convinced makes him an even more compassionate doctor.

The book falls down in two places -- one a rampage against so-called "mind-body" studies. This may just be a matter of semantics -- there are certainly people out there who promote the idea that if you only believe enough in your own healing, it will happen. This view was prevalent in the early, more hopeless days of AIDS; Louise Hays, I believe, was a leader in this area. OK, I'm willing to trash that movement also; I'm not particularly invested in that "blame the victim" game. But the mind-body movement that I'm familiar with is actually very much in keeping with Groopman's approach, and I wish it hadn't been swept up in his disapproval.

The other area where I found the going a bit rough was in the later chapters where Groopman felt that he needed to describe the scientific ramifications of hope. After all the warmth in the earlier part of the book, the cold, clinical description just didn't do much for me, though it was interesting. I just felt like it was part of a separate work, like Groopman had to include it to validate his study of hope as a scientist.

I did, however, enjoy reading about his relationship with his patients and his growth as a person relating to patients. He talks about how in medical school, and even afterwards, doctors were encouraged to focus on the clinical aspects of a patient's progress, but to avoid all discussions having to do with emotion or spirituality. Having been around a fair number of hospitals, I'm especially grateful that he's grown away from what he was taught. He concludes that it is appropriate to focus on the less clinical aspects of a patient's healing. Or perhaps I should say that I'm grateful that he's recognized that emotions, spirituality, faith, and hope are integral components of a patient's healing, as defined for that particular person. And that perhaps is one of the most striking, yet unspoken, conclusions -- that healing does not necessarily reflect a "successful" clinical outcome.

This book is a keeper, one I expect to return to multiple times as life circumstances change.

More information: http://www.jeromegroopman.com

busy week

It's been a busy week. Robert moved, though I admit I was more helpful during the packing and supervising-of-movers phase than I've been during the unpacking phase. I haven't been exactly unhelpful during this last phase, though, and I expect to do more this weekend.

In addition, my little consulting gig heated up this week. These things are unpredictable, but two articles suddenly needed intense attention (I'm still finishing one up). There may be more next week.

And the job I've been applying for has required some attention -- lots of discussion with B throughout the week. Yesterday we went in for a third interview, got all jazzed up by what we saw, and got an offer which we won't take in its current form. Darn. And I was practically drooling, too. So B and I will need some more phone time, and soon, because we've said we'll get back to the manager by today. It's clear that the answer is "No," but I want to make sure we say it right.

There have been a few more items I've needed to attend to in the midst of this flurry. Unfortunately, a hospitalized friend has not been getting any attention from me at all, though he has been much on my mind. The good news is that his condition seems to have been upgraded from terrifying to worrisome but improving.

Moving and Milestones

Today, Robert moved into my house, soon to be "our" house officially. This event marks several significant milestones.

• Of course, it's a huge milestone in our relationship. After years of not living together, we're confusing all our friends by exploring what life is like when we're both based in the same house.
• It means that the construction project on the house -- the one that's been going on since December -- is winding down. The entire house is now livable after months of disruption that seemed to move in outbreaks from room to room and floor to floor. Just last week, the master bathroom was finished. And now there are just a few small matters to attend to.
• It's been ten years to the day since Robert moved to his apartment, probably the longest he's ever lived in one place. What a great way to celebrate -- by moving! I hope he (and we) get to live here even longer.

The move went smoothly; the movers were cheerful, careful, witty, and very pleasant. The piles they left behind were surprisingly small. Robert should be substantially settled in by the end of this long weekend. And Robert and I seem pretty relaxed and content despite our anticipation of high stress levels.

inner light, inner grace

I don't usually attend much to mass emailings (jokes, etc), but the sentiment behind this one was especially lovely:

Albert Schweitzer said so well, "Sometimes our light goes out but is blown into flame by another human being. Each of us owes deepest thanks to those who have rekindled this light." Who rekindles your light? Who blows your light into flame
when it threatens to flicker out? ... If you need the light of your spirit rekindled during a bleak time, there are those who will listen and care. Likewise, a great and wonderful gift you can give is to fan into flame the spirit that is in another. Rekindling someone's flame is ... important ..., for few of us can go it all alone. The greatest weapon against darkness is, and always has been light.

