When Barack Obama announced that he was accepting the nomination in front of 80,000 of his closest supporters in an outdoor stadium, prominent members of the right issued public prayers for rain to ruin the moment. As I recall, perhaps inaccurately, a few hoped for something stronger than rain -- a huge storm or something that would actually endanger tens of thousands of Democrats.
And now, on the eve of the Republican convention, we're hearing dire predictions about Hurricane Gustav. From the bits I've read, W is likely to stay home so as not to look like he's fiddling while New Orleans sinks (again). Delegates may have trouble getting to the convention. There's even some early talk about interrupting or deferring the convention because of the storm.
Be careful of what you wish for, Republicans. Your God seems to have a wicked sense of humor.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Saturday, August 30, 2008
Forty years ago
Has it been that long already?
Forty summers ago, the Democrats convened in Chicago. My father felt that they needed some "adult supervision" so he went to help with the rioting. A few years later, I noticed one of his treasures -- a tear gas cannister mounted on a rock that the police lofted at him and a few others after they'd run down what everyone thought was a blind alley. The fact that my father is still around today is testimony that there was some escape.
Later that summer, my sister and I visited my grandparents in Michigan -- a trip we would make for a few more summers until my grandparents retired to North Carolina. My father came down from Toronto but we barely saw him. The Republicans werer convening and he was staying up watching it into the wee hours. I remember coming downstairs in the morning and seeing him laid out on the couch, day after day.
Of course, there was very little discussion about it because my grandparents were backing whoever the Republican candidate was -- oh, must have been Nixon. No question, no wavering. And my father was probably furious at the Democrats for veering so far to the right.
So instead, we enjoyed my grandfather's vegetables that my grandmother cooked. We ate good meals together in peace, sniffing the night air, me waiting for my treat -- a martini-soaked olive, of which there were plenty, always, not that that many olives went into each martini, mind you.
Forty years ago, I was ten and my sister was six. Times were far more innocent then, yet there was still plenty to riot about. Much has changed, much else hasn't.
Forty summers ago, the Democrats convened in Chicago. My father felt that they needed some "adult supervision" so he went to help with the rioting. A few years later, I noticed one of his treasures -- a tear gas cannister mounted on a rock that the police lofted at him and a few others after they'd run down what everyone thought was a blind alley. The fact that my father is still around today is testimony that there was some escape.
Later that summer, my sister and I visited my grandparents in Michigan -- a trip we would make for a few more summers until my grandparents retired to North Carolina. My father came down from Toronto but we barely saw him. The Republicans werer convening and he was staying up watching it into the wee hours. I remember coming downstairs in the morning and seeing him laid out on the couch, day after day.
Of course, there was very little discussion about it because my grandparents were backing whoever the Republican candidate was -- oh, must have been Nixon. No question, no wavering. And my father was probably furious at the Democrats for veering so far to the right.
So instead, we enjoyed my grandfather's vegetables that my grandmother cooked. We ate good meals together in peace, sniffing the night air, me waiting for my treat -- a martini-soaked olive, of which there were plenty, always, not that that many olives went into each martini, mind you.
Forty years ago, I was ten and my sister was six. Times were far more innocent then, yet there was still plenty to riot about. Much has changed, much else hasn't.
one robert, two cats, no kids
(still thinking about that six-word biography meme.)
A few weeks ago, I tweeted that upon my return to work after my first honeymoon, a coworker asked naughtily, "So, did you do any family planning while you were gone?" He didn't even have to wink at me. "Yes, I replied, but not quite the kind you're thinking about." Much thought has gone into that family planning, resulting, thankfully for me, in no kids.
The decision I've made will result in several outcomes. Besides the obvious -- no diaper changing and no middle-of-the-night feedings, I'll never have the opportunity to sniffle through a kindergarten graduation or squirm through a piano recital given by 30 7-year olds. I'll never hear one of my children say "don't worry, mom, you can move in with me when you get old." Or, as one friend recently heard from one of his kids, "Dad, when you get old, don't expect me to change your diaper."
But there's one sweet mothering opportunity I recently experienced without the benefit of the preceding eighteen years. My old college buddy who lives in Albuquerque recently sent his freshman son off to college in my area. And the son's best friend is also a freshman at the same institute. When first approached, I said that I'd be delighted to help them through the transition.
So from the dad, I got a blow-by-blow description of the departure -- the dad trying to savor every moment while not going too deep, the experience of momentous change in every day acts, the anticipation of longing for his son, the excitement about the adventure that he couldn't quite express, at least to his son, the memories of his own awful lonesome arrival at college in the rainy dark of night.
We picked up the young men at the airport on Tuesday night. They were exhuasted and I think a little eager to get to school. We brought them home, fed them, put them to bed early, and fed them again the next morning. Then, on my way to work, I drove them to their new adventure. We got to watch the other kids unload their cars -- so overloaded with ridiculous useless items that my two guys started to feel virtuous. "Where are they going to put all that stuff?" one asked. Our rooms aren't that big.
