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9:20
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Occidental Tourist
The following is a visual representation of the various meanings of words.
How many things can the word "run" mean? It can mean the action verb, to run; it can describe what happens to your nose when you have a cold, or describe what happens to a stocking.
With that in mind, what words go through your mind when you watch this? The most interesting part is to see how they change slightly when the pictures change, yet are all linked back together. You'll see.
First viewed on the blog Educating Alice.
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8:18
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Occidental Tourist
My day filled with wild animals concluded last evening with a moth that was practically stuck to my t-shirt. I was in the bathroom getting ready to brush my teeth when I noticed something fluttering. I pulled on my shirt and a moth fluttered for a second before settling back onto my shirt as though it were attached with a string. I pulled again, it fluttered again, then settled. Pull, flutter, settle. Finally I dramatically pulled and swished the fabric of my shirt and the moth flew off to settle onto the floor. As I brushed my teeth, I kept one eye on that crazy insect in case it decided to attack from behind. You never know, those things can be sneaky.
It feels like late summer. I put on a fleece jacket this morning, even though it's going to be near 80 degrees later on. I love that.
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9:47
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Occidental Tourist
As a cat lover I'm also an animal lover in general. This morning's run-in with wildlife was a bit much, even for me.
2 a.m. Cat (Rum) is racing around bedroom playing. Crunching whatever plastic is in here, pouncing hard, obviously attacking something....uh oh. It has to be an animal. Please don't let it be a mouse. Doze....
4:12 a.m. Get up and deal with situation. It's a mouse. Rum is chasing it, but she's not killing it. Kill, Rum, kill the mouse! I hate suffering. I'd rather the mouse was either running free in some field, or dead. No in between.
4:15 a.m. Mouse has gotten free....in the house. I yelled at Rum to GET THE MOUSE and she lost it. Great.
6:30 a.m. Up and at 'em. There's no more sleep for me. But there is a freshly killed bird in the living room. W...T...F....???
6:32 a.m. Bird is gone, but I wonder where the mouse is? Either it's found its way outdoors, or there is going to be a nasty smell in a couple of days.
Yuck.
8:15 a.m. Chickens escaped into the garden. They must like the tall grass around the garden beds. Stupid birds.
I miss Sable and Dakota.
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12:56
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Occidental Tourist
I can't help it. Every time I walk into the kitchen, my gaze drifts to the kitty area. This is where the heater, their beds, food and water dishes are. It wasn't that long ago that they would have looked back at me, their eyes squeezing shut in contentment. Or, they would sleep through it. Sable, with his head curled under his paw while Dakota usually liked to rest his head on the side of the bed.
Yesterday, I avoided the kitchen as much as possible, but this isn't practical. I have to go in there. I have to see it.
It's just amazing that I still expect to see them there. After 16 years, a person gets used to these things.
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12:30
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Occidental Tourist
Sometime after 3:30 this morning, Dakota died. This house feels empty and sad with his goneness. Where is he? I just want to hold his furry little body.
There is nothing malicious in his look, only love and want of petting.
A car alarm woke me at 2 am. Something told me to go and be with Dakota, so I did. I scratched his cheeks, I pet his head, I told him it was okay. I told him I was crying because I was really going to miss him. I carried his little weak self wrapped in a towel around the kitchen for a while. He cried. I realized he needed to go to the bathroom. I got a clean towel and wrapped him up again.
More crying. Bathroom again. No problem, got a fresh towel and we were snuggling again.
His eyes were open, he was alert. He knew. I knew. We were together.
Finally, I put him back in his fuzzy bed and covered him with a towel, the heater close to his head. He fell asleep. When I found him a few hours later, he was gone. Still warm.
I told him it was okay, and it is okay. He had his life and I was lucky to be a part of it. I just miss him terribly.
My heart is broken. There are no words. Unconditional love, warm and fuzzy love with four legs....
What a cat.
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12:08
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Occidental Tourist
Objects traveling at some rate of speed experience time at a slower rate than objects not moving, according to science and people smarter than myself.
I just saw "The Jane Austen Book Club". I have the book, tried to read it several years ago but didn't finish it. After watching the movie, I told my daughter that I had the book but I didn't finish it. She asked me when that was, and I told her that it had been a few years. She said that I should try it again, because sometimes you just need to pick up a book again to see if you're in the mood for it now, or not.
I felt like I was traveling at the speed of light the way time slowed down when she said that. Surprising, the way kids grow up on you.
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14:25
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Occidental Tourist
Dakota is back to his squeezy-eyed, purry, geriatric self. He's a fragile elderly kitty, but he's still here.
I began working on new socks.
The yarn is
Three Irish Girls. Socks are comfortable, but homemade socks feel AMAZING. Hard to describe. Like a hug for your feet.
I'm actually farther along than this, but don't have pictures of the progress. I think the yarn is pretty. Like a smoothie.
The pattern is your basic rib-stitch and whatnot.
Went to a local nursery today. I recommend Plants-N-More on Canal, north of town (Redmond). They have only plants that actually grow in Central Oregon, unlike Lowe's, Fred Meyer, and some other nurseries. The couple that own the nursery are very, very nice. Also, lonely. I'm guessing they are lonely because they do an awful lot of talking while you are trying to browse and think about what to get.
I tried to give subtle hints that I just wanted some quiet: I looked downward in what I assumed was a thoughtful stance, I muttered to myself as if considering, and moved the plants around in the wagon. All the while, the nice lady watched me and then chattered on. She told me random facts about the plants I had in my wagon, or a funny anecdote about her grandson, or how often she has to water. Gah! I put a few things back because I couldn't think about what I needed for the spaces in my garden AND take in the chitchat. It was like shopping with a highly verbal toddler. They don't give a fat frog's fanny about your visual clues or your need for quiet, either.
OC knows to let mommy have a bit of time to think or else she (me) will go cuckoo. I can do a lot of things at once (walk and chew gum, drive and drink coffee, mow the lawn and make a grocery list) but thinking and listening at the same time just does not work.
I want to go back because their prices are reasonable and they look like they could use the business. It's just off the highway but I don't think people think about going there. They really are nice people. What can I do? I don't want to have an anxiety-ridden experience.
I have heard that people sometimes politely explain what they need, and so if I told her I wanted to look for a while, and needed to plan my purchase, that might work? Direct communication can be clear and effective. The problem is, it feels harsh to me. I worry a lot about being too harsh.
On the other hand, perhaps this woman thinks I've been rude. I've been looking at the plants in the wagon and talking to myself while she has been so attentive and helpful...
Option Two would be to never, ever go back to that place. Avoid! Problem solved.
Say, did you know that Larkspurs are one of the only true blue flowers? Most of the others that are blue are really more purple. Oi.
I'll be a grown-up and go back. But not today.
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14:55
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Occidental Tourist
Dakota needed to see the vet this week. While OC and I were holding him and watching the vet insert a catheter for i.v. fluid therapy, OC fainted. I should have known better than to let her watch.
She was standing behind me, and so I didn't see it begin. She fell against me, rolled off and hit the cabinets and then the floor. It happened in a flash.
The vets and techs were quick. They brought towels, water, and crackers. One gave instructions to lie down and relax while elevating her knees, another brought crackers and water, and everyone reassured her that it was okay. OC wanted to sit up, but the vet spoke to her gently and said it was best to relax for several minutes. When she looked up at me I was a crying mess. So much for being strong for your kid. I told her she was going to be fine and that it just surprised me. I said it was going to be okay. And it is.
She's allright. We went home and made brownies, because no matter how bad it gets, desserts are always there for you.
Iced tea and odd French cartoon characters in English translation are there for you, too.She might have been embarrassed, but so many people told her it had happened to them and so that made it much better.
All of us, including Dakota, are doing much better today.
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15:43
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Occidental Tourist
The day that Sable died, the peonies were in bloom. Pink and sweet, the pleasant scent mixed with the warm summer air.
Sable was my kitty. He was a silver-tip Himalayan with green eyes. Despite being petite he was filled to the tips of his beautiful white ears with love.
In the rare event that he became angry, such as, for combing him too long or pulling at a fur mat, he expressed his anger with a short growly meow, and immediately began purring again.
He had a particular way to place his front feet while he sat. It was as if they had to be just so in order to optimize his handsomeness.
He did not mouse, bird, or guard the house, but he provided an important function. His death is hitting me harder than I thought it would because I realized that he gave something that is more rare than his purebred bloodlines: unconditional love.
I was 20 when I realized I wanted a cat of my own. Dakota came home with me in early May of 1994, but it seemed lonely to have only one. He needed a buddy. He is a cream-colored Persian and such a cute kitten, settling in with me the moment I held him. I still wanted a silver-tip. My family had had one when I was a kid - Toby - and he was such a great, funny cat. I located a litter of silver tip kitties, and drove to pick one out. I thought I wanted the biggest and the whitest kitten, but when I looked at them, I chose Sable. He was medium-sized, with a lovely bit of grey on his back. His skin was dark, especially around the paws, eyes, and mouth. So adorable! He was exactly eight weeks old when I brought him home that day in late May, sixteen years ago.
He was a normal kitten, especially enjoying smelling fresh outside air and chasing cotton balls. All was fine and dandy for six years, until I brought home the baby. Dakota didn't seem to concern himself, but Sable did NOT like her! That unpredictable screaming thing was not his cup of tea, but he wasn't hostile in the least. He simply avoided her. He practiced the notion of live and let live.
When he was ten, he began to throw up blood. I found out he likely had Irritable Bowel Syndrome caused from a food allergy. I changed his food and all was well for a few years. He began to throw up blood again, or have bloody stool, so I experimented with various wet and dry foods that he would tolerate, while he tolerated the numerous car trips to the vet with their accompanying temperature taking and stomach-probing.
Keeping weight on him was a challenge. Dakota didn't have the type of sensitivity that Sable did, and because they shared the same food area, they had to eat the same kind of food. Believe me, I tried to feed them separately, but Sable and his amazing sniffer always found the dish I tried to sequester away for Dakota. When he knew I was feeding Dakota some tasty food, he looked hurt. It was awful, so I stopped doing it. Dakota was going to have to get with Sable's diet plan.
He couldn't eat any kind of grain, so I had to read every label. Vet-office cat food had corn. Grocery store cat food had corn or soy or rice. I cooked chicken thighs for him. I went through every possible combination of meat and vegetable I could think of. For a time, he ate baby food. This was the beginning of the newly-enlightened pet food industry that finally realized that pet food ought to contain only the kinds of food pets would eat naturally. The prices reflected this new revelation, and so the choices were more expensive than grocery store brands, but at least there were choices.
As the years passed, he became sensitive to foods much more quickly. The last few years have been particularly difficult. In the past six months, I had fed every type of grain-free wet cat food available and was currently serving the last option: turkey. If he grew intolerant of that, and every indication from past experience told me he would, there weren't any options left. I was worried, but I tried not to think about it. After all, just because a solution didn't present itself doesn't mean that it wouldn't at the right time.
Sable liked to eat. He was a relatively healthy, hungry cat who was interested in life and even a little bit of play. When I put the canned food out for them, he was there to shove his face in it and move it onto the floor before licking it into submission. He would end up with wet cat food on the sides of his face, and sometimes the top of his head. He had quite a bit of personality in old age, too. There were more than a few times when I went into the kitchen after hearing what I thought may have been a cat having a seizure, but it wasn't that at all. Sable would be playing with something on the floor. Paper, a bit of dust, or something. He would look up at me when I surprised him, immediately ready to abandon play for scratches and pets. He loved and loved and loved.
His last two days were obviously the end. He lay flat as a pancake on the floor, refusing food and drink. I even gave him a cheese puff to lick, to satisfy his craving for salt and processed cheese flavor, but he ignored it completely. That was when I knew it was the end.
I called the vet, but I was reluctant to take him in. I didn't want him to endure another trip to the vet's office, full of strange smells and scary noises. He was a nervous cat, and he was sick, so he didn't need anything else to worry about. As it turned out, the vet didn't call back until the afternoon and I missed the call. She left a message saying she had some ideas, but I knew it was not going to happen.
Yesterday, his last day, I was calm. I pet him, I combed him, and trimmed the fur mats I could see while he purred. I had given him a bath last week to wash the litter that stuck to his feet. He was having diarrhea, and throwing up bile, so I had to wash his face and his bottom again, too. I did that while disturbing him as little as possible. That last day, there was nothing left in his system. He was so thin.
After his bath, I wrapped him in a towel and held in over my shoulder, like a baby. He liked that. He rested his head on my shoulder and purred. He spent the day laying flat in the grass while I sat with him and alternately worked on nearby flower beds. It was a warm day, and the sun probably felt good. He would move a foot or so, then settle down again and sleep with his little face planted into the ground. He seemed okay. I felt okay, glad to be with him. I pet him, I talked to him. He purred.
Early this morning, he died in his sleep on the kitchen floor. He was still warm when I got up and found him. I pet him, told him I was so grateful that he was my kitty. I took a bit of fur to save. That fur was the most gorgeous fur in the whole world, attached to the body of the most loving being one can find in the animal world.
I wish I could have taken away all his pain, fed him until his stomach was as full as his heart. I wish I could hold him one more time, over my shoulder like a baby, rub my face against his head and hear his sweet purr.
I know he's out there somewhere, saying that it's okay; he's okay now. He is eating all that he wants and he feels no pain anymore. I want to tell him that I did the best I could, but that I know it wasn't good enough for him. I wish I had done more.
The bucket that I used for his last bath is still out in the yard, drying. I miss him more than words can say.
I gave him many nicknames, including Sableson plum, sugary little angel boy, pumpkinhead, bell-bells, bellie, Sabellie-bellie-bellie-bellie, ma cherie amour, and many more goofy things that I liked to say to him. He understood French. At least, it seemed like he did from the way he looked at me and blinked whenever I said French words to him. Perhaps he was humoring me. That would have been just like him to be so thoughtful.
Sable
3/19/1994 - 6/23/2010
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6:26
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Occidental Tourist
Monday nights are not a good time to have a conversation with me. All I want to do is watch "The Bachelorette". Last night I sent an Estonian door-to-door salesperson away because the show was on. She is a college student in the U.S. selling education materials. I bought some books from a guy last year who was here doing the same thing. I realize now that putting her off one night so I can watch reality t.v. may not have been the smartest move, as I may purchase something from her to assuage my guilt. Bad television: it takes as good as it gives.
The saddest shot from this week's show had to have been Kasey standing alone on the glacier as the helicopter with Ali and Justin flew away. Kasey wanted to "protect and guard" Ali's heart, but I think Kasey missed something. He spent so much time being redundant that he forgot to be himself. He is a cutie, but has a strange voice. It's nasaly, and monotone. I kept wanting him to clear his throat every time he talked.
I know, as if I would come off without a flaw on highly-edited television! I would probably dangle a participle or something, and how embarrassing that would be.
Poor Ali. She is continually described as being afraid to love. Chris, the armchair psychologist told her that. Ali herself talks about needing to "love more". What does that mean? Aside from sleeping around.
She's on a television show where she is dating many, many men at once. Every week, she needs to thin the herd. One of those guys that is sent home may have been a fantastic boyfriend, if it weren't for the show and the cameras and the competition. She is right to wonder about what she is doing. It makes for great television (great, as in terrible...) but who wouldn't be freaked out by it all?
Next week is the week where Ali finds out somebody has a girlfriend. The entertainment weeklies say it is Justin, and I can't wait for that fur to fly!
Do you notice how Ali seems to be reading names on the roses she hands out? Does she not remember who she has chosen? Does she need to read names in a specific order? Do the guys have to hand the roses back every time? I am a person who wonders about details.
The details of my weight loss saga (smooth segway!) are not that exciting. I'm holding steady at the same number as last week. I'm happy about that, because I indulged in some Mexican food (or, as folks in Mexico call it...food) and that included Santitas tortilla chips, salsa, and a shredded beef taco salad. The chips are not health food, y'all, but they were salty good eats. Also ice cream, which served to balance the Salt with some much needed Sweet.
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11:29
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Occidental Tourist
WEEK THREE: 157.0
There was another chicken adventure last night. The neighbor's chickens escaped their low-security enclosure for the unencumbered out-of-doors. This affects us because the neighbors are away for a day and we are in charge of their three chickens. I looked for them last night until it was dark, and then got up at 5 am (FIVE A.M.!!!) to look for them. I found one of them right away in their car port, but the other two were no-shows. I returned home for more coffee.
Later that morning, OC and I went out again and made fools of ourselves, calling for chickens. The elderly man next door said there were two chickens in his apple tree. The turds were there when I was walking by earlier, clucking like a crazy person. They must have laughed their chicken heads off at the ridiculous lady speaking nonsensical chicken early in the morning while they dozed until a more reasonable hour.
All I can say is, chicken pot pie sounds really good for lunch...
Wait how many calories are in that?
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13:04
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Occidental Tourist
As a person on a quest to lose weight, I am a bit preoccupied with counting calories. This morning, for instance, I checked the package of coffee for nutritional information. Surprisingly, there was no chart.
Duh. It's coffee. Rather like tea, it's flavored water and unless you are a souped-up sports drink, THERE ARE NO CALORIES IN WATER. Perhaps you already knew that. I am a little slow.
