Two weeks ago, Sarah sent me a real estate listing for a house down the street from them. She said it was great. I laughed at her and then Thomas and I went to look at it anyway.
It had a strange layout, the sort one would call "custom-designed" on the flyer. And one did! The house was big and the yard was great, but it just didn't feel like home. And I had no interest in going to the trouble and expense of moving just to go across town. Even to have Sarah and Ryan as neighbors again.
But it did get us thinking. Just one week later I saw a listing for a house in Redwood City that was in our price range, larger than what we have now, and--best of all--just 1.5 miles from Thomas's office. So the girls and I went and looked at it and a couple of others on Friday (5/12). Thomas looked at it on Monday morning (5/15). We put an offer on it on Tuesday (5/16).
Now we've gone from not really thinking about moving to making an offer and listing our current house; getting estimates for movers; scheduling window cleaners, house cleaners, painters, the gardener and a stager (not my idea); renting a storage space and truck; booking the Broker tour and scheduling the photographer for the virtual tour. ALL before next Wednesday. Why? Because on Wednesday, we leave on holiday for two weeks. Timing is everything.
So why are we doing this to ourselves? Right now, Thomas has a one hour commute each way. That means that he gets to see the girls for about two hours a day during the week--assuming that Charlotte (as much a morning person as I) wakes up before he leaves at 7:30 to catch the train.
In addition to being a great house with lots of light and space, the new place has an enormous backyard that is, to put it kindly, crap. It looks as if no one has touched it in years--tall, scrubby grass and weeds and most likely, rocks. Lots of rocks. But I looked at it from the deck and saw terraces and an herb garden. Masses of flowers and tall grasses. A hammock swaying in the breeze. Hannah and Charlotte chasing Argus across the lawn. And maybe even another Japanese Maple, since Thomas won't dig up the one we planted two weeks before we found the new house.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
All in the Family
This afternoon, just as I was getting ready to take Charlotte up for her nap, the phone rang. Nothing unusual about that. But if I'm putting the girls to bed or reading a story or supervising bath time, I don't answer it. That's what voice mail is for. This time, I answered.
The voice on the other end wasn't clear. Low and indistinct. Mumbled. Thinking it must be a wrong number, I went to hang up when I heard a woman's voice, "I'm an awful mess," followed by mumbling that began to sound more like moaning. I thought it must be a prank call but still something made me stay on the line.
"Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you alright? Where are you?"
As I strained to hear, only two of the next words were audible: "heart attack."
"Where are you? What street are you on? Ma'am?!"
The moaning tapered off and the line went dead.
Shaking, more aware than ever of my own pounding heart, I hung up and scrolled the caller ID. Two incoming. Which one? Which one? There was a name I didn't recognize. I wrote it down, trying to stay calm as the call log kept rolling from the number to the name to "out of area" and back again.
I gave the 911 operator the phone number and name, all the while vaguely worried that she would think I was a prank caller. The operator said they had the address and were sending help. They also have my name and number and now, two hours later, I keep hoping they'll use it to call and tell me she's OK. That it wasn't a heart attack or stroke. Or even that it was a prank, after all.
But I sit here wondering what would have happened if the girls and I hadn't cut short our errands and come home early? What if I hadn't answered the phone, going instead to change a stinky diaper and put my sweet Charlotte to bed? Would the woman have been able to dial another number? Did I wait too long trying to get her to tell me where she was? But most importantly, is she alright?
I need to know these things, not to satisfy my own curiosity or because I'm looking for recognition, but because in that one moment when she picked up the phone, she somehow got me. She asked for help and I tried my best to give it. It would have been so easy, after the first few mumblings, to just hang up and go on with my day. Instead, that one ephemeral contact plucked and made tangible a strand of the web that holds us all together, and now I'm left pacing and worried like family waiting for the doctor to emerge from the operating room.
The voice on the other end wasn't clear. Low and indistinct. Mumbled. Thinking it must be a wrong number, I went to hang up when I heard a woman's voice, "I'm an awful mess," followed by mumbling that began to sound more like moaning. I thought it must be a prank call but still something made me stay on the line.
"Ma'am? Ma'am? Are you alright? Where are you?"
As I strained to hear, only two of the next words were audible: "heart attack."
"Where are you? What street are you on? Ma'am?!"
The moaning tapered off and the line went dead.
Shaking, more aware than ever of my own pounding heart, I hung up and scrolled the caller ID. Two incoming. Which one? Which one? There was a name I didn't recognize. I wrote it down, trying to stay calm as the call log kept rolling from the number to the name to "out of area" and back again.
I gave the 911 operator the phone number and name, all the while vaguely worried that she would think I was a prank caller. The operator said they had the address and were sending help. They also have my name and number and now, two hours later, I keep hoping they'll use it to call and tell me she's OK. That it wasn't a heart attack or stroke. Or even that it was a prank, after all.
But I sit here wondering what would have happened if the girls and I hadn't cut short our errands and come home early? What if I hadn't answered the phone, going instead to change a stinky diaper and put my sweet Charlotte to bed? Would the woman have been able to dial another number? Did I wait too long trying to get her to tell me where she was? But most importantly, is she alright?
I need to know these things, not to satisfy my own curiosity or because I'm looking for recognition, but because in that one moment when she picked up the phone, she somehow got me. She asked for help and I tried my best to give it. It would have been so easy, after the first few mumblings, to just hang up and go on with my day. Instead, that one ephemeral contact plucked and made tangible a strand of the web that holds us all together, and now I'm left pacing and worried like family waiting for the doctor to emerge from the operating room.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
My Pick for Vice (?) President
While everyone else is busy deciding the daily front runner for the 2008 Presidential nomination, I thought I'd offer up my choice for Vice President.
Barack Obama says he's not running for President in 2008. That's fine--it's nice to see someone with the humility to think he's not quite ready for the top job yet. That being said, I think that whoever does get the Democratic nomination needs to seriously consider choosing Mr. Obama as running mate. There is really no need to offer it to an also-ran as Mr. Obama has already proven that he has the character and charisma--not to mention brains--to be an asset to any ticket. He also has the ability to connect with people and comes across as warm, charming and sincere.
Of course, depending on who gets the top spot, geography may come in to play since there is still a belief that a ticket without a southerner is doomed. But with just a quick look back over the past two presidential elections, we see the traditional pairings: Gore (Tennessee)/Lieberman (Connecticut): Won the election but lost the presidency. Kerry (Massachusetts)/Edwards (North Carolina): Nope.
So how does Mr Obama stack up? Some highlights from Project Vote Smart:
* Voted to allow the direct negotiation of drug prices with the manufacturers
* Voted against an amendment that would open ANWAR to drilling
* Voted to allow judicial review of enemy combatants
* Voted to increase federal Pell Grant awards
* Voted against a bill that bill that offered liability protection gun and ammo manufacturers, dealers or importers and their trade associations
* Voted to repeal the extension of tax rates for dividends and capital gains in order to provide more than $45 million to the military for procurements and operations and maintenance funds for the Army and Marines
Wow! He looks great on paper AND on camera! Maybe he'll change his mind . . . See, this is the idiocy in handicapping the race two years before the election.
Barack Obama says he's not running for President in 2008. That's fine--it's nice to see someone with the humility to think he's not quite ready for the top job yet. That being said, I think that whoever does get the Democratic nomination needs to seriously consider choosing Mr. Obama as running mate. There is really no need to offer it to an also-ran as Mr. Obama has already proven that he has the character and charisma--not to mention brains--to be an asset to any ticket. He also has the ability to connect with people and comes across as warm, charming and sincere.
Of course, depending on who gets the top spot, geography may come in to play since there is still a belief that a ticket without a southerner is doomed. But with just a quick look back over the past two presidential elections, we see the traditional pairings: Gore (Tennessee)/Lieberman (Connecticut): Won the election but lost the presidency. Kerry (Massachusetts)/Edwards (North Carolina): Nope.
So how does Mr Obama stack up? Some highlights from Project Vote Smart:
* Voted to allow the direct negotiation of drug prices with the manufacturers
* Voted against an amendment that would open ANWAR to drilling
* Voted to allow judicial review of enemy combatants
* Voted to increase federal Pell Grant awards
* Voted against a bill that bill that offered liability protection gun and ammo manufacturers, dealers or importers and their trade associations
* Voted to repeal the extension of tax rates for dividends and capital gains in order to provide more than $45 million to the military for procurements and operations and maintenance funds for the Army and Marines
Wow! He looks great on paper AND on camera! Maybe he'll change his mind . . . See, this is the idiocy in handicapping the race two years before the election.