At one point, I saw a young parent carrying a TV set and mentioned how hard it was to get used to the idea of TVs in one's dorm room. I can't remember a single TV during my college experience except for one in a professor's house. This caused me to launch into mentioning that we also didn't have phones in our rooms. One of the guys was shocked -- "How on earth did you communicate with each other?" I said that there was a phone at the end of each hall and if it rang, someone answered it, then came and knocked on the door of the person being called. We left notes in our mailboxes and we saw each other at the one dining hall. "Ooh," he said, trying to imagine it, "sounds complicated."
I've got to say that I was really impressed by these two. They seemed totally adult-ready, even running on hungry and tired fumes. They asked us questions about ourselves and politely engaged in conversation with us. They told us about their summer adventures canvassing, one for a politician, one for an organization. They even insisted on loading the dishwasher for us after breakfast. (I'm definitely not used to having guests who insist on helping, especially after I say that there's no need).
They also expressed their gratitude to us several times. The friend of the friend's son said how much he appreciated our taking a complete stranger in our home. These thoughts required stepping outside of the self-centeredness of childhood into what I consider to be a more adult empathy for others in the world.
I immediately wrote to my friend and told him he'd done a great job raising this young man. I look forward to meeting both young people again.
A few weeks ago, I tweeted that upon my return to work after my first honeymoon, a coworker asked naughtily, "So, did you do any family planning while you were gone?" He didn't even have to wink at me. "Yes, I replied, but not quite the kind you're thinking about." Much thought has gone into that family planning, resulting, thankfully for me, in no kids.
The decision I've made will result in several outcomes. Besides the obvious -- no diaper changing and no middle-of-the-night feedings, I'll never have the opportunity to sniffle through a kindergarten graduation or squirm through a piano recital given by 30 7-year olds. I'll never hear one of my children say "don't worry, mom, you can move in with me when you get old." Or, as one friend recently heard from one of his kids, "Dad, when you get old, don't expect me to change your diaper."
But there's one sweet mothering opportunity I recently experienced without the benefit of the preceding eighteen years. My old college buddy who lives in Albuquerque recently sent his freshman son off to college in my area. And the son's best friend is also a freshman at the same institute. When first approached, I said that I'd be delighted to help them through the transition.
So from the dad, I got a blow-by-blow description of the departure -- the dad trying to savor every moment while not going too deep, the experience of momentous change in every day acts, the anticipation of longing for his son, the excitement about the adventure that he couldn't quite express, at least to his son, the memories of his own awful lonesome arrival at college in the rainy dark of night.
We picked up the young men at the airport on Tuesday night. They were exhuasted and I think a little eager to get to school. We brought them home, fed them, put them to bed early, and fed them again the next morning. Then, on my way to work, I drove them to their new adventure. We got to watch the other kids unload their cars -- so overloaded with ridiculous useless items that my two guys started to feel virtuous. "Where are they going to put all that stuff?" one asked. Our rooms aren't that big.
At one point, I saw a young parent carrying a TV set and mentioned how hard it was to get used to the idea of TVs in one's dorm room. I can't remember a single TV during my college experience except for one in a professor's house. This caused me to launch into mentioning that we also didn't have phones in our rooms. One of the guys was shocked -- "How on earth did you communicate with each other?" I said that there was a phone at the end of each hall and if it rang, someone answered it, then came and knocked on the door of the person being called. We left notes in our mailboxes and we saw each other at the one dining hall. "Ooh," he said, trying to imagine it, "sounds complicated."
I've got to say that I was really impressed by these two. They seemed totally adult-ready, even running on hungry and tired fumes. They asked us questions about ourselves and politely engaged in conversation with us. They told us about their summer adventures canvassing, one for a politician, one for an organization. They even insisted on loading the dishwasher for us after breakfast. (I'm definitely not used to having guests who insist on helping, especially after I say that there's no need).
They also expressed their gratitude to us several times. The friend of the friend's son said how much he appreciated our taking a complete stranger in our home. These thoughts required stepping outside of the self-centeredness of childhood into what I consider to be a more adult empathy for others in the world.
I immediately wrote to my friend and told him he'd done a great job raising this young man. I look forward to meeting both young people again.
Saturday, August 23, 2008
fun day
We had our slightly-less-than-monthly haircuts today, always a fine social occasion. I figure I see my hair cutter way more often than I see most of my friends and she and I have become somewhat close over the years. And besides, she turns the lower part of my head into a soft brush that I always like to rub.
Then up to Kimball's for a small outing with friends. We started with a long chat around picnic tables. Then we looked at the gardens a bit and there was some discussion about whether the begonias were tuberous or the other kind. One poor guy and I looked at each other and shrugged. He mentioned something about his gay card being taken away from him.
We proceeded to play mini-golf, except this is the best mini-golf I've ever experienced. The course is challenging, pretty, and just when you think your ball is going in the hole, there's a dip or a bump to divert it. I wasn't the worst player today, and I wasn't the best either. But I was fairly pleased with my performance.