Yesterday's breakfast was cereal with rice milk. I did not measure the portions, but this morning I did. I probably consumed close to 400 calories at breakfast alone! It's not hard to do. Once you start paying attention to calories and portions, you find it adds up quickly.
Wondering about the number of calories in coffee is a little nutty, but thinking about calories is a good thing. It's a new thing for me to worry about, because my attitude before last week tended to be something like, since I'm eating mostly vegetables, what's the worry? Except, the vegetables were nestled snugly beneath a layer of salad dressing, or cooked up in olive oil, and while there were vegetables, there were also too many calories.
Don't get me started about ice cream. Or chocolate. Or bread. I L-O-V-E bread! But things like bagels, those harmless, non-doughnut, morning-coffee-going-with bagels have something like 300 calories in them, and that's before the butter! Sheesh. No wonder I weighed 161 pounds. IT WAS THE BAGEL, IN THE KITCHEN, WITH THE DARIGOLD.
We had an away softball game last night. I had three girls in the car and we went to Subway for sandwiches. I had eaten a steak sandwich before we left (little bit of steak, lots of lettuce and cucumber), with my olive oil and lemon juice mayo substitute. I brought a granola bar and some crackers, and may have eaten some of the girls' Doritos...but that was it.
1400 calories a day is my goal.
Gwyneth has a video about preparing a Mexican dinner which makes me wonder, how many calories are in shrimp...?
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9:15
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Occidental Tourist
Let's get right to it.
WEEK TWO: Weight: 159.6
It's fair to say I have traded fat for muscle. The number hasn't gone down very much but my clothes feel better already, and I'm feeling more fit. Party on.
Finished the Heaven Can Wait 5k yesterday with OC and a friend from French class. OC has never run that far before. I am so proud of her!!
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12:27
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Occidental Tourist
Which is not me......yet.
The ideal weight for a woman of my age and build ranges from 122 to 149 pounds, the mean being 135 pounds. My goal weight of 141 will do a couple of things, one of which is to make my driver's license accurate. More importantly, it will make me happy.
I don't weigh myself often. Usually, I find out the number when I go in for a checkup at the doctor's office. Instead of weight, I gauge my body by how my clothes fit and how quickly I can run a 5k. Lately, my clothes are on the verge of not fitting
at all, and I haven't run a 5k in nearly a year.
After two weeks, I am down to *&% pounds.
Breakfast is a fruit smoothie:
- frozen fruit of various types
- fruit juice
- 1 banana
The combinations are endless, and I love that.
Lunch is a sandwich or wrap:
- turkey, chicken, or roast beef (or, whatever)
- sliced cucumbers
- lettuce
- tomato
- olive oil and lemon juice (in place of mayonnaise)
Dinner is....various things. Steak and baked potato, salads, yogurt (when I'm going to class), a wrap, sandwich, or I don't even know what. Great tip!
I feel really good. I still drink coffee in the morning with my usual teaspoon of sugar, and eat a few semi-sweet chocolate chips for dessert. I don't feel like I'm on a diet, and it's really not a diet. Even though it is. If I tell myself I'm on a diet, I'll feel squirmy and tied down, and I don't like to feel that way. I like to feel that I have options, and diets are psychologically NOT about options.
So, on this diet/non-diet, I'm doing well because food tastes good and I'm eating plenty of it (low-calorie, especially). I'm not going to restrict myself from any kind of food, but rather, watch the portions and only concern myself about calories.
I figure this is the most reasonable way to not be on a diet, while on a diet slash lifestyle change.
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6:46
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Occidental Tourist
So I was reading Gwyneth Paltrow's blog the other day, and she wrote about getting into shape for a movie role. I've been feeling overweight and gross lately, and something in me snapped when I read the words "kale juice" among the list of foods she eats. It sounded really good, this pulverized kale with lemon juice. Maybe it's the idea of spring, but "grassy" lemonade sounded refreshing.
Here's the deal: I've decided that I've got to lose 20 pounds. That's not just a round figure (pun! haha...) that I pulled out of the air. If I lose 20 pounds I will be at a fairly ideal weight for a female who is 5'7" tall.
I will write about my weight loss, for my own record and to inspire, maybe, someone else to do something to get healthier. I'm going to be honest and record my actual weight once per week, some of what I eat, and what I do for exercise. Some of you may be interested, some would rather watch paint dry. I understand. It won't be the only thing I write about, but this will be a good way to record what I'm doing and, if I am being completely honest here, you are my motivation.
And please, do not look at me eat a slice of pizza or a tiny bowl of ice cream and remind me that I am trying to lose weight. I know this. I believe in small rewards and realistic expectations. In other words, you do not have to ride herd. Thanks, though.
I have some really cute clothes that do not fit, and some that fit but do not look good on me right now. It's time to do something about that.
WEEK ONE:
Starting weight: 161.0
I can't believe it, but there it is. Let the weight loss begin!
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13:08
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Occidental Tourist
My brother used to fart into a band aid box in order to "save it for later". Later, as ammunition against one of his sisters.
Sure, I could have told the story about how, as an adult, he walked a friend home for a dozen miles in the middle of the night, and then walked home by himself. He was just that kind of a guy.
The band aid box story is funnier, and goes to explain a lot of things about us. For instance, it explains why we are glad the old metal band aid box style has been abandoned for a cardboard version, with its loose, folding joints that allow for breezy drafts...
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5:52
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Occidental Tourist
I adore Gap's
Athleta store. I only wish I was in a higher income bracket in order to indulge every whim.
No complaints. I'm happy to have an income at all, I'm just saying.
Is it spring yet?
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18:58
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Occidental Tourist
My brother would've been forty-two years old yesterday. Instead, he died from Acute Myeloid Leukemia the day after his 34th birthday.
This was written by my mom.I held my son’s hand when he died that morning in May. His left hand. When I wrapped my own hands around it, his bruised fingers fluttered faintly and I felt his response. “It’s alright to let go now, Ric,” I whispered to him. “Don’t worry. We’ll be alright.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. I watched the muscles in his body, tautly held so long against the pain of the leukemia, release their tension. His labored breathing stopped, and I knew he was gone. I wept then, wept and held my son’s hand.
He turned thirty-four years old the day before he died. He had resolved he would not die on his birthday. It was his gift to me, as our birthdays were only days apart. The Gemini sign linked us, and together this day we shared a gift. From our home on the hill, we watched a rainbow dance over a green pasture. Then I saw my son’s face soften as he slowly scanned the room, turning his head to capture every corner. He looked at me, our eyes met, and I knew on a primal, gut level that somehow we would be alright. He grinned his familiar, lopsided grin and said, with a twinkle in his eyes, “There sure are a lot of people in the room, Mom.” Physically, he and I were the only ones there, but I felt what he saw. He would not be going alone when he left us.
* * * * *
I chose my son. He came into my life when he was ten years old. He’d been in protective custody and foster care for six years, and had scars to show from those places. We had three girls who wanted a brother, and since my husband had been adopted, it felt like a natural choice for us.
We fell in love with Ricky the first time we saw him. We knew he would be our son. This boy, with the horror stories to match the scars on his body, now reveled in his adoptive status. He knew he had been chosen. At last he had a real home. His joy was contagious. I felt my heart grow with him.
Two dozen years later, at his funeral, someone – gratefully, I cannot remember who – said to me, “At least he wasn’t your real son.” I was too numb to respond. I knew it was meant to be comforting, but “not my real son?” If he wasn’t real, what was he? Ricky was the son of my heart, as real to me as any child of my flesh. I knew for certain: he was real, and he was my son.
* * * * *
Three weeks earlier, in April, the doctors told us they had exhausted all treatment options. We were still numb from that news when Ric turned to me and asked, “Mom, will you ever be happy again?” I looked him squarely in the face and told him – for we had agreed months before we would be brutally honest with each other during this journey – that I could not see any possibility of being happy again. My son, this wise old soul, turned his distinctive hazel eyes with the golden flecks in them at me and calmly said, “My life won’t count for anything if you aren’t happy.” I had no words, for I could not lie to this boy, this man facing his own mortality far too soon. Happy? I wanted to rant and rave and break something, anything, to release my terror at the idea of life without him.
* * * * *
Life was never dull with Ricky. This lanky young boy with the bowl-cut brown hair delighted in telling me how he tricked his sisters by catching his farts in a metal Band-Aid can and getting the girls to open the lid. I remember when he broke his arm playing football, when he wrecked his bicycle and needed stitches, when his skin turned blue from playing in the cold Oregon surf, all the while insisting he was fine. I remember those times as a teenager when he grew so fast he couldn’t walk without tripping until his coordination skills caught up. The daunting amounts of food he could eat. The fear from learning he might be epileptic, and the relief when the doctor said it had been a mistake. How do you wrap your mind around your child’s terminal diagnosis?
* * * * *
We brought him home to care for him those last weeks. We set up a hospital bed in the living room, and Ric laughed that the bed was standard sized while he was not, and his feet hung over the edge. He laughed when I cried at the unfairness of it, the bureaucratic bungling. He laughed and reminded me of how I had spent hours massaging his feet in the hospital with what I thought was lotion, and one day a nurse asked why I was using liquid soap. He had the cleanest, slipperiest feet of anyone on the oncology ward, and now they were hanging over the end of the too-short bed.
Those weeks surprised me. I thought we would spend long hours talking about weighty matters, but what Ric wanted most was to watch one more NBA season finale. The Portland Trailblazer basketball franchise was only a few years younger than him, and he avidly supported his team. But the games were on satellite, and we only had a network antenna. I asked him, “You want to watch basketball???” “OK, Mom, here’s the deal,” he said, “The games give me something to hope for, and I’ve gotta have hope.” I called the satellite company. A man came and aimed a device at the sky and said there were too many trees and it couldn’t be done. Couldn’t be done? Couldn’t be done? I would cut down every tree on our property so my son would have hope. I had already heard “couldn’t be done” in the worst possible context, and this wasn’t it.
I would make it happen. I called my neighbor, a seventy year old retired logger. He quickly mobilized his heavy equipment: truck, loader, crane, crawler, winches, and chain saws. One sixty-foot tall Douglas fir tree fell, and the ground shook. No signal. He cut down another, then another, tears streaming down his face, until the satellite guy captured a signal and gave a thumbs-up. Ric had his basketball games. He’d felt the ground shake when the mighty trees fell. In his battle for hope, he knew there were other soldiers actively engaged with him.
One afternoon while Ric was resting the telephone rang. I answered it and a man’s voice said, “This is Bill Walton. Could I please speak with Ric?” Speechlessly I handed the phone to Ric. Bill Walton was the tall, red-headed center forward who had led the Trailblazers to their single World Championship against the Philadelphia 76’ers back in the glory days of 1977, when my little boy was nine years old. Bill Walton on my telephone? How had that miracle happened? I watched Ric’s face transform from tension into a loose, ear-splitting grin as he realized he was talking to his idol. Then he was asking me for a paper and pen, and wrote down Bill Walton’s cell phone number. When he hung up, he was still beaming. “Mom, Bill Walton said I could call him anytime, day or night. Bill Walton, Mom!” And my heart sang.
In the early stages of the adoption process, we took Ricky to visit friends. A local television celebrity lived next door, and casually dropped in to say hello. Ricky’s eyes got huge and his mouth dropped wide open. “You’re Ramblin’ Rod!” he shouted. Rod Anders, aka Rambling Rod, sat down with Ricky and told him all about his cartoon show, and invited him to be on it. Ricky told us the next day he would be the best son we could ever, ever have, if we would please, please adopt him. His joy, when we assured him he would be our son, was a tangible thing. It was his trademark. Like the time he laughed so hard on the Zipper ride at the County Fair that he swallowed his gum. When he stumbled across a skunk and got sprayed. The time he was home on a break from college, and my 6’4” son stood facing his 5’10” father, who looked up at him and said, “You’ve grown.” Without missing a beat, Ric poked his Dad in the belly and said, “So have you.” This boy – this man – lived joyfully. He wanted it to be his legacy. He had run his lap of life’s relay race, and was handing his baton to me. “My life won’t count for anything if you are not happy.”
* * * * *
In the hospital, Ric’s visitors had been limited because he could not risk catching an infection or cold. I knew my son had friends, but now I was learning how constant they were in staying connected. In these last weeks exposure no longer mattered, and on good days he held court. We carefully planned those brief hours when he would rally his energy to cheer his friends who came to cheer him. His room was filled with cards and photos, balloon bouquets, and banners scrawled with words and sketches. High school and college friends traveled hundreds of miles for a brief visit with Ric. They told stories, laughed and cried, and laughed.
Someone asked me during those weeks if it wouldn’t be easier to lose a child suddenly, in a car accident, rather than slowly to a devastating illness like leukemia. How do you answer an impossible question? Twenty years earlier I had sat with a friend whose son had died in a car accident the day before he was to leave for college. It was horrible. Are those my only choices? How about (c) never lose a child at all?
Time turned a precious commodity when its boundaries came into sharp focus. Once I had time to kill. Time on my hands. When it was Monday I yearned for Friday. When I was fifteen I longed to be twenty-one. Time had been like an artesian well, always there in abundance, a never-ending source. Now I scrambled to find the controls. Slow it down! Form a reservoir to store it up! Give me back the wasted bits and pieces!
We talked. As the days slipped past there was a point when Ric realized hope would not be enough, and we talked. As he fearlessly faced his own mortality, we talked freely about living, and dying, and what we thought came afterward. “Live your life joyfully, otherwise my life will have counted for nothing,” he said. I promised, even though I had no idea what that meant. I promised, because I still hoped to stop time and keep him with me.
* * * * *
At his funeral we were surprised at how many people attended. We hadn’t known Ric had so many friends. We invited them to share stories, and they showed me another side of my adult son: his loyalty to his friends. The time he walked a girl home after they got off work past midnight, to ensure her safety. She lived four miles away, in a remote area. He delivered her to her family, turned around and walked home. One man said Ric was the only friend he would ever let dance with his wife. Ric never forgot his foster care years, and counseled friends enduring their own tough times. He saved the lives of two people who had talked about suicide. The palpable elements of authenticity and joy, lived out in his own life, spoke to theirs and forever changed them. He had built a solid legacy. It wasn’t just words for him.
* * * * *
One afternoon during that last week, Ric’s girlfriend came to visit, and I slipped away to a mortuary to make plans. It was a surreal experience. He wanted a service that would celebrate his life. I wanted him to live. There was a lag time between his acceptance and mine, but I knew I could not let him down in his dying any more than I could in his living. The mortuary experience somehow brought his heart and mine into alignment.
I sat beside him that last night, holding his hand and talking to him. He was heavily sedated but never alone. My husband and I took turns, grabbing naps and keeping vigil. We were both with him when our well of time ran out. In the process of releasing his remains and preparing for his service, I thought the season of receiving any more gifts from Ric had passed, but I was wrong. His body went through the cremation process four days later, on my birthday. On Memorial Day.
* * * * *
When he was young his sisters called him “Ricky Ticky” and “Ricky Ricardo.” In middle school he shortened his name from “Ricky” to “Rick.” After college he shortened it again to “Ric.” I told him I liked it, but if he made any more changes, his options would be initials only, or lengthening it back to his given name, Richard. “OK, Mom, here’s the deal,” he said, “It’s just a name. I know who I am.”
* * * * *
Ric had been specific about where he wanted his ashes spread: the Oregon coast. Victoria, British Columbia. The San Juan Islands. A year after his death we met with some of his friends in Lincoln City, on the Oregon coast, to begin honoring his wishes. It was late May, cold and windy. There was a dark, heavy, low bank of clouds stretched across the horizon. Each friend had a vial of ashes, and we stood huddled together, quietly talking and waiting. There was speculation that Ric probably had something to do with the fact that the basketball season for the LA Lakers, Portland’s nemesis, was going badly. I checked my watch - 11:22 am. We had come exactly one year from his death. At that instant, a hole opened in the sky and a column of warm, sparkling sunlight descended, only on us, like a spotlight. “Ric’s here,” one of his friends said in a hushed voice. I could see my own awe reflected on the faces of the others. And echoing the cries of the gulls soaring overhead, I heard my son, laughing.
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8:53
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Occidental Tourist
After drinking a big, almond milk-based smoothie and suffering a righteous headache, I now suspect my body is highly offended by almonds. The smoothie recipe has been amended to include no almond milk. Thanks a lot,
Gwyneth Paltrow.
This week has flown by. We had a rained-out softball game on Monday, which I hurriedly rescheduled for Wednesday and called each team member, only to have it cancelled an hour and a half before game-time due to rain.
Tonight we have a game scheduled, and the forecast calls for rain.
I built a fire last night after it snowed a little in the morning, and hailed a little later on.
Today contains fun-filled activities: I need to take my cat to the vet to have her sutures removed, but I don't want to put her back in the cat carrier. Poor Rumsie has been through a lot, having a tumor removed from her shoulder and then the skin pulled up tight to close the hole.
Rum sez, "Who would take this face to the vet?Last week I was giving pain medication to a cat, and penicillin to a chicken.
Yes, this is really my life.