Tuesday, May 09, 2006
Rhymes With Prick
I've avoided writing this for a few days now in the vain hope that I'd stop being pissed off about it. But just when I think the current administration has scaled the heights of stupidity, they find another peak. I guess I should just be happy that they continue to exceed expectations. Mine, anyway. So what am I so annoyed about this time? Russia.
Russia. Acknowledged nuclear power. Has some influence with Iran and North Korea. Former opponent in the it-wasn't-really-that-long-ago-let's-not-go-back Cold War. It also wasn't that long ago that Bush looked into the Russian president's eyes to get a sense of his soul. Creepy, but supposedly Putin passed the test. Fast forward to this past Friday when the Bush administration, in it's infinite wisdom, sends pitbull Cheney out to bitch-slap the Russian government on, of all topics, the human and civil rights of its citizens. He told them to act more like a democracy.
I'm guessing he meant things like authorizing warrant-deficient wire taps in clear violation of existing legislation. Locking up foreign citizens for who-knows how long without trial or even acknowledging custody. Issuing signing statements that subvert or deny the actual intent of Congress. Claiming vast powers to the executive branch because we are in a conveniently open-ended war. Refusing to turn over documents requested by Congress. Hosting town hall meetings where "ordinary citizens," hand-picked for party loyalty, get an opportunity to pat the president's head and tell him what a great job he's doing. You know, Bush-style democracy.
Yes, Russia needs to improve. Yes, they seem to be taking a turn back toward the practices of the old Soviet Union. But as a truly wise man once said, "let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Especially when publicly casting stones at an historically proud and suspicious nation. One that we need to help with all the other people we're busy taking jabs at.
Russia. Acknowledged nuclear power. Has some influence with Iran and North Korea. Former opponent in the it-wasn't-really-that-long-ago-let's-not-go-back Cold War. It also wasn't that long ago that Bush looked into the Russian president's eyes to get a sense of his soul. Creepy, but supposedly Putin passed the test. Fast forward to this past Friday when the Bush administration, in it's infinite wisdom, sends pitbull Cheney out to bitch-slap the Russian government on, of all topics, the human and civil rights of its citizens. He told them to act more like a democracy.
I'm guessing he meant things like authorizing warrant-deficient wire taps in clear violation of existing legislation. Locking up foreign citizens for who-knows how long without trial or even acknowledging custody. Issuing signing statements that subvert or deny the actual intent of Congress. Claiming vast powers to the executive branch because we are in a conveniently open-ended war. Refusing to turn over documents requested by Congress. Hosting town hall meetings where "ordinary citizens," hand-picked for party loyalty, get an opportunity to pat the president's head and tell him what a great job he's doing. You know, Bush-style democracy.
Yes, Russia needs to improve. Yes, they seem to be taking a turn back toward the practices of the old Soviet Union. But as a truly wise man once said, "let he who is without sin cast the first stone." Especially when publicly casting stones at an historically proud and suspicious nation. One that we need to help with all the other people we're busy taking jabs at.
Sunday, May 07, 2006
The Great Escape
For someone who doesn't consider herself to be particularly religious, I have a lot of religion-focused books on my reading pile, including:
Misquoting Jesus: The Story behind Who Changed the Bible and Why, Bart Ehrman
No God But God, Reza Aslan
Heroic Leadership, Chris Lowney
To be truthful, I had to return No God But God to library as I wasn't able to get to it in two cycles and someone else was waiting for it. I'm so ashamed. Not that I was hoarding it, but that I had to take it back, unread. I know libraries are wonderful places. Really, they are. But I want to keep my books. I want to be the first person to read them (unless they're really old, of course). I like to buy whatever interests me and get to it when I have time. And I like to know that, once a book has been read, it is safely in my library. Maybe I'll want to re-read it, or keep it for reference (yes, yes, I know I can get the info online), but mostly, I just like to hoard books.
It was a wrench, but I had to get rid of a lot of my books after we moved to California. The available space has been gradually squeezed in favor of cans of play dough, Creatrix sets, Candyland, mountains of crayons, markers, sheets of construction paper, cardboard . . . And the lower shelves of the bookcases were no longer safe and offered more temptation to climb than Hannah was able to resist. So I sorted and resorted. I put books into boxes and took them out again. Some of these books I'd had since I was a kid. Some since college--most of those I boxed up. As a near-penniless English Lit major, I had to buy most of my books used or in paperback, and then resell at the end of the term to pay for the next batch.
You know you have a problem when you're offended that the used book store won't take everything. It's not about the money--they're not paying you that much. But these were more than just paper and ink; they were companions. They'd made me think and discover, laugh and cry. They never minded when I was too busy to pay attention to them, leaving them to collect dust on the night table. And they understood when I was depressed and, if I read at all, could only read certain of them over and over and over again.
There are books I've lost or loaned out to never see again: a former co-worker borrowed Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone just before he and the agency parted company; I misplaced a very old copy of Paradise Lost; The Birth of Venus is still with a friend (not that I'm rushing you, Sarah!). And those I was unable to finish, though I'm happy to say there are few in that category: The Quark and the Jaguar comes to mind. And the Nanny Diaries, because it was, what's the word: dreadful? God-awful? Anyway, I can't remember everything I've read over the years, but for good or ill, most have left their mark.
Hannah seems to share my love of books, sitting quietly for, oh, minutes at a time, until she remembers to ask if she can watch a movie instead. Charlotte also adores books--shaken, gummed and ingested. But I have faith that in a few years, they'll find that books provide a window on the human condition, and can help them escape for awhile and explore and understand people and parts of the world they may never see. For now, I just have to keep explaining to Hannah why she may not draw funny pictures, any pictures, in Mommy's books.
Misquoting Jesus: The Story behind Who Changed the Bible and Why, Bart Ehrman
No God But God, Reza Aslan
Heroic Leadership, Chris Lowney
To be truthful, I had to return No God But God to library as I wasn't able to get to it in two cycles and someone else was waiting for it. I'm so ashamed. Not that I was hoarding it, but that I had to take it back, unread. I know libraries are wonderful places. Really, they are. But I want to keep my books. I want to be the first person to read them (unless they're really old, of course). I like to buy whatever interests me and get to it when I have time. And I like to know that, once a book has been read, it is safely in my library. Maybe I'll want to re-read it, or keep it for reference (yes, yes, I know I can get the info online), but mostly, I just like to hoard books.
It was a wrench, but I had to get rid of a lot of my books after we moved to California. The available space has been gradually squeezed in favor of cans of play dough, Creatrix sets, Candyland, mountains of crayons, markers, sheets of construction paper, cardboard . . . And the lower shelves of the bookcases were no longer safe and offered more temptation to climb than Hannah was able to resist. So I sorted and resorted. I put books into boxes and took them out again. Some of these books I'd had since I was a kid. Some since college--most of those I boxed up. As a near-penniless English Lit major, I had to buy most of my books used or in paperback, and then resell at the end of the term to pay for the next batch.
You know you have a problem when you're offended that the used book store won't take everything. It's not about the money--they're not paying you that much. But these were more than just paper and ink; they were companions. They'd made me think and discover, laugh and cry. They never minded when I was too busy to pay attention to them, leaving them to collect dust on the night table. And they understood when I was depressed and, if I read at all, could only read certain of them over and over and over again.
There are books I've lost or loaned out to never see again: a former co-worker borrowed Wally Lamb's She's Come Undone just before he and the agency parted company; I misplaced a very old copy of Paradise Lost; The Birth of Venus is still with a friend (not that I'm rushing you, Sarah!). And those I was unable to finish, though I'm happy to say there are few in that category: The Quark and the Jaguar comes to mind. And the Nanny Diaries, because it was, what's the word: dreadful? God-awful? Anyway, I can't remember everything I've read over the years, but for good or ill, most have left their mark.
Hannah seems to share my love of books, sitting quietly for, oh, minutes at a time, until she remembers to ask if she can watch a movie instead. Charlotte also adores books--shaken, gummed and ingested. But I have faith that in a few years, they'll find that books provide a window on the human condition, and can help them escape for awhile and explore and understand people and parts of the world they may never see. For now, I just have to keep explaining to Hannah why she may not draw funny pictures, any pictures, in Mommy's books.
