A former boss of mine (whom I loathe) once said that he thought that women who didn't have children were selfish*, a statement I have never quite understood. Honestly, I have never been as selfish as since I have become a parent, and particularly since I became a single parent.** And it's all societally sanctioned.
Parents are allowed to cut to the head of the line in so many ways and people let us. I let people help me out in ways that I never would have contemplated prior to parenthood.
For instance: I accept gifts from friends and friends-I-have-yet-to-meet (read Kira and His Eminence) to benefit my children. I accept handouts from Innana. I scrounge for discounts on anything kid related. Innana bought TigerGrrl her Halloween costume (Darth Vader) and I didn't even feel embarrassed. I just said "Thank you."***
If I didn't have children, these actions would humiliate and embarrass me. As a parent? It benefits my kids. I'll swallow my pride a bit. More on this later, but I'm still recovering from the complete lack of sleep this weekend. And pumpkin carving last night. Until later.
*Although I'm pretty sure he had bad thoughts about women who made their wombs publicly available as well, so I think this was a "damned if you do, damned if you don't". However, since losing his good opinion actually spared one some agonizing socializing, one was better off either way: selfish or slutty.
**The FoilKids' father, the Insane Ex is still in the picture and we share custody, so I'm really not a single parent: but financially I'm on my own and when I'm parenting I am parenting alone.
*Innana really did save the day. I hadn't made costumes, had only bought an $8 light sabre, and didn't have $20-$30 to spend on a costume. I had downloaded a "make your own Darth Vader mask" printout, but that wouldn't have done the trick in TigerGrrl's eyes.
October 31, 2007
October 28, 2007
Some Good Things
I haven't done a list of things I'm grateful for/happy about recently, so here's one:
1. Both FoilKids are sound asleep and snoring right now.
2. Saintly Babysitter is still here.
3. It was beautiful weather today.
4. After two nights of practically sleepless DestructoGirl (and therefore totally sleepless Foilwoman) it looks like I'll get some sleep tonight.
Which I will now attempt, as I am doing a good imitation of a zombie right now.
1. Both FoilKids are sound asleep and snoring right now.
2. Saintly Babysitter is still here.
3. It was beautiful weather today.
4. After two nights of practically sleepless DestructoGirl (and therefore totally sleepless Foilwoman) it looks like I'll get some sleep tonight.
Which I will now attempt, as I am doing a good imitation of a zombie right now.
October 27, 2007
The Perils of Parenthood
Let's just say that DestructoGirl is incredibly lucky that I am a doting mother. It is 11:27 p.m. as I start typing this entry, and I've just stuffed DestructoGirl back in bed for the 7th time. Last night, this went on until well after midnight. If she weren't the most adorable almost three year old on the planet I might do her actual harm. Then I remember, she is my offspring and one of the cutest kids in creation. If she gets out of bed one more time, however, I can't be responsible for the consequences.
October 23, 2007
Monomaniacal Conversation
I wonder if Mr. Movie has Asperger's Syndrome. Really. His nickname is Mr. Movie because that is all he will talk about. Let me say that again. Movies are all he talks about. They're the only gift he gives (never give a book or a sweater when you can give a DVD must be his motto). They're the only gift I get him, too, of course.
Innana and I met Mr. Movie for coffee recently, and I'd forgotten how monomaniacal he can be. Somehow the conversation touched on 19th Century literature, and he started a dissertation on the different movie versions of Jane Eyre.
Innana and I, speaking as one divine being, said: "Why don't you read the book?" He then mused about comparing the screenplays of the two cinematic Jane Eyres. He could compare the text. I mentioned that he could probably find screenplay/text captures of dialogue online.
Then Innnana and I tried to talk about the war in Iraq and Mr. Movie started discussing movies about the war in Iraq. Inner city violence? Movies about the inner city.
Mr. Movie is a good man and a sweet man, but he is a very limited man. He has a good time at parties when you ask him to create a video or photographic record of the event. Then, since all of his conversation is geared toward producing a work of importance to him, he's comfortable, focussed, and not overly nervous. The rest of the time he is.
He doesn't have most of the Asperger's tics, but he has some, one of them being single subject conversing and social awkwardness. I'm trying to remember how I met him, because I can't imagine him actually doing a lot of outreach. I remember now: a friend of mine introduced me to him, not as a blind date, but as someone who was helping her move (in a Mustang convertible) from one apartment to another. Mr. Movie had a fair about of sardonic humor, which evidenced itself as we were trying to fit the couch into the backseat of the Mustang (it stuck out about 6 feet into the air) and then managed to squish a fairly large bureau in there two. Then Jojo (Mustang owner, abuser of friends) got all upset because the upholstery on her Mustang might be getting mussed.
Mr. Movie said, very politely: "Well, you could rent a U-Haul truck. Or hire movers."
I said: "I'm buying you a drink." (This was a good twenty years ago, before offspring and disastrous divorce, when I was flush for cash.)
We've been friends every since and will stay that way. I can't describe him in a way that does him justice, but social awkwardness, even acute social awkwardness that makes other people uncomfortable can be gotten around (and should be, much of the time).
Mr. Movie did have one cute line. Innana asked him if he was going to a Halloween party, and he allowed as how he was working, but he assumed, that per usual, he would be able to scare small children en route.
Innana and I met Mr. Movie for coffee recently, and I'd forgotten how monomaniacal he can be. Somehow the conversation touched on 19th Century literature, and he started a dissertation on the different movie versions of Jane Eyre.
Innana and I, speaking as one divine being, said: "Why don't you read the book?" He then mused about comparing the screenplays of the two cinematic Jane Eyres. He could compare the text. I mentioned that he could probably find screenplay/text captures of dialogue online.
Then Innnana and I tried to talk about the war in Iraq and Mr. Movie started discussing movies about the war in Iraq. Inner city violence? Movies about the inner city.
Mr. Movie is a good man and a sweet man, but he is a very limited man. He has a good time at parties when you ask him to create a video or photographic record of the event. Then, since all of his conversation is geared toward producing a work of importance to him, he's comfortable, focussed, and not overly nervous. The rest of the time he is.
He doesn't have most of the Asperger's tics, but he has some, one of them being single subject conversing and social awkwardness. I'm trying to remember how I met him, because I can't imagine him actually doing a lot of outreach. I remember now: a friend of mine introduced me to him, not as a blind date, but as someone who was helping her move (in a Mustang convertible) from one apartment to another. Mr. Movie had a fair about of sardonic humor, which evidenced itself as we were trying to fit the couch into the backseat of the Mustang (it stuck out about 6 feet into the air) and then managed to squish a fairly large bureau in there two. Then Jojo (Mustang owner, abuser of friends) got all upset because the upholstery on her Mustang might be getting mussed.
Mr. Movie said, very politely: "Well, you could rent a U-Haul truck. Or hire movers."
I said: "I'm buying you a drink." (This was a good twenty years ago, before offspring and disastrous divorce, when I was flush for cash.)
We've been friends every since and will stay that way. I can't describe him in a way that does him justice, but social awkwardness, even acute social awkwardness that makes other people uncomfortable can be gotten around (and should be, much of the time).
Mr. Movie did have one cute line. Innana asked him if he was going to a Halloween party, and he allowed as how he was working, but he assumed, that per usual, he would be able to scare small children en route.
October 22, 2007
A Paeon to Big Grampa
I have a complex relationship with my father (Big Grampa to the FoilKids, because he's 6'5" tall, weighs at least 250 pounds and is big like a St. Bernard -- DestructoGirl notices these sorts of things), as most people do with their parents. My father is one of those hurtfully flawed people, more hurtful to himself than others, and in many ways I resemble him, and therefore I am harsher on him than I might otherwise be if his flaws were more dissimilar.
His biggest problem in terms of his relationship with his three daughters is his stereotypical way of thinking about women, which often veers off into outright misogyny. Part of this is the result of the most hate-filled divorce I have ever seen (more than my divorce, which is saying something), but some of the misogyny is just there, festering. Which creates problems for his daughters, you won't be surprised to learn.