In case you're wondering which animal was easier to administer to, it was definitely the chicken.
Hatshepsut sez, "Brrrrrrrrrt!"
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7:51
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Occidental Tourist
OC and I made some fantastic breakfast smoothies this morning. The combinations are endless, but ours were made with:
- 1 frozen banana
- 1/2 c. plain nonfat yogurt
- 1/2 c. vanilla almond milk
- 1/2 c. frozen blueberries
- 1/2 c. frozen raspberries
- several small ice cubes
The resulting tasty beverage is quite tasty, and full of protein, vitamins, antioxidants, and is low in fat. What fat there is comes from almonds, which is a healthier kind of fat than the kind that comes from animal products.
I bought the yogurt, almond milk, and blueberries at Trader Joe's, and all were very reasonably priced.
It's coming on summer, which is a great time to enjoy smoothies of all kinds, all day long. Bon Appetit!
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18:36
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Occidental Tourist
"Maybe you could be an art teacher. Well, if we still had art teachers."
-----
My daughter, age 9I've met more adults going back to school, and several who want to become teachers. When this recession lifts and jobs open up again, there are going to be a LOT of people vying for the same work. The veterans as well as the newly-graduated.
I went to the parent-teacher organization meeting tonight. The effort is to reorganize and regroup in order to accomplish the original mission, which is, to raise money for the school. A tough task, after the last president and parent TAMI ERIKSON, allegedly stole thousands of dollars in cash. The investigation is ongoing. Questions of restitution remain.
I wonder, how will the reputation of the PTO be restored? I know there are good people there, but the actions of one person can hurt the group for a long time. How can they ask the community for sponsorships, and the community respond after all of this? Hopefully, the result will be more involvement from parents, and more communication so that the community knows what good is being done on the behalf of children.
My daughter participated in a walk-a-thon which raised more than $10,000 dollars. It was a hot day, and the kids worked so hard and did a great job. And now, where is the money? The account has little more than $1000 in it. I wonder what Tami did with the money she allegedly stole from those kids?
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12:02
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Occidental Tourist
As I wonder why I have a headache this morning (too much coffee, or not enough?) I keep thinking it's time to keep track of my reading. I've always meant to do this. I even have a notebook to record books and movies I've read or seen, in case I ever want to regurgitate the titles in my blog. I quite simply lacked follow through. No more...
Currently Reading:
- The Iliad
Richmond Lattimore translation
- Children of the Sun
Alfred Crosby
- The Heart is a Lonely Hunter
Carson McCullers
The mistake that I made: I watched "Love Song for Bobby Long" and THEN read The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. Do this in reverse. I recommend it highly.
It is interesting the way people come around to discovering certain books. I have had the idea of reading The Iliad and then The Odyssey, and finally realized it's not going to happen until I actually do it. Then there is the question of which translation? Don't get too hung up on it. I like the Richmond Lattimore fine, although he has chosen the funkiest spellings of Greek words. The Fagles translation or the earlier Butler version would have been fine, too. If you want to read it, then pick one and go for it.
Alfred Crosby is an author I first learned of in a history class to do with the Columbian Exchange. In a fascinating excerpt from that book, we read about plants, animals, and diseases and their transport to new places for the first time with the European explorers, and the myriad results. It's more fascinating than you might think. The title above is his new book.
I first learned of Carson McCullers several years ago when another book mentioned her name. I still didn't pick up one of her books until seeing "Love Song". Now, the movie has much more meaning, and the book was great. Well, so far it is. I'm still not quite finished.
I'd love to know what other people are reading. I don't have a wide enough readership nor know people in life who write a blog, much less about books they've read. It's weird that people know what's going on with me because of this urge to share with anyone who happens along, but I know so little about them.
Facebook doesn't count.
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10:50
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Occidental Tourist
Slayers and Their Vampires by Bruce McClelland. Everything you ever wanted to know about vampires, folklore, religiosity (what now?), witches, and more.
I'm not a Twilight reader, I don't understand the appeal of hairy, hairy Edward Cullen. I'd like to tie that character up to a barber's chair and give him a good buzz cut. But, I liked Buffy. If these names mean anything to you,
here's something you might enjoy.
I could watch that over and over...
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10:22
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Occidental Tourist
I have just deleted more than 4,000 emails from my Inbox and Sent folders.
I feel 4,000 pieces of paper lighter, if that makes any kind of sense...
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14:28
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Occidental Tourist
Today, we have a guest blogger. You may know her from such posts as, "
Early Morning Quiz" ,
"Finally! Some Pictures!! , and "
Forty Stone and Six Months Ago". OC is here to write about her chickens. Pictures by OC.
My chicken Cleopatra loves shiny things!
Her head is in the way because she is trying to peck the camera when it flashes!
Hatshepsut is afraid to lay an egg in the picture because I'm taking a photo of her!
She is crabby because she wants to be a mom but we don't have a rooster anymore.
I put two eggs in the grass to make it look like a chicken laid two eggs there!
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12:20
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Occidental Tourist
To start our spring break vacation, we went to Smith Rock for a hike.
I am a native Oregonian, but for years I did not know where Smith Rock was located. I'm not a rock climber, so that helps explain my ignorance. Now that I live in Redmond, I have noticed how Smith Rock seems to be everywhere. During the drive from Bend, you can see the rock pretty much the entire way. It's as though it were watching your every move...
In my defense, I did know some other things about Oregon. Such as, the girls grow tall here.
Also, it may be spring but it's still the desert. It is COLD in March.*
Amazingly, these limby Oregon creatures can fold themselves in order to explore "huts" along the trail. There were many huts. We did not go inside every one, but almost.
The footbridge back at the start of the hike looks like the trunk of a tree, when viewed from above. If you can manage it, the views are worth the climb. The river trail is flat and follows the river, coincidentally. There are other options, such as Misery Ridge and Burma Road. We took Misery Ridge, which meets up with the River Trail and makes for a decent 3-mile loop.
Spring break is not a good time to hike at Smith Rock if you are craving solitude. Dude, there were like, all kinds of people there and like, you know, youths or whatever. Most were good about watching their language around my kid, but boy did I feel like a grandma, being concerned about hearing a swear word or forty.
*
That is okay with me. I am a knitter and have coping skills.
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18:40
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Occidental Tourist
Ned: Jeepers H. Crackers. I'd better call the Reverend.
[pushes "Rev. Lovejoy" button on phone]
[the Rev is playing with a train set]
Mrs. L: Heh heh, Ned Flanders is on the phone.
Reverend Lovejoy: [groans] Mmm...hello, Ned.
Ned: [breathless] Reverend...emergency! I -- it's the Simpson kids -- eedily -- I, uh, baptism -- oodily -- uh -- doodily doodily!
Reverend Lovejoy: Ned...have you thought about one of the other major religions? They're all pretty much the same.
[hangs up]
[his train crashes]
Oh. Damn Flanders!
----- Season 7, episode "Home Sweet Home-Diddily-Dum-Doodily"
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8:31
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Occidental Tourist
So, what are the Ides of March, and why do I need to beware? The Ides were simply calendar days (or, nights) on the Roman calendar when there was a full moon. It was a moveable date that happened every month. The need to beware of the Ides of March was attributed to the vision of a soothsayer in Shakespeare's
Julius Caesar, who felt the day was unlucky for one Gaius Julius Caesar of Rome.
March 15, 44 BCE: Julius Caesar is assassinated by fellow Senators, including buddies Brutus and Cassius. Poor guy, after all he had done for the Republic.
One perk to being the leader of Rome included issuing coins that carried your visage. In the fifth century B.C. (or possibly earlier) bronze began to be used in central Italy as a medium of exchange valued by weight. In the second century an annually elected board of three were tasked with the casting and striking of bronze, silver, and gold, created to control the issuance of the currency.
Under Augustus the mints and the entire monetary system were reorganized so that the emperor issued the gold and silver coinage, while the bronze was left to the senate to issue. Under this system, the money changed virtually every year. Sort of makes you glad that quarter, dime, nickel, penny situation need not be relearned every year.
In other words, coins were ancient Rome's
People magazine.
-----
directly quoted and/or paraphrased from Roman Civilization Volume I, Selected Readings: The Republic and the Augustan Age, Ed. Lewis and Reinhold 3rd edition (my textbook from HST414 which, of course, I kept).Speaking of holidays, did you know St. Patrick was not Irish? It's always a school day around here.
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7:20
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Occidental Tourist
LAST NIGHT: A five-minute presentation, in French, with pictures. At least there were cookies.
THIS MORNING: Cat poop smooshed under the back door. No cookies.
Bad.
THE END.
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9:13
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Occidental Tourist
Do you remember the Gravitron at
OMSI? I loved that thing. It was a tall, rectangular space enclosed in glass that housed steel framed track that looked like a miniature roller coaster, where silver balls would travel. There were numerous different tracks, and little kids like me fascinated, watching the balls travel this way and that, going one way and then all of a sudden going another, with all of the twists and turns, the steel arms that would flip over and pick up a ball to take it to another track and then rest to wait for the next; the wheels that looked like miniature ferris wheels with spaces for the balls and when it was full it finally overturned the balls onto tracks to keep falling, down, down, down. When they got to the end, there was an elevator that brought the balls back to the top and it would do it all over again.
I was reading
Dooce this morning and she featured this video. She's right, it
is absolutely amazing. It is better than the Gravitron, and now you know how big that is.
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12:34
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Occidental Tourist
I totally agree with my mom, who commented that the last post needed a picture. I don't have one, but when she wears it again - and we know that she will - I will take one of her in "the outfit" and post it.
In the mean time, here is her completely matching play outfit.
There are more pictures! Today felt like spring, and we were all outside in the back yard. Humans, cats, and chickens; the usual melange of characters.
I cleaned the laundry room, and so had the back door open to let in all the fresh air. The girl, chickens, and cats were taking advantage of the new shoots of grass and warm sunshine, depending upon their liking. Some were taking advantage of one another's snuggle factor. Especially her.
This is our biggest hen, Professor. She was not named after anyone in particular from history, she looked as though she could sport a pair of glasses and give a lecture about
Boudicca, queen of the East Anglian Icenis. I guess.
History Professor!
Sunshine Kitty sez, "dont blok mai rayz, and meybe I wont poop on ur flor..."
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10:14
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Occidental Tourist
My daughter dressed herself this morning. After all, she's nine and quite capable. She likes patterns, and so she paired a patterned shirt with a completely differently-patterned skirt, and even more differently-patterned tights.
After taking her to school in her outfit loud enough that it could announce its own arrival, I came home and read about
another mom's decisive daughter.
Like her, I also felt like pinning a note to OC to explain the colorful outfit, thereby absolving myself of responsibility and still being a "good mom". But I was also proud of my daughter for doing exactly what she liked and feeling good about herself. I like that more than I cared about precise outfit coordination at age 9.
In the same post, it was this sentence that struck most deeply: "I want to bottle my little girl’s belief in herself and give it back to her by the pint when she hits sixteen."
--- Jessica, at
Balancing EverythingToo often we are concerned with how we look rather than what it all means. There is a time and a place to look "acceptable", of course. But when our children go through stages of trying out their own thing, it's good to remember that it is good for them. Do not crush this tendency, for one day it will translate well when, for example, their own thing will be to come home and do their homework instead of hanging out in front of a convenience store with their friends.
Rejoice in all-patterned outfits! They're not so bad.
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9:41
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Occidental Tourist
In addition to the socks for OC, I have several other projects on the needles.
I like it when there are about three projects going at once. Generally, they are in different stages of production and require varying degrees of attention. This way, I have something I can knit while watching tv or carrying on a conversation, and something to travel with, and something that requires concentration.
OC is fun to knit for, not only because she is adorable but because she is so excited to have new things. Bonus: she is smaller than an adult, and so the projects for her knit up quickly.
OC picked out the colors for this cotton jumper for summer:
It will be knit in halves, then sewn together. I think the colors will suit her wonderfully.
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17:45
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Occidental Tourist
Generally, this is not the most glorious of things to wake up in the morning and find in your laundry room:
Since it happened back in September, I can laugh about it. A little.
The bag of cat food sat atop the washing machine, its flat surface making a lovely storage area. Except when the machine developed a mind of its own and decided to shirk its encumbrances. Cat food bag, KAPOW!
This knitting thing is sticking with me, because the sock is finished. The last of the in-progress pictures:
I have started the other sock. Four inches into the leg ribbing have gone quickly, as other knitters told me it would. Now if only the child would stop growing so she can wear these hand-knit items forever.....
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7:44
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Occidental Tourist
This is OC and Boadicea.
Boudicca (also spelled Boadicea, Boudica) was the wife of King Prasutagus of the Celtic Iceni of
East Anglia. She led a famous revolt against Roman rule in Britain in AD 60.
The Romans invaded England in AD 43. Unless the native population recognized the advantage of being part of the Empire, there could be no political security, and their interests, if not with Rome, would be with themselves. This principle of governance apparently was not appreciated by the procurator, who, as the chief financial administrator of the province, treated the inhabitants, instead, as a defeated enemy.
Tacitus recounts the complaints of the Iceni: the governor tyrannized their persons; the procurator, their possessions. "Their gangs of centurions or slaves, as the case may be, mingle violence and insult. Nothing is any longer safe from their greed and lust. In war it is the braver who takes the spoil; as things stand with us, it is mostly cowards and shirkers that rob our homes, kidnap our children and conscript our men."
Even the royal house of the Iceni was not immune. When the king died, the client relationship with Rome and status of the tribe as
civitates peregrinae (Roman subjects, but not full Roman citizens) ended. Still, half the kingdom was left to Nero in the hope that the remaining possessions could thereby be preserved for his two daughters.
From Tacitus'
Annals:
"Kingdom and household alike were plundered like prizes of war, the one by Roman officers, the other by Roman slaves. As a beginning, his widow Boudicca was flogged and their daughters raped. The Icenian chiefs were deprived of their hereditary estates as if the Romans had been given the whole country. The king's own relatives were treated like slaves."
Boudicca rebelled, and was joined by other tribes against the Roman army in the area at the time. The Roman soldiers took refuge in the temple (of Claudius), but after two days, it fell. Legio IX, understrength and marching south from its camp at Longthorpe some eighty miles away was ambushed and defeated. The procurator fled to Gaul, and Boudica marched on Londinium (London). As Tacitus records,
"Neither before nor since has Britain ever been in a more uneasy or dangerous state. Veterans were butchered, colonies burned to the ground, armies isolated. We had to fight for our lives before we could think of victory."
With her daughters in front of her, Boudica drove her chariot among the tribes, shouting encouragement as the assembled Britons, compressed in the defile, struggled to come onto open ground. The Romans waited, hurled their javelins, and then shouldered their way forward in wedge formation, hacking their way through the throng.
Later, the governor of Brittania, Suetonius Paullinus, lead a force that defeated the rebels. Lots of people died, end of local rebellion. It is thought that Boudica poisoned herself.
---- various articles, webAnd so, we bestowed the honorous name to our biggest little red hen, who hopefully will have an easier life than her namesake.
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22:39
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Occidental Tourist
My hair has gone several shades of ginger.
I've actually had it this way for a while, and
no one noticed. Not even my mom. Cipher in the snow, much? I'm not crying, I did this for me. And if you don't notice my pretty new hair, well, then I'll take pictures and write about it until there are compliments.
If no compliments, then I'll talk about the weather and things will be back to
d'habitude here at tourist central.
The red is really not that big a deal. My hair was never one shade to begin with, but it did start out a nice blonde color. Over the years it has gotten darker, much to my horror. Someone mentioned years ago that I should try red and I laughed at the time, happy instead to stick with light blonde highlights to keep up the charade that no, nothing has changed. Same old hair as always!
Boring.
Fireplace Kitteh (or, Dakota) pays you no mind. When you want to talk about things like how this week's turkey and salmon wet food is being received, then kitteh will look you in the eye. If you are lucky.
Also, someone should really clean the hearth. At least do a quick dust before taking pictures.
Good grief. My mom will think I never clean this place.
OC has the same color hair that I had, so you can see it's a lovely mix of shades. Nice self-directed compliment...that was unintended but notice I'm not deleting it?
Sable likes it when you read to him. He thinks his hair is the prettiest of all.
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9:56
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Occidental Tourist
Central Oregon is a high desert, and I carry water with me everywhere I go. I have an exaggerated fear of dehydration.
When I drive between Redmond and Bend, there are no gas stations or public areas. It is 15 miles of wilderness! What would happen if your car broke down in the summer? Think about it.
In town, it doesn't feel the same way. There are trees, lawns, and buildings, so there must be water. But the highways and open areas....those are deathtraps.
That's why it is interesting to me that, just as one could get lost in the sagebrush, it's possible
in any environment.
I wonder, are there webcams in the
Badlands?
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9:19
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Occidental Tourist
I've turned the heel on my first sock. Forget about wondering what the purpose of life is. That is nothing compared to the magic that is turning the heel. It blows my mind that someone came up with a sock pattern in the first place.
Whoever did so was a really smart lady. I assume is was a woman, anyhow.
You are looking at the sock from the underside. That triangle shape is where the heel will fit.
