I feel done with my blog. I can feel an inward gravity pulling me in and away from writing for an audience. I feel an urge to limit outside communication and a need to work on the stories sitting in my brain.
Writing for an audience is one of the things that I've loved so much about doing this blog. I've appreciated how many of you have told me you like reading my posts, and I've always enjoyed the comments you've posted.
I'm thinking that it's time someone else picked up the mantle. We can do a serial blog, like those progressive dinner parties of the 80's. I've done the appetizer, now it's time for someone to serve up an entree.
In case I'm just in a mood, I'm leaving my blog up for a week or two, but I fully expect to delete the whole thing from the ether.
So, thanks for the insights, the commentary, the camaraderie. Merry meet, merry part, and merry meet again.
Monday, September 29, 2008
Thursday, September 25, 2008
Tiny But Mighty
This here is a picture of my cutie-pie niece, Sofia, the one who was born 3 months premature at 1 pound, 12 oz. She's a testament to modern science, the tireless love and care of her parents, and to her own indomitable will. She was born tiny-but-mighty and those of us in her extended family are glad to see her growing up and doing all the things full-term babies do without any lasting harm from her early entrance and 3 months in the ICU.This here is a shout out to my brother and his wife, and all the parents who begin their job not in the way they expected but adapt and rally to the challenge, visiting their preemie in the ICU , holding her, loving her and praying every second that she will hang on to the tiny life they can't imagine doing without. Here's to the doctors and nurses who provide around-the-clock care to these nascent lives who deserved a better start than a hurried ejection from the womb.
Let's all celebrate the gift of new life, the miracles brought by scientific knowledge and the love in parents and the rest of us that cares for the tiniest among us.
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Political Inaction
I've been chewing on SJD's thoughtful reflections to yesterday's post, where she wonders if all of us observers of the political scene need to get off our butts and get more involved (she put it much more gently). I can see her point. It's that old "If you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem," scenario. I can see that, yet my bottom line is that I don't wanna.
Part of it stems from living with vocal conservatives for much of my upbringing. I have long since learned the futility of trying to disabuse people of long-held, strongly-held convictions, especially when those convictions have been elevated to the status of holy writ. My picture of getting more involved politically involves having to talk to those kinds of people in an effort to persuade them to relinquish their cherished beliefs.
It is my conviction that there is a fundamental world view difference between Dems and Pubs, based on values and life experiences, such that talking about our favorite candidate and why s/he's better won't change any minds. It'd be like trying to persuade someone why your religion (or lack thereof) is so much better than their belief system. I think that's why emotionally charged negative campaigns are so effective with the hoi polloi; the messages of fear and hate sink into the subconscious and burrow into the fertile ground of values and emotions that has already taken up residence.
Here's an example of what I mean. Right now Congress is hearing testimony about the great Wall Street bailout and how it's critical or our entire financial infrastructure will collapse. We're told that if this bailout doesn't happen we will be visited by the four horseman of the Apocalypse : rampant inflation, more foreclosures, increased unemployment, increased bankruptcies.
None of want that, of course. That sounds very scary. Yet I have no idea if that forecast is true. Neither do most people. There are dissenting voices, who say the government shouldn't get involved. How am I to know who or what to believe?
I think most people will believe what already fits their worldview. Is the world a safe place where most things work out, or is the world teetering on the brink of disaster so we should do all we can to shore up the barricades?
Of course, this is a very simplistic response, and I know there are readers who are way better informed than I am, but on this subject--economics--I am way out of my depth. So, I have to react with my gut, which is what I think most people do when faced with issues beyond their scope.
National and international governance is similarly beyond my scope. So, I want to vote for leaders I can trust whose basic worldview and opinion on issues is similar to mine. That's as much attention as I want to give it. I have other interests, other focuses in my life. The way I see it, the world is filled with causes worth dedicating one's time and interest--animal rights, women's rights, civil rights, the environment, peace and justice, etc. etc. etc. They're all good, all equally valuable and important in helping create a better world. So, I'm not going to step up my political involvement, leaving it to those for whom it's a passion.
