raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Whoops, sorry, wrong celebration.
A loving husband whom I love in return.
A good strong roof over my head and a comfy and fun house to live in.
A decent job (what we do is hard work but we don't work hard -- kah).
Coworkers and bosses with good intentions.
A company that is generous to employees and to the surrounding community.
A short commute in a nice car.
Two amazing loving, sweet, funny, playful cats.
Friends. Dance. Good food.
The luxury of not having to eat meat.
So far, no hard choices among the basics - heat, food, medicine.
Enough of a cushion that those hard choices are not on our radar. Not right now.
A reasonable amount of intelligence and inquisitiveness.
A love for the seasons that swirl around us.
A beautiful view out my bedroom window.
Warm clothes. Clean underwear.
Funny and loving friends. More dance.
Sunlight.
Good coffee.
Good health.
The ability to walk.
Swimming.
The kindness of friends and neighbors.
Deep hearty laughs.
Hope for this country.
And not just one, but two Thanksgiving dinners at which to celebrate my very rich bounty of a life.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Monday, November 24, 2008
why i love my dentist
On Friday, I went to get my teeth cleaned. The hygienist is new and very sweet; I think she replaced someone I didn't like very much. She did perhaps the most thorough inspection and cleaning I've gotten in a while, and was so gentle that I wasn't the least bit sore afterwards.
As I was lying in her chair, my dentist's assistant, DJ, saw me and said "Is that my buddy?" She came over and gave me a huge smoochy kiss and a hug. She ran out of the room and returned with the picture taken of her and my dentist, Dr. K, on Halloween. I didn't understand the reference, but it was a guy in overalls, a tee-shirt, and a big poofy wig (Dr. K) with his arm around his slutty girlfriend (DJ). Very amusing, even more so when you know that Dr. K is happily married and DJ is a very tough ex-army dental assistant who's worked on people in tents with a sand floor in the middle of war zones. They saw patients all day in costume.
Apparently, someone in the office told Dr. K that he looked like Rainbow Bright. We all agreed that he didn't. That settled that, until a few minutes later when Dr. K rushed in and said "I did not look like Rainbow Bright and I want that to be clear," then rushed out again, just after I said "I would Never. Never. Accuse you of looking like Rainbow Bright."
A bit later, he came in and did his usual inspection and detection and then I was sent home with a clean mouth and a clean bill of health.
And who knows? Maybe I'll stay out of trouble, at least of the dental variety, until my next cleaning appointment.
As I was lying in her chair, my dentist's assistant, DJ, saw me and said "Is that my buddy?" She came over and gave me a huge smoochy kiss and a hug. She ran out of the room and returned with the picture taken of her and my dentist, Dr. K, on Halloween. I didn't understand the reference, but it was a guy in overalls, a tee-shirt, and a big poofy wig (Dr. K) with his arm around his slutty girlfriend (DJ). Very amusing, even more so when you know that Dr. K is happily married and DJ is a very tough ex-army dental assistant who's worked on people in tents with a sand floor in the middle of war zones. They saw patients all day in costume.
Apparently, someone in the office told Dr. K that he looked like Rainbow Bright. We all agreed that he didn't. That settled that, until a few minutes later when Dr. K rushed in and said "I did not look like Rainbow Bright and I want that to be clear," then rushed out again, just after I said "I would Never. Never. Accuse you of looking like Rainbow Bright."
A bit later, he came in and did his usual inspection and detection and then I was sent home with a clean mouth and a clean bill of health.
And who knows? Maybe I'll stay out of trouble, at least of the dental variety, until my next cleaning appointment.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
two events, slightly intertwined
On Friday night we attended a play that made me squirm - one of those family depictions that left me feeling like I had tacks pointing upward on my seat. The play was Independence by Lee Blessing and concerned a mother and her three daughters.
The mom has a history of mental illness and the daughters feel that she cannot be left to live alone. The mom has fond memories of a close-knit family that never was. She lives in the past and can never accept that her daughters have grown past the stage where they were cute and loving. When the whole family gathers in one place, she is overjoyed, despite the emotional destructiveness that results.
The oldest daughter is a lesbian who has moved to the big city and become a successful college professor. The middle daughter is the "good girl," the one who feels most strongly that she can never leave her mother so that she can pursue her own life. The mother seems particularly bent on consuming her emotionally. Oh, this middle daughter has become pregnant by a seeming thoughtless cad. And the youngest daughter is in her late teens, has already given up a baby for adoption (at her oldest sister's insistence), works in a bar, is angry at the world, and is planning to get the hell out of dodge as soon as she graduates from high school.
Lots of revelations, breakdowns, attacks, more breakdowns, all swirling around this highly manipulative mother who seems to sink deeper into her illness as the play progresses. Robert felt that the ending was redemptive. I was initially depressed by it, but in looking at it from his point of view, can see his point. Still, I would rather sit on tacks than see the play again.
Last night's event was way more cheerful. We went to see David Wilcox perform. He's a singer/songwriter/storyteller, very comfortable on stage, very good at putting his audience at ease. He says that he writes songs to discover the ending, that if he already knows the ending when he starts, it's hardly worth it.
He had very tough beginnings - his father was chronically depressed and frequently hospitalized. One snippet we heard "Where's Dad? Oh, he's in the hospital. Can we visit him? Uh, that's not a great idea." and so on. But from all this came a brutal honesty, an opened-up approach to life.
One of his songs was about a soothsayer who had worked for a medium but found crystal balls too slow. So he started divining peoples' lives by working at a Minimart and analyzing the five items that each customer would place on the counter. He sang about the love he has for his son, a love that has taken him deeper than he ever thought it possible to go. He sang of breakups and get-togethers, of his own emotional landscape, of his guitar. In fact, he told a great story of coming to a better place in his life by diving into his guitar playing.
And running through the evening was a lot of good humor and some really twisted rhymes.
I came away with two words: redemption and resilience.