Thursday, May 04, 2006
What a Mom Wants
Every year, just before Mothers Day, someone tries to come up with a dollar amount for the many jobs that a mother does, whether she's a stay-at-home mom or goes to work part- or full-time. This year, Salary.com pegs that amount at $134, 121 for stay-at-home mothers and $85, 876 (on top of regular salary) for working mothers. These numbers include average pay for the jobs "that best matched a mom's definition of her work based on number of hours spent per week) [including]: housekeeper, day care center teacher, cook, computer operator, laundry machine operator, janitor, facilities manager, van driver, CEO, and psychologist." They have a nifty (yes, I said "nifty") little program that lets each mom determine her "salary" based on number of children, geographic location, hours spent on each type of task, etc.
My friend over at HeadButler says that marketers are expecting Americans to spend more than $10 billion on Mothers Day this year. This includes meals and gift such as books, CDs, jewelery, flowers, cards, spas, clothing, etc. I didn't see included "check for $134k," although Salary.com does allow you to print out a sort of keepsake version of the check that says "This is what we would pay you if we could."
I thought there was something else missing from the list so I decided to conduct my own, completely unscientific poll to see what moms really want for Mothers Day. The answers ranged from "brunch, flowers and spending the day with my family" to "having the entire day to myself." Of course, once I mentioned the response of the second group to members of the first, there was sort of a "You can do that?" gasp. Many of the women had the idea that, if they even thought of asking to be alone, it would be, as one put it "perverse." One formerly full-time working mom said that when she was working, she wanted to go to brunch and show off her kids. Now that she's a stay-at-home mom, she wants breakfast in bed and then the day to herself. But, as I said, completely unscientific, based on a very small sample.
There was overlap in the answers because so many of us are torn. We want to do the brunch/family thing because we truly love them. And because we don't want to have to clean up after a breakfast at home. But we really, really want to have time to ourselves. To use the bathroom alone. To take an uninterrupted shower. To eat our breakfast before it gets cold or soggy because we're busy making sure everyone else is taken care of first. To not spend the day sorting, washing and folding the laundry or doing any of the myriad other items we don't get to during the week. So I have a suggestion that retailers everywhere can back enthusiastically. Starting this year, let's make it Mothers Weekend rather than just Mothers Day. (In lieu of the check, that is!) Husbands, partners, here's your plan:
Saturday:
Wake up early. Get the kids up, fed, changed and out of the house. Preferably before we get up. Bonus points if you wash the dishes before leaving. Take them to the park or a baseball game; you can come home after we leave for the day. Where will we go? Well, you will have thoughtfully provided a gift certificate to a spa, salon, masseuse and/or a shop that doesn't sell children's clothing. Then we'll have a nice quiet lunch and a glass of wine--alone. Maybe see a movie, browse the bookstore or meet a friend for coffee. Don't worry, we'll pick up dinner on the way home. And after a nice relaxing day, dessert . . . well, we'll leave that to your imagination.
Sunday:
The usual, of course! Brunch, flowers, spending the day with the family. Any other little gifts you'd like to throw in are always appreciated, but not expected. I, for example, am partial to books, but jewelery is generally a safe idea if you're at a loss.
My friend over at HeadButler says that marketers are expecting Americans to spend more than $10 billion on Mothers Day this year. This includes meals and gift such as books, CDs, jewelery, flowers, cards, spas, clothing, etc. I didn't see included "check for $134k," although Salary.com does allow you to print out a sort of keepsake version of the check that says "This is what we would pay you if we could."
I thought there was something else missing from the list so I decided to conduct my own, completely unscientific poll to see what moms really want for Mothers Day. The answers ranged from "brunch, flowers and spending the day with my family" to "having the entire day to myself." Of course, once I mentioned the response of the second group to members of the first, there was sort of a "You can do that?" gasp. Many of the women had the idea that, if they even thought of asking to be alone, it would be, as one put it "perverse." One formerly full-time working mom said that when she was working, she wanted to go to brunch and show off her kids. Now that she's a stay-at-home mom, she wants breakfast in bed and then the day to herself. But, as I said, completely unscientific, based on a very small sample.
There was overlap in the answers because so many of us are torn. We want to do the brunch/family thing because we truly love them. And because we don't want to have to clean up after a breakfast at home. But we really, really want to have time to ourselves. To use the bathroom alone. To take an uninterrupted shower. To eat our breakfast before it gets cold or soggy because we're busy making sure everyone else is taken care of first. To not spend the day sorting, washing and folding the laundry or doing any of the myriad other items we don't get to during the week. So I have a suggestion that retailers everywhere can back enthusiastically. Starting this year, let's make it Mothers Weekend rather than just Mothers Day. (In lieu of the check, that is!) Husbands, partners, here's your plan:
Saturday:
Wake up early. Get the kids up, fed, changed and out of the house. Preferably before we get up. Bonus points if you wash the dishes before leaving. Take them to the park or a baseball game; you can come home after we leave for the day. Where will we go? Well, you will have thoughtfully provided a gift certificate to a spa, salon, masseuse and/or a shop that doesn't sell children's clothing. Then we'll have a nice quiet lunch and a glass of wine--alone. Maybe see a movie, browse the bookstore or meet a friend for coffee. Don't worry, we'll pick up dinner on the way home. And after a nice relaxing day, dessert . . . well, we'll leave that to your imagination.
Sunday:
The usual, of course! Brunch, flowers, spending the day with the family. Any other little gifts you'd like to throw in are always appreciated, but not expected. I, for example, am partial to books, but jewelery is generally a safe idea if you're at a loss.
********************
I'd like to thank my friend, Barry, for sending me the original Reuters article. I'm sure his wife will be getting something really shiny for Mother's Weekend! And no, pots and pans don't count. Save that for her birthday.
Tuesday, May 02, 2006
Another Turning Point
So Bush is declaring another turning point in Iraq. Now, I'm no math whiz, but I did ok in geometry. I'm going to go out on a limb here and assume that these all are right turns. Which means we're forming a nice square, which may as well be a circle. We've become an obsessive-compulsive dog, turning in squares before calling it quits and going to sleep.
There are still tough days ahead and more sacrifices to be made, he says. But only by the same people who have been asked to make the sacrifices over the past three years. Not me. Probably not you. Nope--only the military and their families. People like my sister and thousands of other military families who have to watch as spouses, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers go off to Iraq, not knowing if they're coming home again. And once they are home, not knowing for how long.
Of course this latest turning point does not mean that we're declaring victory. After all we did that three years ago. You may have missed it--t'was just a small affair. Probably didn't even make the evening news. I mean, we wouldn't have wanted to go all out since we still had troops fighting and flag-draped caskets being loaded on transports. No one could be that tone deaf. Right? Right?
I'm sure I've repeated myself a lot here, but this time it will be intentional. A couple of modest suggestions (originally posted 3/27/06):
1) Eliminate the federal income tax for all active-duty military personnel. After all, we pay them with tax money and ask them to put their lives on the line every day. This should NOT apply to any member of Congress, the federal judiciary or the administration. Especially not members of Congress, since they already have a lovely three day work week.
2) Offer the ability to assign GI Bill benefits to a family member after a pre-determined number of years of service or immediately, in the case of death or catastrophic injury.
There are still tough days ahead and more sacrifices to be made, he says. But only by the same people who have been asked to make the sacrifices over the past three years. Not me. Probably not you. Nope--only the military and their families. People like my sister and thousands of other military families who have to watch as spouses, sons, daughters, fathers, mothers go off to Iraq, not knowing if they're coming home again. And once they are home, not knowing for how long.
Of course this latest turning point does not mean that we're declaring victory. After all we did that three years ago. You may have missed it--t'was just a small affair. Probably didn't even make the evening news. I mean, we wouldn't have wanted to go all out since we still had troops fighting and flag-draped caskets being loaded on transports. No one could be that tone deaf. Right? Right?
************************
I'm sure I've repeated myself a lot here, but this time it will be intentional. A couple of modest suggestions (originally posted 3/27/06):
1) Eliminate the federal income tax for all active-duty military personnel. After all, we pay them with tax money and ask them to put their lives on the line every day. This should NOT apply to any member of Congress, the federal judiciary or the administration. Especially not members of Congress, since they already have a lovely three day work week.