So this has been an ongoing source of conversation for Robert and me. I always appreciated our yoga teacher because of his unending ability to see the light in everyone, something I aspire to but often fall short of. (Don't you just see darkness in some people? I'll admit that I do. I keep working at it though.)

We (R and I) were conversing about spirituality with a minister years ago (social situation), when all of a sudden she stepped back in a bit of shock and said "You mean, you think everyone has a little grace machine inside of them?" "Yes, I replied, don't you?" And it turned out, it was Robert's turn to be shocked. I guess those devout Presbyterians amongst whom he was raised think that grace happens outside of the self, not inside. My little grace machine is almost a physical entity. I know where it sits. And yeah, its little motor threatens to give out every now and then, but it always starts back up again.

So yes, that little light burns brightly most of the time. But my family (the one I've created, which sometimes includes my out-of-the-box original family) makes a difference when the light threatens to go out. Some members of the family know who they are. Others have no clue or little clue, and that's fine. You often don't know whose life you've touched or how or why. You just have to trust that it happens all the time, more often than you realize. And doesn't just knowing or even sensing that you've made a difference serve to keep your own little light burning brighter?

Written in deepest gratitude.

delightful snippet of the day (DSOD?)

This from Robert, who found it on the Onion (a satirical online 'zine):

Homosexual Tearfully Admits To Being Governor Of New Jersey.

Update on project

About ten days ago, I wrote about a job interview I was getting ready for. It happened a week ago. I was there for four-and-a-half hours, nominally talking to three people. But in the beginning, I was parked in the employee lounge where I found two people to quiz. One was a software engineer; the other turned out to be the CFO. Officially, I also spoke to the head of HR, the director of engineering, and the VP of engineering.

B was there, too, but for a shorter time. Unfortunately, she's under tremendous pressure at work, but has been making time for this adventure.

We were told not to expect to hear anything terribly soon, and the VP was out on Friday and Monday. On Tuesday, we got an email asking if we could come in "very soon," either that day or the next day. (I get the impression that they want the person to start six months ago.)

So, early yesterday, B and I went back. This time, we (separately) talked to the Founder/CTO/Chairman and the President/CEO. I was there for two and a half hours and ended my visit with a brief chat with my connection who works there.

If they decide to proceed to the next step, we'd like to go back and talk to some engineers and get a demo of the product. I'm still ok with the decision going either way; I realize that job-sharing feels risky and new to everyone. But they've stopped inviting us to the next step while simultaneously telling us they are not making a commitment to job-sharing. This last time, we just received the invitation. And yesterday the pres was running numbers in his head trying to figure out how to acccommodate our requests in a creative way.

Sounds interesting. And I've always liked B, but my admiration for her increases as we continue to work together. I'm slightly intrigued that collectively, we've clicked with everyone we've talked with, but we seem to click with different people. I'm also amused that people keep asking "but how will you handle this." I keep thinking -- simple, just like any other project with more than one person, but assuming that each person will work less than half time. Maybe I'm missing something. Obviously, there are plenty of issues to figure out, but to me, that's just not one of them.

We get a bit of a break now. The whole company is off in Maine. So we probably won't hear from them until sometime next week.

Reconnecting with an old friend

Today I did something very brave.

Last fall, during the final steps of designing my addition, the builder and I met to comb over the drawings. I called the designer with my list of changes, got a promise that he'd drop by the next day to pick everything up so that he could further refine what he'd done, and then never heard from him again.

At Christmas, I sent what I thought was a nice letter to the designer saying that our friendship was more important than our business relationship, and that to proceed with the former, we merely had to be in touch. Nothing.

I began to wonder whether I'd somehow wounded my friend. In the face of silence, it's hard to know.