We make connections in odd ways. The music of last night somehow helped me see more of the redemption in the story from the night before. There is hope. There is light.
The mom has a history of mental illness and the daughters feel that she cannot be left to live alone. The mom has fond memories of a close-knit family that never was. She lives in the past and can never accept that her daughters have grown past the stage where they were cute and loving. When the whole family gathers in one place, she is overjoyed, despite the emotional destructiveness that results.
The oldest daughter is a lesbian who has moved to the big city and become a successful college professor. The middle daughter is the "good girl," the one who feels most strongly that she can never leave her mother so that she can pursue her own life. The mother seems particularly bent on consuming her emotionally. Oh, this middle daughter has become pregnant by a seeming thoughtless cad. And the youngest daughter is in her late teens, has already given up a baby for adoption (at her oldest sister's insistence), works in a bar, is angry at the world, and is planning to get the hell out of dodge as soon as she graduates from high school.
Lots of revelations, breakdowns, attacks, more breakdowns, all swirling around this highly manipulative mother who seems to sink deeper into her illness as the play progresses. Robert felt that the ending was redemptive. I was initially depressed by it, but in looking at it from his point of view, can see his point. Still, I would rather sit on tacks than see the play again.
Last night's event was way more cheerful. We went to see David Wilcox perform. He's a singer/songwriter/storyteller, very comfortable on stage, very good at putting his audience at ease. He says that he writes songs to discover the ending, that if he already knows the ending when he starts, it's hardly worth it.
He had very tough beginnings - his father was chronically depressed and frequently hospitalized. One snippet we heard "Where's Dad? Oh, he's in the hospital. Can we visit him? Uh, that's not a great idea." and so on. But from all this came a brutal honesty, an opened-up approach to life.
One of his songs was about a soothsayer who had worked for a medium but found crystal balls too slow. So he started divining peoples' lives by working at a Minimart and analyzing the five items that each customer would place on the counter. He sang about the love he has for his son, a love that has taken him deeper than he ever thought it possible to go. He sang of breakups and get-togethers, of his own emotional landscape, of his guitar. In fact, he told a great story of coming to a better place in his life by diving into his guitar playing.
And running through the evening was a lot of good humor and some really twisted rhymes.
I came away with two words: redemption and resilience.
We make connections in odd ways. The music of last night somehow helped me see more of the redemption in the story from the night before. There is hope. There is light.
Friday, November 21, 2008
saving face
I've gone and done something slightly silly. I've joined facebook. At first, I used a nom de face (pronounced noamh duh fahss), Koa A Feline, but then decided to use my real name.
First impressions: it's fairly chaotic and while the UI is pretty enough, the use model isn't intuitively obvious. Some of my confusions:
-- Friends are at the top of the screen (with a text label), groups are at the bottom of the screen (graphic label), and Find Friends is at the bottom of the screen in faint text.
-- Click Profile at the top left to see some of your settings. Hover in the right column to edit them. Or, on the far left, under your picture, click Edit My Profile.
-- But if it's settings you're after, click in the upper right corner. Unless you're looking for another set of settings, in which case, click the other Settings button under the text field for Posts.
-- To control what you see on your "Wall," you move a bunch of sliders around, but it's not really clear what you're controlling, just that the sliders are "sensitive" (emo-sliders, anyone?)
Second impression: if the good people at Google had designed it, facebook would be a lot easier to use. But then, any old riff-raff would be using it, I suppose.
So if you're on facebook and want to friend me, feel free.
You write on my wall, I write on yours.
First impressions: it's fairly chaotic and while the UI is pretty enough, the use model isn't intuitively obvious. Some of my confusions:
-- Friends are at the top of the screen (with a text label), groups are at the bottom of the screen (graphic label), and Find Friends is at the bottom of the screen in faint text.
-- Click Profile at the top left to see some of your settings. Hover in the right column to edit them. Or, on the far left, under your picture, click Edit My Profile.
-- But if it's settings you're after, click in the upper right corner. Unless you're looking for another set of settings, in which case, click the other Settings button under the text field for Posts.
-- To control what you see on your "Wall," you move a bunch of sliders around, but it's not really clear what you're controlling, just that the sliders are "sensitive" (emo-sliders, anyone?)
Second impression: if the good people at Google had designed it, facebook would be a lot easier to use. But then, any old riff-raff would be using it, I suppose.
So if you're on facebook and want to friend me, feel free.
You write on my wall, I write on yours.
Wednesday, November 19, 2008
yet another emergency - not
In our fair little 'burb, we have a phone system called "Reverse 911," paid for, of course, with tax payer dollars. This system allows town managers to deliver a recorded message to every telephone in town. As its name implies, it's designed for use in emergencies. I believe it has a secondary use for delivering school-related calls to school families only.
For example, it's been used to announce water break mains downtown and to request that we avoid driving in that area until a resolution has been arrived at. When we were suffering through the Extreme Overload house-building exercise, the chief of police dialed us up one or more times a day to breathlessly announce where the TV cameras would be and how to get into that area. It's been used to announce rabies clinics for pets.
This morning, it must have been activated because both our land lines rang once at 6 am in rapid succession. I'm usually up then, but with all the sickness in the house and typical kitty activity, this was the one morning when I was sleeping in (and really needed the extra shut-eye).
I can't imagine what the so-called emergency was this time. That I was asleep? That a bunny ran across the road? That little Suzy Potter wore a dress to school for the first time?
I'm beginning to think that with Reverse-911 in a towns-person's hands, every event looks like an emergency. I'm waiting for the day when the powers that be learn to use the system responsibly and correctly.
For example, it's been used to announce water break mains downtown and to request that we avoid driving in that area until a resolution has been arrived at. When we were suffering through the Extreme Overload house-building exercise, the chief of police dialed us up one or more times a day to breathlessly announce where the TV cameras would be and how to get into that area. It's been used to announce rabies clinics for pets.