The foot is not the most straightforward of body parts. You want a blanket? Knit a rectangle, and there you go! Warm. How about a sweater? Two rectangles plus tubey things with decreasing, boom! Warm. But a sock...
...that's an odd shape. What you start with (in this case) is a tube for the ankle. When you reach the heel, you have to knit straight down in a kind of wall called a heel flap. Then, you form a triangle for the heel. Once you get a certain number of rows, you pick up stitches and knit in the round, while simultaneously decreasing. Simple!
It doesn't
sound simple, but when you're doing it, it is.
Superradioactive ultrawhite thumb highlight:
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20:46
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Occidental Tourist
Get your
Bachelor update before Monday night!
Yes, the Bachelor, that train-wreck of a reality show where one man is set up with a train-load of women who want to be his wife. Who can admit to watching such a pathetic display?
Me, that's who. For some reason, this season has grabbed my attention. Perhaps it is the witty recaps of Mamarazzi which have made me want to see the original episode, perhaps it is the glimpses of life as paleolithic humans that is so intriguing. Many women compete for the man. It's disgusting, it's base, it's shallow....
...the next episode is Monday, 8 pm. Spending the evening in the slimy depths of television may not be respectable, but it sure is entertaining.
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21:31
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Occidental Tourist
We have three cats, and one of them has not been featured on this website in the way that showcases her
lolcat personality.
Rum is an 11-year old female. She likes to be scratched, not held. She decides when, not you.
And now, Rum says:
Gravity Cat can holds lawndree down dis way...
...or dis way. Kitteh is versuhtyuhl.
Iz reddeh for mah clows up so u mai admyur mah byootee.
Ur not clows enuf. Clowsr, plz.
Iz bettr. Now u seez mah pretteh. Iz mor pretteh than u iz.
Sawree.
One more
lolcats. Another
lolcat. And this
one, too. We love the
lolcats.
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6:37
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Occidental Tourist
You know what's fun? Taking breaks from knitting with yarn the size of angel hair pasta and seeing what it looks like when you use it as a viewfinder.
I see a kitty. He is not amused.
I see a girl. She is highly amused, and more than a little confused at what her mother is doing at the moment. Bad news, OC, you are related to me.
She's rather patient, as I mess around not knitting her sock.
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7:06
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Occidental Tourist
Socks!
Well, A sock. And it's not done yet.
I have to knit this part to six inches. Since this is fingering weight yarn (thicker than sewing thread, but not much) it is taking forever.
The yarn is
Tofutsies a unique blend of wool, soysilk, cotton, and chitin. Chitin is material from shrimp and crab shells, and is naturally antibiotic. This is one of those times that I ask myself, "Self, who thought of grinding up shrimp shells and adding it to yarn? And, how did they figure out it was antibiotic?" And I cannot answer myself because I DO NOT KNOW. But it is cool nonetheless.
(I am not being paid to endorse this product. But I have to tell you, if someone sent me free yarn and asked me to give my opinion, I would do it. I would be honest. Hello, Debbie Bliss...Rowan tweed...)
My child anxiously awaits her sock. And as soon as I finish the first one, it's more than likely that she will want the other one.
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12:46
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Occidental Tourist
This morning was delightful. I sat by the window watching the snow come down while I felt the cool air from the outside on one side of my body and the warmth from the cozy room on the other. I read a book by the natural light and had a cup of warm coffee. Unfortunately, it had to come to an end.
I like the rain and clouds, or snow, because it makes me feel creative. I don't know why, that's just the way it is. I don't make the rules.
It wasn't long ago that I
began beading, and OC
wanted to bead, too. I even
have pictures of her when she was four, beading away along with me.
Speaking of four, remember
this?
I have to be careful when scrolling through the archives for 2005. There are plenty of funny, happy memories, but also land mines such as, "After the funeral for..."
It's hard to go back and read some of it. I won't link to any of that, for today is Friday and I think we all would rather see pictures of adorable blonde children than contemplate death, for now.
I remember
this whirlwind trip. And after rereading that, I asked myself, "Self, why are there no pictures?" And I refused to answer myself because I don't know why there are no pictures accompanying this post. To have them would have been nice.
WARNING: Some older posts include curse words. Sorry. I can't help myself sometimes. It must be the merchant marine in me that caused the salty phrases to come out.
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7:09
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Occidental Tourist
Tooth # 8 is so outta here...
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7:22
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Occidental Tourist
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5:59
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Occidental Tourist
Pine Mountain Observatory is operated for research through the University of Oregon's Physics Department, and is open to the public on the weekends during the summer. OC and I headed there on the last weekend before it closed for the season.
Located one hour east of Bend, the dirt and gravel road takes you to the site at the top of....Pine Mountain. What a suprise. At 6300' the air is cooler than the surrounding desert.
It was SO COOL. Evidence: OC kept saying, "This is so cool!"
It was fun. They have big telescopes inside buildings with movable roofs. Plus amateur astronomers with their telescopes set up, and people will answer all your silly questions without laughing at you.
ADVICE: bring warm clothes. No kidding. Even in summer, it gets cold at night. Bring a flashlight and snacks.
Get up there this summer and we'll geek out together.
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7:35
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Occidental Tourist
Birthday Girl
Before fancy father/daughter dinner at Juniper Hills Golf Club.
Among the many thoughtful birthday gifts was this giraffe water bottle, her favorite animal. She was excited to dig into the birthday gifts. Getting dressed and brushing hair are hassles that can wait for later.
Imitation is the best way to goof off.
What tongues? There are nothing serious picture-takers in this house.
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9:36
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Occidental Tourist
Let me ask you something: how often do you clean your toaster?
I had been tasting an essence of "burnt" on my toasted foods lately, a lot like the "smoked" flavor we pay a lot for at restaurants. This morning I thought about the last time I had cleaned the crumbs out of the toaster. The answer? Never, or at least, close to never. Maybe once.
I pulled out the tray on the bottom of the toaster, and wow! That's a lot of chicken food. There were enough crumbs that if one were to add a few drops of water, one could form an egg. It wouldn't taste like egg, but it would be the same size as an egg. That's a lot of crumbs.
Our five hens will recycle those crumbs into an egg, and it saves one day's worth of chicken feed. And for us? No more "blackened pop tarts" for breakfast.
Sounds expensive, tastes bad.
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22:22
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Occidental Tourist
The Hebb Rule says that if an initially weak synapse repeatedly fires at the same time that the postsynaptic neuron fires, the synapse will become strengthened. After several firings, the synapse becomes strong enough to fire by itself. LEARNING HAS OCCURRED.
Hebb was unable to determine if this was right or wrong. Can you imagine the suspense?
Learning is happening all over the place right now, in fact. Five chapters left plus twelve cranial nerves (and their functions). My dysfunctional dalliance in biopsychology officially ends tomorrow at 3pm. I can be drunk by 4, removing most residual knowledge with the destruction of a few million brain cells. Hey, math major: with 16 upper division credits, how much tuition is lost from the consumption of one twelve-dollar bottle of rum?
The economics of that plan aren't looking good...
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9:51
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Occidental Tourist
Did you know, there are places in the world where the winters are commonly harsh? This may seem obvious, but think about it. When we get a bad week or so of very cold temperatures, it's pretty unusual. It only lasts for a few days. We complain for a while, turn up the heat, and except for a higher electric bill, nothing really bad seems to come from it.
As I walked to my French final last night breathing air that, at 4 degrees farenheit, froze whatever mucous could be found in my nose, I thought about people in the places where this kind of weather was normal. There are places where it is not unusual for people to live in apartments with little heat, who do not own clothes that are warm enough. There is a lot of suffering.
People die all the time from the cold, but we never really think about it. The other night, I thought about it.
Our forecast will warm up in a couple of days. We have enough money to pay the electric bill, and there is a large stack of firewood outside to keep the woodstove going. I have a pile of wool yarn that I can make into socks and scarves, but in the mean time we have a closet full of clothes to wear.
I think it's time to be grateful for what we have, and to share what we can. Spread the love, be nice to one another, because life can be tough.
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20:33
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Occidental Tourist
I remember hearing about the case of Kitty Genovese, but I didn't know
the story behind the story.
I read Freakonomics and found reading about the application of statistical analysis to everyday conundrums more interesting than you might think. For example, have you ever wondered why, if drug dealers make so much money, why do they still live with their mothers? The answer is, it's not all that different than Amway.
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10:13
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Occidental Tourist
Four hours before dark, this is what lay on my dining room table.
A cape in colors excitedly chosen by a little girl in a fabric store in an enthusiastic bout of 'we've got so much time!' kind of shopping trip one month prior, her mother confident in her ability and time frame to sew a simple cape. Now, H-Day, it sat waiting to be completed as the minutes ticked by.
Four hours before trick or treating commenced.
Four hours to determine whether a child would be disappointed or elated with their halloween costume. Would this child learn to depend on her mother to provide, as promised, or were mommy's promises nothing but hot air?
As it turned out, the Vampiress was happy.
Happy Halloween, All Saint's Day, Marine Corps Birthday, Veteran's Day, My Birthday, and Thanksgiving.
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12:52
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Occidental Tourist
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12:36
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Occidental Tourist
I started my day by bathing my 15-year old long-haired cat's behind that was covered in diarrhea. And then, I trimmed the long hair around his behind.
How was your morning???
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15:40
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Occidental Tourist
I keep meaning to learn how to knit socks. I think that learning requires a class for me, because I can't learn from a book. I need to be shown.
Earlier this year I was busy with school, then it was summer and who wants to knit with wool in the summer? Now it's fall and I'm busy with school again. What a broken record. Then I found
this on the internet, which is a VIDEO that SHOWS you HOW to KNIT socks.
WOW.
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10:10
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Occidental Tourist
The law of When You're In a Hurry says that when one is trying to check something online quickly before rushing out the door in order to be somewhere, that will be the exact moment your computer decides it needs to perform an update and restart itself.
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13:27
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Occidental Tourist
It has to go to and then return from space! Maybe give it a minute before you start complaining. Remember the rotary phone? Yeah. How about the guy with two zeroes in his number, how much did you hate calling that person?
Louis CK talks to Conan about the miracle of technology, making some great
points.
From me to you. Or actually, from my French class friend, Emily, who sent me the link, to you. Enjoy.
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9:03
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Occidental Tourist
Giving my child a classical education while she attends public school means we do a lot of work at home. School homework and home homework. Poor girl.
We began with the moon, learning the difference between orbit and rotate. We've moved on to the planets, the study of which will culminate in an artistic rendering of a 2-D model of the solar system.
All of this to say that today we found a
really cool website that shows the solar system in motion.
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10:02
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Occidental Tourist
I love
Glee. Can't get enough. Singin' and dancin' and the microcosmic hell of the high school social strata, all in one.
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9:33
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Occidental Tourist
I can hear the questions even though the room is silent. Since I haven't mentioned it in the past 30 seconds, am I reading anything at all? Have I given up on novels forever, or just until school relents its endless cycle of reading, writing, and 'rithmatic?
I do occasionally put down the textbook in order to escape the world of dendrites and axons, ecological imperialism, and irregular verbs that end in -re.
I'm reading a new book that combines knitting with murder. I know! Awesome.
It is awesomely bad. A woman who owns an alpaca farm is murdered, and the main character is her friend who discovers the body. When this woman then talks to her (other, alive) friends in the knit shop the next day, they are not rattled or sad. The meet, talk about knitting, and contacting the dead woman's grown daughter, among other topics. This main character is the crack amateur who will solve the murder. It is ridiculous and great because it is easy reading that I don't have to retain and be tested on later. Try Needled to Death and tell me you don't feel the same way.
It's a good escape from learning the difference between ligand-gated channels and voltage-gated channels.
Not that I don't love them both.
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15:56
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Occidental Tourist
You know what's really great?
When you go to empty the bathroom garbage and the bag kind of sticks on the upturned can and then releases suddenly so that half of the garbage spills across the floor so that you have to pick it up with your hands.
Yeah, that is
awesome! I love it. It's almost, but not quite, as fun as cleaning up after a geriatric cat with diarrhea, which is almost as fun as cleaning up your kid's vomit or diarrhea. THAT is the worst (especially seeing your child suffer), and so, I am grateful that I only had to deal with the first thing today.
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9:13
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Occidental Tourist
...ordering
cleaning supplies makes you happy.
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9:40
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Occidental Tourist
This is the kind of thing that will be on my test today.
Did I mention, I'm a
social science major, history minor???
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9:54
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Occidental Tourist
Now I know the misery that is Strep Throat. My throat feels like it is stuffed with sandpaper, and every swallow means that sandpaper grinds delicate throat tissue. And it isn't a fine, 220-grit paper. Oh no, we're talking course, 40-grit paper doing its thing ALL DAY LONG.
Do not rest easy, pustules, I've begun taking antibiotics. Your days are numbered.
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20:39
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Occidental Tourist
I have kept at The Human Stain because, despite the author's insistence on using stream-of-consciousness writing to express his character's inner thoughts at times even though the third person narrative had adequately performed this task. It's a good story and I want to see how it ends.
The main character in the book is a college professor of the classics. That means everything Roman and Greek, including the language. I came across a passage and it shot straight to the highest part of my soul that loves learning while at the same time the part that laments the state of education in this great country of ours.
Before I reveal that, let me tell you what happened in my own town. Our school superintendent was asked by a parent, why raise the bar? In fact, you can read the story, and her response,
here.
I thought, why raise the bar, are you NUTS? That is not even a relevant question. The only question we should be asking as parents and as a community is, how do we get every student to the very highest level of academic achievement? Okay, maybe there are more questions, such as, how do we challenge the students who are already at a high level, and how do we raise everyone else to that level, and beyond? What's important is that every single student perform at their absolute best, no exceptions! Seriously. Anything less is PATHETIC. LAZY. UNACCEPTABLE. I'm amazed that a question like that came from a parent. Another question might be, how do we get parents to get off their lazy behinds and demand more from their kids: hard work, accountability, and better manners while we're at it?!?
So, I've got this idealistic vision for education that involves a community of teachers and parents working together to make sure that every student is performing at their very highest. I also know that it's all about as realistic as fairies and elves doing a little dance across my keyboard right now. That's where I am as I read The Human Stain, when all of a sudden, WHAM-O. I read this:
"In my parents' day and well into yours and mine, it used to be the person who fell short. Now it's the discipline. Reading the classics is too difficult, therefore it's the classics that are to blame. Today the student asserts his incapacity as a privilege. I can't learn it, so there is something wrong with it. And there is something especially wrong with the bad teacher who wants to teach it. There are no more criteria...only opinions." -----The Human Stain, Philip RothHot damn and hallelujah, as my grandmother used to say. Eureka, as the forty-niners (and the Greeks but it looked more like Εὕρηκα) used to say. That's very true, don't you think? I'm not trying to take you down the primrose path where everything was better back in the old days. But there is something to that paragraph. Things have changed to where the pressure is off of the student to work hard and instead, easily accept defeat when faced with challenging material.
That's not to say that teaching methods and materials haven't experienced a declined or serious defects. The great progressive educational experiment, among others, has done more than its fair share of damage to American children since the early 20th century. Eschewing phonics for whole-word methods of teaching reading, for example, left perfectly capable and bright schoolchildren in the darkness of incomprehension. What I think is telling here is that the student used to be accountable, and now, they are not. To whom does this failure point? We are talking about children here. Children who learn very well what they are shown. Parents! The answer is, parents, and they should know better.
Some parents (like whoever asked that question) don't want to be bothered with their child's education. Some might say, that's what teachers are for. If that's your argument then you must also believe that all learning is confined to the classroom. Then, taking that further, homework shouldn't matter. That MUST be why a percentage of children don't do their homework on a regular basis, and why the parents do not help with homework nor discipline their kids to do it, or even talk about the importance of it in the home. Declining grades, test scores, and now Iran has the nuclear bomb! (Maybe. But most likely.) Who can say that it is no wonder that America is in decline when it comes to education when we dumb down material and test out ridiculous theories at the expense of real children who do not appreciate being treated as test subject guinea pigs.
And then there is the social aspect which lets people off with their feelings, not to mention parents who would rather be friends with their kids than do any actual parenting. It makes me want to insert hot pokers into sensitive areas in order to wake those people up. Hello! Did you not realize it was going to be hard to be a parent? Sorry to tell you, but it is. Too bad, now deal with it.
I know a mom who spends hours each night helping her child do homework. She goes above and beyond because she cares. Sure, she could watch tv instead, or do ANYTHING else, because who wants to spend so much time on homework? But she cares, and I respect the hell out of her for it. There are many parents who care and who foster a sense of responsibility in their children when it comes to school and instill values. I'm talking about those who don't, and they suck.
They suck because it teaches kids a lesson in the worst way, that school doesn't matter. It teaches kids that they don't have to listen to authority - their teachers - and that sets a bad example for the future. And heck, it sets up a pretty bad scenario for themselves, if they think their kid is going to grow up and not realize they don't have to listen to them, either. After all, kids learn what they have been taught. To look at it a different way, it's not even realistic, because homework is supposed to reinforce what was learned during the day. The higher the number of times the brain is exposed to something, the more likely it will be to recall the information at a later time.