I've been told that men want marriage to have sex on tap, and women want marriage for financial and emotional security, and it's a trade. Any single women gets a comment from my father "what went wrong there?" These are just the mild statements. But that's a taste. The idea that women might either want sex or want to be single or both or either or neither aren't options in his head.
He also has expounded loudly about how kids need a parent at home. Obviously, I'm failing in that endeavor, but bless him, he's actually going to put his money where his mouth is. In an ordinary (and very pleasant) conversation, he heard about the potential departure of Saintly Babysitter. He did not suggest (as FoilMormor did, much to my disgust, horror, and shame) that I try to threaten or blackmail Saintly Babysitter into staying with me. (With what? She's a lovely young woman. And, of course, she takes care of my kids, so why would I want to do anything that would but them at risk or harm the person who takes very good care of them?) He did immediately step up to the plate and said he would split the cost of the needed raise with FoilMormor if she would do so. I explained to him what FoilMormor had suggested, and he said "I'm not going to say anything about that, because I just can't go there." He said he would talk things over with his wife and let me know how much help he could give, unasked.
Then he called today at noon and said that his wife (I don't know her well, but she's lovely) agreed: the Saintly Babysitter should be given the raise she wants, and they will pay for it. Then he called Saintly Babysitter and told her this.
Now Saintly Babysitter has been job hunting and she may have found something better already (I haven't heard about it), but the extra money will let her visit her family (moving to Georgia) regularly, pay for her courses, and I'm hopeful that that will be enough incentive.
But my father has met Saintly Babysitter and has concluded that his grandchildren are better off in her undistracted, loving, and strict care than in an OK but not great day care center. Since he believes that day care (at least the unlicensed variety) is a suboptimal parenting substitute, and he knows that I can't stay home, he will help subsidize a quasi-parent in my home.
My father is an odd mixture of judgmentalism and empathy, and it's hard to know when you're going to get the empathy. But on this one, whether or not Saintly Babysitter stays with me, he hit the ball out of the park. Even if Saintly Babysitter does leave to go elsewhere, Big Grampa showed her that even if I'm broke and can't pay her what she deserves, he knows she deserves that pay, and considers her care of his grandchildren quite valuable.
Then he launched into a rant about the unfemininity of Hillary Clinton. I wish my father were less conflicted, you know? But I do love that man, and he really did come through for me. So the men not coming to the rescue thing I was ranting on about a couple of posts back . . . oh, never mind.
His biggest problem in terms of his relationship with his three daughters is his stereotypical way of thinking about women, which often veers off into outright misogyny. Part of this is the result of the most hate-filled divorce I have ever seen (more than my divorce, which is saying something), but some of the misogyny is just there, festering. Which creates problems for his daughters, you won't be surprised to learn.
I've been told that men want marriage to have sex on tap, and women want marriage for financial and emotional security, and it's a trade. Any single women gets a comment from my father "what went wrong there?" These are just the mild statements. But that's a taste. The idea that women might either want sex or want to be single or both or either or neither aren't options in his head.
He also has expounded loudly about how kids need a parent at home. Obviously, I'm failing in that endeavor, but bless him, he's actually going to put his money where his mouth is. In an ordinary (and very pleasant) conversation, he heard about the potential departure of Saintly Babysitter. He did not suggest (as FoilMormor did, much to my disgust, horror, and shame) that I try to threaten or blackmail Saintly Babysitter into staying with me. (With what? She's a lovely young woman. And, of course, she takes care of my kids, so why would I want to do anything that would but them at risk or harm the person who takes very good care of them?) He did immediately step up to the plate and said he would split the cost of the needed raise with FoilMormor if she would do so. I explained to him what FoilMormor had suggested, and he said "I'm not going to say anything about that, because I just can't go there." He said he would talk things over with his wife and let me know how much help he could give, unasked.
Then he called today at noon and said that his wife (I don't know her well, but she's lovely) agreed: the Saintly Babysitter should be given the raise she wants, and they will pay for it. Then he called Saintly Babysitter and told her this.
Now Saintly Babysitter has been job hunting and she may have found something better already (I haven't heard about it), but the extra money will let her visit her family (moving to Georgia) regularly, pay for her courses, and I'm hopeful that that will be enough incentive.
But my father has met Saintly Babysitter and has concluded that his grandchildren are better off in her undistracted, loving, and strict care than in an OK but not great day care center. Since he believes that day care (at least the unlicensed variety) is a suboptimal parenting substitute, and he knows that I can't stay home, he will help subsidize a quasi-parent in my home.
My father is an odd mixture of judgmentalism and empathy, and it's hard to know when you're going to get the empathy. But on this one, whether or not Saintly Babysitter stays with me, he hit the ball out of the park. Even if Saintly Babysitter does leave to go elsewhere, Big Grampa showed her that even if I'm broke and can't pay her what she deserves, he knows she deserves that pay, and considers her care of his grandchildren quite valuable.
Then he launched into a rant about the unfemininity of Hillary Clinton. I wish my father were less conflicted, you know? But I do love that man, and he really did come through for me. So the men not coming to the rescue thing I was ranting on about a couple of posts back . . . oh, never mind.
October 21, 2007
Not Bread, But Roses
Yesterday I had a wonderful day, and I did not spend a penny. Those are two completely unconnected statement, but the fact that I am able to use them in a compound sentence makes the day even better. Today (I started this post after 2 a.m., forgetting the time while some good guitar playing and good knitting) and I will spend some money, but only because I will be going to the grocery store and going to a coffee shop to play a game of chess*. And it looks likely to be a great day today.
In case you can't tell from the preceding posts, I've been feeling a bit stressed about money lately. Not high grade crisis fear, just a low grade, long term anxiety, but still. It's always better not to worry about money. But a day like yesterday, and the day it promises to be today, make up for all that. Also, they remind me that I have enough interests to entertain myself with** without using up my own financial resources, or the resources of the world. Both my guitars (the Spanish classical guitar and the Hohner 12-string) were made more that thirty years ago. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't walk away from a nice Gibson folk six string, a mandolin, or a lute (or even a banjo or other string instrument) offered free on Freecycle or way cheap on E-bay or Craig's List. However, since those aren't in the budget right now, they're not being sought. And the pleasure isn't in buying them, it's in playing them.
So yesterday, I started with a trip to the library, checking out books on chess and a few movies (I have enough fiction that I won't be able to read it all.) including On the Waterfront, La Baie des of Anges>, and The Battleship Potemkim, all alleged*** classics that I have never seen before.
Then I played a game of chess. I lost, but it's been years since I played -- I stink -- and I actually lasted well into the game, but then missed some key threats, missed some opportunities, and lost. I'm playing another game today. I don't like the online games, but DC is blessed with lots of parks with chessboards, and you agree to meet to play chess via lots of sites online or you can just turn up and take your chances (and get thoroughly thrashed). Since TigerGrrl is interested in chess, I've decided it behooves me to get up to speed a bit. So I'm trying to read about strategy (boring) but playing at the same time, with partners who know I've played maybe twenty previous games of chess in my life, so take some time to explain, etc.
Then a nice hike around my neighborhood at a quick pace (not quite up to surfing standard yet: I would rate my surfing babeliciousness quotient at a mere 15 to 20% -- there's a ways to go), and then home to dinner, guitar and knitting. I knitted while watching On the Waterfront, thank heavens. Big yawm. Battleship Potemkim will be better I'm sure.
For guitar playing, it was only on the classical guitar. Today I'll tune (a half hour endeavor, right there) the 12-string and play that a bit.
Songs played (before I realized it was 2 a.m.):
Across the Great Divide (by Kate Wolf, also performed by Nanci Griffith)
Streets of Baltimore (by Glaser and Howard, performe by Graham Parsons and also by Nanci Griffith)
Waltzing Matilda
Because the Night (by Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen, an odd pairing if there ever was one)
Big Iron (by Marty Robbins, also performed by Bob Weir)
Pamela Brown (by Tom T. Hall, most notably performed by Leo Kottke
Canadian Whiskey (by Tom Russell, performed by Ian Tyson of Ian & Sylva fame, also performed by Nanci Griffith
C'era un ragazzo (by Maurizio Codogno, performed by Joan Baez)
Operator (Jim Croce)
Burning Love (Elvis, of course)
Love at the Five and Dime (Nanci Griffith)
Danny's Song (by Henry Rodriguez, performed most notably by Loggins & Messina)
The First Time (by Ewan McColl, performed most notably by Roberta Flack -- I do wish I could sing like she does. Sadly, I cannot. I'll survive, though.)