This morning, it must have been activated because both our land lines rang once at 6 am in rapid succession. I'm usually up then, but with all the sickness in the house and typical kitty activity, this was the one morning when I was sleeping in (and really needed the extra shut-eye).
I can't imagine what the so-called emergency was this time. That I was asleep? That a bunny ran across the road? That little Suzy Potter wore a dress to school for the first time?
I'm beginning to think that with Reverse-911 in a towns-person's hands, every event looks like an emergency. I'm waiting for the day when the powers that be learn to use the system responsibly and correctly.
Sunday, November 16, 2008
Update: Our dear patient
Robert continues to improve. He's still on pain meds, though he's tapering off them. He says that in a few days, he'll be able to sleep on his right side. And today he tried driving. He reported that he was not at his best, but by driving on back roads on a Sunday afternoon, he did fine. He'll work from home for at least part of the day tomorrow and decide whether to go into the office in the afternoon or just stay home all day.
This is all good news. I realize that none of what he had (the book-end colds or the shingles) was life-threatening, but it is awfully good to watch him come back into himself. And I'm sure it's a relief for him too.
This is all good news. I realize that none of what he had (the book-end colds or the shingles) was life-threatening, but it is awfully good to watch him come back into himself. And I'm sure it's a relief for him too.
WMIG
Robert and I couldn't attend last night's gala ball because we had concert tickets that we were loathe to give up. We left the wedding reception around 4 and had extra time in Boston. So we walked indoors for a while before dinner and then outdoors after dinner. For the meal itself, we treated ourselves to dinner at Legal Seafoods, which was delicious as always.
The concert is one of a series called What Makes it Great. The presenter examines one piece of music, first decomposing it into its smallest parts and asking the orchestra to play little samples, then building up the pieces to show how the whole thing fits together. He demonstrates the "not great" way that someone could have composed it, then shows what the composer did to achieve true greatness. Then, after about an hour of lecture and demonstration, the orchestra plays the entire piece straight through. All this is followed by a question and answer period.
The piece last night was Bach's double concerto, which is an old chestnut with some marvelous twists and turns. The presenter compared the composition to what Vivaldi would have done, especially appropriate because Bach tried to recreate some of Vivaldi's work, adding his own genius, creating something completely new.
The whole thing was wonderful. Somewhere in there, the presenter talked about how Bach's children, and even the general public, felt that Bach was kind of old-fashioned and just not that interesting. And yet, his is the music that we now go back to over and over again. The lesson is that to soar, to achieve greatness, you must be true to yourself. How appropriate this message was after the incredible emotional wedding we'd attended just hours earlier.
As much as I missed going to the ball, it really was best for Robert not to go. And I am so happy that we ended up at the concert, too. Such a perfect day.
The concert is one of a series called What Makes it Great. The presenter examines one piece of music, first decomposing it into its smallest parts and asking the orchestra to play little samples, then building up the pieces to show how the whole thing fits together. He demonstrates the "not great" way that someone could have composed it, then shows what the composer did to achieve true greatness. Then, after about an hour of lecture and demonstration, the orchestra plays the entire piece straight through. All this is followed by a question and answer period.
The piece last night was Bach's double concerto, which is an old chestnut with some marvelous twists and turns. The presenter compared the composition to what Vivaldi would have done, especially appropriate because Bach tried to recreate some of Vivaldi's work, adding his own genius, creating something completely new.
The whole thing was wonderful. Somewhere in there, the presenter talked about how Bach's children, and even the general public, felt that Bach was kind of old-fashioned and just not that interesting. And yet, his is the music that we now go back to over and over again. The lesson is that to soar, to achieve greatness, you must be true to yourself. How appropriate this message was after the incredible emotional wedding we'd attended just hours earlier.
As much as I missed going to the ball, it really was best for Robert not to go. And I am so happy that we ended up at the concert, too. Such a perfect day.
The Wedding of CR and JB
Yesterday, we missed the anti-Prop-8 protests so that we could attend the wedding of two men, both dear to us. Our dear Queen Mum, Chris, founder of our dance community, was one of the grooms. And his beloved, John, is someone we've known for years, since before he and Chris became a couple.
The wedding was held in a Unitarian church near their house south of Boston, a church built about 125 years ago in high Arts and Crafts style. When we arrived, we noticed that the doors separting the sanctuary from the parlor had been opened and rows of chairs were placed behind the pews. By the time the service started, nearly every seat was taken.
One of the joys of our community is that we knew well over half the attendees, many of whom had traveled from New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, western Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine, and perhaps points even further afield.
Both sets of parents were there -- John's from Wisconsin and Chris' mom and her partner from (I think) Rhode Island. John's incredibly supportive brother and his wife were also there (of course). We've met the latter several times and it was lovely to see them again.
The service was taken from a Unitarian wedding ceremony written around the time the church was built. It was formal, stately, elegant. God was mentioned just once. The minister, herself married for 43 years, is clearly very fond of the two grooms. Her sermon started out with some discussion of politics, especially noting John's invitation of a state rep to the church years earlier to discuss his position when he did not support gay marriage. Apparently, the talk changed the rep's mind at a crucial time in our history. The minister talked about the children of the church and how important the recent votes in this state will be to them as they get older.
The sermon turned personal, talking of John and Chris' love for each other and the important role the community plays in their relationship. Of course, the service swirled around themes of autumn and dance, of coming apart and coming back together, of natural rhythms in our lives and our relationships.
When it was time for Chris' mother to read her piece, she added an observation that short term memory is often the first thing to go. The chuckle that erupted from all of us rolled into a hearty laugh. I adore the idea of forgetting the fights and remembering the love, of starting with a new slate every morning, of coming more together than falling more apart.
As we spiraled into the pronouncement by the laws of Massachusetts (oh man, did we cheer), poor Chris started bawling. And John so sweetly took out his handkerchief and wiped away Chris' tears. I think we all shed tears at many points during the ceremony.