2) Offer the ability to assign GI Bill benefits to a family member after a pre-determined number of years of service or immediately, in the case of death or catastrophic injury.
Monday, May 01, 2006
Back to Nature
This past weekend we decided to explore a bit more of our new home state with a trip to Yosemite. "Wow!" doesn't quite cover it, but it's the thing I kept hearing from my mouth. C'mon! I know more words than that--some of them were even on the SAT (gulp) 19 years ago. But "Holy crap," the other phrase that came to tongue, seemed sacrilegious and it's not something I want Hannah to be saying to her grandparents in a couple of weeks--or to perfect strangers, for that matter. And, let's see: Hannah's first word was "clock" sans the "l." Might start to look bad if Charlotte's first word turned out to be "HolyCrap!"
We left home around noon on Saturday, arriving on the valley floor around 5:30. This left us just enough time to do a drive by of the highlights and go racing through the Visitors Center shop in search of the restrooms. And by "racing through," I mean "dragging Hannah by one arm as she tried to grab something, anything, from the shelves. She just couldn't live without the foam deer visor. Unless she got the lolly pop instead. Or the stickers. How about a mug? OOOO--snow globes!" After successfully navigating that obstacle course, we were off to the hotel, just a short hour and 20 minutes away. Charlotte expressed her immense appreciation of the passing scenery and winding roads by vomiting all over herself. Ah, good times.
Our first full day in the park, Hannah proved once again that she is a natural mountain climber, preferring to leap from rock to rock to rock, ignoring the gasps, one delighted, one not so much. Put her in a stroller and she whines and cries to get out. She'd rather walk? Great--out you go! But no, after maybe twenty feet, it was:
"How's about you pick me up?"
"What??"
"How 'bout you carry me?"
Ah, repetition and rephrasing. The toddler version of yelling a question at non-English speakers.
When we finally stopped for our picnic lunch, Charlotte was so happy to be out of the stroller that she struggled to get down from my arms to better peruse the menu options. She spurned the daily special of french bread, brie, fruit and turkey, in favor of the house specialties: First a little sand, followed by the small pile of leaves, with fresh pine cones as the main course and a bit more sand to finish it off.
Travel Tips:
*When traveling with small children, it's always best to choose a hotel that offers something entertaining for them, too. A pool, a playground, small insects: Did I forget to mention the ants? (Have I also mentioned that I am not what one might call "high-maintenance?" Sure, I appreciate 300+ thread-count sheets as much as anyone, but it's not a necessity. Warm, dry, in-room bathroom and not sleeping on the ground. Works for me. )
* Take your own baby bedding. Rustic is one thing, but Baby by Burlap crib sheets are another matter entirely.
*Don't leave the box of donut holes on the counter. Even if the box is unopened. "Why are the sprinkles moving?" is not what you want to hear first thing in the morning.
* Take a night light. Hannah won't sleep with the light off. Charlotte won't sleep with it on. So, forget the night light and you may find that your music options for the evening are a choice between KWHinE and WSHrieK. Both available in stereo for your listening pleasure!
* Don't stop watching their faces. The utter joy of a child who is allowed to climb rocks, splash in puddles, paddle in a lake and eat pine cones is truely one of the wonders of the world.
We left home around noon on Saturday, arriving on the valley floor around 5:30. This left us just enough time to do a drive by of the highlights and go racing through the Visitors Center shop in search of the restrooms. And by "racing through," I mean "dragging Hannah by one arm as she tried to grab something, anything, from the shelves. She just couldn't live without the foam deer visor. Unless she got the lolly pop instead. Or the stickers. How about a mug? OOOO--snow globes!" After successfully navigating that obstacle course, we were off to the hotel, just a short hour and 20 minutes away. Charlotte expressed her immense appreciation of the passing scenery and winding roads by vomiting all over herself. Ah, good times.
Our first full day in the park, Hannah proved once again that she is a natural mountain climber, preferring to leap from rock to rock to rock, ignoring the gasps, one delighted, one not so much. Put her in a stroller and she whines and cries to get out. She'd rather walk? Great--out you go! But no, after maybe twenty feet, it was:
"How's about you pick me up?"
"What??"
"How 'bout you carry me?"
Ah, repetition and rephrasing. The toddler version of yelling a question at non-English speakers.
When we finally stopped for our picnic lunch, Charlotte was so happy to be out of the stroller that she struggled to get down from my arms to better peruse the menu options. She spurned the daily special of french bread, brie, fruit and turkey, in favor of the house specialties: First a little sand, followed by the small pile of leaves, with fresh pine cones as the main course and a bit more sand to finish it off.
Travel Tips:
*When traveling with small children, it's always best to choose a hotel that offers something entertaining for them, too. A pool, a playground, small insects: Did I forget to mention the ants? (Have I also mentioned that I am not what one might call "high-maintenance?" Sure, I appreciate 300+ thread-count sheets as much as anyone, but it's not a necessity. Warm, dry, in-room bathroom and not sleeping on the ground. Works for me. )
* Take your own baby bedding. Rustic is one thing, but Baby by Burlap crib sheets are another matter entirely.
*Don't leave the box of donut holes on the counter. Even if the box is unopened. "Why are the sprinkles moving?" is not what you want to hear first thing in the morning.
* Take a night light. Hannah won't sleep with the light off. Charlotte won't sleep with it on. So, forget the night light and you may find that your music options for the evening are a choice between KWHinE and WSHrieK. Both available in stereo for your listening pleasure!
* Don't stop watching their faces. The utter joy of a child who is allowed to climb rocks, splash in puddles, paddle in a lake and eat pine cones is truely one of the wonders of the world.
Thursday, April 27, 2006
Not Just for Salads Anymore
Every packaged food you can buy comes with a warning if it includes, or has come in contact with, peanuts, other nuts, wheat, dairy or soy. Not one package includes a warning about avoiding contact between the contents of said package and a halogen light. You could go for hours trying to figure out what that smell was before wondering aloud, only to be told that "It's probably ranch dressing."
I must say, I was a little alarmed to find that something in ranch dressing, when heated, is capable of melting the frosting off of a frosted light bulb.
I must say, I was a little alarmed to find that something in ranch dressing, when heated, is capable of melting the frosting off of a frosted light bulb.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
Hidden Dangers of the California Sunshine
I think that I've mentioned before--one, two, thirty whiney times--that it's been rainy and cold here for the past half-of-forever. Anyway. Today was, in a word, glorious. One of those days that reminded me why I love, love living in the Bay Area.
So this afternoon, I took the girls to Peet's (we're not allowed in the within-walking-distance Starbuck's anymore since Hannah told the barista that Mommy didn't like Starbuck's coffee, that we were only there so she could have a snack). It was sunny, 74 degrees, huge cloudless skies. Everyone in town seemed to be there, all overjoyed to finally shed the long pants (for shorts, for shorts!), jackets and socks.
Before the door had closed behind us, Hannah saw the two tank-top wearing biker babes in line and immediately asked (I'd like to be able to say sotto voce, but it was not to be) "Why does she have all those tattoos all over her arms and neck, Mommy? Mom? Mom--look!" We've had this conversation before, about how we don't talk about how other people look in front of those people. If she has questions, I'm more than happy to answer, but it's so much easier to do if I'm not choking on coffee or nervous laughter. So far, we've had "look at that fat lady" and "where is that man's hair? he has no hair!" and "why does she have earrings in her face?" But her fascination seems to be with tattoos. So lots of "why does s/he have a tattoo on his/her ______." And today was the official kickoff of tattoo-baring season. Thank god she doesn't have a thing for breasts--just blondes.
So this afternoon, I took the girls to Peet's (we're not allowed in the within-walking-distance Starbuck's anymore since Hannah told the barista that Mommy didn't like Starbuck's coffee, that we were only there so she could have a snack). It was sunny, 74 degrees, huge cloudless skies. Everyone in town seemed to be there, all overjoyed to finally shed the long pants (for shorts, for shorts!), jackets and socks.