We headed over to the bumper boats which are like bumper cars in the water -- big colorful innertubes with tiny motors. It's dirty. It's smelly. It's loud. And it's a heck of a lot of fun. There were nine little boats occupied by crazed minigolfers, most of whom were high on fried lunch. (Other boats were occupied by complete strangers, but we didn't let that small detail get in the way.) We bumped and raced around the pond and bumped some more until they blew the whistle and it was time to get out.
And then, the piece do resistance (aside to cdp -- that's Fraunch you know) -- ice cream. Wiser heads prevailed, but not soft brush-like heads. I had a medium. Ok, it was evil and over the top in its ginormity, but I allow myself ice cream about two or three times a summer and we were at Kimball's and I couldn't say no. Maybe next time I'll try to be restrained and have a small, but even that is pretty enormous. At least I didn't get a sundae.
One friend came back to our house so he could shower before going on to his next activity. We plied him with coffee and sat around and talked for a bit before he headed off.
Robert always claims exhaustion after spending time in the sun. I think it's a viable excuse and I'll use it too.
Then up to Kimball's for a small outing with friends. We started with a long chat around picnic tables. Then we looked at the gardens a bit and there was some discussion about whether the begonias were tuberous or the other kind. One poor guy and I looked at each other and shrugged. He mentioned something about his gay card being taken away from him.
We proceeded to play mini-golf, except this is the best mini-golf I've ever experienced. The course is challenging, pretty, and just when you think your ball is going in the hole, there's a dip or a bump to divert it. I wasn't the worst player today, and I wasn't the best either. But I was fairly pleased with my performance.
We headed over to the bumper boats which are like bumper cars in the water -- big colorful innertubes with tiny motors. It's dirty. It's smelly. It's loud. And it's a heck of a lot of fun. There were nine little boats occupied by crazed minigolfers, most of whom were high on fried lunch. (Other boats were occupied by complete strangers, but we didn't let that small detail get in the way.) We bumped and raced around the pond and bumped some more until they blew the whistle and it was time to get out.
And then, the piece do resistance (aside to cdp -- that's Fraunch you know) -- ice cream. Wiser heads prevailed, but not soft brush-like heads. I had a medium. Ok, it was evil and over the top in its ginormity, but I allow myself ice cream about two or three times a summer and we were at Kimball's and I couldn't say no. Maybe next time I'll try to be restrained and have a small, but even that is pretty enormous. At least I didn't get a sundae.
One friend came back to our house so he could shower before going on to his next activity. We plied him with coffee and sat around and talked for a bit before he headed off.
Robert always claims exhaustion after spending time in the sun. I think it's a viable excuse and I'll use it too.
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
fly away fly away
Last night when I came home, Theo was making a ruckus by the back dining room window. He jumped up and down on the window sill, meowed loudly, ran back and forth between us and the window, and let us know that there was Something Out There.
When I'd put down all I was lugging in from the car, I went over to inspect. There, hunched up on the ground in the garden was a medium sized bird. It seemed alert but despite Theo's clatter, it didn't move much at all.
Eventually, it moved slowly, but still hunched up, onto the patio and pecked at the concrete for a while. I started thinking about whether to make a box for it to sleep in. I called my neighbor to get his opinion. He said to just leave it -- every time the neighbor has tried to help a bird, it's died of fright.
I thought about how inevitable it was that the bird would die overnight or be swooped up and eaten. It was one of those situations where doing anything to help would make things worse.
We ate dinner. I kept checking. And then, when Robert took the compost out, I checked again and noticed the bird had gotten itself on top of a metal bench. At least it was safe from ground animals up there.
Then, as I watched, it flexed its wings -- I even saw its underarm -- it took a deep breath, and flew a short distance up into a decorative tree that's right outside the dining room window. If it could hold on for the night, it should be fine. I'm just hoping we don't find a little bird corpse under the tree any time soon.
When I'd put down all I was lugging in from the car, I went over to inspect. There, hunched up on the ground in the garden was a medium sized bird. It seemed alert but despite Theo's clatter, it didn't move much at all.
Eventually, it moved slowly, but still hunched up, onto the patio and pecked at the concrete for a while. I started thinking about whether to make a box for it to sleep in. I called my neighbor to get his opinion. He said to just leave it -- every time the neighbor has tried to help a bird, it's died of fright.
I thought about how inevitable it was that the bird would die overnight or be swooped up and eaten. It was one of those situations where doing anything to help would make things worse.
We ate dinner. I kept checking. And then, when Robert took the compost out, I checked again and noticed the bird had gotten itself on top of a metal bench. At least it was safe from ground animals up there.
Then, as I watched, it flexed its wings -- I even saw its underarm -- it took a deep breath, and flew a short distance up into a decorative tree that's right outside the dining room window. If it could hold on for the night, it should be fine. I'm just hoping we don't find a little bird corpse under the tree any time soon.