And then, to great cheers and much applause, the wedding party made its way up the aisle and to the reception, which was a high tea -- scones, cream, jams, and tea. We mingled and chatted, hugged, laughed, and explained to many people that, alas, we'd be unable to make it to the celebratory ball later in the evening. (Early reports say that it was wonderful. One of its features was a dance written by a member of our community, who also wrote the music. It is called Boston Marriage.)
Here's wishing the happy couple many many loving years together. What a great beginning for the next part of their lives.
The wedding was held in a Unitarian church near their house south of Boston, a church built about 125 years ago in high Arts and Crafts style. When we arrived, we noticed that the doors separting the sanctuary from the parlor had been opened and rows of chairs were placed behind the pews. By the time the service started, nearly every seat was taken.
One of the joys of our community is that we knew well over half the attendees, many of whom had traveled from New York, New Jersey, Connecticut, western Massachusetts, New Hampshire, and Maine, and perhaps points even further afield.
Both sets of parents were there -- John's from Wisconsin and Chris' mom and her partner from (I think) Rhode Island. John's incredibly supportive brother and his wife were also there (of course). We've met the latter several times and it was lovely to see them again.
The service was taken from a Unitarian wedding ceremony written around the time the church was built. It was formal, stately, elegant. God was mentioned just once. The minister, herself married for 43 years, is clearly very fond of the two grooms. Her sermon started out with some discussion of politics, especially noting John's invitation of a state rep to the church years earlier to discuss his position when he did not support gay marriage. Apparently, the talk changed the rep's mind at a crucial time in our history. The minister talked about the children of the church and how important the recent votes in this state will be to them as they get older.
The sermon turned personal, talking of John and Chris' love for each other and the important role the community plays in their relationship. Of course, the service swirled around themes of autumn and dance, of coming apart and coming back together, of natural rhythms in our lives and our relationships.
When it was time for Chris' mother to read her piece, she added an observation that short term memory is often the first thing to go. The chuckle that erupted from all of us rolled into a hearty laugh. I adore the idea of forgetting the fights and remembering the love, of starting with a new slate every morning, of coming more together than falling more apart.
As we spiraled into the pronouncement by the laws of Massachusetts (oh man, did we cheer), poor Chris started bawling. And John so sweetly took out his handkerchief and wiped away Chris' tears. I think we all shed tears at many points during the ceremony.
And then, to great cheers and much applause, the wedding party made its way up the aisle and to the reception, which was a high tea -- scones, cream, jams, and tea. We mingled and chatted, hugged, laughed, and explained to many people that, alas, we'd be unable to make it to the celebratory ball later in the evening. (Early reports say that it was wonderful. One of its features was a dance written by a member of our community, who also wrote the music. It is called Boston Marriage.)
Here's wishing the happy couple many many loving years together. What a great beginning for the next part of their lives.
Friday, November 14, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
weather report -- it's rainin...
An oldie but a goodie. I'd of course heard the song many times but never seen the video (MTV completely passed me by in my misspent youth). Probably safe for work, depending on where you work, but best listened to with headphones. Kind of dorky, with some fun dance moves. Made me laugh out loud.
Sunday, November 09, 2008
Our dear patient
Our dear patient seems to be improving by leaps and bounds. This comes as a tremendous relief to both of us. I felt fine about leaving him alone for the evening last night. (A few days ago, I probably wouldn't have gone out for the evening alone.)
He still has a rash, ugly and alarming by most standards unless you'd seen it at its worse. Now it looks blessedly healed. And he's still on pain pills but can actually see a path to dropping them soon. I don't think he'll be going to work for a day or so more. Still, he's getting his old energy back and is starting to look more and more like himself.
Phew phew phew.
He still has a rash, ugly and alarming by most standards unless you'd seen it at its worse. Now it looks blessedly healed. And he's still on pain pills but can actually see a path to dropping them soon. I don't think he'll be going to work for a day or so more. Still, he's getting his old energy back and is starting to look more and more like himself.
Phew phew phew.
harvest ball
Our Harvest Ball was lovely last evening. The elegant potluck may have been served on paper plates, but they were pretty paper plates and the food was outstanding. My mac&cheese went in a breath (wow, they liked it! they really liked it!). There were plates of roasted Jerusalem artichokes and a dish of roasted potatoes, feta cheese, and lemon juice. The leftovers of that last dish were kindly deposited in my (empty) m&c container. I was happy to bring them home.
The hall was lit with thousands of tiny lights and many candles and the lights turned low. A handful of people showed up in period (mid-to-late 19th century) clothing. Many of our men who are normally handsome just in jeans and tee shirts showed up in tuxedos, showing off their inner woofiness. Even I wore a dress, not a fancy one, but come on, it was a dress.
The dancing was lovely. The caller (our Queen Mum) left space between the dances for quick chats so that we weren't rushing from dance to dance. The band -- called Spare Parts, consisting of a husband and wife and the spare part (a guest artist) -- played elegantly while dressed in gorgeous evening clothes.
We integrated brand new people seamlessly while entertaining and engaging experienced dancers. We danced many "old chestnuts," especially fun when you've danced to their modern descendants.
I ended up dancing most of the evening, then towards the end just sat and talked to a small group of people, after engaging in some fun conversations earlier in the evening. I wish Robert could have been there, but of course many people asked for him, so he was in some sense there in spirit.
And somehow, I didn't manage to leave until nearly 11 and got home close to midnight. Robert was still up, but close to crashing and the cats gave me a hearty greeting before I, too, crashed and fell into a deep deep sleep.
Next week is the marriage of the century -- our own Queen Mum is wedding his beloved man-of-his-dreams with activities spread out over a couple of days and a cast of what seems like thousands. The wedding will be especially renewing after the devastating votes this week in California, Arkansas, and Arizona. (Thank you Mormon church, who, as Jon Stewart quipped, pioneered the concept of one man, one woman.) Perhaps the newest marriage in our community will re-energize us all to go out and do what needs to be done. Onward.