Before the door had closed behind us, Hannah saw the two tank-top wearing biker babes in line and immediately asked (I'd like to be able to say sotto voce, but it was not to be) "Why does she have all those tattoos all over her arms and neck, Mommy? Mom? Mom--look!" We've had this conversation before, about how we don't talk about how other people look in front of those people. If she has questions, I'm more than happy to answer, but it's so much easier to do if I'm not choking on coffee or nervous laughter. So far, we've had "look at that fat lady" and "where is that man's hair? he has no hair!" and "why does she have earrings in her face?" But her fascination seems to be with tattoos. So lots of "why does s/he have a tattoo on his/her ______." And today was the official kickoff of tattoo-baring season. Thank god she doesn't have a thing for breasts--just blondes.
Snow Job
Well, I guess Rupert Murdoch's wettest dream has finally come true. One of his star news personalities is now Bush's Press Secretary. So it wasn't enough to use Fox News as a virtual mouthpiece, now it's literal. And Snow allegedly only took the job after being assured an active policy roll. Yay. Good for us. Anyone taking bets on how long Helen Thomas will get to keep her front row seat? Will the NY Times even bother sending anyone to the daily briefings anymore?
I know this sounds cynical, but this seems like a Karl Rove move--get someone who is a staunch, even outspoken Conservative and supporter of the administration. Bonus points if he has recently criticized said administration. After all, this is supposed to look like a shake up, right? It's not like I expected them to appoint Al Franken, but to choose someone who is so virulently anti-Democrat is just further evidence that Bush doesn't give a rat's ass what We the (Rest of the) People think of him.
I think this is what you call putting lipstick on the pig.
I know this sounds cynical, but this seems like a Karl Rove move--get someone who is a staunch, even outspoken Conservative and supporter of the administration. Bonus points if he has recently criticized said administration. After all, this is supposed to look like a shake up, right? It's not like I expected them to appoint Al Franken, but to choose someone who is so virulently anti-Democrat is just further evidence that Bush doesn't give a rat's ass what We the (Rest of the) People think of him.
I think this is what you call putting lipstick on the pig.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Something Not to Like
I've said before that I like John McCain. The way he talks to you rather than down to you. That he seemed to always speak his mind. The self-deprecating humor. The sense that he was always giving it to you straight. I was appalled at the speculation that he might join Bush on the ticket in 2004 and then briefly intrigued at the thought of the cross-party ticket of Kerry and McCain. (Of course, I think that we ought to vote for the President and Vice President separately anyway--add another layer to that quaint notion of checks and balances. But that's another post.)
I was willing to overlook his pro-life stance because, as important as it is, there are a lot of other issues to which attention must also be paid. And McCain had stated previously that, while he was pro-life, he believed that the decision had to be made by the woman. But now as he looks to the White House again, he is learning from "mistakes" made in 2000. He has to get the right wing of the Republican party to trust that he is no maverick, and no friend of the Democratic party, either. Translated into action, this means sucking up to Jerry Falwell, that self-appointed arbiter of morality and Christian decency.
To further burnish his credentials, McCain recently stated that he would have signed the South Dakota abortion ban--the toughest in the nation--as long as exceptions were made in the case of rape, incest or to protect the life of the woman. Is he trying to have it both ways here? If these provisions had been included, the South Dakota ban would not have gained the national attention that it has. It would not have become such a hot issue and his opinion would (probably) not have been sought. So: Evangelicals could be swayed by the fact that he didn't condemn the ban outright and would have signed it with a few tweaks. Moderates could find comfort in the knowledge that he would have required the provisions, and then maybe they would overlook the fact that the law wasn't roundly condemned in it's existing form.
I know I'm not alone in my disillusionment, nor in my embarrassment at being so thoroughly taken in. Perhaps, as Andrew Ferguson writes in Bloomberg, we wanted to be taken in. We wanted to believe that John McCain, Republican war hero, was actually a closet progressive. But throughout his 25 years in the Senate, McCain has voted with the most conservative members of the Republican party often enough to earn high marks from the National Right to Life Committee (82 in 2003/04), the American Conservative Union (80 in 2005) and the Christian Coalition (83 in 2003). On environmental issues, he scored a 50 from the American Wilderness Coalition (granted, this is much higher than other Republicans scored: Ted Stevens, anyone? Anyone?) and the ACLU rated him a meagre 22 (2003/04) on civil rights.
Why were we so desperate to find a champion that we would willfully ignore the record? It was all there in black and white. I just have to hope that it wasn't based on personality--that worked out really well the last time, right? How many millions of Americans have decided that, on second thought, they'd really rather not have that beer with W after all?
Since it seems to be in the average politician's nature to mislead, misinform and, in some cases outright lie, we have to better educate ourselves and anyone else we can get to listen. I like to think that I'm fairly well-informed on the issues and the players, but I still get the warm fuzzies when John McCain shows up on The Daily Show. Up until about a month ago, that is. So, a couple of resources to get started with:
Project Vote Smart is "a national library of factual information, [that] covers your candidates and elected officials in five basic categories: biographical information, issue positions, voting records, campaign finances and interest group ratings" (the numbers I cited above came from here), as well as plenty of political resources.
Polling Report is "an independent, nonpartisan resource on trends in American public opinion." NOTE: A subscription is required to access some content.
More to come in another post.
I was willing to overlook his pro-life stance because, as important as it is, there are a lot of other issues to which attention must also be paid. And McCain had stated previously that, while he was pro-life, he believed that the decision had to be made by the woman. But now as he looks to the White House again, he is learning from "mistakes" made in 2000. He has to get the right wing of the Republican party to trust that he is no maverick, and no friend of the Democratic party, either. Translated into action, this means sucking up to Jerry Falwell, that self-appointed arbiter of morality and Christian decency.
To further burnish his credentials, McCain recently stated that he would have signed the South Dakota abortion ban--the toughest in the nation--as long as exceptions were made in the case of rape, incest or to protect the life of the woman. Is he trying to have it both ways here? If these provisions had been included, the South Dakota ban would not have gained the national attention that it has. It would not have become such a hot issue and his opinion would (probably) not have been sought. So: Evangelicals could be swayed by the fact that he didn't condemn the ban outright and would have signed it with a few tweaks. Moderates could find comfort in the knowledge that he would have required the provisions, and then maybe they would overlook the fact that the law wasn't roundly condemned in it's existing form.
I know I'm not alone in my disillusionment, nor in my embarrassment at being so thoroughly taken in. Perhaps, as Andrew Ferguson writes in Bloomberg, we wanted to be taken in. We wanted to believe that John McCain, Republican war hero, was actually a closet progressive. But throughout his 25 years in the Senate, McCain has voted with the most conservative members of the Republican party often enough to earn high marks from the National Right to Life Committee (82 in 2003/04), the American Conservative Union (80 in 2005) and the Christian Coalition (83 in 2003). On environmental issues, he scored a 50 from the American Wilderness Coalition (granted, this is much higher than other Republicans scored: Ted Stevens, anyone? Anyone?) and the ACLU rated him a meagre 22 (2003/04) on civil rights.
Why were we so desperate to find a champion that we would willfully ignore the record? It was all there in black and white. I just have to hope that it wasn't based on personality--that worked out really well the last time, right? How many millions of Americans have decided that, on second thought, they'd really rather not have that beer with W after all?
Since it seems to be in the average politician's nature to mislead, misinform and, in some cases outright lie, we have to better educate ourselves and anyone else we can get to listen. I like to think that I'm fairly well-informed on the issues and the players, but I still get the warm fuzzies when John McCain shows up on The Daily Show. Up until about a month ago, that is. So, a couple of resources to get started with:
Project Vote Smart is "a national library of factual information, [that] covers your candidates and elected officials in five basic categories: biographical information, issue positions, voting records, campaign finances and interest group ratings" (the numbers I cited above came from here), as well as plenty of political resources.
Polling Report is "an independent, nonpartisan resource on trends in American public opinion." NOTE: A subscription is required to access some content.
More to come in another post.
Saturday, April 22, 2006
The Challenge
Before we moved to California, Thomas and I had a fairly nice wine cellar of just about 100 bottles ranging from nice drinkables for the random Tuesday night to the holy-crap-I-was-just-nominated-for-a-Pulitzer bottle. (Needless to say, that bottle is still waiting to be opened.) So moving the entire collection with us seemed a no-brainer until we got the shipping estimate. Then it seemed a better idea to make every one of our last days in Virginia an occassion worthy of the wine. With friends, we went through a respectible amount of it and then gave a few bottles away to friends and family. There were a couple of cases that we wanted to bring west, though, so they went in the car with Thomas and Argus. When each day's driving was done, Thomas would lug the cases and Argus up to the hotel room for the night.