Saturday, August 16, 2008
glamping - glamour camping
Today's paper has an article about a new trend in camping where people don't have to experience bugs and dirt, "or even wilderness". Examples cited include luxury trailers, glamorous yurts, beautifully appointed treehouses, themed cottages designed by different architects (including one cottage at a mere $1700 / night with trees painted on the walls and a ceiling painted like a night sky -- woohoo -- god forbid you should step outside and look at the night sky). One camping cottage includes fireplaces, jacuzzi tubs, Italian linens, radiant floor heating. Campers can toast s'mores, the fixings for which are delivered by Mercedes station wagon.
"It's not camping, but it's basically saying you can kind of experience the idea of camping but not get dirty," said the director. And a camper said "I don't like bugs, so it's perfect, because if you want to be outside you can be: It's kind of rustic in a nonrustic kind of way, without having to cook your own meals. Even when you go for your massage there is that outdoor kind of feeling to it. There are a lot of windows in the spa."
OK, enough looking at the paper. I'm about to go outside and get bits of tree all over me as we stack the last part of the winter's wood next to the soaking wet forest.
"It's not camping, but it's basically saying you can kind of experience the idea of camping but not get dirty," said the director. And a camper said "I don't like bugs, so it's perfect, because if you want to be outside you can be: It's kind of rustic in a nonrustic kind of way, without having to cook your own meals. Even when you go for your massage there is that outdoor kind of feeling to it. There are a lot of windows in the spa."
OK, enough looking at the paper. I'm about to go outside and get bits of tree all over me as we stack the last part of the winter's wood next to the soaking wet forest.
a puzzle
My printer ran out of ink recently. I'm in a program through Staples where they make it easy to re-order ink through the mail. I popped my empties into their special envelope and waited.
Barrier 1 -- my credit card expired and they called the first day we were away to get the new expiration date. I just called back this morning only to encounter...
Barrier 2 -- after my phone call, they sent email with delivery details and a link explaining how to get the delivery guy to leave items without a signature. Yup -- you need to print a form and leave it for the guy. Um, would the empty printer cartridges now in their possession give them any sort of clue about my ability to successfully get past this barrier?
Barrier 1 -- my credit card expired and they called the first day we were away to get the new expiration date. I just called back this morning only to encounter...
Barrier 2 -- after my phone call, they sent email with delivery details and a link explaining how to get the delivery guy to leave items without a signature. Yup -- you need to print a form and leave it for the guy. Um, would the empty printer cartridges now in their possession give them any sort of clue about my ability to successfully get past this barrier?
awkward moments
Last weekend, a friend stopped by, someone I've known for almost twenty years, someone for whom I have a lot of respect and admiration. Our state rep of many years' standing is retiring and my friend is running for the newly opened position. I would be proud and happy to call her my rep, I'd be delighted to vote for her, EXCEPT that there's someone else whom I'll probably vote for, someone else I think is much more qualified and who would be even better at the job. And, in my opinion, this someone else has a much better chance of winning the election.
So after my friend and I had chatted for a few minutes and she asked "So, would you like a lawn sign?" I had to answer carefully and find some part of the truth. The truth is that in our neighborhood, we typically don't post lawn signs and it helps keep the peace. I happen to know that our neighbors across the street are at real variance with us on most items of public policy. We are on good terms. I'd like to keep it that way.
And even if I were voting for my friend, I'd be hard-pressed to put up a sign for her.
My friend kind of cocked her head at me and said that she'd noticed that in my town, we tend not to put up lawn signs and she'd wondered why. Such a relief.
Am I a chicken or just barely managing to keep the peace? And does it matter?
So after my friend and I had chatted for a few minutes and she asked "So, would you like a lawn sign?" I had to answer carefully and find some part of the truth. The truth is that in our neighborhood, we typically don't post lawn signs and it helps keep the peace. I happen to know that our neighbors across the street are at real variance with us on most items of public policy. We are on good terms. I'd like to keep it that way.
And even if I were voting for my friend, I'd be hard-pressed to put up a sign for her.
My friend kind of cocked her head at me and said that she'd noticed that in my town, we tend not to put up lawn signs and she'd wondered why. Such a relief.
Am I a chicken or just barely managing to keep the peace? And does it matter?
almost a boondoggle
Robert and I were privileged to spend a couple of days and two nights at the recently-renovated Mountain View Grand hotel, courtesy of my employer. It was a little like summer camp with a bunch of responsible, fun, funny, and likeable coworkers and their families. We had a couple of business meetings that were actually full of content (who would have thought it?), very helpful for getting us all on the same page as we think about next steps after our upcoming deadline.
(And as an aside, I have to contrast this retreat with the only other one I've been on, where the behavior was, perhaps, more predictable and infinitely more horrifying. It's so reassuring to know that my earlier impressions of coworkers were fairly spot on -- that there are no slimy things crawling around under those rocks.)
We got to pick "activities." A highlight for me was an hour-long kayak ride on a beautiful, almost entirely unspoiled lake. I also went to a wine tasting, which was very fun despite the fact that I didn't fall in love with any of the wines, not even the super-expensive ones. Over the few days, we talked to a bunch of people, and that was nice because usually people are too busy to chat at work. And we sat on the porch a bunch and looked at the stunning view.