That's my view today. We'll see what the morrow brings.
Part of it stems from living with vocal conservatives for much of my upbringing. I have long since learned the futility of trying to disabuse people of long-held, strongly-held convictions, especially when those convictions have been elevated to the status of holy writ. My picture of getting more involved politically involves having to talk to those kinds of people in an effort to persuade them to relinquish their cherished beliefs.
It is my conviction that there is a fundamental world view difference between Dems and Pubs, based on values and life experiences, such that talking about our favorite candidate and why s/he's better won't change any minds. It'd be like trying to persuade someone why your religion (or lack thereof) is so much better than their belief system. I think that's why emotionally charged negative campaigns are so effective with the hoi polloi; the messages of fear and hate sink into the subconscious and burrow into the fertile ground of values and emotions that has already taken up residence.
Here's an example of what I mean. Right now Congress is hearing testimony about the great Wall Street bailout and how it's critical or our entire financial infrastructure will collapse. We're told that if this bailout doesn't happen we will be visited by the four horseman of the Apocalypse : rampant inflation, more foreclosures, increased unemployment, increased bankruptcies.
None of want that, of course. That sounds very scary. Yet I have no idea if that forecast is true. Neither do most people. There are dissenting voices, who say the government shouldn't get involved. How am I to know who or what to believe?
I think most people will believe what already fits their worldview. Is the world a safe place where most things work out, or is the world teetering on the brink of disaster so we should do all we can to shore up the barricades?
Of course, this is a very simplistic response, and I know there are readers who are way better informed than I am, but on this subject--economics--I am way out of my depth. So, I have to react with my gut, which is what I think most people do when faced with issues beyond their scope.
National and international governance is similarly beyond my scope. So, I want to vote for leaders I can trust whose basic worldview and opinion on issues is similar to mine. That's as much attention as I want to give it. I have other interests, other focuses in my life. The way I see it, the world is filled with causes worth dedicating one's time and interest--animal rights, women's rights, civil rights, the environment, peace and justice, etc. etc. etc. They're all good, all equally valuable and important in helping create a better world. So, I'm not going to step up my political involvement, leaving it to those for whom it's a passion.
That's my view today. We'll see what the morrow brings.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Women Against Palin
I read online yesterday that 25% of Clinton supporters now support Sarah Palin. I hope that isn't true for so many reasons. First, I don't want the Republicans to win in November. Second, it points to how many women feel oppressed and angry so that any woman power is better in their minds than no woman in power, no matter what her views. Third, it points to the triumph of the politics of fear and that I just can't abide.
Luckily, there is good news. I encourage you to check-out how some Alaskan women feel about Sarah Palin (brought to my attention by savvy reader Micky):
http://mudflats.wordpress.com/2008/09/14/alaska-women-reject-palin-rally-is-huge/
Luckily, there is good news. I encourage you to check-out how some Alaskan women feel about Sarah Palin (brought to my attention by savvy reader Micky):
http://mudflats.wordpress.com/2008/09/14/alaska-women-reject-palin-rally-is-huge/
Monday, September 22, 2008
Warding Off Winter's Chill
Fall has officially arrived and I'm not ready. I usually love this season with the crispness in the air, the leaves dressing up the trees, the clear blue skies in between bouts of rain. This year, all I can think about is that winter follows behind fall and I'm not at all looking forward to the dreary cold that is winter in the Pacific Northwest. I don't feel recovered from last winter that stretched into a very cold spring. I find myself sympathizing with the squirrels, wanting to stockpile wood and food and cook hearty meals and freeze the leftovers. Maybe that's natural. Maybe feeling the urge to bring in the harvest and stockpile against the dangerous unkowns that winter brings is built in to our DNA.
With all the bad economic news and the nasty political campaigns this election season maybe hunkering down is also a natural protective response against the wintry relations that beset the human family at this time. I no longer follow the national election. When local TV campaign ads foul the air in my family room , I mute the ads and avert my eyes. I take walks and cast my eyes to the heavens, seeking solace in the autumnal finery. I read cook books looking for tasty recipes that will offer solid eats.