Lay Lady Lay (by Bob Dylan. Still just a total of five chords -- Bob, try a little musical range -- but one of his more emotionally naked songs -- the whole Nashville Skyline album almost makes you believe that he's a man who actually feels emotions and desire rather than simply sits around thinking of tag lines and slogans)
No Woman No Cry (Bob Marley)
I Can't Make You Love Me (Bonnie Raitt)
Nick of Time (Bonnie Raitt)
Rebels (Tom Petty)
Song for Adam (by Jackson Browne. Whenever I play this song, I think of a long-lost friend, Kaori, who did fall. That was in 1982 and I still miss her.)
Ladies Love Outlaws (by Lee Clayton, sung by Waylon Jennings)
End of the Line (Travelling Wilburys)
Promised Land (Bruce Springsteen)
Who'll Stop the Rain (CCR)
I'm on Fire (Bruce, the Boss, again)
Quittin' Time (Mary Chapin Carpenter)
Runaway (by Del Shannon. Also performed by Bonnie Raitt).
Mama Tried (by Merle Haggard. Also performed by the Grateful Dead.)
Pancho and Lefty (by Townes Van Zandt. Also performed by the great Emmy Lou Harris, among others.)
Seven Year Ache (by Roseanne Cash)
Landslide (by Stevie Nicks)
Love Is Just A Four Letter Word (by Bob Dylan, but made worth listening to by Joan Baez. That man should send that woman flowers ever damn day for showing that his songs actually sounded beautiful on occasion, rather than just raspy and affected.)
One Step Up (by Bruce Springsteen -- my theme song for 2005).
Uncle John's Bad (the Grateful Dead)
Once In a Very Blue Moon (Nanci Griffith)
Boulder to Birmingham (by the great Emmylou Harris)
Handle with Care (by the Travelling Wilburys)
I Take My Chances (Mary Chapin Carpenter)
Tecumseh Valley (by Townes Van Zandt, but brought to full flower by Nanci Griffith)
I've got to add some real rock, jazz, and blues to my repertoire, but I still have another two hours (or more) of playing before I've practiced my best songs, and my hands are sore. I wonder why?
More guitar and chess today, and it's a beautiful crisp fall day. Sometimes, I just love this world. Life is good.
*This is part of why I'm so happy.
**And by interests, I mean things to do: playing the guitar, playing the piano, knitting, reading, hiking, biking, skating, etc. I have never understood that when asked their hobbies more than half of U.S. citizens say "shopping." Shopping is not a hobby. It's a chore. One can do it skillfully, but really, if one's primary interest in life is to buy things, or consume things, mustn't one be saying as loudly as possible "I am truly empty inside." I'm probably being overly harsh (and this is probably protective coloration to mask the fear and anxiety I feel at my financial circumstances. However, if I had to trade time with the FoilKids, time to play the guitar, time to knit, or time to read for enough money to take the edge off, the ability to shop at Talbot's, Saks 5th Avenue, and Nordstrom, would in anyway fill the chasm that would have been created by the loss of those joys in my life.
***I watched On the Waterfront last night. I was unimpressed. The characterization stank, and I never thought of Marlon Brando as a pretty-boy, but jeez, he obviously wore makeup (as a dockworker?) and maybe he could talk tough, but he really wasn't believable
In case you can't tell from the preceding posts, I've been feeling a bit stressed about money lately. Not high grade crisis fear, just a low grade, long term anxiety, but still. It's always better not to worry about money. But a day like yesterday, and the day it promises to be today, make up for all that. Also, they remind me that I have enough interests to entertain myself with** without using up my own financial resources, or the resources of the world. Both my guitars (the Spanish classical guitar and the Hohner 12-string) were made more that thirty years ago. Now, I'm not saying I wouldn't walk away from a nice Gibson folk six string, a mandolin, or a lute (or even a banjo or other string instrument) offered free on Freecycle or way cheap on E-bay or Craig's List. However, since those aren't in the budget right now, they're not being sought. And the pleasure isn't in buying them, it's in playing them.
So yesterday, I started with a trip to the library, checking out books on chess and a few movies (I have enough fiction that I won't be able to read it all.) including On the Waterfront, La Baie des of Anges>, and The Battleship Potemkim, all alleged*** classics that I have never seen before.
Then I played a game of chess. I lost, but it's been years since I played -- I stink -- and I actually lasted well into the game, but then missed some key threats, missed some opportunities, and lost. I'm playing another game today. I don't like the online games, but DC is blessed with lots of parks with chessboards, and you agree to meet to play chess via lots of sites online or you can just turn up and take your chances (and get thoroughly thrashed). Since TigerGrrl is interested in chess, I've decided it behooves me to get up to speed a bit. So I'm trying to read about strategy (boring) but playing at the same time, with partners who know I've played maybe twenty previous games of chess in my life, so take some time to explain, etc.
Then a nice hike around my neighborhood at a quick pace (not quite up to surfing standard yet: I would rate my surfing babeliciousness quotient at a mere 15 to 20% -- there's a ways to go), and then home to dinner, guitar and knitting. I knitted while watching On the Waterfront, thank heavens. Big yawm. Battleship Potemkim will be better I'm sure.
For guitar playing, it was only on the classical guitar. Today I'll tune (a half hour endeavor, right there) the 12-string and play that a bit.
Songs played (before I realized it was 2 a.m.):
Across the Great Divide (by Kate Wolf, also performed by Nanci Griffith)
Streets of Baltimore (by Glaser and Howard, performe by Graham Parsons and also by Nanci Griffith)
Waltzing Matilda
Because the Night (by Patti Smith and Bruce Springsteen, an odd pairing if there ever was one)
Big Iron (by Marty Robbins, also performed by Bob Weir)
Pamela Brown (by Tom T. Hall, most notably performed by Leo Kottke
Canadian Whiskey (by Tom Russell, performed by Ian Tyson of Ian & Sylva fame, also performed by Nanci Griffith
C'era un ragazzo (by Maurizio Codogno, performed by Joan Baez)
Operator (Jim Croce)
Burning Love (Elvis, of course)
Love at the Five and Dime (Nanci Griffith)
Danny's Song (by Henry Rodriguez, performed most notably by Loggins & Messina)
The First Time (by Ewan McColl, performed most notably by Roberta Flack -- I do wish I could sing like she does. Sadly, I cannot. I'll survive, though.)
Lay Lady Lay (by Bob Dylan. Still just a total of five chords -- Bob, try a little musical range -- but one of his more emotionally naked songs -- the whole Nashville Skyline album almost makes you believe that he's a man who actually feels emotions and desire rather than simply sits around thinking of tag lines and slogans)
No Woman No Cry (Bob Marley)
I Can't Make You Love Me (Bonnie Raitt)
Nick of Time (Bonnie Raitt)
Rebels (Tom Petty)
Song for Adam (by Jackson Browne. Whenever I play this song, I think of a long-lost friend, Kaori, who did fall. That was in 1982 and I still miss her.)
Ladies Love Outlaws (by Lee Clayton, sung by Waylon Jennings)
End of the Line (Travelling Wilburys)
Promised Land (Bruce Springsteen)
Who'll Stop the Rain (CCR)
I'm on Fire (Bruce, the Boss, again)
Quittin' Time (Mary Chapin Carpenter)
Runaway (by Del Shannon. Also performed by Bonnie Raitt).
Mama Tried (by Merle Haggard. Also performed by the Grateful Dead.)
Pancho and Lefty (by Townes Van Zandt. Also performed by the great Emmy Lou Harris, among others.)