Of course not every teacher is fantastic, but they are also not magicians. They need our help to instill the lessons taught at school. Our kids need us to be strong and teach them valuable lessons that will endure throughout their life: hard work and accountability will always serve them better than laziness at a difficult subject.
So, buck up! Do the right thing. Encourage your kids to work harder, dammit. Don't accept anything less. Be the example you wish to see, and all of that.
Focal shuas. (Word up, in Irish.)
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7:57
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Occidental Tourist
I am having a hard time getting through The Human Stain for one glaring reason:
verbosity.
Stream-of-consciousness paragraph (after paragraph after paragraph) bore readers. Enough! There is something to be said for great ideas in brief. To wit: E.B. White, Wallace Stegner, Ann Packer.
The story is a good one. Philip Roth is a prize-winning author of fiction, and this book had potential but for lack of good editing. Or, maybe I just don't get it.
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11:00
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Occidental Tourist
Got an email this morning which I thought read "training pants" before I realized it said "training
plans", and referred to something about exercise and not geriatric underwear inserts.
Criminey, I know I'm not 20 anymore, but I didn't think I was ready for THAT kind of sales promotion!
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5:36
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Occidental Tourist
There's nothing like working harder for less money and absolutely no glamour or thanks. Our income recently took a hit, with the bread-winning spouse working endless hours to find jobs and then do the jobs, take care of the administrative duties, look at the profit margin....wait, where's the profit margin?
Anyway. Times are tough all over. We're grateful to have a paycheck.
And now it is midway through the month and the grocery budget is down to $18.
Last night's dinner was economical: chili. I had all of the ingredients on hand. Pasture-fed beef from in-laws (bragging), dried beans, the last jar of tomatoes I canned two (or was it three?) years ago, dried oregano from the back yard, and spices from Morton's and Lawry's. To make a little bit bigger batch, I peeled and diced the oversized pieces of zucchini that will only taste good if pureed and baked into bread or cooked into a pot of something else, like chili. OC made the cornbread. AMAZING cornbread! I love having a child who can cook.
It's a good thing there were leftovers. It's not like we're going to starve or anything, I just like leftovers.
It's in the 80's this week and sunny, so I'm still hanging clothes out to dry on my 1945 Sears and Roebuck laundry line. Saving electricity
and great-smelling clothes, can it be true? Look out, Donna Reed.
And yes, I meant to spell the word in the title that way. It's a pun!
This is also Donna Reed:
Donna Reed's image as the perfect housewife (nor as hot swimsuit chick) is in no danger of being overtaken by the likes of me. I think we are both fine with that.
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7:49
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Occidental Tourist
I am deep into fiction reading. In the last month, I've read Wallace Stegner's
Crossing to Safety, Anne Tyler's
Ladder of Years, and John Synge's
The Aran Islands to name a few. I have a couple of other titles from the library waiting on my coffee table.
Some friends of mine follow the Janet Evanovich
Stephanie Plum series.
Summer reading is almost over. Rats.
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11:40
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Occidental Tourist
A strange phenomenon occurred as I wrote the last entry. All of the words in the English language were used up and unavailable, except for the trite and ridiculous sentences that I was able to type.
This doesn't happen to many people. Apologies for the incredibly boring reading. I think the cuteness of the pictures rather makes up for what the words lacked.
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7:10
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Occidental Tourist
These are a few of the players from team Glory.
I happen to know that the second base player enjoys a good Beverly Cleary novel, glass of raspberry lemonade, and has a love for Polly Pockets.
These pictures are from spring.
I eat vegetables in season, yet post photos willy-nilly. Wacky!
It was fun to watch them play.
The girls played hard, and learned a lot.
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9:59
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Occidental Tourist
I made chili last night, and it tasted amazing. This wasn't because I'm a great cook. It had to do with the ingredients.
The central ingredient was heirloom tomatoes, mostly flammes. Heirloom varieties are those that used to be regular old tomatoes, pollinated by the flying bugs that facilitate plant sex. Nothing special. They were bred for their taste, and kept going in all the family farms and backyard gardens that used to proliferate across this nation. Of late, they have become hard to find. Thanks to organizations such as
Seed Savers Exchange, there is hope that they will not go extinct.
I took home these beautiful tomatoes and blanched them to remove the skins, then smushed them in a pot and added herbs, salt and pepper. The entire preparation process took four minutes. Clearly this is the route for me: tasty food AND easy.
I added the kidney beans I had soaked overnight and simmered on the stove for about two hours.
(Again, this was easy. The night before, I threw the dried beans in a bowl along with lots of water, and promptly forgot about them. When I was two hours away from needing them, I put them on the stove and did other things until it was time to make the chili. I am not about spending my life in the kitchen, just long enough to make piquant food.)
I chopped up a green pepper and added it to the pot. The result of these few, easy ingredients? THE MOST AMAZING TOMATO-Y FLAVOR: ripe, sweet, bursting, intense.
In recent decades, there has been a steady decline of American small farms in favor of large agribusiness. The result has been a sharp reduction of available produce that tastes good, and a proliferation of red tomatoes that taste more like cardboard than the red, juicy fruit they were intended to be.
It's interesting to look at the change in American food habits by looking at American society. Who buys the cheap produce? We all do, but especially people who live in inner cities, whose only access to groceries are convenience stores. In those cases, what is available are packaged, processed, loaded with synthesized additives, and not a whole lot of fresh veggies, even of the cardboard kind. We've come to expect asparagus in September (it's an early spring veggie) and oranges all the time (even though they're best in January through about March). Do we have to have it this way? Is there a better way? What about cost?
Good questions.
I especially wonder,
does it cost more to buy organic vegetables? What about the cost of transportation, fuel, and the pollution created by hauling food long distances, to say nothing of the lack of taste? About 85 cents of every food dollar goes to the processors, marketers, and transporters of food. The rest, three whole nickels, go to the farmer.*
Taste is what compels me to make the effort to shop at the farmer's market and the small produce store. I am not under any illusions that my actions will save the world, nor do I care about politically correct rhetoric. I care that my money go to support farmers, especially those that live around me, rather than a corporation whose only concern is profit. Efficiencies have their place, just not in the business of, for instance, cramming so many chickens into a cage so that they can't spread their wings. It's unnatural.
I don't see why good old-fashioned, chemical-free, tasty vegetables and meat need be exclusive of affordability.
Consider:
"The drift away from our agricultural roots is a natural consequence of migration from the land to the factory, which is as old as the Industrial Revolution. But we got ourselves uprooted entirely by a drastic reconfiguration of U.S. farming, beginning just after WWII. Our munitions plants, challenged to beat their swords into ploughshares, retooled to make ammonium nitrate surpluses into chemical fertilizers instead of explosives. The next explosions were yields on midwestern corn and soybean fields. It seemed like a good thing, but some officials saw these new surpluses as reason to dismantle New Deal policies that had helped farmers weather the economic uncertainties notorious to their vocation. Over the next decade, nudged by industry, the government rewrote the rules on commodity subsidies so these funds did not safeguard farmers, but instead guaranteed a supply of cheap corn and soybeans.
These two crops, formerly food for people and animals, became something entirely new: a standardized raw material for a new extractive industry...this new industry made piles of corn and soybeans into high-fructose corn syrup, hydrogenated oils, and thousands of other starch- or oil-based chemicals. Cattle and chickens were brought off the pasture into intensely crowded and mechanized CAFOs (concentrated animal feeding operations) where corn &ndash which is no part of a cow's natural diet, by the way &ndash could be turned cheaply and quickly into animal flesh. All these different products, in turn, rolled on down the new industrial food pipeline to be processed into the soft drinks, burgers, and other cheap foods on which our nation now largely runs &ndash or sits on its bottom, as the case may be.
This is how 70 percent of all our midwestern agricultural land shifted gradually into single-crop corn or soybean farms, each one of them now, on average, the size of Manhattan. Owing to synthetic fertilizers and pesticides, genetic modification, and a conversion of farming from a naturally based to a highly mechanized production system, U.S. farmers now produce 3,900 calories per U.S. citizen, per day. That is twice what we need, and 700 calories a day more than they grew in 1980. Commodity farmers can only survive by producing their maximum yields, and they do. And here is the shocking plot twist: as the farmers produced those extra calories, the food industry figured out how to get them into the bodies of people who didn't really want to eat 700 calories more calories a day...
Most of those calories enter our mouths in forms hardly recognizable as corn and soybeans, or even vegetable in origin: high-fructose corn syrup owns up to its parentage, but lecithin, citric acid, maltodextrin, sorbitol, and xanthan gum, for example, are also manufactured from corn...
Obesity is generally viewed as a failure of personal resolve, with no acknowledgment of the genuine conspiracy in this historical scheme. People actually did sit in strategy meetings discussing ways to get all those surplus calories into people who neither needed nor wished to consume them. Children have been targeted especially; food companies spend over $10 billion a year selling food brands to kids, and it isn't broccoli they're pushing. Overweight children are a demographic in many ways similar to minors addicted to cigarettes, with one notable exception: their parents are usually their suppliers. We all subsidize the cheap calories with our tax dollars, the strategists make the fortunes, and the overweight consumers get blamed for the violation. The perfect crime."
----- Animal, Vegetable, Miracle Barbara Kingsolver with Steven L. Hopp and Camille Kingsolver. New York: HarperCollins, 2007.
As for the cost, I cannot say it better than Steven L. Hopp already did:
"Most consumers don't know how much we're already paying for the conventional foods, before we even get to the supermarket. Our tax dollars subsidize the petroleum used in growing, processing, and shipping these products. We also pay direct subsidies to the large-scale, chemical-dependent brand of farming. And we're being forced to pay more each year for the environmental and health costs of that method of food production.
Here's an exercise: add up the portion of agricultural fuel use that is paid for with our taxes ($22 billion), direct Farm Bill subsidies for corn and wheat ($3 billion), treatment of food-related illnesses ($10 billion), agricultural chemical cleanup costs ($17 billion), collateral costs of pesticide use ($8 billion), and costs of nutrients lost to erosion ($20 billion). At minimum, that's a national subsidy of at least $80 billion, about $725 per household each year. That plus the sticker prices buys our "inexpensive" conventional food.
Organic practices build rather than deplete the soil...eliminate pesticides and herbicides...maintain and apply knowledge of many different crops...Smaller farms also bear relatively higher costs for packaging, marketing, and distribution. But the main difference is that organic growers aren't forcing us to pay expenses they've shifted into other domains, such as environmental and health damage."
----- Steven L. Hopp, Ibid. 117.
Even if these numbers are higher, or lower, the fact remains that there is a lot of subsidizing going to energy use rather than good food production. In my opinion, it seems like a huge waste of resources.
What is it that makes us believe that the only way to run a business is with the goal of getting rich? What is wrong with running a business with the goal of producing a fantastic product, with the idea of maintaining that production for the long term, the results of which would keep people employed and well-fed and do not make them overweight and ill?
I see the choice to be made, and it is easy. The proof is in the chili.
*
paraphrased from Barbara Kingsolver, Ibid. 13.
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15:59
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Occidental Tourist
"The language of friendship is not words but meanings."----- Henry David Thoreau
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10:03
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Occidental Tourist
Our house does not contain an air conditioning unit. The good news is, we normally don't miss it. We use fans at night, and along with a system of opening windows at night and closing them during the day, usually stay quite comfortable. There are times when the daily temperature rises above 90 degrees farenheit and the evening air cools to a mere 60 degrees or so. Those nights are few, but when they happen the fans are a pathetic substitute to human-engineered cooling system. That is my inconvenient truth.
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14:56
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Occidental Tourist
At this year's county fair, my daughter entered two chickens.
Meet Tutankhamen the rooster. He's barely a teenager at five months old, with raging hormones and a bit of a know-it-all attitude.
A good rooster protects the hens, but also shares with them. Tut is rather selfish. He grabs the largest piece of food and runs with it, squawking all the way as if to say, "Neener neener!" or some chicken equivalent. I am not thrilled with his early-morning crowing. Perhaps he will become the largest piece of food on our table one day. I will dig in with relish, if that becomes the case.
This is Boadicea the hen. She's the biggest of our Rhode Island Reds, and is very sweet. Let's just say, her cage didn't need a warning sign. Uhhhh, ignore that enormous, beautiful, dark chicken behind Boadicea. That one isn't ours. But from the looks of him, he won a blue ribbon, too.
OC won two blue ribbons with these two crazy chickens. Good job, keepsie!
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9:06
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Occidental Tourist
Nonetheless, I made this. It's kind of bulky at the top, but I still like it. I hope that with practice I can get the wire to be less....."bohemian".
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4:49
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Occidental Tourist
Using the slogan the real mccoys is big here. It works for chips as well as car rentals.
Hot chocolate served with pink marshmallows makes Erica very happy.
I'll miss you, Galway city.
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9:10
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Occidental Tourist
The film fleadh was here!
Fleadh is the Irish word for festival, prounced fest uh vul.
Oh, you already know English? Pardonnez moi.
Pronounce it flahd.
Hey, yankee, take it easy on the "d". It's not an adjective meaning characterized by flaws or having imperfections, it's Irish.
Don't worry. I pronounced it "fleed" in front of the program director and he was all *shiver* before he corrected me. It was one of those "ignorant American" moments that are bound to befall the traveler one day. Just roll with it. No one will hold it against you.
Did you notice Anjelica Huston on the official fleadh poster?
Okay then, how about now?
She was here, in Galway, for an interview before a screening of "The Dead", the short story by James Joyce. And yes, the magazine photo spread was tacked up wonky, that's why poor Anjelica looks like that. Trust me, she is not missing a large chunk out of the right side of her head at all.
For the benefit of my husband who, when I told him I was going to see a live interview with Anjelica Huston, asked, "Who's Anjelica Huston?"
The fact that one day I will depend on this man to wipe the drool from my chin is what keeps me from making (too much) fun of his ignorance of the entertainment world.
Cribbed from the
internets:
"The actress spent much of her childhood in County Galway where her father, filmmaker John Huston had a home in Craughwell. She also attended Kylemore Abbey girls' schools in the '60s.
Fleadh spokesman Felim MacDermott said: "It is very fitting that Angelica is our guest of honour in our 21st year, as in our very first Fleadh, in 1989, she featured with her father John in a documentary about the local Galway Blazers hunt.
"Angelica will also introduce some of her films, such as James Joyce's 'The Dead', which was directed by her father, during a mini-retrospective of her work at the Fleadh."
Huston, aged 58, will also take part in a public interview in the Town Hall Theatre on July 12 where audience members can ask her questions.
I was there! I was there!Huston received the Oscar for best supporting actress for her role as Maerose Prizzi in the black comedy 'Prizzi's Honor' in which she starred opposite Jack Nicholson and Kathleen Turner. In 2005, she received a Golden Globe Award for her role in 'Iron Jawed Angels', which co-starred Hilary Swank .
Huston currently serves on the board of directors at NUI Galway's John Huston School of Film and Digital Media. She is also a campaigner for animal rights group, PETA, and the US Campaign for Burma.
Previous guests of honour at the Film Fleadh, which is funded by the Arts Council, have included Peter O'Toole, Jeremy Irons and Donal McCann."
My view from the balcony was not that great because it was up high and my camera is not capable of that kind of zoomage.
But still....the woman who played Morticia Addams...
...and Maerose Prizzi was in the same room at the SAME TIME as myself.
Remember when you gave that interview in Galway and you were being asked questions and then answering them, and there was an audience and a woman in the balcony with an old camera that couldn't zoom very close and she had a blog and decided to post the picture anyway because it made her feel good to tell people she was like in the same building with Anjelica Huston?
That was awesome.
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2:07
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Occidental Tourist
Galway city is full of pubs. Here are just a few.
TAAFFES"Taaffes is one of Galway City’s best known bars. Located right in the Heart of the City on Shop Street, Taaffes has been operating as a pub for over 150 years."
"The building itself has been here for much longer dating back at least 400 years. Architectural evidence on its upper floors and rear smoking area make it as old as the nearby Kings Head."
"Taaffes is also well known as a GAA pub and you will see pictures of the victorious 1998 Galway Football team among the photos that line the walls. Today Taaffes is run by the Lally family who have strong connections with both the GAA and Traditional Irish music in Galway."
COTTAGE BAR
"The Pub itself is divided into four distinct rooms but they each have an emphasis on comfort with comfortable leather seats and a large wood burning stove in one of the rooms.
The Cottage Bar is part of a new wave of pubs offering an extensive drinks menu with beers, wines and ciders from around the World. There is also a large emphasis on food here with a brilliantly exotic salad and tapas menu served throughout the day."
Heard a storyteller here. AWESOME. Stories are not just for kids.
ROISIN DUBH
"Roisin Dubh is a Gaelic term meaning Black Rose in English. It was the symbol of Ancient Druids from the area and also a famous political song in Irish History. Pronounced Row sheen Dove, the list of people to have played in this intimate venue is astounding. Greats such as Ray Manzarek, John Paul Jones and Steve Earle have all played here as well as Irish legends such as Christy Moore, The Frames, The Saw Doctors and Andy Irvine."
Not to mention Go Panda Go. You heard it here first.