In Virginia, we had a full-sized basement that was always the perfect temperature, so the space under the stairs became the wine cellar. But in California, basements are not as easy to come by, so we converted a coat closet into our new wine "cellar" and quickly filled it with wines from the nearby Santa Cruz mountains.
Over the years, we've tried many of the more expensive labels--a few are still in our closet--but Thomas and I recently decided to start looking for great wines under $15. It's become The Challenge, a challenge that Thomas is winning (I think he has an advantage in that he plays sommelier for the monthly wine tastings at his office). My choices have not turned out so well. Two nights ago, I opened a California Pinot Noir that I had selected and ended up spitting it down the drain. And as anyone who knows me can attest, that can only mean that this was a truely bad wine. The only way I could describe the taste to Thomas was: "Think of a local wine festival. You've been there all day. It's hot. People are getting a bit . . . tipsy. They're hot--and not in a sexy way. The booths with fried foods and fajitas and chocolate dipped ice cream are almost out of food. Now take all of those smells and swirl them together in a glass with a bit of fresh grape juice. Inhale. Sip. Spit. Do NOT roll it around in your mouth and do NOT repeat." I can't imagine why, but Thomas refused to try the wine!
But back to The Challenge: For flavor, complexity and, yes, price, we've been happiest with wines from Chile. Our introduction to Chilean wines was on a trip to Café Atlantico in DC. Amazing dinner plus guacamole made table-side and great mojitos. The wine was a 1998 Veramonte Primus, a lovely carmenére cabernet sauvignon from Chile's Casablanca Valley. We liked it so much that the next day we started buying up every bottle we could find on the east coast. Then we tried the '99. Very good, but not the same. There is still one bottle of the '98 Primus in the wine closet. I can close my eyes and still smell it--the aroma is so earthy and smokey and peppery that burying your nose in the glass is almost as satisfying as tasting the wine itself.
I think I'm going to have to open a wine import business just to be able to write off the tasting trips to Chile. But do you actually have to sell any of it? I might need a bigger closet.
In Virginia, we had a full-sized basement that was always the perfect temperature, so the space under the stairs became the wine cellar. But in California, basements are not as easy to come by, so we converted a coat closet into our new wine "cellar" and quickly filled it with wines from the nearby Santa Cruz mountains.
Over the years, we've tried many of the more expensive labels--a few are still in our closet--but Thomas and I recently decided to start looking for great wines under $15. It's become The Challenge, a challenge that Thomas is winning (I think he has an advantage in that he plays sommelier for the monthly wine tastings at his office). My choices have not turned out so well. Two nights ago, I opened a California Pinot Noir that I had selected and ended up spitting it down the drain. And as anyone who knows me can attest, that can only mean that this was a truely bad wine. The only way I could describe the taste to Thomas was: "Think of a local wine festival. You've been there all day. It's hot. People are getting a bit . . . tipsy. They're hot--and not in a sexy way. The booths with fried foods and fajitas and chocolate dipped ice cream are almost out of food. Now take all of those smells and swirl them together in a glass with a bit of fresh grape juice. Inhale. Sip. Spit. Do NOT roll it around in your mouth and do NOT repeat." I can't imagine why, but Thomas refused to try the wine!
But back to The Challenge: For flavor, complexity and, yes, price, we've been happiest with wines from Chile. Our introduction to Chilean wines was on a trip to Café Atlantico in DC. Amazing dinner plus guacamole made table-side and great mojitos. The wine was a 1998 Veramonte Primus, a lovely carmenére cabernet sauvignon from Chile's Casablanca Valley. We liked it so much that the next day we started buying up every bottle we could find on the east coast. Then we tried the '99. Very good, but not the same. There is still one bottle of the '98 Primus in the wine closet. I can close my eyes and still smell it--the aroma is so earthy and smokey and peppery that burying your nose in the glass is almost as satisfying as tasting the wine itself.
I think I'm going to have to open a wine import business just to be able to write off the tasting trips to Chile. But do you actually have to sell any of it? I might need a bigger closet.
Friday, April 21, 2006
Village Idiots
Some people seem to think that they have the right and/or duty to send out into the world, unfiltered, everything that pops into their head, whether through the usual channel (aka: fat mouth) or the new favorite: comments posted anonomously to a blog. Because these people seem to go trolling the Internet for something to be offended by or outraged at, they are commonly and appropriately referred to as "trolls." I like it.
You might wonder why this came up: Trolls leave their claw and tooth marks on a lot of blogs, covering thousands of topics. But there is one blog that really got me thinking about this. I really, really like this blog. And I like to think that, if I met her in the offline world, the author and I might become friends. But she gets some of the nastiest, snarkiest, truely horrible comments from readers who can always find something to hate, from her parenting style to her hair to the ads on the site. One ass of a troll (trollass?) even wrote to tell her not to worry; he'd heard that some kids get cuter as they get older. That's right: He delivered a virtual kick to the head of a toddler because he didn't like Mom or what she was writing. Does anyone think he'd do that to her face? Of course not. But he felt fairly safe in doing it because he was hidden behind whatever identity he chose that day.
So why can't these Trolls just log off? Delete the bookmark? Shut up already? Because they are the same people who try to get books banned from schools and public libraries. Who boycott movies and amusement parks and sponsors of television shows they deem objectionable. Who think it's ok for them to decide what is best for all families, not just for their own. Maybe it does take a village to raise a child, but some of us would prefer to leave the village idiots out of the process.
I guess my bigger question is whether this is human nature, or just an unfortunate subset. It's like asking if someone would steal a lot of money if they knew there was no chance of being caught and punished. Or if some turn to cybercrime because, without the human interaction, it is a seemingly victimless crime. I'm not saying that people shoudn't feel free to criticize or comment, but common decency should still apply. If you don't have anything nice to say, try using a little thought and creativity to put it more politely. And if all else fails, don't say anything. After all, telling a mom that her kid is ugly isn't going to make her stop writing, but it might get your email address posted publicly.
Note to Self: Might want to stop calling them "village idiots" and "Trolls." That whole "practice/preach" thing.
You might wonder why this came up: Trolls leave their claw and tooth marks on a lot of blogs, covering thousands of topics. But there is one blog that really got me thinking about this. I really, really like this blog. And I like to think that, if I met her in the offline world, the author and I might become friends. But she gets some of the nastiest, snarkiest, truely horrible comments from readers who can always find something to hate, from her parenting style to her hair to the ads on the site. One ass of a troll (trollass?) even wrote to tell her not to worry; he'd heard that some kids get cuter as they get older. That's right: He delivered a virtual kick to the head of a toddler because he didn't like Mom or what she was writing. Does anyone think he'd do that to her face? Of course not. But he felt fairly safe in doing it because he was hidden behind whatever identity he chose that day.
So why can't these Trolls just log off? Delete the bookmark? Shut up already? Because they are the same people who try to get books banned from schools and public libraries. Who boycott movies and amusement parks and sponsors of television shows they deem objectionable. Who think it's ok for them to decide what is best for all families, not just for their own. Maybe it does take a village to raise a child, but some of us would prefer to leave the village idiots out of the process.
I guess my bigger question is whether this is human nature, or just an unfortunate subset. It's like asking if someone would steal a lot of money if they knew there was no chance of being caught and punished. Or if some turn to cybercrime because, without the human interaction, it is a seemingly victimless crime. I'm not saying that people shoudn't feel free to criticize or comment, but common decency should still apply. If you don't have anything nice to say, try using a little thought and creativity to put it more politely. And if all else fails, don't say anything. After all, telling a mom that her kid is ugly isn't going to make her stop writing, but it might get your email address posted publicly.
Note to Self: Might want to stop calling them "village idiots" and "Trolls." That whole "practice/preach" thing.
Wednesday, April 19, 2006
Kos Music
I usually stop by Daily Kos every couple of days to get my political junkie fix and any new info floating around out there. Today as I was wandering through, I came across two sections I hadn't visited before: the tracking numbers (very impressive) and the musical compositions of Markos Moulitsa--founder of Daily Kos.