Mostly, we relaxed. Robert needed a good break given that he's been working toward an awful deadline of his own, trying to correctly guess at how to write code that was underspecified and underdesigned. He needed to just sit for a while and stare off into the distance, too.
Yesterday, we started our journey home with a trip to a fire lookout tower that we climbed and then realized was occupied. We had a great conversation with the ranger who's 80 years old and full of stories and good spirit. Then we did what we call "noodling" -- Robert drove back-country roads while I navigated. We passed by beautiful countryside and even went over a covered bridge (then turned around and drove back over it to continue our journey). We traveled through charming little towns. We stopped for lunch in a town that is trying its hardest to be charming and we actually discovered its hidden secrets, including a phenomenal bakery. We sat on their back porch and watched the river and stared into space some more. We drove until we ran out of back roads, then hopped on the highway and stopped at one of our favorite restaurants on the way home.
OK, so I'm not particularly looking forward to going back to work on Monday, but this was a good break and I do feel a lot more energized than I did at the start of last week. We have a big deadline this week and perhaps a little more time to clean up after that before turning our attentions to our next set of assignments.
(And as an aside, I have to contrast this retreat with the only other one I've been on, where the behavior was, perhaps, more predictable and infinitely more horrifying. It's so reassuring to know that my earlier impressions of coworkers were fairly spot on -- that there are no slimy things crawling around under those rocks.)
We got to pick "activities." A highlight for me was an hour-long kayak ride on a beautiful, almost entirely unspoiled lake. I also went to a wine tasting, which was very fun despite the fact that I didn't fall in love with any of the wines, not even the super-expensive ones. Over the few days, we talked to a bunch of people, and that was nice because usually people are too busy to chat at work. And we sat on the porch a bunch and looked at the stunning view.
Mostly, we relaxed. Robert needed a good break given that he's been working toward an awful deadline of his own, trying to correctly guess at how to write code that was underspecified and underdesigned. He needed to just sit for a while and stare off into the distance, too.
Yesterday, we started our journey home with a trip to a fire lookout tower that we climbed and then realized was occupied. We had a great conversation with the ranger who's 80 years old and full of stories and good spirit. Then we did what we call "noodling" -- Robert drove back-country roads while I navigated. We passed by beautiful countryside and even went over a covered bridge (then turned around and drove back over it to continue our journey). We traveled through charming little towns. We stopped for lunch in a town that is trying its hardest to be charming and we actually discovered its hidden secrets, including a phenomenal bakery. We sat on their back porch and watched the river and stared into space some more. We drove until we ran out of back roads, then hopped on the highway and stopped at one of our favorite restaurants on the way home.
OK, so I'm not particularly looking forward to going back to work on Monday, but this was a good break and I do feel a lot more energized than I did at the start of last week. We have a big deadline this week and perhaps a little more time to clean up after that before turning our attentions to our next set of assignments.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
out of the blue
Just as we were finishing dinner last night, the phone rang. It's usually someone trying to extract money either for a charity or in exchange for services. I ask to be put on their do-not-call list and go back to what I was doing. But last night was different.
"May I speak to Ms. Blaugustine please?" "This is she." (barely able to contain my impatience)This is Isaac." Deep breath. "Well hello Isaac!"
Most people who know me know that I have a brother who's lived in fairly exciting places, whom I like a lot, and of whom I'm extremely proud. This brother and I share a mother but not a father.
Most people who know me don't realize that I have two other brothers with whom I share a father but not a mother. Isaac is one of those brothers. He is five years younger than me, one year younger than my sister (the only sibling with whom I share both parents). I've never met my third brother, but I do know his first name and I know that he was born in early January 1975.
But Isaac, dear Isaac. The last time we spoke was perhaps 15 years ago. We were at a family reunion which we had scheduled after my grandfather died. We had a few days together in Michigan. On one of the last evenings, we sat down for dinner with the plan for each person to take a turn to speak about our grampa.
After we were seated, Isaac, of whom I'd been quite fond, and for whom I'd named one of my first cats, turned to me and said "You know, I've never liked you." Things went downhill as he continued to speak. Of course, he'd been drinking gin all evening, huge tumblers of it. Isaac spent the rest of the evening in the backyard. As an aside, the family gathered around me, each one coming up in a quiet moment to offer words of reassurance or a heartfelt hug. I felt amazingly loved.
Isaac has gone on to not have a relationship with our father -- I'm not sure of all the ins and outs of that. He has been in touch with my aunt and uncle who have maintained a thread to the family and, I guess, encouraged him to call me.
We didn't talk a lot. He said that he's been living in Montreal. He was well spoken. It sounds like he's an artist, struggling, but making art, as his very talented mother did. I'm sure I sounded very cautious, perhaps a little confused. He mentioned several times that he was an "idiot" last time we saw each other. He asked for my sister's email which I gave him (heads-up! incoming!). And he said he'd send me email and let me know what he's been up to.