Seven Year Ache (by Roseanne Cash)
Landslide (by Stevie Nicks)
Love Is Just A Four Letter Word (by Bob Dylan, but made worth listening to by Joan Baez. That man should send that woman flowers ever damn day for showing that his songs actually sounded beautiful on occasion, rather than just raspy and affected.)
One Step Up (by Bruce Springsteen -- my theme song for 2005).
Uncle John's Bad (the Grateful Dead)
Once In a Very Blue Moon (Nanci Griffith)
Boulder to Birmingham (by the great Emmylou Harris)
Handle with Care (by the Travelling Wilburys)
I Take My Chances (Mary Chapin Carpenter)
Tecumseh Valley (by Townes Van Zandt, but brought to full flower by Nanci Griffith)
I've got to add some real rock, jazz, and blues to my repertoire, but I still have another two hours (or more) of playing before I've practiced my best songs, and my hands are sore. I wonder why?
More guitar and chess today, and it's a beautiful crisp fall day. Sometimes, I just love this world. Life is good.
*This is part of why I'm so happy.
**And by interests, I mean things to do: playing the guitar, playing the piano, knitting, reading, hiking, biking, skating, etc. I have never understood that when asked their hobbies more than half of U.S. citizens say "shopping." Shopping is not a hobby. It's a chore. One can do it skillfully, but really, if one's primary interest in life is to buy things, or consume things, mustn't one be saying as loudly as possible "I am truly empty inside." I'm probably being overly harsh (and this is probably protective coloration to mask the fear and anxiety I feel at my financial circumstances. However, if I had to trade time with the FoilKids, time to play the guitar, time to knit, or time to read for enough money to take the edge off, the ability to shop at Talbot's, Saks 5th Avenue, and Nordstrom, would in anyway fill the chasm that would have been created by the loss of those joys in my life.
***I watched On the Waterfront last night. I was unimpressed. The characterization stank, and I never thought of Marlon Brando as a pretty-boy, but jeez, he obviously wore makeup (as a dockworker?) and maybe he could talk tough, but he really wasn't believable
October 19, 2007
A Map of the World (Apologies to Jane Hamilton)
On the puts-me-in-a-good-mood side of things, so far this month (that would be October 2007), my clustrmaps map shows four of more visitors on every continent except Antarctica (still haven't gotten anyone at the stations down there to read this: come one guys, you're bored, give it a try), including at least one visitor from Siberia, Iceland, the Indian Ocean, and two in the Pacific, one looking like Hawaii, the other, I don't know, Guam? These maps are pretty inaccurate though. I had one that put a reader I knew lived in Madrid out near the Azores, so . . . . But it makes me happy. Siberia. Must be getting cold, dark, and boring there if they ended up here.
Rescue Me
I try to resist these kind of fantasies* where the woman is rescued by the always arriving just at the right time man. In my life, I've generally (except in the last two years) had to rescue myself and most of the time someone else has stepped in it has been the omnipresent (not absent and showing up at the darkest hour) woman who saves the day (with exceptions for Ex-Marine Fred, Cookie, His Eminence, Champurrado, Mr. Studmuffin, Mr. Movie, and the Professor, and Big Grampa and Big Bob -- which is quite a lot of exceptions showing that that stereotype sucks and blows as well) woman to the rescue: Innana, Foilmormor, LOS, Francesca, Kira (esp. regarding wine and children's clothes: boy howdy, that woman can rescue and I do appreciate her even if I have never met her), Aunt Elsebet, and SNV.
However, everyone gets compassion fatigue and I've been in getting-or-just-having-gotten-a-divorce-from-a-total-nutcase-and spendthrift-crisis-mode (GJHGDTNSCM, I guess, for short) for two years now, and now when I get overwhelmed, I really need to just woman up (I'm not going to "man up", because, again -- worthless and unnecessary stereotype here, but I just have to write it -- that would involve less competence and not planning ahead for crisis but being perpetually surprised) so that my friends and internet buddies don't get tired of me.
Where am I going to find affordable day care that doesn't involve a not-too-clean-and-unlicensed home with the TV on all the time? How am I going to fund college? I was putting $25/month away for each girl but I've had to cut that out for now and even if I restart, that's just not enough, damn it all. I need to come up with a remunerative sideline that I can do when I don't have the girls that doesn't stress me out beyond belief.
Maybe I should put an add on Craig's List: Will snark or knit for cash? Any ideas?
*By the way, regarding the stereotypical (and to me, probably fictonal or created for the male imagination, not the female's) woman's rape fantasy is Margaret Atwoods: In my fantasy, if a guy tries to attack me, I quickly overpower him and call the police. Or maybe not so quickly. No sweeping me off my feet, no making me like it. If anyone discovers the pleasure of pain, such as it is** (and I don't think that's remotely likely) it's the guy who ends up hogtied getting kicked with high-heeled shoes bought just for that purpose.
**Yeah, right. Women all over the world fantasize about the joy of menstrual cramps or the joy of having a thumbnail ripped off.
However, everyone gets compassion fatigue and I've been in getting-or-just-having-gotten-a-divorce-from-a-total-nutcase-and spendthrift-crisis-mode (GJHGDTNSCM, I guess, for short) for two years now, and now when I get overwhelmed, I really need to just woman up (I'm not going to "man up", because, again -- worthless and unnecessary stereotype here, but I just have to write it -- that would involve less competence and not planning ahead for crisis but being perpetually surprised) so that my friends and internet buddies don't get tired of me.
Where am I going to find affordable day care that doesn't involve a not-too-clean-and-unlicensed home with the TV on all the time? How am I going to fund college? I was putting $25/month away for each girl but I've had to cut that out for now and even if I restart, that's just not enough, damn it all. I need to come up with a remunerative sideline that I can do when I don't have the girls that doesn't stress me out beyond belief.
Maybe I should put an add on Craig's List: Will snark or knit for cash? Any ideas?
*By the way, regarding the stereotypical (and to me, probably fictonal or created for the male imagination, not the female's) woman's rape fantasy is Margaret Atwoods: In my fantasy, if a guy tries to attack me, I quickly overpower him and call the police. Or maybe not so quickly. No sweeping me off my feet, no making me like it. If anyone discovers the pleasure of pain, such as it is** (and I don't think that's remotely likely) it's the guy who ends up hogtied getting kicked with high-heeled shoes bought just for that purpose.
**Yeah, right. Women all over the world fantasize about the joy of menstrual cramps or the joy of having a thumbnail ripped off.
October 18, 2007
If You Are Squeamish (By Which I Mean: If You Are a Wussy Man), Don't Read This, It's About Birth Control
It's fall, and a middle-aged woman's thoughts turn to annual physicals, the visit to the gynecologist, the opthamologist, and the dentist; the pap smear, the mammogram, the eye exam, and the new and shocking need for what must be reading glasses or bifocals.
I met my gynecologist today. Everything's in working order, but one of the depressing things about being a woman today is this: the older you get, the harder it is to get birth control that you can use and still want to have sex. The pill is increasingly risky as one ages, so this leaves one with a surgical result (tubes tied: but I've had enough abdominal surgery, and really don't like the idea of anyone sticking sharp objects near my squishy parts), the IUD either with hormones or without (I've got the without option right now), and various insertion methods: foam, cream, sponge (It's back! I really understood the whole Spongeworthiness debate in a way I never got anything else about Seinfeld.), none of which are over 90% effective. Of course, that sort of effectiveness got me DestructoGirl, so actually, looked at the right way, it's a blessing. Except at 46 and not looking to marry again, I'd actually like to not get pregnant. (How could I top the work I've already done in this area? That's not really possible.)
Why don't I like the IUD? Well, on the plus side, it's really effective, but on the minus, it increases secretions and all that stuff, so you pretty much need to use pantyliners or pads every damn day. Not good. Also, I've never been too much bothered by my periods, but have had some discomfort. With the IUD, it's more than some. And the period is almost a biblical type flood.
At this point, I scream: I'm 46, goddamnit all. Why can't that be over? But it's increasingly important to use the birth control, if only because of the increased risks of birth defects and my general exhaustion level.