Meanwhile, the builder and I forged ahead. We made mental corrections to the drawings, and the builder finished the structural design. (It turns out that the design is interesting enough that it was nearly unbuildable. But cleverness and good software prevailed; my chair now sits on a very solid floor -- the whole rest of the house could fall down, but this floor will still be standing.)

A few weeks ago, the builder urged me to call the designer. (I've said very little about what happened, mostly because I had guesses but didn't really know.) The thing is, it's often hard for me to pick up the phone and call someone, especially after a long silence. Well, even without long silences, it can be hard for me to reach out.

So today I called the designer. He seemed delighted to hear from me and perhaps a little surprised that I'm neither mad nor was I held up by his lack of communication. Turns out he's been in a very rough spot. I really know very little of the history of his rough spots but he seems to be on the mend again. He reports that he's decided to abandon the design field but now wants to work with kids; in all his ups and downs, he says he's never let a child down.

I told him it would give me great pleasure if he'd come see what he's designed. I'm both eager to see him and eager to see his reaction to the near-finished results of his imaginative mind. So with all luck, I'll be seeing my old friend tomorrow morning. That's a small weight off my shoulders.

And what are all those short people dressed as?

Ever make the mistake of going to a costume store a few days before Halloween? Total pandemonium -- shopping carts all over the aisles, whining kids, tired parents, stuff pulled off the shelves and not put back. People are frantic and a little aimless.

Well fast-forward about ten months, or spin back about two. Yesterday, without thinking, I went to da-da-da-da, Staples. Thick in the middle of the dreaded Back To School rush. Yup, all the hallmarks. Some parents actually had lists in their hands and were sticking to them. But there were kids who HAD TO HAVE the folder with the picture of --insert your favorite sports team-- on the cover. Some of them were just whining, close to meltdown, but some of them had already learned to use complicated logic to get their way. It was hard to get down the aisles what with the shopping carts parked like SUVs (badly) and all the people clustered around them for little conferences.

It's probably just as well that I needed office supplies, not clothes. I think I'll stay out of Marshalls for a while.

What's actually brewing (part 3)

Tired of reading yet? -grin-.


So now we're at that decision point about leaving my last job. I made yet another leap into the dark unknown and landed at home. I've been hanging out with the kitty, working on the house, doing my little contract gig, bit by bit learning to enjoy life again. I discovered that I can be a real homebody sometimes and that's perfectly fine. I've re-developed a correspondance with friends, have started my blog, and enjoyed those little moments between things, those moments that I've ordinarily had to rush through.

Oh. I had personal cards printed, like business cards, but more fun. Under profession, I put "writer."

But I didn't know what I'd do with the rest of my life, or even after the summer or next year. I decided not to stress about it. My image was that I'd slowly fade out of my profession into obscurity and find something else to dabble in while discovering my true passion. I might still do that.

And I've idly thought about other things to do besides what I know --

• Being a seasonal worker for H&R Block, preparing income taxes. Well, if that's so darned interesting, why haven't I rushed out to sign up for the classes that are starting next month? They're cheap (really cheap) and local -- about two miles away. Huh. Still observing.
• Write. About what? Not sure, but I'd start with the book the Curmudgeon and I are planning.
• Work with people who are dying. No -- not a good idea. I get to choose my friends, but I don't get to choose the people I work with or worse sometimes, their families. Better to keep doing that on an as-needed basis. At least that's my feeling right now.

And then... a few weeks ago, a former colleague, one I like a lot, asked me to apply for a job at his company. He'd actually mentioned the possibility of a job opening around the time I left my old job. So when the job opened up, I kind of blew him off. I proposed that he talk to my friend K, but apparently K decided that it's not the right time for him to take that job.

So my friend came back to me. This time, I read the job description more carefully and felt fairly enthusiastic about the job except that I don't think I'm up for a full-time job right now and I don't think I want to be a sole writer at a company. That's what this job is.

So I tried to interest my friend B, who expressed some interest in the job. And then she proposed an idea that still has me intrigued -- that we job-share.