With so much of the world news running to bad and worse--and completely out of my control--I find that the simple acts of nourishing my family, cleaning our clothes, beautifying our home calm me and root me in the present moment, which is all I can count on. Winter will arrive whether I will it or no. In the meantime our backyard maple is turning from green to red, as if the tip of each leaf had been dipped in a wet sunset and hung up to dry on the branches.
There is beauty before me, out my back window, beauty around me in the love of my family, beauty under me in the warmth and security of my home, beauty over me in the hope for better times. In the meantime, there is fall and the promise that to everything there is a season.
With all the bad economic news and the nasty political campaigns this election season maybe hunkering down is also a natural protective response against the wintry relations that beset the human family at this time. I no longer follow the national election. When local TV campaign ads foul the air in my family room , I mute the ads and avert my eyes. I take walks and cast my eyes to the heavens, seeking solace in the autumnal finery. I read cook books looking for tasty recipes that will offer solid eats.
With so much of the world news running to bad and worse--and completely out of my control--I find that the simple acts of nourishing my family, cleaning our clothes, beautifying our home calm me and root me in the present moment, which is all I can count on. Winter will arrive whether I will it or no. In the meantime our backyard maple is turning from green to red, as if the tip of each leaf had been dipped in a wet sunset and hung up to dry on the branches.
There is beauty before me, out my back window, beauty around me in the love of my family, beauty under me in the warmth and security of my home, beauty over me in the hope for better times. In the meantime, there is fall and the promise that to everything there is a season.
Tuesday, September 16, 2008
Stock Worth Owning
The stock market brings out my inner Puritan. "It's not right," I mutter while wearing my buckle shoes and broad-brimmed hat, "to bet money on a company's strength hoping its corner of the market will grow. Why, it's little more than gambling!"
Well, stock market gamblers have lost a bundle in the last two days, adding to the general economic woes facing the nation. Not owning any stocks--and my husband being years away from needing his pension--I am not too troubled. However, I am sure there is some way that even those of us not gambling in the market will nevertheless be screwed in some sort of trickling down of the deep doo doo. I can't wait.
The stock market also evokes my pioneer farmer: "What do you mean you're worth $50,000 more this month than last!? Where is that wealth? In corn? In cows? Is there a building somewhere with your name on the deed? No? What do you mean the numbers on the paper are higher? That and ten cents will get you a cup of coffee. The only stock worth owning is livestock you young whippersnapper!" Then I stomp off to the barn in my big boots to slop the hogs mumbling all the while about the world is getting to.
So, while I can vaguely sympathize with the Wall Street turmoil, I mostly feel the need to smudge my house and protect myself from the financial bad juju that has afflicted the nation. Maybe if we did a sacrificial offering to the Gods, they would stop being so angry and our stock would rise.
Hey, maybe I'm on to something. What monumental sacrilege occurred recently that might have offended the Gods who then sent Ike to punish us and brought down the mighty Lehman Brothers? Something big. Something so offensive the great Tina Fey was compelled to return to Saturday Night Live to help us see the error of our ways (although you can no longer see that video on YouTube and need to search http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/ for a clip).
Rumor has it that Alaska and Texas are two of the biggest states in this great United States. Only those two states could have produced politicians who have brought down the wrath of the Gods upon the rest of us. The rise to power of She Who Must Not Be Named and W has threatened the very bedrock of what this country holds dear--the right to gamble and win and the right to gamble, lose and get bailed out by the government.
We cannot bring back the old ways of public stonings or hangings; we are enlightened now and fight supernatural curses with letters to the editor, donations to political opponents of the evildoers, and a wielding of that supreme weapon The Vote. So, those of you who see the blight upon our land for what it is--the curse of the Gods brought on by the RNC and the nomination of Palin & McCain who will continue The Bush Doctrine even if she doesn't know what it is--it is time to reclaim this great country for those of us who have kept to the old ways, those of us who rise when commanded by our alarm clocks, drink coffee made at home in a Mr. Coffee, and who stash our paychecks with its decreased earning power after inflation where God intended--not the stock market for God's sake--but under our mattresses.