As I listened, I found myself wondering why we tend to look at people as one or two dimensional (maybe some part of our brain never gets over the shock of seeing our second grade teacher in the grocery store?) and why we pigeon hole them: You're an actor? A musician? An athlete? Nope, thanks. Don't care to hear your political opinions. Unless of course, you're selling what I'm buying. The right hate Barbra, Susan and George (Clooney). But Arnold, Clint and Sean (Astin) are more than welcome to opine. And lets not forget Ronnie, though that's kinda hard when everything in DC is soon to be named after him. But I digress. Again. Back to the music!
I'm sure Kos gets this a lot, but I was reminded of George Winston. Or rather, the way I felt the first time I heard a George Winston recording. Just struck by the purity of each note, every composition fraught with joy and a quiet passion. The type of music that, like Aaron Copeland compositions, imprints a very clear image, and makes one long to know this person, to see if he is indeed the one glimpsed through the music. I would have thought that so much political crap could have drowned out the beauty. And who knows, maybe it has; there don't seem to be any compositions post 1999.
So I'll admit it: I was surprised by the music. That was me pigeon-holing him (that sounds disgusting, but you know what I mean). After all, he's a progressive blogger who occasionally gets death threats from "fans" on the right. So what's he doing writing music? And such lovely music, I might add. I'll use it to remind me that there is almost always another side to everyone--even Ann Coulter can't possibly be the shrill one-note composition she appears to be.
As I listened, I found myself wondering why we tend to look at people as one or two dimensional (maybe some part of our brain never gets over the shock of seeing our second grade teacher in the grocery store?) and why we pigeon hole them: You're an actor? A musician? An athlete? Nope, thanks. Don't care to hear your political opinions. Unless of course, you're selling what I'm buying. The right hate Barbra, Susan and George (Clooney). But Arnold, Clint and Sean (Astin) are more than welcome to opine. And lets not forget Ronnie, though that's kinda hard when everything in DC is soon to be named after him. But I digress. Again. Back to the music!
I'm sure Kos gets this a lot, but I was reminded of George Winston. Or rather, the way I felt the first time I heard a George Winston recording. Just struck by the purity of each note, every composition fraught with joy and a quiet passion. The type of music that, like Aaron Copeland compositions, imprints a very clear image, and makes one long to know this person, to see if he is indeed the one glimpsed through the music. I would have thought that so much political crap could have drowned out the beauty. And who knows, maybe it has; there don't seem to be any compositions post 1999.
So I'll admit it: I was surprised by the music. That was me pigeon-holing him (that sounds disgusting, but you know what I mean). After all, he's a progressive blogger who occasionally gets death threats from "fans" on the right. So what's he doing writing music? And such lovely music, I might add. I'll use it to remind me that there is almost always another side to everyone--even Ann Coulter can't possibly be the shrill one-note composition she appears to be.
Tuesday, April 18, 2006
The Things I'll Do for a Little Peace and Quiet
This morning, I was able to experience once again the joy that is the mammogram. Because of family history--my mother had breast cancer twice, resulting in a double mastectomy--my doctor recommended that I get a baseline mammogram now instead of waiting until I turned 40. There was an abnormality, most likely just an area of denser tissue, but the radiologist recommended that I come back in six months to have it rechecked. Today was the day.
I love it that they tell you not to move or breathe: Your breast is crushed between the plates. The edge of the machine is rammed into your armpit. You're contorted into a position you haven't tried since college. And you're vaguely aware that someone had the foresight to roll the machine out of the freezer a whole two minutes before you walked into the room. So breathing and moving are the not activities you're going to want to engage in, knowing that the whole process would just have to be repeated.
I wasn't worried about the result of the exam (I know, very strange for a recovering hypochondriac) but it's not something any woman looks forward to. Especially those of us who were less blessed with the body part in question. But there I was, bright and early, sitting half-dressed in the exam room, trying not to be annoyed that the technician kept interrupting the Jon Stewart interview in Oprah. It's not like I can tell her to go watch Noggin for half an hour.
At the start of the exam, she (the tech, not Oprah) told me that they would only be taking two photos. When she came back to do two more, my mood tilted from annoyance to a teesny bit worried. Right in the middle of Jon and Tracey's first date, the tech returned to say that everything looked fine but that they were going to do a sonogram just to be sure. Now I was more intrigued than worried; everyone has seen lots of breasts, but it's not every day you get to see the inside. Well, unless that's your job, of course. It's actually quite beautiful, sort of a landscape with an ocean and rivers and beaches. And no tumors! Just glandular tissue, as expected.
While the pictures were printing and the radiologist was being consulted, I was told to "Just relax. Don't get up, as the radiologist will want to recheck this before you leave." That was the easily the best part of the morning. There I was, all alone in a dimly lit room, listening to nothing but soft music and the faint hum of the machines. "Please," I said as the tech left, "Tell the Doctor to take her time. I'm in no hurry."
Note to Self: Next time remember the Tylenol.
I love it that they tell you not to move or breathe: Your breast is crushed between the plates. The edge of the machine is rammed into your armpit. You're contorted into a position you haven't tried since college. And you're vaguely aware that someone had the foresight to roll the machine out of the freezer a whole two minutes before you walked into the room. So breathing and moving are the not activities you're going to want to engage in, knowing that the whole process would just have to be repeated.
I wasn't worried about the result of the exam (I know, very strange for a recovering hypochondriac) but it's not something any woman looks forward to. Especially those of us who were less blessed with the body part in question. But there I was, bright and early, sitting half-dressed in the exam room, trying not to be annoyed that the technician kept interrupting the Jon Stewart interview in Oprah. It's not like I can tell her to go watch Noggin for half an hour.
At the start of the exam, she (the tech, not Oprah) told me that they would only be taking two photos. When she came back to do two more, my mood tilted from annoyance to a teesny bit worried. Right in the middle of Jon and Tracey's first date, the tech returned to say that everything looked fine but that they were going to do a sonogram just to be sure. Now I was more intrigued than worried; everyone has seen lots of breasts, but it's not every day you get to see the inside. Well, unless that's your job, of course. It's actually quite beautiful, sort of a landscape with an ocean and rivers and beaches. And no tumors! Just glandular tissue, as expected.
While the pictures were printing and the radiologist was being consulted, I was told to "Just relax. Don't get up, as the radiologist will want to recheck this before you leave." That was the easily the best part of the morning. There I was, all alone in a dimly lit room, listening to nothing but soft music and the faint hum of the machines. "Please," I said as the tech left, "Tell the Doctor to take her time. I'm in no hurry."
Note to Self: Next time remember the Tylenol.
Monday, April 17, 2006
Good Day Sunshine!
This morning when I woke up, I felt that something was . . . different. Dappled sunlight danced across the room, pausing on the pillow next to my cheek. It took a couple of minutes for the brain to wrap around the concept--SUN!
As of yesterday, the Bay Area has had 13 rainy days out of April's first 16. San Francisco, which normally gets only 1.5 inches of rain for all of April, has already seen 4.8 inches. But today SUN!
We can go to the park! Walk the dog! Plan the garden! Still need two weeks of dry weather to add the "t" to the plan, but still: Sun today, sun tomorrow and for the rest of the work week. I'll take it!
As of yesterday, the Bay Area has had 13 rainy days out of April's first 16. San Francisco, which normally gets only 1.5 inches of rain for all of April, has already seen 4.8 inches. But today SUN!
We can go to the park! Walk the dog! Plan the garden! Still need two weeks of dry weather to add the "t" to the plan, but still: Sun today, sun tomorrow and for the rest of the work week. I'll take it!
Sunday, April 16, 2006
She Came This Way
Saturday mornings, Hannah goes to gymnastics. She loves it, so we recently added another class on Wednesdays. Very different demographics. Instead of Dads in sweats and baseball caps, think Moms in head-to-toe Burberry. Burberry scarf, Burberry rain boots and everything in between. Better yet, think Nanny. The first Wednesday class we went to, there were two other moms and three nannies. The kids all look as pulled together as their mothers do. And there goes my beautiful Hannah, pony tail half undone, leotard riding up to expose one diapered cheek . . . And this from the kid who normally considers herself to be a bit of a fashion plate, mixing color and pattern with abandon and somehow always (ok,almost always) making it work.