The hall was lit with thousands of tiny lights and many candles and the lights turned low. A handful of people showed up in period (mid-to-late 19th century) clothing. Many of our men who are normally handsome just in jeans and tee shirts showed up in tuxedos, showing off their inner woofiness. Even I wore a dress, not a fancy one, but come on, it was a dress.
The dancing was lovely. The caller (our Queen Mum) left space between the dances for quick chats so that we weren't rushing from dance to dance. The band -- called Spare Parts, consisting of a husband and wife and the spare part (a guest artist) -- played elegantly while dressed in gorgeous evening clothes.
We integrated brand new people seamlessly while entertaining and engaging experienced dancers. We danced many "old chestnuts," especially fun when you've danced to their modern descendants.
I ended up dancing most of the evening, then towards the end just sat and talked to a small group of people, after engaging in some fun conversations earlier in the evening. I wish Robert could have been there, but of course many people asked for him, so he was in some sense there in spirit.
And somehow, I didn't manage to leave until nearly 11 and got home close to midnight. Robert was still up, but close to crashing and the cats gave me a hearty greeting before I, too, crashed and fell into a deep deep sleep.
Next week is the marriage of the century -- our own Queen Mum is wedding his beloved man-of-his-dreams with activities spread out over a couple of days and a cast of what seems like thousands. The wedding will be especially renewing after the devastating votes this week in California, Arkansas, and Arizona. (Thank you Mormon church, who, as Jon Stewart quipped, pioneered the concept of one man, one woman.) Perhaps the newest marriage in our community will re-energize us all to go out and do what needs to be done. Onward.
Saturday, November 08, 2008
the corner is turned
When Robert first started turning the corner, it meant that he'd hit a plateau and things were not getting worse. But now, things are actually improving. His bumps are still tender and sensitive but the inflamation is way down, he's not in nearly as much pain, his mind is coming back, and he's sleeping less. (Thank goodness for the antivirals, which are hastening the process, and antipain meds, which are taking the edge off some of the symptoms.)
I think the rest of the weekend will be devoted to rest and small amounts of activity, perhaps short walks. Big sighs of relief all 'round.
We are both grateful for all the messages of support and caring we've received. Thank you.
I think the rest of the weekend will be devoted to rest and small amounts of activity, perhaps short walks. Big sighs of relief all 'round.
We are both grateful for all the messages of support and caring we've received. Thank you.
Friday, November 07, 2008
our men in blue at work
We had a pretty good batch of crime reports this week. Here are a few highlights:
Monday, October 27
10:47 a.m., a caller reported a large piece of metal was on Great Road. The Department of Public Works was notified and reported [wait for it...] there was nothing in the road.
Tuesday, October 28
2:18 p.m., a caller on Powder Mill Road reported there was a woman in their bathroom who would not leave after being asked. Police spoke to the woman, who said she had gone there to seek shelter from the rain.
Wednesday, October 29
7:05 a.m., a caller on Douglas Avenue reported many mornings, a man was waiting by a bus stop on that street, making the children and mothers nervous. Police spoke to the man, who said he waited in the mornings for a van to take him to work. He said he would wait in a different location from now on. [What do you want to bet that the man was of a different race, or at least a different nationality, from the mothers?]
4:11 p.m., two callers reported a possibly sick coyote heading toward the soccer fields behind the schools, where children were playing. The dog officer was notified and reported the coyote was really a domestic dog.
Friday, October 31
2:24 p.m., a caller on Dettling Road reported a driver ran over his trash can. The caller said when he went out to confront the driver, the driver almost ran over him. Police issued the driver a summons.
Saturday, November 1
8:31 p.m., a caller on Forest Street reported upon getting home from work, he found three guys in his backyard, drinking. The guys ran into the woods. Police checked the area but could not locate them. [I saw that ending coming from a long ways off.]
Monday, October 27
10:47 a.m., a caller reported a large piece of metal was on Great Road. The Department of Public Works was notified and reported [wait for it...] there was nothing in the road.
Tuesday, October 28
2:18 p.m., a caller on Powder Mill Road reported there was a woman in their bathroom who would not leave after being asked. Police spoke to the woman, who said she had gone there to seek shelter from the rain.
Wednesday, October 29
7:05 a.m., a caller on Douglas Avenue reported many mornings, a man was waiting by a bus stop on that street, making the children and mothers nervous. Police spoke to the man, who said he waited in the mornings for a van to take him to work. He said he would wait in a different location from now on. [What do you want to bet that the man was of a different race, or at least a different nationality, from the mothers?]
4:11 p.m., two callers reported a possibly sick coyote heading toward the soccer fields behind the schools, where children were playing. The dog officer was notified and reported the coyote was really a domestic dog.
Friday, October 31
2:24 p.m., a caller on Dettling Road reported a driver ran over his trash can. The caller said when he went out to confront the driver, the driver almost ran over him. Police issued the driver a summons.
Saturday, November 1
8:31 p.m., a caller on Forest Street reported upon getting home from work, he found three guys in his backyard, drinking. The guys ran into the woods. Police checked the area but could not locate them. [I saw that ending coming from a long ways off.]
Thursday, November 06, 2008
turning the corner?
When I came home tonight, Robert was in bed with the radio going. He was very very still. It was dark. I kept peering at him to see if he was breathing, put my hand on his chest, stepped back a bit and watched some more. I couldn't detect any movement. Then suddenly he was awake. Phew on that. Big breath.
Over the course of the evening, his color has improved. He even came with me when I went to the drug store to pick up more meds for him. (Robert's big adventure.) He sat with me in my study while I perused the day's news on the intertubes. And he surprised us both by staying up for a whole three hours before going back to bed.
It's probably best that he's sleeping through a good portion of this ordeal. I'm pleased that he finally has some pain meds (though why they didn't give them to him before he was in agony puzzles me.) Just before he turned in, he said that he thinks some of the drugs are finally kicking in. I suspect he'll have a bit more of a haul to go, but turning the corner is always a Good. Thing. Another big breath.