You know what? I'm just enjoying the process of working with B on this project (as we say at seders, dayenu, meaning, "it would have been enough."). I don't particularly care whether I get the job. That isn't actually true. I think I'd like to get the job with her, but it's also ok if I don't.

So late Friday, I submitted my resume and a cover letter. And today I got a call asking me to come in for an interview. I'll talk to B tomorrow night, and then go in for my first real job interview in nine years on Thursday. Nervous? Not really, because I realize that either outcome will make me happy.

A little history (part 2)

So, what did I think I'd be when I grew up? I'm still asking that question. But briefly, here are some of the influences that got me where I am today...

I always struggled with writing. Though I did well on standardized tests, I did much better on the math side than on the English side. I did study languages, though, and learned a lot about my own native one in the process.

In high school, I wrote a lot of papers. My 12th grade history teacher in particular insisted that we write multiple research papers, culminating with a huge project at the end of the year. I did mine on the Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire (I got interested when I learned that my great grandfather wrote some of the reform laws in response to the tragedy.) In the absence of the web, I ended up doing a lot of research at the Library of Congress and one of the big labor libraries in DC. I felt really good about the experience. And looking back, writing that paper was a huge accomplishment.

Despite my high school successes, I decided I was terrified of writing. I applied to two colleges, and one required graduates to write a senior thesis. Always thinking ahead, I went with the other college, which was also my parents' alma mater. (That, and there was a *ton* of parental pressure from one of said parents.) In college, I started to major in math, then ended up in French, where, yes, I wrote more papers. I also got deeply involved in writing a paper on the history of birth control for a Soc/Anthro class. I still quote facts from that paper.

I dropped out of college and went back to study computer science. I dutifully took one English course (lots of little papers) and one multi-disciplinary course in which I wrote a paper on AIDS. This was before I could find any published books on the topic, so back to the library I went to peer into reams of microfiche. I wrote another paper I was very happy with. I dug deep and got a lot out of the experience. And I still quote facts from that paper too.

By this time, I had worked my way through sewing costumes for the Boston Ballet and being a secretary (and some-time editor) to a civil engineer at MIT. I was working at Digital Equipment Corporation and managed to apprentice myself to a programmer. I developed code for a while (but nothing normal -- it was all bleeding edge stuff -- and it all got thrown out in the end) until I had my first real dissatisfaction. Only one part of my brain was being used -- the technical side -- and I was working in isolation. Somehow, I ended up doing some writing and liked it. I got to exercise my technical side *and* my liberal arts side and I had to talk to lots of people and I got to do all sorts of research.

Digital started going through hard times and eventually came to the conclusion that it and I needed a divorce. This was devastating to me, and it really did feel that way to me (I'd already gone through one actual divorce by that time, hopefully my last one, so I did know what one felt like. I also realized that I had survived one, so I'd definitely survive this.) Through two more jobs, I found bosses willing to take a chance on me, shoving me into deeper and deeper water, and... I could swim!!

About nine years ago, I realized that I needed to leave my position, though the realization did not come as smoothly as one might think. It came in fits and starts, backs and forths, until the realization was almost made in hindsight. But it all led to a new job at a small company -- 150 people -- doing interesting work and meeting with great success in the market place.

The group had been looking for a technical writer for months and hired me!! I was shoved into deeper and deeper water and kept swimming for all it was worth, and somehow managed to do a good job. My two bosses, Tom and Karl, were wonderful about rewarding me (not that they hesitated to read me the riot act when they felt I needed that too). Great experience. Although the company changed continuously until I left a few months ago, the last set of changes were unbearable for me on so many different levels. I realized that I could sit around and complain about it while dutifully performing my (by then meaningless) little tasks, or I could leave. So I left. That decision didn't come easily either -- it took about six months.

There's been a lot of learning through all of this; certainly I've developed a feeling of confidence about my work, though I also feel there's a lot out there for me to learn. I've never had a career goal, but instead have let the currents carry me. And the currents have done a pretty darned good job, so far at least.

But there's more.