Sometimes, sitting quietly and not reacting can yield unexpected results. I guess at this point I'm curious, perhaps a little hopeful, and we'll see what happens next.
"May I speak to Ms. Blaugustine please?" "This is she." (barely able to contain my impatience)This is Isaac." Deep breath. "Well hello Isaac!"
Most people who know me know that I have a brother who's lived in fairly exciting places, whom I like a lot, and of whom I'm extremely proud. This brother and I share a mother but not a father.
Most people who know me don't realize that I have two other brothers with whom I share a father but not a mother. Isaac is one of those brothers. He is five years younger than me, one year younger than my sister (the only sibling with whom I share both parents). I've never met my third brother, but I do know his first name and I know that he was born in early January 1975.
But Isaac, dear Isaac. The last time we spoke was perhaps 15 years ago. We were at a family reunion which we had scheduled after my grandfather died. We had a few days together in Michigan. On one of the last evenings, we sat down for dinner with the plan for each person to take a turn to speak about our grampa.
After we were seated, Isaac, of whom I'd been quite fond, and for whom I'd named one of my first cats, turned to me and said "You know, I've never liked you." Things went downhill as he continued to speak. Of course, he'd been drinking gin all evening, huge tumblers of it. Isaac spent the rest of the evening in the backyard. As an aside, the family gathered around me, each one coming up in a quiet moment to offer words of reassurance or a heartfelt hug. I felt amazingly loved.
Isaac has gone on to not have a relationship with our father -- I'm not sure of all the ins and outs of that. He has been in touch with my aunt and uncle who have maintained a thread to the family and, I guess, encouraged him to call me.
We didn't talk a lot. He said that he's been living in Montreal. He was well spoken. It sounds like he's an artist, struggling, but making art, as his very talented mother did. I'm sure I sounded very cautious, perhaps a little confused. He mentioned several times that he was an "idiot" last time we saw each other. He asked for my sister's email which I gave him (heads-up! incoming!). And he said he'd send me email and let me know what he's been up to.
Sometimes, sitting quietly and not reacting can yield unexpected results. I guess at this point I'm curious, perhaps a little hopeful, and we'll see what happens next.
the frost melts, even in New England
There's a guy at the pool with whom I've often shared a lane if none are free when he arrives. He's probably in his 70s, very cordial, seems to like me, and says that I'm the nicest person to share with. We usually exchange a few words of greeting, I swim off, and he claims the next free lane, leaving me to swim by myself again. This has been going on for months.
This morning, he got in the lane next to me, we had our usual cheery greeting, when he said "I don't believe I know your name." So we revealed our names, then laughed about how even in New England, it's probably not too out of line to exchange first names after this much time had passed. By the time I was getting ready to kick off again, he said "Yeah, after half a century, it's probably fine to exchange names."
This morning, he got in the lane next to me, we had our usual cheery greeting, when he said "I don't believe I know your name." So we revealed our names, then laughed about how even in New England, it's probably not too out of line to exchange first names after this much time had passed. By the time I was getting ready to kick off again, he said "Yeah, after half a century, it's probably fine to exchange names."
Tuesday, August 12, 2008
dentist redux
You may remember that in the middle of several tooth crises, I took leave of my old dentist last fall because he was both going crazy and driving me crazy. It was a painful decision, but I've been very happy with my new dentist -- the one-stop shopping (so far) for all my care, the good laughs, and the absence of lying awake at night dreading going to the dentist.
When I left my former dentist, I wrote him a letter and contacted my hygienest, Leslie, by e-mail. Leslie let me know that her boss was having a very difficult time medically. Eventually, I heard through the grapevine that he'd stepped away from the practice.
A few mornings ago, I ran into Leslie at the local coffee shop. She told me that the dentist has been through successful surgery and is back at work, much recovered. She hugged me repeatedly and told me how much she misses me. She teared up several times. She told me that she understood why I left, but she needed to reassure herself that she and her colleagues are good people. How sad.
Of course, I'm not even the slightest bit tempted to go back.
I gave her my card and suggested getting together, perhaps for coffee. But I really need to leave it in her hands because she is in a far more uncomfortable situation than I am. I hope I hear from her but am trying to limit my expectations, at least not right now.
When I left my former dentist, I wrote him a letter and contacted my hygienest, Leslie, by e-mail. Leslie let me know that her boss was having a very difficult time medically. Eventually, I heard through the grapevine that he'd stepped away from the practice.
A few mornings ago, I ran into Leslie at the local coffee shop. She told me that the dentist has been through successful surgery and is back at work, much recovered. She hugged me repeatedly and told me how much she misses me. She teared up several times. She told me that she understood why I left, but she needed to reassure herself that she and her colleagues are good people. How sad.
Of course, I'm not even the slightest bit tempted to go back.