MONROE'S TAVERN
"Live music is played here seven nights a week. Monroe's has a solid reputation as a home for traditional Irish music. Every Tuesday night they have Traditional Irish set dancing which you can join in on if you are confident enough."
Also, fantastic pizza. Have a Smithwick's with a Guinness head.
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1:28
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Occidental Tourist
I couldn't help but think about being in Ireland before, with my family.
That was fun.
OC was five and quite the fantastic traveling companion.
How cute is she??? I can hardly stand it.
"Would mummy fancy a pint o' Guinness?"
When I get home, those cheeks are going to be kissed and squeezed LIKE YOU WOULDN'T BELIEVE.
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2:21
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Occidental Tourist
The
National University of Ireland, Galway was established in 1845 as Queen's College. It bills itself as "one of Ireland's foremost centres of academic excellence. With over 15,000 students, it has a long established reputation of teaching and research excellence in each of its seven faculties - Arts, Science, Commerce, Engineering, Celtic Studies, Medicine & Health Sciences, and Law."
If you attended college and NUI Galway, you would inevitably come across the old quad, and be duly impressed by the high, grey stone walls. The Gothic tone of architecture (I think?) creates a medieval air.
Then you would look up, and be blown away by the grandeur that so often characterized Gothic (I think) architecture.
It feels like this building has always been here.
What does it looks like inside? Let's walk through the gate.
All four sides are surrounded by rows of windows. There is perfectly manicured green grass with sidewalks to take you any which way. You can see the scale by noticing the door. The walls are quite tall.
The quad may be seen in full, although not in detail, from this aerial view of campus taken in 2004. It's in the lower left corner.
The unnaturally blue water is the River Corrib, where many rowing crews practice nearly every day. They're fantastic to watch in action.
If you majored in business and economics, you might have a class held in this room.
The building is called the Friary, because it was an old church, or I don't know what. It is far from the old part of campus, so it would seem that as the college grew larger, it incorporated the church and turned it into a campus building. There are stained-glass windows, as you can see. The room is quite high-tech, although you are sitting in a room which must be more than 200 years old. It's the same in the Friary computer lab, where I am now.
I think it's highly interesting to see for one's self where ancient meets modern. It does so all over this island in dramatic fashion.
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3:11
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Occidental Tourist
Studying abroad is an incredible opportunity. I am so grateful for the ability to be here, and for the support and sacrifice on the part of friends and family.
The prospect of leaving home for five weeks was very difficult. Not just leaving home, but a husband and daughter. This is a corporeal severing that worsens with time.
Also, I miss my old kitties. Silly, I know, with as much complaining about them as I have done.
Living with other people is not the easiest in the best of times, but when they leave piles of hair in the shower drain and dirty dishes in the sink, the tension it creates is frustrating to say the least. This is not the place I want to deal with problems and have an altercation.
My classes have required viewing some films which are not the lightest of subjects. In "The Wind that Shakes the Barley", a film I have seen before, a boy is beaten and killed for not speaking his name in English, a man's fingernails are pulled out for not revealing the names of others in the Irish resistance to the Black and Tans. There are executions, of a young Irish boy be fellow Irishmen, and of a landlord. It is wrenching, but also an important film that portrays the complicated split within Irish society when it came to accepting the Treaty of 1921. It's well-written and well-acted, and it does a fantastic job of contrasting the difficulties and the struggles of the time.
The next week was lighter fare, with "Into the West", about two boys leaving the slums of Dublin for the west, where there mother is buried and their father doesn't want to face his past. It's moving, and wonderfully not violent.
Then there was last week. "Hunger" is an award-winning film portraying the imprisonment and hunger strike of
Bobby Sands, the young Belfast man who died after 66 days of hunger strike in prison in Northern Ireland. His objective was to be given political status, which he was not given. Instead, he was labeled a criminal. Again, an important but nonetheless wrenching topic. The film is vivid in its portrayal of the beatings, filth, and brutality of life in prison. It goes on to show Bobby's body breaking down from the strike. It was at this point that I physically could not watch anymore. I saw the actor's face, and I saw my brother in the hospital, suffering from leukemia. No one questioned why I was crying, sitting there silently looking down. The film would make anyone cry. You should see it. But it's hard to watch.
And then there was Yahoo. Every time I logged into my email, I first had to face several pieces of bad news. A toddler died while locked in an overheated car; a puppy barely survived torture and being set on fire by cruel kids, and the story goes on that this follows a kitten being tortured in previous weeks.
It easily got to be overwhelming.
"One's suffering disappears when one lets oneself go, when one yields - even to sadness." ----- Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, Southern Mail, 1929. (Translated from French by Curtis Cate.)
I yielded to sadness, and felt better after.
This week is better. The puppy lived, now receiving care and doting. I think the kitten lived, too. I choose to believe that it did, anyway. The weather has cooled, so hopefully negligent parents will escape accidental murder for the time being.
The history of Ireland is violent and harsh, but so is much of history. It's also a beautiful place, and there are so many encounters with friendly people that have gone a long way to soothe an abraded soul.
There was the nice man in Ballina who told me about his family, about fishing, and how he had spent 40 years living in Spain and helping tourists. We spent a few pleasant minutes chatting beside the river Moy during a bit of a shower. There are the students here who I am slowly getting to know, but have been very nice and keep asking me to go places with them, even though I often turn them down. (I need more sleep than they do, and more time to study and write.) There is this lively city full of art, films, and performances to attend. Creativity abounds. The professors with the program are fantastic, and interested in their students lives outside of class.
For these, I am grateful. But there is another facet to this story.
I would like you to meet Irish Kitty:
She/he is enjoying her/his perch on the roof of her/his house, which is located on campus, strangely. I met Irish Kitty when she/he came to be pet as I was walking by. (For the sake of argument, let's call her a "her".) I gladly acquiesced because, kitty-love! I also met her people, who told me Irish Kitty is crazy. I think Irish Kitty is not crazy, but is merely misunderstood. Anyway, she likes me to pet her and that's good enough for me. Me and Irish Kitty, we are tight.
I would be ecstatic if the shower was clean and the dishes were done, but as the saying goes: you can't have everything. I have a cat to pet. Good 'nough.
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10:33
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Occidental Tourist
Dún Aonghasa, Árann – Inis Oírr
Dun Aengus, Aran Islands, Inishmore
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12:47
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Occidental Tourist
In the province of Connacht and the western part of County Galway is a region known as
Connemara. It is supposedly the largest of the
Gaeltacht, an area where Irish is the every day language. Other Gaeltacht areas include Dhún na nGall (Donegal), Mhaigh Eo (Mayo), Chiarraí (Kerry), and the Oileán Árann (Aran Islands).
Monday, July 6. First stop: Kylemore Abbey. Originally built in the 1860's and called Kylemore Castle, it was the home of wealthy Englishman Mitchell Henry and his wife. The Benedictine Order of Nuns. I bought a jar of rhubarb-lemon jam.
Go, nuns.
Killary Harbor is Ireland's only fjord, the u-shaped valley carved out by a glacier.
It is also the location of a famine road. This was a road built by starving peasants during the Great Potato Famine (1840s) in exchange for a little money to buy food.
The road served no purpose. It doesn't go anywhere, and it never carried any traffic.
The English in charge of the ridiculously meager relief, thought the Irish peasants needed to work for their food, devastating potato blight and or not. Can you imagine expending what little energy you have by building a useless road? How demoralizing would that be?
Across the fjord you can see the vertical rows of the abandoned potato beds, derogatorily referred to as "lazy beds". These were actually ingenius in design, as they allowed the water to run off freely. The plants thrived in these beds all over Ireland, until the blight.
Meet
Phytophthora infestans, the fungus responsible for destroying one third of Ireland's potato crop in 1845 and again in 1848. These losses were at the extremes of previous European experience. Even more disastrously, three-quarters of the crop failed in 1846.
"The potato blight struck the whole of Europe in the late 1840s. The blight seems to have arrived from the United States in 1844 with a shipment of seed potatoes offloaded at Ostende in Belgium. No serious damage was caused that year but the disease spread rapidly throughout the continent in the latter half of 1845 and again in 1846. Although yields everywhere were adversely affected there was no potato famine in Europe, certainly nothing on the same scale as the Irish catastrophe..."----- Phytophthora infestans (Mont.) de Bary, by Alice M. DeJarnett
In fact, the blight is
back, and this time, it's personal.
We stopped at Cong, a town in the center of the setting for the movie, "The Quiet Man".
In this town were the ruins of an abbey. Goireland.com tells us that Cong Abbey is "situated on the site of an earlier monastery founded in the 7th century, this is an Augustinian Abbey founded possibly in the 12th century."
There is also a house built over the water, which looks cool:
There. Evidence that I am still alive, yet woefully behind posting updates.
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5:22
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Occidental Tourist
I didn't realize I was tempting the retribution of the fates when I exclaimed to my husband, "College is easy!"
I referred to the fact that I had very little responsibility outside of taking care of myself and doing homework. There was no house to clean, no geriatric cats getting sick, no child to raise, and no relationship to navigate. I don't have to clean a toilet for five weeks. There is the fact that I have to buy water and haul the heavy packages to my dorm, but it shouldn't be too hard with all that time on my hands.
Except...
Last Tuesday night, a black hole opened up in my world and sucked all available time through it. I needed a few groceries, clean clothes, and a computer with printer, all at the same time. The nearest computer lab was closed by 8 pm despite the posted time which clearly said the closing time was 10 pm. The shuttle to the grocery store had stopped running for the day. I could walk, but it would take at least an hour and a half. I had a paper that was due the following morning and needed editing. All that was left to accomplish was laundry, but the question was, would there be any open machines? There are six machines - SIX - in place that houses hundreds of students. That isn't one machine per group of three housing units. Each group of three can have 38 people in residence. 38 times at least 15 groups equals hundreds of people who can't do their laundry because there are six machines available until 11 pm.
I had exactly just enough time to do one load. I had jeans that I had worn so many times they walked themselves to the laundry room. One load was all I needed.
And here is where I acknowledge that this was a trying day, but it is also the problems of a person
studying in Ireland for more than a month. I have to buy water, but to put it into perspective, at least I have access to clean water.
Going to sleep at night is when I miss my family the most.
OC's nighttime routine include a bath. I want to smell her freshly washed (or accidentally-on-purpose, not washed) hair and snuggle with that warm body.
Classes are challenging, but I am lucky for every minute I get to spend doing this. I'm glad it's only the one time, though, because I couldn't take another long separation from OC and OH. OC will just have to get used to the fact that we're going to live together forever.
FATES: The three Greek Goddesses of Birth, Destiny, and Death.
Otherwise known as the Moirae, these timeless old hags weave the threads of destiny that control your life.
They are: CLOTHO who spins the Thread of Life, LACHESIS who allots the length of the yarn, and ATROPOS who does the snip (the final one).
All the good and evil that befalls you is woven into your destiny and cannot be altered even one jot. You may find this a little unfair, but it's the stuff great Greek tragedies are made of.
The ladies are having fun with my life's tapestry.
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10:55
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Occidental Tourist
William Butler Yeats lived in this tower with his wife and children between 1918 and 1929.
Frenchclass: can you decipher this? Do not cheat with a translator! I could get the gist of it, except for certain vocabulary that we haven't covered, possibly from the "Norman castle of Thoor Ballylee" chapter, which is probably a second year topic. Perhaps Madame Professeur will decipher it in class next year. *
There are four levels, sort of, in the tower. This bridge was blown up during the civil war in Ireland, which began after the Easter Rising of 1916.
The civil war brought action to this part of County Galway. Look how close the bridge is to the house...
This is the first floor, with fireplace and living area.
The tower's origins are not known, but are said to be of Norman origin, built in the 16th century. It certainly looks like it was built for defense, with tiny windows all over the place just large enough to shoot arrows from.
The snug bedroom, again, with fireplace.
Adorable castle-y door.
This would have been a child's dream playhouse, with all of the miniature spaces and corridors that lead to windows and hiding places. It would not have been a dream for the parents of small children. Here is the spiralling stone staircase of dizzying, serious head injury potential:
I would hate to have been the one to haul firewood to each room, but I would have been first to volunteer to clean the roof. Check out the view:
These are my adorable friends. They are sweet and impossibly youthful.
What is Coole Park? It is the homesite of Lady Gregory, Yeats' patron and friend. It's just a few kilometers (and miles) from Thoor Ballylee. The home was torn down as a result of backlash against large landholders, but the site is still there. There is a giftshop and teashop in the old stables, and gardens to wander.
This is the autograph tree, where Lady Gregory encouraged her visitors to carve their initials in the bark of a Copper Beech, behind us.
Can you make out W...B...Y?
Yeah, me neither, from this photograph.
This is George Bernard Shaw's, and you can definitely see a large "G" and a "B" and kind of the "S". Luckily, he made these letters large.
The group of writers which passed in and through Lady Gregory's life read like a list of the greatest writers of the era: J.M. Synge, Sean O'Casey, George Moore, Shaw, Yeats, Tennyson, and the like. What an incredible gathering.
The experience of visiting the land where Yeats walked, where he wrote, was difficult to describe. Inspiring? Yes, but that is not even close.
Yeats came from a family that was Anglo-Irish, meaning Protestant. He established the Abbey Theater with
Lady Gregory.
There is so much to read, so much to learn!
The Wild Swans at Coole
Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold,
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still----- Yeats
* The text reads as follows: "En Irlande, nombre histoires sont cachées dans les ruines conquises par le lierre, dans les châteaux effondrés, dans les tours décapitees, gris vestiges d'une grandeur passée parmi lesquels errent des chouettes inquiètes et des fontomes inapaisés. Thoor Ballylee résiste à la'assaut du temps, fière et orgueilleuse, préservant dans ses murs des souvenirs envoûtants. C'est au-delà d'un vieux pont traversant la rivière que le poete William Butler Yeats a connu etre 1918 et 1928 les moments les plus heureux de sa vie sentimentale et artistique. Thoor Ballylee devient pour le poète un lieu d'epanouissement, mais aussi le symbole puissant de son enracinement, de son amour irrévocable pour son..."
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10:30
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Occidental Tourist
Student housing is located in a place called Corrib Village (Baile na Coiribe in Irish) on the edge of campus. There are dozens of buildings like this one, each group with a courtyard and painted in its very own pastel shade. These are available for self-catering over the summer. I've heard so many different languages while walking around through the village.
The walk up to the back gate is bordered by dense forest. You can see why the gates are closed at 11 pm and why you might not want to find yourself here alone at dark.
La Cuisine:
When I take a shower, this is what I see. I can look at the River Corrib and whoever happens to be walking by on the river path.
My room is small so I decided I could store my giganto suitcase here:
The river path heads north about a mile before it ends at a game field. Along the way there are put-in points for boats. I've gone for runs along this course and usually there are rowing teams out along with some people in a motorboat following behind, screaming at them with a bullhorn.
Tomorrow is the first field trip, to
Coole Park, once the home of William Butler Yeats, and
Thoor Ballylee, the tower home that Yeats bought and restored in order to live there from 1919 - 1929.
Under my window ledge the waters race,
Otters below and moor-hens on the top,
Run for a mile undimmed in Heaven's face,
Then darkening through 'dark' Raftery's 'cellar' drop,
Run underground, rise in a rocky place
In Coole demesne, and there to finish up
Spread to a lake and drop into a hole.
What's water but the generated soul?'----- W.B. Yeats 'Coole Park and Ballylee, 1931'
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3:44
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Occidental Tourist
Ladies and gentlemen, may I present your American representative in Ireland:
I bought a coffee, checked out of the B&B in Salthill, and promptly spilled some coffee on my shirt. This was how I arrived in Galway city. Uncle Sam would be so proud.
I had several hours before I could check in to student housing in Corrib Village, so I decided to tourist it up and take pictures.
Eyre Square (pronounced "air" like Jane Eyre) is the center of the city. It has a park, Kennedy Park, so named because JFK gave a speech here only months before his assassination.
Walking around is easy. Galway is not too large so that you get lost, but leave it to me to get pretty close.
I wandered the streets near Eyre Square, slowly familiarizing myself concentrically. Streets are not so much laid in a grid system, rather, on an ancient behind-the-city-walls, whatever works kind of way.
These flags display the names of prominant western families of old.
I don't think anyone noticed my coffee shirt. At least, no one pointed and laughed. They might have been laughing on the inside, though.
I predict many Euros will be dropped here:
And, quite possibly sprinkled throughout the shops here:
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4:30
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Occidental Tourist
I arrived in Shannon after a long day and night of flying. I don't think my excitement registers in the photo, but I'm all a-twitter.
This is an odd subject for a picture. I blame jet lag. I don't know what to blame for sharing it with you as I am, sober and fresh from sleep.
It was a quick hour and a half bus trip and ten-minute taxi ride to the bed and breakfast in Salthill. Mine's the third one from the left. It is as adorable inside as it is on the outside.
I took a shower, then a nap. Witness the restorative powers of these basic human activities.
Salthill is a seaside resort town whose heyday was in decades past, but has enjoyed a comeback as it became a suburb of Galway city. Here is Galway Bay, quite handily just across the street from the B&B.
Another view of the bay...