I've done a lot of work on myself, physically and mentally, and I've worked through a tremendous amount of constant pain. It's one of my greatest accomplishments, though not one I talk about a lot because it's so personal and probably boring to others. And also, I'm not exactly cured -- I live with some physical challenges all the time -- but I manage it, and it eats at me far less than it used to decades ago. I live alongside of it, but it doesn't define me like it used to.

In the personal challenges category, I was part of the end-of-life experience for four friends -- I sat with them through their sicknesses, and talked to them about their past and current hopes and aspirations. Talk about learning -- there are few deeper wells. They all had something to say and teach about their careers.

• Mark was an architect who was able to accomplish great things at a young age. Had he lived, I think he would have become one of those famous people with little bands of groupies following him. He designed four stunning buildings before he died at 37. He said one day that his work was a legacy, the way children would have been. They were his mark on the world that would persist long after he was gone. One of the last presents he gave me was his portfolio, a collection of drawings and photographs he'd put together for the job hunt he was planning before he got sick. And after the gift was made, he laid back on a pillow and breathed a sigh of relief. His work was done. He died four months later while I was visiting him.
• Tom was a secretary for the phone company. So what? My mom wouldn't stop yelling at me when I was a secretary. Well, Tom's older sister was the first person in her entire family to go to college. And Tom was the second person to get a professional job, one not in a factory. His family was so proud of him; he had exceeded all their dreams. He died when he was 31.
• Char was a writer. She worked with me as a technical writer, but I think it was secretly so she could get more writing in. She loved to write, and she used her craft to perform great works in the world, saving lives, actually, with some of it.
• And Wynn was an accountant who worked for a Big Firm. Except he was someone who cared deeply about his job and his coworkers. Shortly before he died, a friend and I were sitting with him and heard him doing sums in his head. The friend asked whether he was doing income taxes. Wynn said yes, he had to do them because the deadline was soon. (How did he know? His brain had literally been destroyed by then.) We convinced him that the deadline had passed and that his officemates had done all the work for him. He was worried that it had been a burden for them and we reassured him that everyone had done a little bit and it wasn't hard at all. What a relief. He stopped worrying, got on with the business of dying, and was gone within two days.

Finally, on a much lighter note, I learned, or actually, relearned, a new skill relatively recently, one I've alluded to repeatedly in this narrative. I mentioned earlier that I've been in a lot of pain over my life. This has kept me from pursuing most sports because I'd just end up in more pain. Two years ago, I was walking a lot for exercise and thought I was in fine shape. A doctor convinced me that I had to get in the pool and kick, kick, kick to address some specific issues I was facing. So, I found a pool and joined it. And it turned out I was in lousy shape. I couldn't even swim a length of the pool -- a mere 25 yards -- without getting completely out of breath. Little by little, I learned to swim more. And now I swim three miles a week. It's not a lot, but it's a big accomplishment for me. And I don't hurt worse as a result.

So I've faced lots of challenges, not all successfully, and learned a lot in the process.

Something's brewing (part 1)

My former colleague, Tania, suggested that I read Po Bronson's book, What Should I Do With My Life (or as IBM would have us say: What should I do with my life -ahem-). I think Karl also mentioned Po Bronson's name sometime this summer, though if he did, I don't remember anything else he said about it. So on the one hand, people are always recommending that I read books, and I've kind of given up on them (books, not people). It feels like a huge commitment for one thing. For another thing, I stay pretty busy reading things on the web, the newspaper, and magazines. On the other hand, something was telling me that I should read this book.

So I ordered it. And on a quiet day, I picked it up. Even though it's taking me more than one day to read (my high-barrier criterion for weeding out books), I'm keeping at it. Bronson corresponded with 100s of people, then met tens of them in person and interviewed them. But he didn't just passively listen and record -- he added bits from his own experience, gave advice, gently tried to steer, became a friend.

He then pulled out some complex themes as an organizing point and found connecting threads in the stories. It's a fascinating read -- deeply moving at times, funny at others, and there are some wonderful observations.