I gave her my card and suggested getting together, perhaps for coffee. But I really need to leave it in her hands because she is in a far more uncomfortable situation than I am. I hope I hear from her but am trying to limit my expectations, at least not right now.
small town life
Today I had a work meeting in a small nearby town. The place where we bought our carpet was on the route back to the office, so I stopped in. Unfortunately, a few days ago, I spilled half a cup of coffee while going upstairs :-(. Clumsy me. We now have three beautifully mottled steps. Robert cheerfully suggested that we toss several more cups of coffee at the staircase so that everything matches, but I'm thinking that perhaps we could do something about the original stain.
The door to the shop was wide open and I walked in. Lights were on; music was playing. And there was a note on the desk -- "I've had to step out for a few moments. Please use the phone to call me at (phone number)." I picked up the phone, dialed, left a message, and by the time I got home, there was a message waiting for me with a suggestion of something we could try and the number of a carpet cleaner.
I just can't imagine the same scenario closer to the city. Wouldn't the store be cleaned out or at least ransacked by the time the owner returned?
The door to the shop was wide open and I walked in. Lights were on; music was playing. And there was a note on the desk -- "I've had to step out for a few moments. Please use the phone to call me at (phone number)." I picked up the phone, dialed, left a message, and by the time I got home, there was a message waiting for me with a suggestion of something we could try and the number of a carpet cleaner.
I just can't imagine the same scenario closer to the city. Wouldn't the store be cleaned out or at least ransacked by the time the owner returned?
Sunday, August 10, 2008
berkshires and back
Last weekend, we went to the Berkshires for the second of two summer weekends there.
We started the celebrations on Thursday night close to home at a play called "Born Yesterday." It was political and funny and a little preachy but mostly great fun. Written in the 50s and set in Washington, D.C., it concerned a ruthless "junk man," the politicians he was trying to buy, and his girlfriend, who was dumb and liked it that way, but became smarter (or at least better educated) over the course of the play. Certainly thought- and laugh- provoking, a good staging, and a great set.
In the Berkshires, we stayed at our other favorite B&B, a private home nestled up against 120 square miles of protected forest, with a beautiful view in the other direction. The man who runs it, Richard, prepares breakfasts from his own organic garden and has another business leading llama hikes. When we arrived, we sat down with him on his couches and caught up for a while, then he took us around back to introduce us to his chickens who were about to be made into frozen chicken parts. They were fat and waddled. I did not fall in love. But I do love his cat, Quinn, who was feral when she first arrived and has since become quite social.
Friday night, we went to Tanglewood and saw Joshua Bell perform a Saint Saens piece (which was very familiar, but I can't possibly hum it today). We also heard Pictures at an Exhibition (Mussorksgy, orchestrated by Ravel), a piece I listened to many times in my misspent youth, as interpreted by ELP.
Saturday, we saw All's Well that Ends Well, a play I was sure I'd seen a thousand times, but it turns out this was my first viewing. I loved it but wanted to slap the protagonist, Bertram, who was a spoiled and ungrateful brat who could not bring himself to love the woman who loved him until he thought she'd died. Of course, she had only staged her own death, so everyone lived happily ever after, which is, I guess, what made the whole thing a comedy. The acting, directing, and staging were terrific, though, and I'm so glad we picked it as our Saturday night activity.
On Sunday, we asked Richard if he was leading a llama hike that day. Alas, he was not, but he harnessed up some llamas anyways, handed us the leashes, suggested a route through the woods, and sent us on our way. We had a nice walk despite the incredibly high humidity, and the llamas (Picasso, Jack, and Tanner) seemed to have a good time too. Then off to Tanglewood to see Yo Yo Ma with his incredibly competent backup band. The pieces performed were unfamiliar and fine, but not as great as the Friday night concert. YYM, however, was terrific.
There was one amazing part where he was playing very quietly but in a shimmery way, foreshadowing something loud and crashing. Something outside the shed caught my eye -- the wind had picked up. Just as the music climaxed, the heavens opened up and it poured, this on a day when I had never seen so many people on the lawn, nor so many cars in the parking lot. All was well by the time intermission rolled around, and most people were still on the lawn having a very pleasant, if soggier, afternoon.
Monday night, we thought we were going to have a quiet catch-up evening, but mid-day, a friend we hadn't seen for a while emailed me, saying he was travelling from Connecticut to Nova Scotia and might he stop in. Was he coming for dinner? That would be lovely. Was he planning to spend the night? Well, he was hoping to. It all worked out well -- it was great to see him, he fit in well with our schedule, and he was a good guest all around.
Then work was crazed for both of us this week as we work toward two very tough deadlines. I think we'll be fine, but things have been extra intense with sleeping not so great. Back in real life, I met a friend for dinner Wednesday night. She came home with me and the three of us chatted into the night. By Thursday, I was too pooped to cook dinner or do much of anything, and I was grateful to have Friday off from work.
On Friday, I screwed up my courage to make a few phone calls (still battling that demon) and contacted our wood guy to order two cords, thinking we'd get a delivery right before September started. After a little confusion (apparently, he has a deadbeat customer with a similar name), he offered to bring the first part of the delivery on Friday night.