There is a promenade along the bay, along which people of all kinds were strolling and enjoying the pleasant afternoon. I came across a bachelorette party, decked out in "hen party" sashes and sparkly accoutrements, taking pictures of themselves beside the by before climbing back in their limo for more partying. They were adorable.
Maps can be deceiving, because distances look greater than they are. Salthill seemed a distance away from Galway, but it is actually a part of it.
Galway is a beautiful city. There is vibrance and activity, but it is entirely navigable due to its smaller size. It is not as overwhelming as, say, Dublin, but still full of ancient history.
My guidebook quite rightly relates, "The city of Galway is a delight, with its narrow streets, old stone and wooden shopfronts, good restaurants and bustling pubs."
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8:39
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Occidental Tourist
That is a-okay with me!
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10:39
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Occidental Tourist
I'm going to Ireland to study history this summer.
I don't know what it is about an old pile of stones that attracts me.
Galway is the third largest city in Ireland and home to the
Lola Rose yarn shop.
“The use of traveling is to regulate imagination by reality, and instead of thinking how things may be, to see them as they are.” ----- Samuel Johnson
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines, sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” ----- Mark Twain
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9:48
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Occidental Tourist
How is your summer going? All ten days so far have been fantastic! It has to do with no homework, with time free for spending with my daughter in an unhurried fashion. This is a big change, a good change.
Also, I've been reading whatever I want to read. A neighbor gave me a book to read called Essential Writings by Thich Nhat Hanh, a Vietnamese Buddhist monk with a serious way with words.
"Practicing Buddhism is a clever way to enjoy life. Happiness is available. Please help yourself to it. All of us have the capacity of transforming neutral feelings into pleasant feelings, very pleasant feelings that can last a long time. This is what we practice during sitting and walking meditation. If you are happy, all of us will profit from it. Society will profit from it. All living beings will profit from it." (p.93)
Think about traffic for a moment. Not a pleasant thought, is it? But how about ways to transform the experience from unpleasant to, if not pleasant, than at least neutral? There are things we can do to make it so, instead of becoming enraged with something we cannot control.
I like to listen to books on cd, and that helps to give me something to look forward to when I'm in the car. Central Oregon is not the world's biggest traffic jam by any means, but there are still slow drivers and people who pull out in front of us. At times like these, I imagine that the driver has experienced loss. Maybe it's an illness or loss of a loved one, maybe they just lost their job and don't know what they're going to do. Whatever it is, I try to give them the benefit of the doubt, and in doing so, create compassion for their annoying driving. It is not a completely selfless act. In doing so, I notice that I release the feelings of anger that easily well inside. Instead of feeling anger, I choose to feel compassion. It is this that stops me from tailgating or from passing the offending car and then pulling in front to express my irritation. This is healthier for everyone, not to mention safer.
This is not to say I am so enlightened and better than you. I didn't used to think this way AT ALL. I used to get mad, and I got even. It was temporarily satisfying to cut off a car who had just cut me off, but it wasn't safe and the feelings didn't last. I remember being a mess after the rapid succession of my brother's death, my father's death, and my own divorce. My mind was not on my driving, and I probably drove too slowly and pulled out in front of people left and right. I was suffering but the rest of the world had no idea. Once I realized this, I expanded that to how I had no idea what other people are experiencing. Duh, but it was pretty profound. If I had no idea, why did I respond to others with aggression and anger? It began to make no sense, and I realized I was putting out negative energy on top of negative energy, and I was ashamed. I might have caused another person pain in the guise of road rage. It was all a great big, unnecessary misunderstanding.
At times of suffering, the last thing anyone needs is hatefulness. Getting flipped the bird in return for an unthinking lane change. I'm grateful for the forgiveness of strangers, and so I try to give back. There is no way to know what another person is going through. Maybe they are just a jerk, and if they are then your compassion at their jerkiness means they get away with it. But maybe they are suffering greatly, and your compassion was sent out and acted as a bit of soothing balm to their painful day, for just a few seconds they had a reprieve. I think they should have the benefit of the doubt. Philo of Alexandria, an ancient philosopher said, "Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle."
One of the most difficult things I have done is to realize how much time I have spent rushing my daughter instead of being with her. Going places - work, school, errands - are necessary to daily life. These are not bad things. What makes the difference is the way we handle each of these events. I have not always made the best use of patience.
I am grateful for the chance, every day, to try again; to get it right; to do better.
"Our lives are made of days and hours, and each hour is precious. Have we wasted our hours and our days? Are we wasting our lives? These are important questions. Practicing Buddhism is to be alive in each moment." (p.93)
I'm not a Buddhist, I'm Presbyterian (also known as the "frozen chosen"). I don't care much for rigid lines of categorization, so that if I define myself as a Protestant, that means that I do not study Catholic teachings, for example. I think there is much wisdom offered in our religious traditions and I don't see the point in fighting about it.
From road rage to religious tolerance, this blog defies definition!
I am also no optimistic, glass-half-full kind of pollyanna, but I do have hope for the best. Is this naive? Maybe. I used to care about that but I don't think it much matters. What matters more is that a little optimism is better than the alternative.
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9:18
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Occidental Tourist
After fishing last weekend, I found two hooks that had been changed off of the line. These were still good, so I gave them to OH to put away. It was getting dark and he already had put away the tackle box, so he put them in his jacket pocket and said, "Don't let me forget these."
I washed his jacket yesterday, and only one hook was in the pocket. The other hook could be in the lawn where my husband walked, in the carpet where he took off his jacket, or in the laundry room stuck in some other piece of laundry. It could be anywhere.
This morning, I got up early to study. I needed to get the blood moving, so I went into the living room to do push-ups and sit-ups. I did ten sit-ups, then rolled over to start doing push-ups, when on the carpet
right in front of my face was the other hook! Talk about your one in a million chances.
It was on a part of the floor that we walk every day in socked feet because we take off our shoes in the house. It had been there for TWO FULL DAYS and no one - not even a cat - had stepped on it.
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10:56
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Occidental Tourist
The time: Thursday, 9 pm. Place: An ordinary bathroom.I was flossing my teeth, which I do occasionally, when a large chunk of white came out and rolled over my tongue. I spit it out into my hand. It was part of my tooth.
It was Thursday night, my daughter was in bed. The dentist's office is closed Friday through Sunday, but never fear, the emergency number will help. Except, it was answered by the babysitter who informed me that the doctors were away brushing up - ha - on their mad dental skillz at a conference out of town. I managed to control my mounting panic to state that I may require emergency care for the part of my tooth that was now in my hand. She laughed a little, and said that had happened to her. There I was, imagining imminent nerve exposure and crippling pain, but instead finding comfort in the babysitter (actually, the children's grandma) who told me it was likely not going to require immediate action but that I should call for an appointment on Monday.
Update: Monday, 9 am.I have an appointment for a crown this week. I haven't had any pain associated with the cracked tooth, for which I am eternally grateful. And no, there will be no coronation ceremony to cap my falling apart, old teeth. At least I'm not an elephant. When their teeth are ground down to nothing, they die from starvation. I'm not saying I couldn't stand to lose a few pounds, but starvation is a slow way to go. I'm grateful for dentists.
And elephants. Merci.
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0:12
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Occidental Tourist
Shakespeare wrote for the masses. Competition to attract a paying audience was fierce. The theater had to vie with other entertainment options including the horrifying bear-baiting bloodsport down the street.
The cheap seats were standing room only. The action on stage had better be enough to keep these groundlings' minds off their aching feet and instead on the characters in the play.
The terrible brutalities of human nature held their own against contrived animal fights. The Elizabethan era seamlessly accepted bloodthirsty ancient Roman themes as its onstage entertainment.
Shakespeare is not an elite literary tradition reserved for the educated. It is for everyone who breathes and feels and lives. Human nature is human nature. Some emotions are universal. Love, trust, betrayal, protectiveness, tradition, ritual, sacrifice, celebration.... it's all there. "Titus" and "Much Ado" are two of the more accessible plays, in my opinion.
Come to think of it, "Fiddler on the Roof" is pretty good, too.
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9:42
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Occidental Tourist
I've read seven Shakespeare plays in as many weeks, and I have to recommend two of them. "Titus Andronicus" and "Much Ado About Nothing" were my favorites. While not exactly beach books, they are fantastic reads you can get through in about two hours. I have the Pelican paperback versions. These are easier to carry around than a honkin' volume.
Lady Beatrice
I liked "Titus" a lot because it was the easiest to read. I understood it right away, which was not always the case with the other plays. I think the setting - ancient Rome - had a lot to do with my comfort level. I dig that era.
"Much Ado" was great because it was easily understood, and so I didn't have to work at reading it. One of the lovers was frustrating to read about because he was such a gullible ninny. Anyway. Check it out.
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8:38
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Occidental Tourist
Last summer for my husband's birthday, I presented him with tickets to two plays at the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in Ashland. He was really not excited about it. I was patient with him because he had never been to the OSF, and therefore had no precedent upon which to base his silly emotional response.
Of the two plays in question, only one was Shakespeare: "Coriolanus". The other was Thornton Wilder's classic, "Our Town".
Since it was his birthday, it was his choice on how we spent our time when not otherwise engaged in culturally bettering ourselves. For my husband, that usually means going to unpopulated places for physical exercise. The more competitive, the better.
What else would you want to do in Southern Oregon in August, when the temperature tops 102 degrees??? We also had only a few extra hours.
Right. A hike it is! (was?)
View from the top, back to Ashland:
Can you feel the heat? Look at that sky! It was toasty.
We found a hike of reasonable distance and drove to the trailhead. It turned out to have been the location of a recent forest fire. I can imagine how quickly the fire swept over the top of the hill, pushed by winds. The clearing offered great views of Ashland, which is beautiful any time of year.
Does this man look 30???
It was a beautiful hike, through cool forests and open, grassy meadows until it reached the peak here, at (I forget the name of) this hill. It was open (as you can plainly see) and offered beautiful views of the valley below.
Here's the man...
"Do something funny! Strike a pose!" I requested, always looking to add interest to benign photographic situations. He complied, offering up a very 'Lewis & Clark discover the Pacific' kind of thing:
Might I add, if you haven't been to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival, you are quite simply missing out on an amazing experience. It isn't hard to understand the language. Besides, you will be mesmerized by the set and costumes and acting that pulls you into the story without needing to be an English major.
Trust a man who, though skeptical at first, thoroughly enjoyed himself.
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11:00
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Occidental Tourist
Last year, OC turned eight years old. She wanted to have cupcakes, and she wanted to make them.
The mixer is carbon dated to be 1.2 million years old. It weighs just over forty stone. That would be, forty Stonehenge-sized stones.
Speaking of stone, this is Pampered Chef stoneware. VERY easy to crack, but cooks up a nice batch of cupcakes. You don't have to take my word for it. Let's ask a qualified expert...
"How are the cupcakes, OC?"
"These cupcakes – much like my mama – rock!!!"
Hey, I'm just the messenger.
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10:53
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Occidental Tourist
This is Rum.
Note the greenish blob on the floor in front of her. This is an old sock filled with nepeta, commonly known as catnip. This herb makes Rum behave in very un-Rum behavior, such as exhibit mirth, joy, and playfulness.
Run has earned the nickname "Crabby Patty", and through a careful program of desensitization, she now receives kisses to the top of her head without vocal protestation. She has her limits, but this is considered progress within the context of the Rum/human relationship.
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9:10
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Occidental Tourist
I learned to knit about three years ago. In that time, I've made several scarves and many, many hats. I've even made a wrap.
But this, this is an Alice Starmore sweater pattern. It was begun six months ago, and it still looks like this:
When a pattern is so complicated and with new stitches I've never done before, it requires my undivided attention. I have ripped out many times. That's okay, but what is problematic is the rate of growth of my daughter. It's not her fault, but she is putting the pressure on to get this done before she grows out of it before it exists.
I aspire to be a knitter of sweaters and socks. These, to me, will be the pinnacle of knitting accomplishment.
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12:28
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Occidental Tourist
If there is one good thing about being sick, it's the quality storytelling by certain members of this household.
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17:31
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Occidental Tourist
It's a pancake...........
.......shaped like a heart. At one time, this was awesome, but I have since forgotten why that was.
Here is another way I spend my time:
It is easy to see the awesome in this photo, sans explanation.
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12:15
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Occidental Tourist
I have neglected the blog again, not for lack of subject matter but time to steal away and write. School, taxes, paperwork, sick cats, LIFE!!!! Good gravy.
The tax news is not as bad as last year, that is the good news. We were good boy scouts and were better prepared, and it has paid off, kind of.
OC is playing softball again this spring, but she is in the minors! I don't know what that means, but I think it is good. She's become very coordinated and strong, likely due to attending regular gymnastics classes. She advanced to Level 2 before we pulled her out to concentrate on softball. Two practices per week and one or two games per week is going to be plenty. We don't need gymnastics on top of it, thank you.
OH is coaching her team. They are peas in a pod.
Life for me rolls along. This term, I have ancient Roman history, Shakespeare, and French 103. Spring break felt very short.
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14:10
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Occidental Tourist
I'm up to my armpits in recycling because I'm spending my valuable free, spring break- time getting to things I don't normally have time to do (nor do I want to do). Going through junk mail is one of those things.
I have a system that looks like this: on a daily basis, pay attention to mail that looks like a bill or otherwise significant correspondence; make a neat pile of everything else for later. It's a good thing I open all the mail eventually because I've found things (like checks) that looked like junk but actually weren't.
I'm also organizing the file cabinet. You know, cleaning out old bank statements and making new folders for papers that have lain about long enough to deserve a file folder of their very own. This is not an interesting topic, but when I read of the mundane tasks that other people do, it makes me feel better. I am sharing this with you by way of a public service. I hope you feel better now.
In order to survive this time of need, the grocery store has mercifully put Ben & Jerry's on sale. It's like they knew what I needed. There is nothing like a roaring fire on a cold spring evening to take the chill off of a bowl of Dublin Mudslide. Who needs Cancun?
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13:57
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Occidental Tourist
I've been in my pajamas all morning. I am enjoying not being under deadline to produce a paper. Last week? I had six papers to complete. S.I.X. I stayed up late, got up early, and got them all done.
My 4.0 GPA hangs in the balance with two upcoming finals, economics on Monday and French Tuesday night. Right now, they seem so far away. It's tempting to watch one of the movies that Netflix has sent (they always know what I'm in the mood to watch!) and catch up on knitting projects that had to be ignored last week. But I've never had a 4.0 GPA before, and I don't want to lose it. Remember how
nutty I was over my math classes last year? I still am. I have not evolved.
At least I can study in my pajamas. I don't have to go anywhere today. It's just me, my daughter, two ancient cats, one less-ancient cat, six baby chicks, and one
McConnell + Brue.
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11:09
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Occidental Tourist
You might have guessed that school has gotten the better of me for the past couple of weeks. School, and illness, and getting behind.
You shouldn't suffer from my schedule, so enjoy the following:
Two sodium atoms are walking down the road chatting. All of a sudden, one stops and turns to its friend looking worried:
Na#1: “Oh, no...I think I’ve lost an electron!”
Na#2: “What, are you sure?”
Na#1: “Yes, I’m positive!”
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10:27
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Occidental Tourist
They are sick. My husband and daughter are coughing up mucous and heating the house with their fevers.
So far, I have escaped infection, but I don't know how long I can hold out.....
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10:56
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Occidental Tourist
BARACK OBAMA: The chicken crossed the road because it was time for a change! The chicken wanted change!
JOHN MC CAIN: My friends, that chicken crossed the road because he recognized the need to engage in cooperation and dialogue with all the chickens on the other side of the road......ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ
SARAH PALIN: BECAUSE, PRAISE JESUS, I WAS GONNA SHOOT HIS SORRY LIBERAL ASS OFF FOR BLOCKING MY VIEW OF RUSSIA!
HILLARY CLINTON: When I was First Lady, I personally helped that little chicken to cross the road. This experience makes me uniquely qualified to ensure right from Day One that every chicken in this country gets the chance it deserves to cross the road. But then, this really isn't about me.
GEORGE W. BUSH: We don't really care why the chicken crossed the road. We just want to know if the chicken is on our side of the road, or not. The chicken is either against us, or for us. There is no middle ground here.
DICK CHENEY: Where's my gun?
COLIN POWELL: Now to the left of the screen, you can clearly see the satellite image of the chicken crossing the road.
BILL CLINTON: I did not cross the road with that chicken. What is your definition of crossing?
AL GORE: I invented the chicken.
JOHN KERRY: Although I voted to let the chicken cross the road, I am now against it! It was the wrong road to cross, and I was misled about the chicken's intentions. I am not for it now, and will remain against it.
AL SHARPTON: Why are all the chickens white? We need some black chickens.
DR. PHIL: The problem we have here is that this chicken won't realize that he must first deal with the problem on this side of the road before it goes after the problem on the other side of the road. What we need to do is help him realize how stupid he's acting by not taking on his current problems before adding new problems.
OPRAH: Well, I understand that the chicken is having problems, which is why he wants to cross this road so bad. So instead of having the chicken learn from his mistakes and take falls, which is a part of life, I'm going to give this chicken a car so that he can just drive across the road and not live his life like the rest of the chickens.