Well, stock market gamblers have lost a bundle in the last two days, adding to the general economic woes facing the nation. Not owning any stocks--and my husband being years away from needing his pension--I am not too troubled. However, I am sure there is some way that even those of us not gambling in the market will nevertheless be screwed in some sort of trickling down of the deep doo doo. I can't wait.
The stock market also evokes my pioneer farmer: "What do you mean you're worth $50,000 more this month than last!? Where is that wealth? In corn? In cows? Is there a building somewhere with your name on the deed? No? What do you mean the numbers on the paper are higher? That and ten cents will get you a cup of coffee. The only stock worth owning is livestock you young whippersnapper!" Then I stomp off to the barn in my big boots to slop the hogs mumbling all the while about the world is getting to.
So, while I can vaguely sympathize with the Wall Street turmoil, I mostly feel the need to smudge my house and protect myself from the financial bad juju that has afflicted the nation. Maybe if we did a sacrificial offering to the Gods, they would stop being so angry and our stock would rise.
Hey, maybe I'm on to something. What monumental sacrilege occurred recently that might have offended the Gods who then sent Ike to punish us and brought down the mighty Lehman Brothers? Something big. Something so offensive the great Tina Fey was compelled to return to Saturday Night Live to help us see the error of our ways (although you can no longer see that video on YouTube and need to search http://www.nbc.com/Saturday_Night_Live/video/ for a clip).
Rumor has it that Alaska and Texas are two of the biggest states in this great United States. Only those two states could have produced politicians who have brought down the wrath of the Gods upon the rest of us. The rise to power of She Who Must Not Be Named and W has threatened the very bedrock of what this country holds dear--the right to gamble and win and the right to gamble, lose and get bailed out by the government.
We cannot bring back the old ways of public stonings or hangings; we are enlightened now and fight supernatural curses with letters to the editor, donations to political opponents of the evildoers, and a wielding of that supreme weapon The Vote. So, those of you who see the blight upon our land for what it is--the curse of the Gods brought on by the RNC and the nomination of Palin & McCain who will continue The Bush Doctrine even if she doesn't know what it is--it is time to reclaim this great country for those of us who have kept to the old ways, those of us who rise when commanded by our alarm clocks, drink coffee made at home in a Mr. Coffee, and who stash our paychecks with its decreased earning power after inflation where God intended--not the stock market for God's sake--but under our mattresses.
Monday, September 15, 2008
The Book of Life
Sometimes when I crack open a novel and start to read the first page I get overwhelmed. So many new people, new lives to encounter, a whole new world to inhabit. Of course, that's what attracts me about stories, usually, but on some days it's just a little more than I can take.
Reading novels makes me a voyeur into lives I watch through the window of my imagination. There is no reciprocity, no chance for a real, human connection. Sometimes, this makes me sad because it's reminiscent of real life, of my experience with acquaintances I encounter semi-regularly. I don't really know them and they don't really know me, not in any personal or profound way. Co-workers are often like this, not real friends, just people with whom one has a point of contact--the job--but nothing more.
Sometimes, I want something more. Often I feel as though I see people, really see who they are, but can't communicate that because they don't know that I've had that glimpse into their hearts and might be uncomfortable if they knew what I'd seen. With fictional characters it doesn't matter. Their lives are spelled out on the page for anyone brave enough to enter, laid bare by the author who tells on their sex lives, what they look like naked, their secret fears, the longings of their hearts. If I'm not up for that much exposure to another's soul, I can close the book and read it another time.
Real life isn't like that. I don't have that kind of control over what I see. It can be quite painful to me to have unauthorized glimpses into people's souls, especially when I care about someone and see hurt or vulnerability that I'm not in a position to acknowledge. Of course, if I don't care about the person, then I'm much freer to blow them off, to look the other way, to pretend I haven't seen their private wounds.
Perhaps we all do this--see yet do nothing because it's not our place, because the relationship doesn't allow for it. I don't really know as I've never talked about this with anyone. Perhaps being compassionate means seeing, caring, doing what is possible given the nature of the relationship. The help I might like to give isn't necessarily help the person wants to receive.