My doctor did mention the reappearance of the much missed sponge (not messy, easy to insert, etc.), which, when combined with condom use (children: use the rubber, okay?) is almost as effective as the Pill or IUD. With none of the extra hormones.
Of course, then I have to have the IUD removed, which promises to be a fun event. Especially since there's some tissue my gyno wants to snip off and biopsy just to be on the safe side. Ew.
Next fun event: tit squishing in November. Ick.
I met my gynecologist today. Everything's in working order, but one of the depressing things about being a woman today is this: the older you get, the harder it is to get birth control that you can use and still want to have sex. The pill is increasingly risky as one ages, so this leaves one with a surgical result (tubes tied: but I've had enough abdominal surgery, and really don't like the idea of anyone sticking sharp objects near my squishy parts), the IUD either with hormones or without (I've got the without option right now), and various insertion methods: foam, cream, sponge (It's back! I really understood the whole Spongeworthiness debate in a way I never got anything else about Seinfeld.), none of which are over 90% effective. Of course, that sort of effectiveness got me DestructoGirl, so actually, looked at the right way, it's a blessing. Except at 46 and not looking to marry again, I'd actually like to not get pregnant. (How could I top the work I've already done in this area? That's not really possible.)
Why don't I like the IUD? Well, on the plus side, it's really effective, but on the minus, it increases secretions and all that stuff, so you pretty much need to use pantyliners or pads every damn day. Not good. Also, I've never been too much bothered by my periods, but have had some discomfort. With the IUD, it's more than some. And the period is almost a biblical type flood.
At this point, I scream: I'm 46, goddamnit all. Why can't that be over? But it's increasingly important to use the birth control, if only because of the increased risks of birth defects and my general exhaustion level.
My doctor did mention the reappearance of the much missed sponge (not messy, easy to insert, etc.), which, when combined with condom use (children: use the rubber, okay?) is almost as effective as the Pill or IUD. With none of the extra hormones.
Of course, then I have to have the IUD removed, which promises to be a fun event. Especially since there's some tissue my gyno wants to snip off and biopsy just to be on the safe side. Ew.
Next fun event: tit squishing in November. Ick.
Miscellania
Arrrrgh! No, it's not talk like a pirate day, although part of the reason I'm screaming Arrrgh is that I missed Talk Like a Pirate Day (September 19), numerous friends' birthdays in the last two months (Innana, Mr. Studmuffin, Francesca, and Francesca's mother, a truly divine human being), and I'm too busy to even write piddly crapola posts.
So here goes a five minute post before descending into the maw of the national capital area's Metro system and becoming the cog in the machine and all that.
TigerGrrl got a responsible position at school: she's sort of Head Girl for her class. I got to observe her behavior at school last week, and having seen it, I'm not surprised. She's well-liked, clever, responsible, and pays attention. Most of the trouble I've gotten into in my live (and that most people get into) seems to result from not paying attention, so I'm taking that as a good sign. And she is very, very pleased with herself and the universe.
The hunt for a new affordable (or at least not financially devastating) child care arrangement really isn't going very well. I'll have something, but it looks like group unlicenced day care. Licensed day care would put me out $1,600/month and that will leave me with exactly $120 to spend on groceries and everything else each month, so I think we can say that's a no go. Really. And that's the supposedly affordable option (the day care at the Y), not one of the more elite private settings. Let me kill myself now.
I'm giving platelets again tonight (apheresis), so at least I'll be doing something for the universe. I do love good works that don't involve me listening to nitwits drone on at meetings.
We have pumpkins, so the girls are ready to carve their jack o'lanterns for Halloween. Halloween costumes have not been sorted yet, but we'll work that out.
I met with Shrink yesterday for a medication check, and apparently I am bouncing back after divorce ("You're doing much better than you were six months ago"), which is probably why I'm writing less. I write more when in a funk, and it cheers me up immensely. Apparently I've dealt with the horriic divorce, ex's insanity, and dire financial consequences with "grace and good cheer". Nice to hear it from a trained professional.
I checked out The Historian, which I plan to read sometime after finishing the Inner Circle> I read a review of it a year or so ago that made a good impression, but I don't really remember why I wanted to read it, just that I did.
I also got some other books and some movies (weekend sans Foilkids): Thank Your For Smoking (watched last night -- a blast), the Colin Firth (yum) Pride and Prejudice (although I'm getting a bit tired or cinematic treatment of Jane Austen -- she's NOT a romantic, thank you very much, and a heroine of her novels would be as likely to kiss a man in the street as she would give him a blow job there so stop with the snogging already in the cinematic adaptations of Jane), and I ♥ Huckabees (existential detectives: I can't wait).
Gotta run.
So here goes a five minute post before descending into the maw of the national capital area's Metro system and becoming the cog in the machine and all that.
TigerGrrl got a responsible position at school: she's sort of Head Girl for her class. I got to observe her behavior at school last week, and having seen it, I'm not surprised. She's well-liked, clever, responsible, and pays attention. Most of the trouble I've gotten into in my live (and that most people get into) seems to result from not paying attention, so I'm taking that as a good sign. And she is very, very pleased with herself and the universe.
The hunt for a new affordable (or at least not financially devastating) child care arrangement really isn't going very well. I'll have something, but it looks like group unlicenced day care. Licensed day care would put me out $1,600/month and that will leave me with exactly $120 to spend on groceries and everything else each month, so I think we can say that's a no go. Really. And that's the supposedly affordable option (the day care at the Y), not one of the more elite private settings. Let me kill myself now.
I'm giving platelets again tonight (apheresis), so at least I'll be doing something for the universe. I do love good works that don't involve me listening to nitwits drone on at meetings.
We have pumpkins, so the girls are ready to carve their jack o'lanterns for Halloween. Halloween costumes have not been sorted yet, but we'll work that out.
I met with Shrink yesterday for a medication check, and apparently I am bouncing back after divorce ("You're doing much better than you were six months ago"), which is probably why I'm writing less. I write more when in a funk, and it cheers me up immensely. Apparently I've dealt with the horriic divorce, ex's insanity, and dire financial consequences with "grace and good cheer". Nice to hear it from a trained professional.
I checked out The Historian, which I plan to read sometime after finishing the Inner Circle> I read a review of it a year or so ago that made a good impression, but I don't really remember why I wanted to read it, just that I did.
I also got some other books and some movies (weekend sans Foilkids): Thank Your For Smoking (watched last night -- a blast), the Colin Firth (yum) Pride and Prejudice (although I'm getting a bit tired or cinematic treatment of Jane Austen -- she's NOT a romantic, thank you very much, and a heroine of her novels would be as likely to kiss a man in the street as she would give him a blow job there so stop with the snogging already in the cinematic adaptations of Jane), and I ♥ Huckabees (existential detectives: I can't wait).
Gotta run.
October 15, 2007
Reading List
I am truly blessed. I may be broke beyond belief. I may be a mid-forties single mother of an eight year-old and a two year-old (although she'll be three soon*), which means I'm just tired all the time, but I do have the resources to revive and recharge right in my backyard. I live in the land of free museums, lots of parks, lots of fall festivals, and more biking and hiking trails than you can shake a stick at.
But best of all is the greatness of the local libraries. Not just the free video, DVD, and CD borrowing, no, it's the books. And they'll borrow from anywhere for you if they don't have it.
So I've been reading. I just finished Hell to Pay,** by George Pelecanos (not to bore you all, but yum, yum, yum) and A Friend of The Earth, by T.C. Boyle. I am now in the middle of The Inner Circle, by T.C. Boyle.
George Pelecanos continues to grow on me, even though I am picking up on the more than repetetive themes, most of them are good themes. I'm not reading his books in chronological order: I'm just checking two books of his out every time I go to the library.