Over the course of the evening, his color has improved. He even came with me when I went to the drug store to pick up more meds for him. (Robert's big adventure.) He sat with me in my study while I perused the day's news on the intertubes. And he surprised us both by staying up for a whole three hours before going back to bed.
It's probably best that he's sleeping through a good portion of this ordeal. I'm pleased that he finally has some pain meds (though why they didn't give them to him before he was in agony puzzles me.) Just before he turned in, he said that he thinks some of the drugs are finally kicking in. I suspect he'll have a bit more of a haul to go, but turning the corner is always a Good. Thing. Another big breath.
Wednesday, November 05, 2008
and those damned shingles
Today, Robert is feeling worse, not better. He's not itching so much as experiencing pain, and of course a lot of this happened as the doctor's office was closing this afternoon. I'm hoping he stays home tomorrow and calls the doc for pain meds or anything else that might help. Thanks to KAH for his helpful suggestion. Thanks to everyone who's sent their good wishes and sympathies. Nasty stuff. I'm crossing my fingers that the anti (retro?) virals start kicking in and soon.
more good news
In addition to the good news on the national front, I heard from a friend yesterday, a man who married his high school sweetheart years ago. They've quietly and gracefully resigned themselves to being unable to have children -- made adjustments, continued with their lives. Except the wife got pregnant a while back and carried the baby nearly to term. They have a new daughter, born just a touch early last Saturday, named Adelaide Cyrille. They're already calling her Lady Surreal and are hoping to bring her home today or tomorrow. When I heard the news, I started crying all over again. Welcome, little Adelaide!
Change we can believe in
I often feel that I was born to live a life of disappointment, both in the global and the personal sense. But every now and then, something wonderful happens that helps mitigate some of the past pain. Last night was such a night.
Breathe. Exhale. Hope. Obamanos!
Breathe. Exhale. Hope. Obamanos!
Side effects
As I tweeted yesterday, Robert has shingles and he went to the doctor yesterday.
This morning, Robert reported he was feeling side effects from his new drugs. I cheerfully replied "Oh, you mean nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea*?" then added "leading to death?". To which he replied that there were a few steps in between -- coma, convulsions, then death. But fortunately, his side effect is a little light-headedness, which seems to be dissipating. I hope the other side effect is a lessening of his main complaint. Crossing my fingers that we united Robert and drugs fast enough.
* The full line, from my friend Mark, is "Nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea -- Our Favorites!!"
This morning, Robert reported he was feeling side effects from his new drugs. I cheerfully replied "Oh, you mean nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea*?" then added "leading to death?". To which he replied that there were a few steps in between -- coma, convulsions, then death. But fortunately, his side effect is a little light-headedness, which seems to be dissipating. I hope the other side effect is a lessening of his main complaint. Crossing my fingers that we united Robert and drugs fast enough.
* The full line, from my friend Mark, is "Nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea -- Our Favorites!!"
Sunday, November 02, 2008
of no importance
Last night, we went to Vokes, one of our favorite local theaters to see Terrence McNally's "A Man of No Importance." It's a musical about a single, middle-aged fading man, Alfie, a bus conductor living in Dublin during the repressed 1960s. He lives with his spinster sister who cannot marry the man she loves until Alfie weds and has a woman to look after him. Alfie feeds his dying soul by reading books, cooking, reading aloud to his bus passengers, and running an amateur theater group, a truly awful theater group, if I might say so.
One day a beautiful young woman appears on the bus. Alfie takes to her and decides that she shall be the princess in the next, soon-to-be-controversial play that he puts on. His sister becomes very excited about this young woman and schemes to marry her brother off at long last. Of course, Alfie is dreaming of love, but certainly not to a young woman, beautiful though she may be, nor is the young woman dreaming of marrying him -- she also loves another.
Alfie, of course, is an Oscar Wilde scholar. The young woman is in an early pregnancy with a helping of unrequited love, and the object of Alfie's affections is straight and is engaged in an extra-marital affair with one of the upstanding church ladies.
Many small setbacks ensue, the kind that seem enormous at the time, all set to the background of lovely, haunting Irish music and ballads. And just when you think the whole play is about to end in the shit-pile typical of modern Irish play endings -- the kind that leave you hurting for days -- rays of sunshine emerge, Alfie learns who his true friends are, and the show, or some show at least, goes on.
There was a lot of humor mixed in with the tragedy. The director did not choose the most obvious leading man to play Alfie; instead, he chose someone relatively unknown to Vokes audiences, and a great choice he made. Without any costume changes from beginning to end, the lead actor's entire posture and face changed throughout the play, so that afterwards, I realized I never really saw his eyes until the tail end of the play.
I know we have a lot of talent available in New England, even in amateur theater, but wow, the voices were great, the music was well played, and the acting was convincing and moving. It doesn't hurt that I love the author's works and the director is one of my favorites too.
Even though I've revealed a bit about the trajectory of the play, I haven't let on too much about the plot, and the devil, or perhaps the delight, really is in the details. If you're in the area and have a free evening, I highly recommend seeing the play. (For once, we did not see it during the last week of its run -- we changed our night to accommodate my goofy work schedule.)
One day a beautiful young woman appears on the bus. Alfie takes to her and decides that she shall be the princess in the next, soon-to-be-controversial play that he puts on. His sister becomes very excited about this young woman and schemes to marry her brother off at long last. Of course, Alfie is dreaming of love, but certainly not to a young woman, beautiful though she may be, nor is the young woman dreaming of marrying him -- she also loves another.
Alfie, of course, is an Oscar Wilde scholar. The young woman is in an early pregnancy with a helping of unrequited love, and the object of Alfie's affections is straight and is engaged in an extra-marital affair with one of the upstanding church ladies.