It works the other way, too. For example, I don't like to give money to panhandlers because I don't like the nature of the relationship it forces upon both of us: Victim of life in need of monetary handout on one side; fortune's favorite dispensing largess on the other. I don't believe in either of those roles yet that's the nature of the relationship implied in panhandling. And I'm inconsistent because some days I give money because that's the only point of contact allowed and it seems to me that some positive human connection is better than none.
Some positive human connection is better than none. I guess that's what I aspire to in my relationships, even when the depth falls short of what might be possible. When even that little bit of positive connection isn't possible, then I'll simply retreat from the field and escape into a good book where all the messiness of the human condition can be neatly contained between two pieces of cardboard.
Reading novels makes me a voyeur into lives I watch through the window of my imagination. There is no reciprocity, no chance for a real, human connection. Sometimes, this makes me sad because it's reminiscent of real life, of my experience with acquaintances I encounter semi-regularly. I don't really know them and they don't really know me, not in any personal or profound way. Co-workers are often like this, not real friends, just people with whom one has a point of contact--the job--but nothing more.
Sometimes, I want something more. Often I feel as though I see people, really see who they are, but can't communicate that because they don't know that I've had that glimpse into their hearts and might be uncomfortable if they knew what I'd seen. With fictional characters it doesn't matter. Their lives are spelled out on the page for anyone brave enough to enter, laid bare by the author who tells on their sex lives, what they look like naked, their secret fears, the longings of their hearts. If I'm not up for that much exposure to another's soul, I can close the book and read it another time.
Real life isn't like that. I don't have that kind of control over what I see. It can be quite painful to me to have unauthorized glimpses into people's souls, especially when I care about someone and see hurt or vulnerability that I'm not in a position to acknowledge. Of course, if I don't care about the person, then I'm much freer to blow them off, to look the other way, to pretend I haven't seen their private wounds.
Perhaps we all do this--see yet do nothing because it's not our place, because the relationship doesn't allow for it. I don't really know as I've never talked about this with anyone. Perhaps being compassionate means seeing, caring, doing what is possible given the nature of the relationship. The help I might like to give isn't necessarily help the person wants to receive.
It works the other way, too. For example, I don't like to give money to panhandlers because I don't like the nature of the relationship it forces upon both of us: Victim of life in need of monetary handout on one side; fortune's favorite dispensing largess on the other. I don't believe in either of those roles yet that's the nature of the relationship implied in panhandling. And I'm inconsistent because some days I give money because that's the only point of contact allowed and it seems to me that some positive human connection is better than none.
Some positive human connection is better than none. I guess that's what I aspire to in my relationships, even when the depth falls short of what might be possible. When even that little bit of positive connection isn't possible, then I'll simply retreat from the field and escape into a good book where all the messiness of the human condition can be neatly contained between two pieces of cardboard.
Thursday, September 11, 2008
A Jury of Our Peers
Jury duty was a bust. I got up at the crack of dawn, dropped my daughter early off at school, raced downtown (all the lights were green) and made it to the jury room in plenty of time to wait with the 200 or so other poor souls who were carted off to purgatory with me.
Actually, it wasn't bad at all. The woman giving our jury instructions had a spiel to rival Southwest flight attendants. We also saw an informative video that dramatized jury service from the point of view of a prospective juror--a pearl-wearing, well-dressed white woman 55 or so-- and that of the defendant who was younger, Hispanic, had an accent, requested an interpreter, and was accused of battery against another youngish Hispanic man.
"Bar fight," I figured when I saw the two men. Couldn't help it. Knee jerk reaction, aided and abetted by the racial profiling portrayed in our informative videos. All the attorneys and judges portrayed in the video were white. The jurors portrayed were of various ethnicities but all were very well dressed in business attire.
Not like the motley crew in the basement of our courthouse. Nobody was wearing a halter top or a wife beater, but there were plenty of jeans, flip-flops and shorts. In fact, I only saw one man wearing a suit and he radiated self-conscious self-importance.