He brought the second part yesterday, and Robert and I stacked as much as we could, pending the delivery of a few more pallets. I also did my own version of the Olympics, tossing logs to get them closer to the wood pile, requiring less carrying when we're ready to resume stacking. Surprisingly, I'm not at all sore today, though I deserve to be.
Then we switched gears and prepped dinner for a guest whom we'd invited several weeks ago. We had a good meal, if I do say so myself, and spent a lovely, inspiring, and engaging evening together. Today, I've attended to a few things, planned and shopped for a couple of meals, while Robert has been off at a board meeting.
And it all starts again tomorrow. For the time being, I'm enjoying some quiet down-time (which helps me enjoy the up- social time), hanging out with cats, reading, and generally resting.
We started the celebrations on Thursday night close to home at a play called "Born Yesterday." It was political and funny and a little preachy but mostly great fun. Written in the 50s and set in Washington, D.C., it concerned a ruthless "junk man," the politicians he was trying to buy, and his girlfriend, who was dumb and liked it that way, but became smarter (or at least better educated) over the course of the play. Certainly thought- and laugh- provoking, a good staging, and a great set.
In the Berkshires, we stayed at our other favorite B&B, a private home nestled up against 120 square miles of protected forest, with a beautiful view in the other direction. The man who runs it, Richard, prepares breakfasts from his own organic garden and has another business leading llama hikes. When we arrived, we sat down with him on his couches and caught up for a while, then he took us around back to introduce us to his chickens who were about to be made into frozen chicken parts. They were fat and waddled. I did not fall in love. But I do love his cat, Quinn, who was feral when she first arrived and has since become quite social.
Friday night, we went to Tanglewood and saw Joshua Bell perform a Saint Saens piece (which was very familiar, but I can't possibly hum it today). We also heard Pictures at an Exhibition (Mussorksgy, orchestrated by Ravel), a piece I listened to many times in my misspent youth, as interpreted by ELP.
Saturday, we saw All's Well that Ends Well, a play I was sure I'd seen a thousand times, but it turns out this was my first viewing. I loved it but wanted to slap the protagonist, Bertram, who was a spoiled and ungrateful brat who could not bring himself to love the woman who loved him until he thought she'd died. Of course, she had only staged her own death, so everyone lived happily ever after, which is, I guess, what made the whole thing a comedy. The acting, directing, and staging were terrific, though, and I'm so glad we picked it as our Saturday night activity.
On Sunday, we asked Richard if he was leading a llama hike that day. Alas, he was not, but he harnessed up some llamas anyways, handed us the leashes, suggested a route through the woods, and sent us on our way. We had a nice walk despite the incredibly high humidity, and the llamas (Picasso, Jack, and Tanner) seemed to have a good time too. Then off to Tanglewood to see Yo Yo Ma with his incredibly competent backup band. The pieces performed were unfamiliar and fine, but not as great as the Friday night concert. YYM, however, was terrific.
There was one amazing part where he was playing very quietly but in a shimmery way, foreshadowing something loud and crashing. Something outside the shed caught my eye -- the wind had picked up. Just as the music climaxed, the heavens opened up and it poured, this on a day when I had never seen so many people on the lawn, nor so many cars in the parking lot. All was well by the time intermission rolled around, and most people were still on the lawn having a very pleasant, if soggier, afternoon.
Monday night, we thought we were going to have a quiet catch-up evening, but mid-day, a friend we hadn't seen for a while emailed me, saying he was travelling from Connecticut to Nova Scotia and might he stop in. Was he coming for dinner? That would be lovely. Was he planning to spend the night? Well, he was hoping to. It all worked out well -- it was great to see him, he fit in well with our schedule, and he was a good guest all around.
Then work was crazed for both of us this week as we work toward two very tough deadlines. I think we'll be fine, but things have been extra intense with sleeping not so great. Back in real life, I met a friend for dinner Wednesday night. She came home with me and the three of us chatted into the night. By Thursday, I was too pooped to cook dinner or do much of anything, and I was grateful to have Friday off from work.
On Friday, I screwed up my courage to make a few phone calls (still battling that demon) and contacted our wood guy to order two cords, thinking we'd get a delivery right before September started. After a little confusion (apparently, he has a deadbeat customer with a similar name), he offered to bring the first part of the delivery on Friday night.
He brought the second part yesterday, and Robert and I stacked as much as we could, pending the delivery of a few more pallets. I also did my own version of the Olympics, tossing logs to get them closer to the wood pile, requiring less carrying when we're ready to resume stacking. Surprisingly, I'm not at all sore today, though I deserve to be.
Then we switched gears and prepped dinner for a guest whom we'd invited several weeks ago. We had a good meal, if I do say so myself, and spent a lovely, inspiring, and engaging evening together. Today, I've attended to a few things, planned and shopped for a couple of meals, while Robert has been off at a board meeting.
And it all starts again tomorrow. For the time being, I'm enjoying some quiet down-time (which helps me enjoy the up- social time), hanging out with cats, reading, and generally resting.
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