Many small setbacks ensue, the kind that seem enormous at the time, all set to the background of lovely, haunting Irish music and ballads. And just when you think the whole play is about to end in the shit-pile typical of modern Irish play endings -- the kind that leave you hurting for days -- rays of sunshine emerge, Alfie learns who his true friends are, and the show, or some show at least, goes on.
There was a lot of humor mixed in with the tragedy. The director did not choose the most obvious leading man to play Alfie; instead, he chose someone relatively unknown to Vokes audiences, and a great choice he made. Without any costume changes from beginning to end, the lead actor's entire posture and face changed throughout the play, so that afterwards, I realized I never really saw his eyes until the tail end of the play.
I know we have a lot of talent available in New England, even in amateur theater, but wow, the voices were great, the music was well played, and the acting was convincing and moving. It doesn't hurt that I love the author's works and the director is one of my favorites too.
Even though I've revealed a bit about the trajectory of the play, I haven't let on too much about the plot, and the devil, or perhaps the delight, really is in the details. If you're in the area and have a free evening, I highly recommend seeing the play. (For once, we did not see it during the last week of its run -- we changed our night to accommodate my goofy work schedule.)
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Ashley fail
Speaking of shameful and delusional, remember that woman named Ashley who supports McCain and who claimed she'd been assaulted by a Democrat who had carved a "B" on her face (for "Barack")? Except that the B was backwards, implying that she'd probably used a mirror and the whole thing was a hoax?
You can read more about her here, in the context of a couple of other Ashleys, at least one of whom will make your hope-meter soar: http://www.fivethirtyeight.com/2008/10/three-ashleys.html
I found this picture a few days ago and I just roared. (For background, see http://failblog.org/):
shameful and delusional
We have a local politician -- a state senator -- who until a few days ago was considered by many to be a shining star. Her name is Diane Wilkerson. She's a brilliant African-American lawyer who's pulled herself up by her own bootstraps and has really made a name for herself.
She represents perhaps the poorest, most downtrodden, most neglected part of Boston, Roxbury, an area that strikes fear into the hearts of many suburban white folks. It's been generally accepted that she's a fierce advocate for her community, a fighter, a networker, someone who has done a tremendous amount of good.
A few years ago, she got into trouble for neglecting to file her income taxes. Yeah, she's a lawyer, she should have known better, etc etc, but I think she was forgiven and everyone moved on. Then this week or last, the news broke that the feds have been following her for years, that they'd caught her on camera multiple times accepting bribes from business people. The bribers were influencing her to allow businesses into her district (and paying her to use her network to influence others). Some of these businesses weren't necessarily good for her constituents -- they were good for the business people.
Ms. Wilkerson's lawyers tried to claim that the pictures of Ms. W stuffing cash into her bra were "taken out of context" -- er -- what context would these pictures make the most sense in? Apparently, some of the bribery happened in a restaurant with huge plate glass windows across the street from the State House. Like no one might have noticed the cash-stuffing activity? Sounds fairly anonymous to me.
Earlier this fall, Ms. W had narrowly lost a primary bid to a challenger and was mounting a write-in sticker campaign as if the primary hadn't happened. This week, the state Senate unanimously (a rarity) asked her to step down. Then a coalition of the area's black executives joined the senators in requesting her resignation from the Senate. A few days later, Ms. W dropped the sticker campaign and said she'd announce her further intentions after the election.
This story has gotten tremendous air and newspaper play across the Boston area. In my opinion, most people caught on tape accepting bribes multiples times would be resigning in a hurry and going into seclusion. The long pauses between this woman's announcements are astonishing to me.
I find the unwinding of this story so sad. She is obviously delusional. In the face of undeniably strong reality, she seems to be going about her business, assuming she's still a Senator and that nothing much has changed. Maybe she thinks it will all "blow over" in a few days. Maybe she thinks she still has supporters who are willing to vote for her anyways (remember, her name isn't even on the ballot at this point). Maybe she thinks enough people will believe the contention that her pictures were "taken out of context" and that she will be exonerated.
Her resignation is inevitable. I can't imagine that she'll ever work in this town again, which might be ok, because I imagine she'll be spending some of the next few years in prison. As they said in Fiddler on the Roof, I wish her well, somewhere very far away from here.
She represents perhaps the poorest, most downtrodden, most neglected part of Boston, Roxbury, an area that strikes fear into the hearts of many suburban white folks. It's been generally accepted that she's a fierce advocate for her community, a fighter, a networker, someone who has done a tremendous amount of good.
A few years ago, she got into trouble for neglecting to file her income taxes. Yeah, she's a lawyer, she should have known better, etc etc, but I think she was forgiven and everyone moved on. Then this week or last, the news broke that the feds have been following her for years, that they'd caught her on camera multiple times accepting bribes from business people. The bribers were influencing her to allow businesses into her district (and paying her to use her network to influence others). Some of these businesses weren't necessarily good for her constituents -- they were good for the business people.
Ms. Wilkerson's lawyers tried to claim that the pictures of Ms. W stuffing cash into her bra were "taken out of context" -- er -- what context would these pictures make the most sense in? Apparently, some of the bribery happened in a restaurant with huge plate glass windows across the street from the State House. Like no one might have noticed the cash-stuffing activity? Sounds fairly anonymous to me.
Earlier this fall, Ms. W had narrowly lost a primary bid to a challenger and was mounting a write-in sticker campaign as if the primary hadn't happened. This week, the state Senate unanimously (a rarity) asked her to step down. Then a coalition of the area's black executives joined the senators in requesting her resignation from the Senate. A few days later, Ms. W dropped the sticker campaign and said she'd announce her further intentions after the election.
This story has gotten tremendous air and newspaper play across the Boston area. In my opinion, most people caught on tape accepting bribes multiples times would be resigning in a hurry and going into seclusion. The long pauses between this woman's announcements are astonishing to me.