We saw our video confirming our worst stereotypes, had a break, got a coupon for a snack, and then I was dismissed, two hours after my arrival. I was disappointed. I was all fired up to do my civic duty but it was not to be, nor will it happen for the next two years as that's how long my two hours in the basement is good for.
The wheels of the justice system don't turn quickly enough for this member of the jury pool.
Actually, it wasn't bad at all. The woman giving our jury instructions had a spiel to rival Southwest flight attendants. We also saw an informative video that dramatized jury service from the point of view of a prospective juror--a pearl-wearing, well-dressed white woman 55 or so-- and that of the defendant who was younger, Hispanic, had an accent, requested an interpreter, and was accused of battery against another youngish Hispanic man.
"Bar fight," I figured when I saw the two men. Couldn't help it. Knee jerk reaction, aided and abetted by the racial profiling portrayed in our informative videos. All the attorneys and judges portrayed in the video were white. The jurors portrayed were of various ethnicities but all were very well dressed in business attire.
Not like the motley crew in the basement of our courthouse. Nobody was wearing a halter top or a wife beater, but there were plenty of jeans, flip-flops and shorts. In fact, I only saw one man wearing a suit and he radiated self-conscious self-importance.
We saw our video confirming our worst stereotypes, had a break, got a coupon for a snack, and then I was dismissed, two hours after my arrival. I was disappointed. I was all fired up to do my civic duty but it was not to be, nor will it happen for the next two years as that's how long my two hours in the basement is good for.
The wheels of the justice system don't turn quickly enough for this member of the jury pool.
Monday, September 8, 2008
The Dye Is Cast
I was tired of blond and didn't want to be grey so I went brunette instead. Light Golden Brown says the box, although everything on my hair is always several shades lighter so it's still a dark blond but much darker than I'm used to. I'd post a picture but I prefer to remain mostly incognito on the Net. Thanks to all who weighed in on this most weighty subject.
On another subject--I just finished reading two short books by Philip Gulley that I recommend to anyone who is feeling discouraged about humanity. The author is a Quaker minister who has written several novels about the fictional, small Midwestern town of Harmony and the congregation and minister of the Harmony Friends Meeting. Especially for those of you who are familiar with congregational life, this book will make you laugh as you recognize the ways ministering to others is easily sidetracked by personalities. Each chapter is almost a mini-sermon on the need for compassion in human affairs and it's a lesson I continually need to relearn.
The two books I read are Home to Harmony, which is the first one in the series. The second is, Just Shy of Harmony. The books put me in mind of Jan Karon's Mitford series about an Episcopalian priest and his flock. Some readers might call both series sentimental but I like them a lot for their emphasis on the typical struggles of ordinary people and how grace can find us in even the most difficult times of our lives.
I'm returning the first two back to the library tomorrow (Tuesday) so you'll have to wait until then to check them out. Enjoy!
On another subject--I just finished reading two short books by Philip Gulley that I recommend to anyone who is feeling discouraged about humanity. The author is a Quaker minister who has written several novels about the fictional, small Midwestern town of Harmony and the congregation and minister of the Harmony Friends Meeting. Especially for those of you who are familiar with congregational life, this book will make you laugh as you recognize the ways ministering to others is easily sidetracked by personalities. Each chapter is almost a mini-sermon on the need for compassion in human affairs and it's a lesson I continually need to relearn.
The two books I read are Home to Harmony, which is the first one in the series. The second is, Just Shy of Harmony. The books put me in mind of Jan Karon's Mitford series about an Episcopalian priest and his flock. Some readers might call both series sentimental but I like them a lot for their emphasis on the typical struggles of ordinary people and how grace can find us in even the most difficult times of our lives.
I'm returning the first two back to the library tomorrow (Tuesday) so you'll have to wait until then to check them out. Enjoy!
Sunday, September 7, 2008
Disappointment
I spent many long hours at an audition yesterday. I was happy with my audition but didn't get the role and now am very bummed. Several of us, including a friend of mine, were up for the same part. The woman who got the part also auditioned well but I don't think that's why she got the role. She just happened to be a friend and colleague of the director.