Unfortunately, A Friend of the Earth was a disappointment to me, and The Inner Circle seems to be the same (although I'm still reading, and I might be surprised. The feckless hero of A Friend of the Earth just got on my nerves and I just wanted to slap everyone. Well-written, but the whole "you don't know what you've got til it's gone" vibe of the book seemed almost Updikian. I know Boyle was making that point, but really. It was no Drop City. And okay, with regard to The Inner Circle, it's clear: Alfred Kinsey was an abusive asshole who misused power and all his studies were skewed by his own biases. This is not exactly a newsflash and describing this, however clearly and cogently does not exactly make fore moving literature.
I couldn't even get through Oblivion, by David Foster Wallace. I loved Consider the Lobster, but I need to try something else of his, because if Oblivion had been the first DFW book I read, I never would even think about reading another.
So I'm whining that two authors whose previous work I have enjoyed haven't hit the nail on the head with the recent books I've been reading. But see the silver lining? These are library books. I can get more and different books and not spend a dime. That's why we pay taxes, you know? That and the parks, museums, and bike trails.
*And although I will be very, very sad that my baby is growing up, I don't think there is any happier day than the day of that third birthday when you realized the terrible twos are at least nominally a thing of the past.
**Next on the George-Pelecanos-Is-The-God-Of-My-Idolatry-Reading-List: King Suckerman. Sooner or later I'll check out Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go.
But best of all is the greatness of the local libraries. Not just the free video, DVD, and CD borrowing, no, it's the books. And they'll borrow from anywhere for you if they don't have it.
So I've been reading. I just finished Hell to Pay,** by George Pelecanos (not to bore you all, but yum, yum, yum) and A Friend of The Earth, by T.C. Boyle. I am now in the middle of The Inner Circle, by T.C. Boyle.
George Pelecanos continues to grow on me, even though I am picking up on the more than repetetive themes, most of them are good themes. I'm not reading his books in chronological order: I'm just checking two books of his out every time I go to the library.
Unfortunately, A Friend of the Earth was a disappointment to me, and The Inner Circle seems to be the same (although I'm still reading, and I might be surprised. The feckless hero of A Friend of the Earth just got on my nerves and I just wanted to slap everyone. Well-written, but the whole "you don't know what you've got til it's gone" vibe of the book seemed almost Updikian. I know Boyle was making that point, but really. It was no Drop City. And okay, with regard to The Inner Circle, it's clear: Alfred Kinsey was an abusive asshole who misused power and all his studies were skewed by his own biases. This is not exactly a newsflash and describing this, however clearly and cogently does not exactly make fore moving literature.
I couldn't even get through Oblivion, by David Foster Wallace. I loved Consider the Lobster, but I need to try something else of his, because if Oblivion had been the first DFW book I read, I never would even think about reading another.
So I'm whining that two authors whose previous work I have enjoyed haven't hit the nail on the head with the recent books I've been reading. But see the silver lining? These are library books. I can get more and different books and not spend a dime. That's why we pay taxes, you know? That and the parks, museums, and bike trails.
*And although I will be very, very sad that my baby is growing up, I don't think there is any happier day than the day of that third birthday when you realized the terrible twos are at least nominally a thing of the past.
**Next on the George-Pelecanos-Is-The-God-Of-My-Idolatry-Reading-List: King Suckerman. Sooner or later I'll check out Down by the River Where the Dead Men Go.
October 13, 2007
Nature for Nurturers
Aside from all the museum and theater stuff in the national capital area, there are beaucoup de parks. I haven't been to the National Arboretum in years, but I'll probably get the Foilkids out there this spring when the azaleas are in bloom. Yeah, it's in a bit of a sketchy neighborhood, but they have beautiful plants, including some overly manicured bonsai that always make me want to say: "Hey, just let it grow naturally" as well as enough flowering in spring plants to make you want to turn into a hummingbird or something. And it's free of charge. Dumbarton Oaks isn't free of charge, but it's just a buck or two. (Correction: I just checked, it's $8 per adult, $5 per child or senior citizen, and you can get a seasonal family pass for $85.) But those aren't the best places for kids.
This week, TigerGrrl had a field trip, which I chaperoned. We finally had clear, crisp fall weather, and the trip to the nature center (oodles of them all over the place, I'm not specifying) was a blast with a bunch of eight year olds. Of course, the ability to follow directions is not a given or anything, and I had a couple boys in my little chaperonage party who seemed to think that their future masculinity depended on how many acorns they could collect. The girls in my group, including my tomboy daughter, ran around looking for various leaves, seeds, and other indicia of meadow and woodland life (bird and squirrel nests, animal tracks, animal droppings, fruits on the ground, etc.). The boys got into this big acorn competition. I longed to say: hey, just get hung up on baseball stats now guys -- and you can then use that to see who has the most/biggest nuts. But I didn't, because I'm nice that way.
TigerGrrl, of course, had a blast. She kept running around yelling: "Mama, look at this!" and then showing me a leaf, a sheaf of grass, or some other miracle of the universe. Of course, the whole thing was pretty neat. We saw fungi growing on old stumps, little inch worms eating fallen fruit, various trees we previously wouldn't have known how to identify (and probaby still can't) and generally ran around and had a good time. We also saw some wildlife rescue animals, including a hawk that had been hatched from an egg blown to the ground but miraculously not broken who therefore bonded with the kid who rescued her and fed her after she hatched and therefore thinks she's a person not a hawk and therefore wants to visit and play with visiting schoolchildren and thinks that it is the height of cruelty the she should be separated from such fun potential playmates by a fence. Who knew hawks are social jokey creatures who just wanna have fun?
Ranger Bill showed all the kids around, lectured about protecting the environment, showed how to recognize mint and other herbs that grow around here, and handed out magnifying glasses so that the kids could get in touch with their inner scientist.
Today, I took the Foilkids to Roosevelt Island. The girls and I circumnavigated this fine land mass, and picked up lots of fascinating stones and black walnuts, and approached each and every person walking a dog to ask "Is that a friendly dog?" We saw a chihauhua and a St. Bernard, one right after the other, and both were equally kissy, although the St. Bernard was a smidge more slobbery. DestructoGirl showed her keen powers of observation by informing the couple walking the St. Bernard "that's a big dog". They were quite pleased to learn this astounding news about their pet (they possibly both work in the White House) and praised DestructoGirl's analytical and descriptive skills.
One pair of young men ran the two mile loop of the island at least three times with their nice dog Kaya. Each time they ran past us I informed the girls not to stop the men with a question about the dog as it was a running dog and would not want to be stopped. However, the men and dog did a cool down lap, at which point, being out of breath and weak, they were powerless to resist my daughters, who got even more dog patting out of their system. Oodles of labs in bandanas, too.
Roosevelt Island? Free of charge, of course.
Tomorrow: the pumpkin patch.
This week, TigerGrrl had a field trip, which I chaperoned. We finally had clear, crisp fall weather, and the trip to the nature center (oodles of them all over the place, I'm not specifying) was a blast with a bunch of eight year olds. Of course, the ability to follow directions is not a given or anything, and I had a couple boys in my little chaperonage party who seemed to think that their future masculinity depended on how many acorns they could collect. The girls in my group, including my tomboy daughter, ran around looking for various leaves, seeds, and other indicia of meadow and woodland life (bird and squirrel nests, animal tracks, animal droppings, fruits on the ground, etc.). The boys got into this big acorn competition. I longed to say: hey, just get hung up on baseball stats now guys -- and you can then use that to see who has the most/biggest nuts. But I didn't, because I'm nice that way.
TigerGrrl, of course, had a blast. She kept running around yelling: "Mama, look at this!" and then showing me a leaf, a sheaf of grass, or some other miracle of the universe. Of course, the whole thing was pretty neat. We saw fungi growing on old stumps, little inch worms eating fallen fruit, various trees we previously wouldn't have known how to identify (and probaby still can't) and generally ran around and had a good time. We also saw some wildlife rescue animals, including a hawk that had been hatched from an egg blown to the ground but miraculously not broken who therefore bonded with the kid who rescued her and fed her after she hatched and therefore thinks she's a person not a hawk and therefore wants to visit and play with visiting schoolchildren and thinks that it is the height of cruelty the she should be separated from such fun potential playmates by a fence. Who knew hawks are social jokey creatures who just wanna have fun?