I don't dress Hannah. I am expected to provide the clothing--all of which must first meet her approval--and then just let her do her own thing. Jeans? Not a chance. Long sleeves? Only if you're really fast and/or have a big piece of chocolate handy. Pants? Ask again on laundry day when there are no skirts or dresses clean. And each and every dress, skirt and nightgown (gasp! There are dresses you can SLEEP in??) is tested for general twirliness, with preference given to those scoring the highest. This past autumn, we came back from Old Navy with a cute, cute brown skirt that she had apparently not seen before it went into the bag. I had to beg to get her to even try it on. It stayed at her waist for 2.3 seconds before being tossed aside.
"Hannah, it's so cute! Don't you at least want to try it on with the shirt?"
Very decisive shake of the head followed by:
"I guess you'll just have to take it back. We still have the receipt."
"But Hannah . . . "
"No. I don't like brown."
And she doesn't. Not even brown shoes. The pair that most people would call brown are actually sparkly gold shoes. For dancing in twirly princess dresses.
And when I asked why she was being so stubborn, she replied: "I don't know. I guess I just came this way."
So while employing a nanny wouldn't actually work for me (not that I wouldn't be willing to give a try, you know, just to be sure) sometimes I think about asking one of them for some pointers on getting Hannah to listen. To get things done a little faster. To not be so stubborn. But then I remember all the times I thought, "Huh, I would never have put that X with the Y, but somehow it works." (I was never very good at algebra, either.) Or just how easy it is to lose track of time with a pad of paper and a box of crayons. Or how I had never noticed that earthworms are shy.
So instead of asking for advice on getting Hannah to do what I want when I want it done, maybe I just need to spend a little more time in her world, at her speed. After all, does it really matter if she hates to brush her hair or wants to wear the same dress three days in a row? And is it really such a bad thing for her to go without a coat just because I'm cold? She's smart, funny, only a little sarcastic and very sociable, so I must be doing something right. Now if only I could get the antidote to selective hearing . . . .
I don't dress Hannah. I am expected to provide the clothing--all of which must first meet her approval--and then just let her do her own thing. Jeans? Not a chance. Long sleeves? Only if you're really fast and/or have a big piece of chocolate handy. Pants? Ask again on laundry day when there are no skirts or dresses clean. And each and every dress, skirt and nightgown (gasp! There are dresses you can SLEEP in??) is tested for general twirliness, with preference given to those scoring the highest. This past autumn, we came back from Old Navy with a cute, cute brown skirt that she had apparently not seen before it went into the bag. I had to beg to get her to even try it on. It stayed at her waist for 2.3 seconds before being tossed aside.
"Hannah, it's so cute! Don't you at least want to try it on with the shirt?"
Very decisive shake of the head followed by:
"I guess you'll just have to take it back. We still have the receipt."
"But Hannah . . . "
"No. I don't like brown."
And she doesn't. Not even brown shoes. The pair that most people would call brown are actually sparkly gold shoes. For dancing in twirly princess dresses.
And when I asked why she was being so stubborn, she replied: "I don't know. I guess I just came this way."
So while employing a nanny wouldn't actually work for me (not that I wouldn't be willing to give a try, you know, just to be sure) sometimes I think about asking one of them for some pointers on getting Hannah to listen. To get things done a little faster. To not be so stubborn. But then I remember all the times I thought, "Huh, I would never have put that X with the Y, but somehow it works." (I was never very good at algebra, either.) Or just how easy it is to lose track of time with a pad of paper and a box of crayons. Or how I had never noticed that earthworms are shy.
So instead of asking for advice on getting Hannah to do what I want when I want it done, maybe I just need to spend a little more time in her world, at her speed. After all, does it really matter if she hates to brush her hair or wants to wear the same dress three days in a row? And is it really such a bad thing for her to go without a coat just because I'm cold? She's smart, funny, only a little sarcastic and very sociable, so I must be doing something right. Now if only I could get the antidote to selective hearing . . . .
Saturday, April 15, 2006
Hippity Hoppity
Tomorrow is Easter and I've been struggling with whether or not to do the whole Easter Bunny thing. I mean, we don't do the church thing, or even the religion thing, so it was a matter of deciding whether I felt it was disrespectful, or if Easter has become another Christmas, celebrated by anyone with even a remote connection to Christianity. It almost seems as if there are two different holidays, Easter/Bunny, occupying the same space on the calendar.
And of course, I have NO idea how the Easter Bunny ever came to be. I mean, when I was growing up Catholic, I don't recall the priest ever mentioning rabbits of any sort. Rams, lambs, asses, lions, goats: Check, check, check, check, check. Rabbits? Not so much. The eggs I can understand--life, renewal, rebirth and all that. I think it was one of those traditions adopted from the pagans. The chocolate? Well, let's just say that chocolate is something that I can really get behind.
So do I deny the girls the joys of the Easter Bunny because of my residual Catholic guilt (otherwise known as "the gift that keeps on giving")? Or do I let them get all hopped up on sugar before, during and after breakfast knowing that they have a lifetime to make their own decisions about God and religion?
I think I'm going to have to vote for chocolate. After all, if there is a god, s/he would surely understand.
And of course, I have NO idea how the Easter Bunny ever came to be. I mean, when I was growing up Catholic, I don't recall the priest ever mentioning rabbits of any sort. Rams, lambs, asses, lions, goats: Check, check, check, check, check. Rabbits? Not so much. The eggs I can understand--life, renewal, rebirth and all that. I think it was one of those traditions adopted from the pagans. The chocolate? Well, let's just say that chocolate is something that I can really get behind.
So do I deny the girls the joys of the Easter Bunny because of my residual Catholic guilt (otherwise known as "the gift that keeps on giving")? Or do I let them get all hopped up on sugar before, during and after breakfast knowing that they have a lifetime to make their own decisions about God and religion?
I think I'm going to have to vote for chocolate. After all, if there is a god, s/he would surely understand.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Big Sister At Last
It seems that it wasn't that long ago that Hannah was asking (telling) me to take Charlotte back to the hospital. I guess she thought that if we still had the receipt, maybe we could all just go back her only-childness. But over the past couple of months, she's moved on to dressing Charlotte like a princess; dragging Charlotte into the playhouse whether she wanted to go or not; and now my favorite, teaching Charlotte. Yesterday, I was in the kitchen and heard Hannah in the living room, explaining how a shapes puzzle worked.
"Look Charlotte, this one is called a tri-angle. And you know what this is under it? Pizza! Do you like pizza?"
"This one is called a pen-ta-gon. And look! There's a house under it."
"Can you say circle? And what's under the circle? A CLOCK!"
This one of course made me laugh. Hannah's first word was "clock" but she wasn't able to say the letter 'L" for another six months or so. That was fun! Imagine the phone conversation with Grandma:
"Hannah said her first word today!"
"Really?! Hurray! What was it, Mama or Dada?"
"No, it was 'clock!'!"
"CLOCK? Well put her on! I want to hear it!"
"Oh, um. . . . . . She's taking a nap right now . . . .Maybe in a couple of weeks? Hours! I mean hours!"
How the hell was I going to get her to say it with the "L" in just a couple of hours?! So I had to 'fess up. It was pretty funny after all. Until she learned to say "Flag." Then we just told her that was called a banner.
Of course, we'll be happy no matter what Charlotte decides to say first. Well, as long as it isn't "No!" Hannah's pretty much got that covered.
"Look Charlotte, this one is called a tri-angle. And you know what this is under it? Pizza! Do you like pizza?"
"This one is called a pen-ta-gon. And look! There's a house under it."
"Can you say circle? And what's under the circle?
This one of course made me laugh. Hannah's first word was "clock" but she wasn't able to say the letter 'L" for another six months or so. That was fun! Imagine the phone conversation with Grandma:
"Hannah said her first word today!"
"Really?! Hurray! What was it, Mama or Dada?"
"No, it was 'clock!'!"
"CLOCK? Well put her on! I want to hear it!"
"Oh, um. . . . . . She's taking a nap right now . . . .Maybe in a couple of weeks? Hours! I mean hours!"
How the hell was I going to get her to say it with the "L" in just a couple of hours?! So I had to 'fess up. It was pretty funny after all. Until she learned to say "Flag." Then we just told her that was called a banner.
Of course, we'll be happy no matter what Charlotte decides to say first. Well, as long as it isn't "No!" Hannah's pretty much got that covered.