"That's not fair," says my daughter. The sad, sad truth is that theater is not a meritocracy or a democracy. It's a dictatorship with the director in the role of dictator. I don't like it. It makes me mad, but that's the way it is. It also sounds like awfully bitter sour grapes to go around saying, "I was robbed," but it is how I feel. Sigh.
I know in the grand scheme of things losing out on a coveted role is very small potatoes, kind of like my daughter not having friends in her math class, yet in our little worlds, the disappointment looms large. I've never been very good at wanting things and then not getting them. For many years I gave up on wanting things just as a way to cope.
Of course I really did want things. I was just in denial and pretending that nothing mattered. The truth was that I wanted things very badly but didn't know how to cope with the ferocity of my desire or the devastation wrought by disappointment. I can acknowledge those feelings now, but I sure don't like them. My experience has been that the things I want most are the things I have the least control over, which is just a recipe for disaster.
As a child I wanted my mother to stop drinking, my dad to stop being so critical. I wanted to be loved and to not be fat and I thought those went together. I wanted to be popular and I wanted to do more with my life than just get good grades. As an adult I want our government to work towards using clean energy, to get out of Iraq, and to implement universal health care. I want my daughter to be safe as she ventures further and further out into the world, my husband to be safe when riding his bike. I want to get the roles I want in plays I want to be in and I want an agent to sign me as a client and to sell my book to a publisher to a wildly successfully reception by the public.
All that desire yet the outcome is out of my hands. That's why the Buddhists say life is suffering and why I work to surf the wave of my feelings so I won't drown in their deep waters. I'll do the little bit I can to keep my family safe, to vote for the government I want, to find an agent, to get cast in a role. The rest of the time I'll count my blessings and hope for the best. That's the way I've learned to cope. I don't really know what else to do.
"That's not fair," says my daughter. The sad, sad truth is that theater is not a meritocracy or a democracy. It's a dictatorship with the director in the role of dictator. I don't like it. It makes me mad, but that's the way it is. It also sounds like awfully bitter sour grapes to go around saying, "I was robbed," but it is how I feel. Sigh.
I know in the grand scheme of things losing out on a coveted role is very small potatoes, kind of like my daughter not having friends in her math class, yet in our little worlds, the disappointment looms large. I've never been very good at wanting things and then not getting them. For many years I gave up on wanting things just as a way to cope.
Of course I really did want things. I was just in denial and pretending that nothing mattered. The truth was that I wanted things very badly but didn't know how to cope with the ferocity of my desire or the devastation wrought by disappointment. I can acknowledge those feelings now, but I sure don't like them. My experience has been that the things I want most are the things I have the least control over, which is just a recipe for disaster.
As a child I wanted my mother to stop drinking, my dad to stop being so critical. I wanted to be loved and to not be fat and I thought those went together. I wanted to be popular and I wanted to do more with my life than just get good grades. As an adult I want our government to work towards using clean energy, to get out of Iraq, and to implement universal health care. I want my daughter to be safe as she ventures further and further out into the world, my husband to be safe when riding his bike. I want to get the roles I want in plays I want to be in and I want an agent to sign me as a client and to sell my book to a publisher to a wildly successfully reception by the public.
All that desire yet the outcome is out of my hands. That's why the Buddhists say life is suffering and why I work to surf the wave of my feelings so I won't drown in their deep waters. I'll do the little bit I can to keep my family safe, to vote for the government I want, to find an agent, to get cast in a role. The rest of the time I'll count my blessings and hope for the best. That's the way I've learned to cope. I don't really know what else to do.
Thursday, September 4, 2008
First Day Dramas
This is what reduced a middle school girl to tears:
- No friends in her lunch period.
- No friends in her math class.
- Homework given on the first day of school.
- An annoying boy sitting at her table.
- A broken violin string and a teacher who would not "take questions" and therefore would not help her.
This is what reduced her mother to tears:
- The Republican National Convention
- Fears that the Republicans will win in November.
- Another ice sheet, this one the size of Manhattan, breaking off in the arctic.
- Kids getting hit by a car on the way to their first day of school.