One is that you can do good or bad in any job. Good point. I've been thinking that I've *felt* like I was doing good in the job I had, BUT how can you say that technical writing is doing good when there are so many struggling non-profits in the world? Well, maybe I've rationalized the good aspects to myself, but why let others' opinions of "doing good" interfere with my own perceptions?

He also leaves some stories "unfinished" -- or maybe I should say unresolved. The stories finish on all sorts of notes, which I find pretty fascinating. It's not really over til (no fat ladies here) you die. You get to interact with all sorts of things in the world and do something with it all until that moment you take your last breath. (Of course, when you're on your death bed, you're going to be interacting a little differently than you do when you're healthy and running around like a nut.)

... to be continued

Back in the saddle

Yesterday, I visited with my co-author Gary to discuss a possible next book.

We spent some time talking about what had gone right at Atria/Pure Atria/Rational and what had gone wrong -- where we seemed to take the turn. He believes that no matter how bright the picture is, how wonderful the work environment, it will turn sour eventually. (His explanation is that Camelot turns into Brigadoon every time.) We talked about how soul-deadening the large company experience can be, and how at a large company, you can never have widespread effects on the company or your customers even after you reach the point in your career where you're capable of doing that type of work.

And then we sat down to discuss the next book. I went in expecting to enumerate our ideas, and walk away with a vague plan to do something someday. Over the last few months, we've casually tossed a couple of ideas back and forth. Yesterday, we settled on one, and then got to work. We decided who our audience would be, articulated the problem with current books of the same type, figured out how our book would be different, and started to map out -- not a table of contents -- but a structure at a higher level. We listed our deliverables and talked about having some kind of community participation.

Wow. I can tell you that I remember enjoying collaboration. I remember that feeling of being able to produce something better in a group than any individual could come up with. But yesterday, I was reminded of how good and nourishing that feeling really is. It's one of those sparks that keeps me going. And I can't wait to do more.

Alas, it'll probably be a month before we can pick this up again (Gary has a life), but still, I'm excited and eager. I haven't felt that about anything vaguely work-like in a long time. Happy, fine, pleasant, yes. But wanting to dig in? Bring it on!

well, that's a relief...

About 12 days ago, just as I was getting sick, I swam a mile, then mowed the lawn. Then the next week was a bit of a blur. Fortunately, my brain came back first; my body took a while to follow. This morning, I swam a mile and mowed the lawn in 93 degree heat no less, and... I'm hot. I'm not that tired. I'll probably cool off with some iced tea and a nice cool breeze blowing through. Not that being sick is fun, but it's a lot more fun when it's known to be temporary.

Violence begins at home

Well, well. Another woman disappears. Her husband desperately calls police (after, of course, going out to buy a new mattress) to report that his wife hasn't come home from her daily jog. His family stands behind him, united with her family. And of course, the stories leak out. She was ambitious, college-educated, willing to put her career and further education on hold in support of his career. Son of a doctor, brother of a doctor, he claimed to have a college degree (he didn't) and claimed to be accepted into med school (he wasn't) and even convinced her to pack their belongings to move thousands of miles so he could attend school. At last report, he was arrested for murder, even though they haven't yet found her body. It all sounds so sordid, so sad.

Or Laci Peterson. Or the kids who were murdered by their father last summer allegedly because he was angry about a custody battle he was fighting with his wife. (We'll never know why because he ended up killing himself while in prison.) Or the little boy who finally won a divorce from his father who is in jail for murdering the boy's mother but wanted involvement in his son's life.

I'm not sure why I react strongly to these stories. They're gripping and horrifying. I wonder, though, if part of me grieves not for them, but for myself -- for the violence that I experienced as a child, in my own home. (I used to joke -- but not really -- that it was safer for me to walk the streets of inner city Washington at night than it was to go home.) And somehow, it's all ok -- parents (or those playing the role) should have the right to "discipline" their children without intervention; men should have control over their women. We turn away, we don't intervene, we don't know that we should act, we don't know how to act. And it all continues.