I find the unwinding of this story so sad. She is obviously delusional. In the face of undeniably strong reality, she seems to be going about her business, assuming she's still a Senator and that nothing much has changed. Maybe she thinks it will all "blow over" in a few days. Maybe she thinks she still has supporters who are willing to vote for her anyways (remember, her name isn't even on the ballot at this point). Maybe she thinks enough people will believe the contention that her pictures were "taken out of context" and that she will be exonerated.
Her resignation is inevitable. I can't imagine that she'll ever work in this town again, which might be ok, because I imagine she'll be spending some of the next few years in prison. As they said in Fiddler on the Roof, I wish her well, somewhere very far away from here.
a glimpse of my professional life -- conference this week
I got to go to a conference this week -- close to home, slept in my own bed every night. When I signed up, I knew that my organization would be researching a particular type of software but I had no idea how timely the info available at the conference would be.
The very first talk I attended was incredibly helpful. It was called "Navigating the Vendor Maze" about the actual type of software we're purchasing. The talk was chock-full of advice about making the very decision we're about to make. That night, I got the list of finalist vendors that our committee (of which I'm part) had chosen.
I had spoken to some of the vendors at the tradeshow part of the conference on the first day. The next day, I went back to speak to nearly all of them again.
For technical reasons, we rejected one vendor who would otherwise have been at the top of the list. So I spoke to their representative, said I was sorry, and said I hoped our paths would cross again. He was so professional and actually gave me some advice about the next part of the process. I really do hope I get to work with that company some day. They sound like a first-class act.
Then I talked to three of the four finalists who were at the show. Two of them look like they'd be great (at least from the perspective of getting just a shallow look at their products).
The last one and I got into a bit of a tussle -- they've made some architectural decisions which force their customers to adapt their work style to the tool rather than having the flexibility to adapt to their customers. I argued with the VP of development, who basically took the attitude that people shouldn't do things in a way that he hasn't thought of already (him: "No really, our way is much better than what you're suggesting" me: "But you're taking away the way we think, conceptualize, and work" him: "But it makes the system so much faster" etc -- aargh!).
Meanwhile, the director of sales was laughing at the two of us. Neither approach -- the rigid affront, or the tremendous amusement -- gave me warm fuzzies about the company. As someone pointed out, pay attention to how these guys treat you now before you select them -- it doesn't get any better than this, and it probably gets worse.
Usually, when I'm at a tradeshow, there's nothing I want to buy and I don't want to waste the time of the salespeople by trying to figure out what exactly they're selling. (I should probably get over it and visit more tradeshow booths.) This time, the tradeshow part of the conference was enormously helpful and instructive.
I found some of the talks interesting -- there was one on linguistics, an old love of mine, and applying it to my field. Other talks were -er- pedestrian or less relevant.
The networking was great. I got to catch up with some former colleagues, both people attending the conference and people at the tradeshow. I got to spend an entire lunch with one of my favorite former coworkers of all time. I got to meet people I've only known electronically or over the telephone. And I made some connections for a possible revival of an area professional group that I participated in and helped lead a few years ago.
So personally and professionally, it was time and money well spent. I'm glad I went. And it's nice to have a weekend to recover before plunging back into things.
Next week, we need to prepare to talk to the finalist vendors. The leader of our selection committee will be out of town, so he's asked me to organize and present the list of questions we'll have. Sounds like next week will be busy. Sounds like I'll be even better prepared to do the work than I might have been pre-conference. I love synchronicity.
The very first talk I attended was incredibly helpful. It was called "Navigating the Vendor Maze" about the actual type of software we're purchasing. The talk was chock-full of advice about making the very decision we're about to make. That night, I got the list of finalist vendors that our committee (of which I'm part) had chosen.
I had spoken to some of the vendors at the tradeshow part of the conference on the first day. The next day, I went back to speak to nearly all of them again.
For technical reasons, we rejected one vendor who would otherwise have been at the top of the list. So I spoke to their representative, said I was sorry, and said I hoped our paths would cross again. He was so professional and actually gave me some advice about the next part of the process. I really do hope I get to work with that company some day. They sound like a first-class act.
Then I talked to three of the four finalists who were at the show. Two of them look like they'd be great (at least from the perspective of getting just a shallow look at their products).
The last one and I got into a bit of a tussle -- they've made some architectural decisions which force their customers to adapt their work style to the tool rather than having the flexibility to adapt to their customers. I argued with the VP of development, who basically took the attitude that people shouldn't do things in a way that he hasn't thought of already (him: "No really, our way is much better than what you're suggesting" me: "But you're taking away the way we think, conceptualize, and work" him: "But it makes the system so much faster" etc -- aargh!).
Meanwhile, the director of sales was laughing at the two of us. Neither approach -- the rigid affront, or the tremendous amusement -- gave me warm fuzzies about the company. As someone pointed out, pay attention to how these guys treat you now before you select them -- it doesn't get any better than this, and it probably gets worse.
Usually, when I'm at a tradeshow, there's nothing I want to buy and I don't want to waste the time of the salespeople by trying to figure out what exactly they're selling. (I should probably get over it and visit more tradeshow booths.) This time, the tradeshow part of the conference was enormously helpful and instructive.
I found some of the talks interesting -- there was one on linguistics, an old love of mine, and applying it to my field. Other talks were -er- pedestrian or less relevant.
The networking was great. I got to catch up with some former colleagues, both people attending the conference and people at the tradeshow. I got to spend an entire lunch with one of my favorite former coworkers of all time. I got to meet people I've only known electronically or over the telephone. And I made some connections for a possible revival of an area professional group that I participated in and helped lead a few years ago.
So personally and professionally, it was time and money well spent. I'm glad I went. And it's nice to have a weekend to recover before plunging back into things.
Next week, we need to prepare to talk to the finalist vendors. The leader of our selection committee will be out of town, so he's asked me to organize and present the list of questions we'll have. Sounds like next week will be busy. Sounds like I'll be even better prepared to do the work than I might have been pre-conference. I love synchronicity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)