On the other hand, the middle schooler made new friends at lunch, a girl introduced herself and asked to sit next to her in math, she successfully dissed the annoying boy to the admiration of her table mates, and her violin got new strings, while I figure hope will win out over hate, and with the Dems in charge we'll reduce global warming, and the kids were not too badly hurt and will be able to attend their school today.
Let's see what Day 2 of back-to-school brings.
Wednesday, September 3, 2008
I'm Free!
The difference between 6th grade and 7th grade so far is that my little pumpkin did not want me to walk her into school and she braided her own hair. She also seemed to spend less time on her first-day-of school outfit, in that she wore what she always does--jeans and a t-shirt. However, I think the t-shirt was at least subconsciously picked as a first-day confidence builder and I'm proud to say that rather than showing off her body she chose to show off her mind by wearing the t-shirt she got as a finalist in the 24-Math Challenge. Yippie!!
So, I'm back to having 6 hours a day all by my lonesome and I can't say I'm too unhappy about it. (That's dry understatement, for you fans of the British stiff upper lip). I'm looking forward to blogging more regularly, working on my novel, and just generally getting into my own space. For those of you who aren't writers, you may not realize how critical it is to tune out the outside world in order to tune in to the inner one, but it's nearly impossible for me to write creatively when my family is around. I don't even try anymore.
So thank you for those who have stuck with my irregular posting this summer. I hope this fall will be an interesting and blog-worthy time for all of us.
So, I'm back to having 6 hours a day all by my lonesome and I can't say I'm too unhappy about it. (That's dry understatement, for you fans of the British stiff upper lip). I'm looking forward to blogging more regularly, working on my novel, and just generally getting into my own space. For those of you who aren't writers, you may not realize how critical it is to tune out the outside world in order to tune in to the inner one, but it's nearly impossible for me to write creatively when my family is around. I don't even try anymore.
So thank you for those who have stuck with my irregular posting this summer. I hope this fall will be an interesting and blog-worthy time for all of us.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Color Me Blue
To dye or not to dye, that is the question.
I've colored my hair since I started going gray in my early 30's. At age 46, I'm starting to feel like maybe I just want to go natural, but I'm really afraid of being marginalized like I read that all little old ladies are. Not that I am an LOL, but I think I'll be mistaken for one because I have gray hair. It's a crying shame that I cave to this social pressure, and even worse that it exists, but it does so there you go.
On my sister's recent visit, she lobbied for coloring my hair because having gray hair adds years to one's age. My husband is equally passionate that I should go natural, which is easy for him to say as his hair is only now beginning to go gray. I've always felt bad when I see a vibrant man out and about with what looks like an LOL by his side only to find out that she is his wife and his contemporary because I'm afraid that will be me someday. I already look like a wrinkled prune next to my sweet baboo because he has olive skin and I'm as fair as can be.
So, personal vanity and a desire to remain socially relevant are on the one side of the pro-coloring debate. The impulse to challenge social norms and to be accepted as I really am are on the other. Every day that passes has me weighing in first on one side, then the other.
Readers, what are your views on this age-old question?
I've colored my hair since I started going gray in my early 30's. At age 46, I'm starting to feel like maybe I just want to go natural, but I'm really afraid of being marginalized like I read that all little old ladies are. Not that I am an LOL, but I think I'll be mistaken for one because I have gray hair. It's a crying shame that I cave to this social pressure, and even worse that it exists, but it does so there you go.
On my sister's recent visit, she lobbied for coloring my hair because having gray hair adds years to one's age. My husband is equally passionate that I should go natural, which is easy for him to say as his hair is only now beginning to go gray. I've always felt bad when I see a vibrant man out and about with what looks like an LOL by his side only to find out that she is his wife and his contemporary because I'm afraid that will be me someday. I already look like a wrinkled prune next to my sweet baboo because he has olive skin and I'm as fair as can be.
So, personal vanity and a desire to remain socially relevant are on the one side of the pro-coloring debate. The impulse to challenge social norms and to be accepted as I really am are on the other. Every day that passes has me weighing in first on one side, then the other.
Readers, what are your views on this age-old question?
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