Ranger Bill showed all the kids around, lectured about protecting the environment, showed how to recognize mint and other herbs that grow around here, and handed out magnifying glasses so that the kids could get in touch with their inner scientist.
Today, I took the Foilkids to Roosevelt Island. The girls and I circumnavigated this fine land mass, and picked up lots of fascinating stones and black walnuts, and approached each and every person walking a dog to ask "Is that a friendly dog?" We saw a chihauhua and a St. Bernard, one right after the other, and both were equally kissy, although the St. Bernard was a smidge more slobbery. DestructoGirl showed her keen powers of observation by informing the couple walking the St. Bernard "that's a big dog". They were quite pleased to learn this astounding news about their pet (they possibly both work in the White House) and praised DestructoGirl's analytical and descriptive skills.
One pair of young men ran the two mile loop of the island at least three times with their nice dog Kaya. Each time they ran past us I informed the girls not to stop the men with a question about the dog as it was a running dog and would not want to be stopped. However, the men and dog did a cool down lap, at which point, being out of breath and weak, they were powerless to resist my daughters, who got even more dog patting out of their system. Oodles of labs in bandanas, too.
Roosevelt Island? Free of charge, of course.
Tomorrow: the pumpkin patch.
October 10, 2007
When Do You Ever Know Someone?
I love my mother, the FoilMormor. I really do. That said, I'm glad she doesn't read this blog because I am going to cut loose. As usual, we're reaching the end of our weekly serial, and I am in crisis. This crisis has revealed something about FoilMormor that I already knew, didn't like, and have been pretending I had forgotten about for awhile. But she's back.
The crisis is this: the Saintly Babysitter (SB) may be leaving me. This hurts a whole lot more than being broken up with by Nguyen, trust me. But that is like saying infinity is more than zero. SB moving on is something I really care about.
There are two parts to SB's potential (and likely) departure. First, while I have managed to get SB health insurance, I haven't been able to give her a much deserved raise this last year. She's earning well below market at this point, even when you include the room and board she gets. She certainly deserves to earn more, but I can't afford to pay her more.
Second, SB has always lived near her cousin, who sponsored her to come to the U.S. The cousin is in the middle of a divorce that will apparently rival mine in bitterness and nastiness, and will be relocating to Texas (why?) shortly. SB wants to stay near her only family in the U.S.
PdeFF will chip in a bit (I'm shocked, as you are, I know) for a raise, but that won't be enought to enable SB to visit Texas frequently, so the reality is that SB is planning her move. I'm sad.
I've told SB that she can always come back, even if I've hired someone else and she sleeps on the couch (it's comfy, isn't it, Cookie?) and I've written a letter of reference for SB for her job search. Departure looks to be in December or January, and I have begun the search for affordable day care, talking to neighbors, visiting local licensed establishments (which I cannot afford) and also checking out the less-licensed places that I can't afford either but which I can't afford a little bit less than I can't afford the licensed places.
I called FoilMormor to tell her the news, and FoilMormor suggested that I offer to pay SB the cost of her health insurance if she'd rather have the cash. Then FoilMormor suggested that I threaten SB with some undisclosed national security/immigration investigation. SB is here legally, but most foreigners in the U.S., particularly Muslims, are not anxious to have any interaction with Department of Homeland Security (such a euphonious sounding governmental agency, but also rather Orwellian, I think) or have any cloud on their immigration status.
What does one say when one's mother recommends something so heinous? And why would I want to threaten the woman who lovingly cares for my children? Morally, that would just be bankrupt.
I saw MNOT tonight and told her of these events, and asked if I were overreacting. No, she said, someone whose reaction to someone else doing something totally within their rights (leaving a job, for example, in a society that has abolished slavery yea these last hundred forty two years) by suggesting blackmail and threats is really just a tad narcissistic. Ugh. And this is someone I love.
I've (not too convincingly, I must say) told myself that the Second Mate's recent illness and FoilMormor's aging are the stressors that have brought on this narcissism, but really, it's always been there. Yet this is the woman who single-handedly got me out of the house of insanity that was the former ChezFoil (with then Mr. Foilwoman/now Insane Ex hovering about).
Wouldn't it be nice if the people we generally love and admire didn't do things that made us realize that they are truly flawed, capable of evil, and just nasty and unadmirable at times?
Well, the ennui is gone. I want it back.
The crisis is this: the Saintly Babysitter (SB) may be leaving me. This hurts a whole lot more than being broken up with by Nguyen, trust me. But that is like saying infinity is more than zero. SB moving on is something I really care about.
There are two parts to SB's potential (and likely) departure. First, while I have managed to get SB health insurance, I haven't been able to give her a much deserved raise this last year. She's earning well below market at this point, even when you include the room and board she gets. She certainly deserves to earn more, but I can't afford to pay her more.
Second, SB has always lived near her cousin, who sponsored her to come to the U.S. The cousin is in the middle of a divorce that will apparently rival mine in bitterness and nastiness, and will be relocating to Texas (why?) shortly. SB wants to stay near her only family in the U.S.
PdeFF will chip in a bit (I'm shocked, as you are, I know) for a raise, but that won't be enought to enable SB to visit Texas frequently, so the reality is that SB is planning her move. I'm sad.
I've told SB that she can always come back, even if I've hired someone else and she sleeps on the couch (it's comfy, isn't it, Cookie?) and I've written a letter of reference for SB for her job search. Departure looks to be in December or January, and I have begun the search for affordable day care, talking to neighbors, visiting local licensed establishments (which I cannot afford) and also checking out the less-licensed places that I can't afford either but which I can't afford a little bit less than I can't afford the licensed places.
I called FoilMormor to tell her the news, and FoilMormor suggested that I offer to pay SB the cost of her health insurance if she'd rather have the cash. Then FoilMormor suggested that I threaten SB with some undisclosed national security/immigration investigation. SB is here legally, but most foreigners in the U.S., particularly Muslims, are not anxious to have any interaction with Department of Homeland Security (such a euphonious sounding governmental agency, but also rather Orwellian, I think) or have any cloud on their immigration status.
What does one say when one's mother recommends something so heinous? And why would I want to threaten the woman who lovingly cares for my children? Morally, that would just be bankrupt.
I saw MNOT tonight and told her of these events, and asked if I were overreacting. No, she said, someone whose reaction to someone else doing something totally within their rights (leaving a job, for example, in a society that has abolished slavery yea these last hundred forty two years) by suggesting blackmail and threats is really just a tad narcissistic. Ugh. And this is someone I love.
I've (not too convincingly, I must say) told myself that the Second Mate's recent illness and FoilMormor's aging are the stressors that have brought on this narcissism, but really, it's always been there. Yet this is the woman who single-handedly got me out of the house of insanity that was the former ChezFoil (with then Mr. Foilwoman/now Insane Ex hovering about).
Wouldn't it be nice if the people we generally love and admire didn't do things that made us realize that they are truly flawed, capable of evil, and just nasty and unadmirable at times?
Well, the ennui is gone. I want it back.
October 9, 2007
No Accounting for Taste and More Free Stuff
One of my fatal flaws is my wish to be extraordinary and interesting. Unordinary. Of course, I am incredibly ordinary. Most people do this to some degree or other: they construct a narrative of interesting deeds or character traits or whatever that they consider to be unique to themselves. And 45,000,000 other people on the planet.
I've been congratulating myself on my culturedness, but really, I'm just broke and the museums in this town are free. But it makes me wonder. I saw the Edward Hopper exhibit at the East Buidling of the National Gallery of Art, as well as the Jasper Johns print exhibit. I've always liked Edward Hopper and I've never had much interest in Jasper Johns. Now is where I should launch on an explanation that shows my erudition and good taste, but really, Hopper's paintings just make more sense to me, I like the colors, and the painting of quotidian life really strikes a chord with me. Jasper John's twitchy little prints? Not so much.
This doesn't mean anything except that for some reason Hopper speaks to me and Johns doesn't. Similarly, wandering through the rest of the East Building, I realized that really, I don't have much use for Picasso. His use of colors stinks. His pictures are not a pleasure to look at. Whatever artistry the rest of the world sees? I don't. Joan Miro, better, but not by much. Now, Dali's Last Supper is a painting (in the West Building) that I can really admire.
I just saw the Arte Latino and Earl Cunningham's America exhibits at the Smithsonian Art Museum (National Portrait Gallery Building), and enjoyed both, but I enjoyed the two Hopper paintings that museum had more. Why? Dunno. Need to figure that out.
But even though I like colorful paintings and representational rather than abstract painting (but I like Mondrian), some things just grab you. John Singer Sargeant's portraits grab me, but not as much as Mary Cassat's and Berthe Morisot's paintings of women (somehow Cassat and Morisot seem to really see their subjects in a way that Sargeant does not).
On the No-Spending-Money-Here-While-Feigning-Culture theme, the Washington Shakespeare Theater in Crystal City is having pay what you can night (October 11, and also every Saturday matinee). Of course, it's Camus's Caligula, which is sure to be a laff riot. ("Caligula, the musical" said Innana. I asked Innana: "Will there be singing or tap-dancing?" Probably not. What do you think? A play about an insane and murderous Roman emperor by a French existentialist. Sure to be full o' the belly laughs.) I thought I said I was done with existentialists? Of course, TigerGrrl's favorite book right now is Andre Maurois's Fattypuffs and Thinifers.
I'll add links later. Have to get back to the office.
I've been congratulating myself on my culturedness, but really, I'm just broke and the museums in this town are free. But it makes me wonder. I saw the Edward Hopper exhibit at the East Buidling of the National Gallery of Art, as well as the Jasper Johns print exhibit. I've always liked Edward Hopper and I've never had much interest in Jasper Johns. Now is where I should launch on an explanation that shows my erudition and good taste, but really, Hopper's paintings just make more sense to me, I like the colors, and the painting of quotidian life really strikes a chord with me. Jasper John's twitchy little prints? Not so much.
This doesn't mean anything except that for some reason Hopper speaks to me and Johns doesn't. Similarly, wandering through the rest of the East Building, I realized that really, I don't have much use for Picasso. His use of colors stinks. His pictures are not a pleasure to look at. Whatever artistry the rest of the world sees? I don't. Joan Miro, better, but not by much. Now, Dali's Last Supper is a painting (in the West Building) that I can really admire.
I just saw the Arte Latino and Earl Cunningham's America exhibits at the Smithsonian Art Museum (National Portrait Gallery Building), and enjoyed both, but I enjoyed the two Hopper paintings that museum had more. Why? Dunno. Need to figure that out.
But even though I like colorful paintings and representational rather than abstract painting (but I like Mondrian), some things just grab you. John Singer Sargeant's portraits grab me, but not as much as Mary Cassat's and Berthe Morisot's paintings of women (somehow Cassat and Morisot seem to really see their subjects in a way that Sargeant does not).
On the No-Spending-Money-Here-While-Feigning-Culture theme, the Washington Shakespeare Theater in Crystal City is having pay what you can night (October 11, and also every Saturday matinee). Of course, it's Camus's Caligula, which is sure to be a laff riot. ("Caligula, the musical" said Innana. I asked Innana: "Will there be singing or tap-dancing?" Probably not. What do you think? A play about an insane and murderous Roman emperor by a French existentialist. Sure to be full o' the belly laughs.) I thought I said I was done with existentialists? Of course, TigerGrrl's favorite book right now is Andre Maurois's Fattypuffs and Thinifers.
I'll add links later. Have to get back to the office.
October 7, 2007
Ennui
I'm just a smidge bored right now. In addition to getting my middle-aged derriere off to the library for new reading material (I'm just not getting involved in any of the twenty books I currently have checked out), I need to step up the learn-to-surf campaign and possibly add another bunch of hijinks. What to do? All suggestions welcome.
Also, under free fun, aside from books, consider the library: Harry Potter tapes for long car trips with TigerGrrl and oodles of videos and DVDs. In the past two weeks I have watched Walk the Line, Maria Full of Grace, The Station Agent, Quinceañera, and The 40 Year Old Virgin. I paid nothing. Not a $2 blockbluster rental, nothing to Netflix. All free of charge for me with my library card. Of course, I take what's available, but to my knowledge, the plot of 40 Year Old Virgin didn't change from when it was in theaters, to when it was a big rental item, to know. Now if they'd just stock 28 Days Later and The Hills Have Eyes, I'd have late night video watching material for my current mood. Alas. No horror to be found there: I mean, I don't consider The Eyes of Laura Mars horror.
Also, under free fun, aside from books, consider the library: Harry Potter tapes for long car trips with TigerGrrl and oodles of videos and DVDs. In the past two weeks I have watched Walk the Line, Maria Full of Grace, The Station Agent, Quinceañera, and The 40 Year Old Virgin. I paid nothing. Not a $2 blockbluster rental, nothing to Netflix. All free of charge for me with my library card. Of course, I take what's available, but to my knowledge, the plot of 40 Year Old Virgin didn't change from when it was in theaters, to when it was a big rental item, to know. Now if they'd just stock 28 Days Later and The Hills Have Eyes, I'd have late night video watching material for my current mood. Alas. No horror to be found there: I mean, I don't consider The Eyes of Laura Mars horror.
October 6, 2007
Thank You, Your Eminence
Human cupidity and stupidity know no bounds, clearly. How can you be arranging to have an affair with your own spouse? The fact that the two absolutely loathe each other rather makes you wonder whether either will gain any insight into their own self-deception. His Eminence kindly set the link to this hilarious, yet rather disturbing post, and I just had to write about it for all of the greater metropolitan capital area. Or at least the seven hundred or more people who read DC Blogs regularly. Please excuse the coding errors in the post.
October 5, 2007
More Free Activities in DC
I snuck in a lunchtime tour of the J.W.W. Turner exhibition at the National Gallery of Art, which was enjoyable, but didn't knock my socks off. Still, free. There was a fair amount of explanation of how his painting style matured. It probably did. However, his late paintings, such as this one seem like those of a man losing his eyesight rather than those of wildly improved artists. He's focusing on the light because that's all he can see. Now I need to research this more, and see if my theory is right or wrong.
Next lunchtime quickie tour: The Edward Hopper (I love that guy) exhibit. We'll see.
Next lunchtime quickie tour: The Edward Hopper (I love that guy) exhibit. We'll see.
October 4, 2007
Typos
I am the queen of typos. I am trying not to be, but it is not easy. I blog best when I simply write the post in the blogger entry form and post it immediately. Several times I have tried writing separately, saving the post, and then pulling it up and posting. That technique does not work for a confessional (as it were: I'm not confessing, I'm just narrating what I see as I see it to the extent I think it deserves comment*) blog such as mine. I'm trying to work on the typos, but a review of the last few posts indicates I'm not succeeding. My apologies.
*Speaking of which, lawyers having lunch at the Au Bon Pain near D.C. Superior Court: If you are attending a hearing in court, doubtless your client's opponent and his or her lawyer is doing so as well. Editing your brief, doing your research, with client notes etc. in plain sight really isn't even paying lip serve to keeping client confidentiality, much less preserving privilege. So CUT IT OUT! If I can read about your clients history of lower back pain (really: not worth suing over), so can everyone else. Keep secrets secret. Don't air them in public, especially when it is your professional duty to keep those secrets secret. Thank you. This is a Foilwoman public service announcement (FPSA).
*Speaking of which, lawyers having lunch at the Au Bon Pain near D.C. Superior Court: If you are attending a hearing in court, doubtless your client's opponent and his or her lawyer is doing so as well. Editing your brief, doing your research, with client notes etc. in plain sight really isn't even paying lip serve to keeping client confidentiality, much less preserving privilege. So CUT IT OUT! If I can read about your clients history of lower back pain (really: not worth suing over), so can everyone else. Keep secrets secret. Don't air them in public, especially when it is your professional duty to keep those secrets secret. Thank you. This is a Foilwoman public service announcement (FPSA).
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