ANDERSON COOPER, CNN: We have reason to believe there is a chicken, but we have not yet been allowed to have access to the other side of the road.
NANCY GRACE: That chicken crossed the road because he's guilty! You can see it in his eyes and the way he walks.
PAT BUCHANAN: To steal the job of a decent, hardworking American.
JERRY FALWELL: Because the chicken was gay! Can't you people see the plain truth? That's why they call it the other side. Yes, my friends, that chicken is gay. And if you eat that chicken, you will become gay, too. I say we boycott all chickens until we sort out this abomination that the liberal media whitewashes with seemingly harmless phrases like the other side. That chicken should not be crossing the road. It's as plain and as simple as that.
BARBARA WALTERS: Isn't that interesting? In a few moments, we will be listening to the chicken tell, for the first time, the heartwarming story of how it experienced a serious case of molting, and went on to accomplish its lifelong dream of crossing the road.
ERNEST HEMINGWAY: To die in the rain, alone.
ARISTOTLE: It is the nature of chickens to cross the road.
JOHN LENNON: Imagine all the chickens in the world crossing roads together, in peace.
BILL GATES: I have just released eChicken2008, which will not only cross roads, but will lay eggs, file your important documents, and balance your checkbook. Internet Explorer is an integral part of eChicken2008. This new platform is much more stable and will never crash.
ALBERT EINSTEIN: Did the chicken really cross the road, or did the road move beneath the chicken?
GRANDPA: In my day we didn't ask why the chicken crossed the road. Somebody told us the chicken crossed the road, and that was good enough.
COLONEL SANDERS: Did I miss one?
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20:56
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Occidental Tourist
1. I've saved us hundreds of dollars because of the thousands of dollars I've spent (over the years) buying things when they are on sale.*
2. Ice cream really does make you heal faster. Period.
We didn't go skiing (downhill) on Saturday because Natalie wasn't quite over the sniffles. I didn't want her out in the cold air all day long because I thought it would make her cold worse.
My husband went XC skiing instead, for miles and miles. He woke up this morning with a cough and cold. When I told him that skiing had made him sick, he was so insulted he made me take it back.
* To be honest, he's not so sure about this one yet.
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9:11
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Occidental Tourist
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16:00
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Occidental Tourist
The relationship between productivity and costs is inverse. In other words, the higher the productivity of workers, the lower the cost to produce the thing, whatever it is. Economies of scale are the consequences of specialization of labor and management, more efficient capital, and spreading costs among units of output. The minimum efficient scale is the lowest level of output at which a firm's long run average total cost is at a minimum.
There is a point, however, when a company can get so large as to become ineffient, disorganized and uncoordinated. This is called diseconomy of scale.
The conclusion?
SIZE MATTERS.I don't know about you, but I've been saying THAT for YEARS!
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21:19
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Occidental Tourist
Most people change their phone's generic voicemail message to a personalized greeting. I appreciate that. I would like someone to produce an accounting for how much time is lost listening to the infernal standard greeting, the one which gives 45 options of things you might want to do instead of leaving a message. My guess would be that the number would be so high we would all be in danger of falling into a deep depression over it. The economy could turn around if only it weren't for the lost productivity and entrepreneurship.
No matter how soothing the voice, my veins shrink to half their original circumference and years come off my life as atherosclerosis sets in my cardiopulminary system every time I hear, "If you want to send a fax, press star. If you want to leave a callback number, press 45." Calls have been dropped from cell phones while drivers cross states, waiting to get through the endless options. "If you want to leave a number but not a message, press 17. If you want to hear an impression of your favorite Jewish comedian, press 18. If you want to hear an impression of your favorite gentile comedian, press 19...." There is relief when the beep finally does give way to expression. I'm calling someone on the phone! If they can't answer, I want to leave a message! What I don't want is to have other options. The only other option is to hang up and then have that aneurysm in private, because that is the only possible conclusion to what is a grandly stultifying experience. Type A personalities do not have an easy life.
These are the moments the zen Buddhist tradition was made to counteract. I wish I knew something about the zen Buddhist tradition.
Something that was extremely satisfying to me was when I cleaned my keyboard. I spent an inordinate amount of time on the phone today, mostly catching up with friends I have, through no fault of their own, ignored for months. I didn't mean to ignore them, it was completely something I was going through. Call it a hedgehog phase, where all I wanted was to curl up on a ball an be left alone. The requirement of such mature behavior is to call people you care about and explain yourself, so that hopefully they won't give up on being your friend.
While I was on the phone - this is the extraction part - I noticed my keyboard had cat hairs here and there. I pulled those away and looked more closely. The cat hair was only the tip of the iceberg. Underneath the cat hair was a layer of lint, lintberg? tiny little lint bunnies hanging out behind the "d" and "v" and most of the keys. I tried to get at them with a pencil, but the tip wasn't long enough. Using the pencil was like popping a zit that you just KNOW goes much deeper than the initial bloop of release yielded. There was more lint, and I could see it but not reach it. I found a sewing needle and used the blunt end to poke around and pull out little balls of lint and cathair. I do not have words for the way it made me feel, but suffice it to say that "orgasmic" would not be an overstatement. "Satisfying" is too benign, although it was satisfying. I am having trouble finding the exact adjective. What comes to mind is that it might be like the experience of a dermatologist, excising the bacteria fouling a tiny pore, and then performing the excision one at a time, over and over, until the entire visage is free of contaminants.
Well, that was a whole paragraph of writing which will not go into the writing portfolio. I'd like to say I could attribute it to drunkenness, but no. I don't think blogging sober is very zen, but it was the best I could come up with.
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7:16
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Occidental Tourist
Yeah, I said "buttery prose". Robert DeNiro was on "Sesame Street" the other day talking with Elmo. It's just that kind of a world.
Has anyone watched any good movies lately? Or is there no one reading this anymore?
I ask a lot, I know. To write whatever I want, publish them for the world to see, and then demand feedback after not posting for weeks and weeks.
The new year's going allright. Everyone's healthy and not missing a limb and for that I am grateful. By other standards, it's okay. School is going well for my daughter, work is changing a bit for my husband, and both are good. For me, I'm a bit disappointed with one of my classes and therefore have lost some motivation to work hard. That is a bad thing. I am working on it.
I have a paper due tomorrow and I feel as though I (or anyone) could throw a few words on a page and get an A. The class is supposed to be about the methods of studying a particular subject, but we spend an awful lot of time in class listening to anecdotes. We listen to the nuts and bolts of history, then are supposed to write about a particular force - continuity, change, etc. - that it feels disconnected. It feels like something is missing. That drive me nuts. When I feel as though I could teach the class better than the instructor, that is not a good thing. I felt that way in Math 111 last year. Focused class lectures with clear learning objectives help students immensely. I don't like paying to teach myself.
The snow is piling up. We have 5 inches. I'm planning to cross country ski today for a workout. I am going to imagine my frustration evaporating in that wintery forestland and come back with nothing to complain about.
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8:23
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Occidental Tourist
"Very few creative events flow as effortlessly and regularly as one of Johann Sebastian Bach's Brandenburg concertos. More often, they are characterized by the stops and starts, triumphs, reversals, sacrifices, and innovative choices, as the story of Rachel the shepherdess [from the Old Testament]. The story remorselessly clocks the ups and downs of any creative process, which characteristically contain stages of ambiguity, imperfection, discomfort, and sacrifice. It quietly demonstrates how the experience of creative achievement does not have to occur consistently through a project or process in order to achieve a desired result. Constant satisfaction is not an indicator of an ultimately satisfactory result. More usually, our most cherished creations withstand and even benefit from a little weathering.
In the first impulse to [begin a project] we are lightening and honey happy; madly in love. We have the strength to move any stone tablet from the top of a well single-handed. When the first flush fades, the reality sets in, and reversals of fortune, and inexplicable sacrifices and compromises, frustrations, disappointments, realizations of our own shortcomings and inadequacies, long lulls, patience, serenity, become almost routine...Having the courage to dispatch stop-and-go circumstances such as these with a soft yet measured heart is a formula that more realistically expresses the optimal progress of creativity and love...
And the setbacks temper the love, and the creativity, and the final product, rather than destroying it. The softness and the ability to be both gentle and bold yields fertile results. When we knit we can access some of these feelings. We work slowly while, to the untrained eye, life apparently passes us by. But we know better."
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The Knitting Goddess, by Deborah BergmanThe book is full of stories, myths, and wisdom. Oh, and there are knitting patterns, but the real joy is the writing. If you're in the mood, it washes over you in the way only some books can, filling the dry cracks of your soul in a smoothing, buttery prose.
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14:52
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Occidental Tourist
I sometimes cannot believe the things I feel compelled to share. The last post, for instance. Why? Why must I write such things? I do not have any idea. In order that it may be pushed down the page and therefore out of mind, I offer to share, as change of pace, recent movie rentals you might consider.
It seems I am in my Kryzystof Kieslowski phase, because this director has made all of these I am going to list here now:
"Blue"
"White"
"Red"
(see them in that order, it's a trilogy)
"The Double Life of Veronique"
The cinematography for "Blue" and "Veronique" are absolutely exquisite. If you like color and interesting camera angles, these are especially good. Maybe you are like me: you like them but you didn't know you did. I understand.
Otherwise, still there is school and cold and kitty poop. Skiing at Hoodoo has been a lot more fun since we discovered the "other" side, where there are not a million people in line and there are easy runs.
Watch those and tell me what you thought.
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7:46
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Occidental Tourist
Remember the scene in "Indecent Proposal" when Demi Moore's character rolls around naked on the bed with her million dollars? I was in the college library yesterday when the same urge overwhelmed me. All of those titles! All of that ancient history! To be surrounded by knowledge, skin-to-page with good writing, absorbing it by osmosis...
Now you know I am certifiably nutso.
I love my history class. It is historiography, or, the study of history. What the heck? Does it sound like a lot of liberal arts, social science clap-trap designed to get more tuition money without really teaching anything? Au contraire mon rossignol! It's fantastic. We get to read articles about entirely different subjects in history and then write a response paper based on an aspect of historical study. Is it a reconstruction? Is it about unexpected developments? What about causation? How does new technology affect life and society? This is the kind of thing that floats my canoe.
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7:43
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Occidental Tourist
2009 already? I expected to kiss my sweetie and ring in the new year properly. Except, I fell alseep watching a movie and so I went to bed for what was to be a two-hour nap. What really happened was, I hauled my aching behind to bed at 9:30 and did not stir until 2009 had been here for seven hours.
We're up in McCall, Idaho with my mom. Winter is a great time to get away, even though the travel can suck. We drove, in order to bring all of our skis and to have a four-wheel drive vehicle here, and had compliant weather to do so. After an afternoon and overnight in Boise, we are in McCall for the duration of the week.
It's beautiful here! The edges of the lake are snow-covered, the dock is piled high with snow. Four or five deer have been in the yard, where there is a pine tree under which they've taken shelter. I'll have pictures after I get home and download them, blahblahblah, technical claptrap.
Yesterday, we skiied at Brundage. It took me most of the day to get confident on the Bear run, but I finally did. We started at 9:30 am, and finished at 4 pm. We were all exhausted after that. My husband has found renewed energy with the new year, and has headed out to cross country ski with the sunrise this morning. He is nuts! But I love him.
The Occidental Tourist soldiers on.
Happy New Year!
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8:41
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Occidental Tourist
(Sound of back door opening)
ME: "Natalie? Where are you?"
HER: "I'm over here."
(sound of back door closing.)
ME: "What are you doing?"
HER: "Giving the kitty an outdoor recess."
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10:11
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Occidental Tourist
It's happened again. Remember
this? I couldn't find the other entry, but it happened TWICE, in two short years. Time number three happened last Friday. I cannot believe my coffeepot is broken....AGAIN!!!
Anyway. Finals week this week. I'm studying madly and also, knitting. Too bad I'm not enrolled in a college class called, "Hand-knit hats" because I'd be doing very, very well in it.
Did you take the
American History test? It's more fun than a two-hour Swedish massage. Not buying it? It is more fun than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick, but it also depends upon your feelings toward history. With that, I take my leave. I gots ta study sum more.
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8:43
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Occidental Tourist
Are you more knowledgeable than the average citizen? After being forwarded one of those ubiquitous internet quizzes, I found this one to be more substantial than most. Instead of discovering whether I was more like a cinnamon raisin bagel or sesame seed, this one is designed to discover how ignorant I am (or am not) to the construct and governance in my own country.
More information here.The quiz contains 33 questions designed to measure knowledge of America’s founding principles, political history, international relations, and market economy. Americans from all age groups, income brackets, and political ideologies fail the test of civic literacy.
- Americans age 25 to 34 score an average of 46% on the exam; Americans age 65 and over score 46%.
- Americans earning an annual income between $30,000 and $50,000 score an average of 46%; Americans earning over $100,000 score 55%.
- Liberals score an average of 49%; conservatives score 48%.
- Americans who go to church once a week score an average of 48%; Americans who never go to church score 50%.
The average score for all 2,508 Americans taking the following test was 49%; college educators scored 55%.
I know those are a lot of percentages and measures, but here is one more: I personally answered 26 out of 33 correctly — 78.79 %. It's a good thing I am in college, then. Can you do better?
TAKE THE QUIZ
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15:28
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Occidental Tourist
Regret is the other. HAHAHAHA! This is not a lament. I want to talk to those of you that are in high school right now. If you are older than that, disregard. You already know what I'm about to say.
My daughter is seven years old with her whole life ahead of her (a condition we all enjoy, actually). It is easy to look at someone so young and see possibilities that somehow didn't show themselves or that we missed when we were young. My wisdom, in advice form, is this:
Go to college
when you are young. It doesn't matter that you don't know what you want to study, that you don't have the money, or other excuses. The truth is, college will never be cheaper than it is right now. Scholarships, grants and loans are available. If you want to go to college, don't let anything stand in your way. GO NOW. If you think it's hard now, wait until you are older, with kids, a job, a spouse, a house, pets, what else? Life is full of responsibilities, but make it a bit easier on yourself and don't put off college for tomorrow when you can go today. You won't regret it.
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7:19
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Occidental Tourist
It's not official until 11:06 am, but, I'm thirty five.
Thirty-fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiive.
My daughter is walking around in a tank top, long john pants, and ski boots. We may presume she is excited to go skiing. The fashionista wanted pancakes for breakfast, no! Scones! But that will have to wait until tomorrow. It's my birthday and I'll not cook if I want to.
My husband is taking me out for coffee this morning, after the ski bunny is off to school. I wonder if I should wear the big tiara or the small?*
That's all that's happened so far.
*I don't own a tiara, but I'm beginning to wonder why not.
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20:43
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Occidental Tourist
Ce soir, j'ai trente-quatre ans. Mon anniversaire c'est 14 novembre.
This is what I did today:
1. Language lessons with OC. It's school before she goes to school. I am a waaaay fun mom.
2. Laundry. Hmm, you would think I would have a more glamourous day planned. Wait! It gets better.
3. Three mile run. Makes me sweaty and smelly, also muscle-y and hungry.
4. Ate breakfast: bagel with butter and honey, lotsa coffee.
5. Studied French.
6. Picked up OC from school.
7. Cooked vegetable rice dish with Swiss chard which turned rice purple. And, it was good.
8. French class.
9. Picked up OC's skis from GI Joe's. Girl is going to have a good season with her own used boots and skis. Mama will have to look away as she flies past trees which look to me as deathtraps, but to her are merely scenery on her way smoking her parents down the hill.
10. Home, to clean up after dinner. (???)
11. Salute to French wine with bottle of red. Excuse me, I mean,
rouge.
Bon nuit!
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16:30
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Occidental Tourist
Autumn is a welcome season when you've got a bee in your bonnet to roast something. I like to bake chicken or roast some beef and vegetables, but who wants to do that in the hot summer?
An added benefit is extra heat in the kitchen. "No, honey, I didn't turn on the heat. It's from the housewife's dream: the oven!"
Pardon me, I've just watched "Atomic Cafe" and I have 1950's-itis. It's a documentary made from film reels of the era put out from different sources. There are government information films, army training films, news reports, interviews....all kinds of things. The decade was that of the American dream, freedom and independence, but it was clouded by the real threat of nuclear attack during the Cold War. No wonder one man advises the public to stock their fallout shelters with tranquilizers! Non-narcotic, if you please, and about 100 for a family of four oughtta do.
Speaking of which, my history paper's due date was pushed back one week. Let's all put on our pearls and have a martini to celebrate, shall we?
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8:44
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Occidental Tourist
Woe to my savings account: I think I could go to college forever!
I have always loved school. I was the pig-tailed girl who skipped to class, followed the rules for the classroom (except for that bulls**t, no-talking one) and got started on homework as soon as I got home in the afternoon. I liked most subjects, except for diagramming sentences, which completely sucked the fun out of the English language.
The ten-year hiatus from college was, in hindsight, regrettable. The costs have only increased and I am not getting any younger. It is hard to find the time to get all of my studying done, with a house, two geriatric cats, a daughter, and a husband.
I heard a wise man say once that if a certain something wonderful had happened any earlier in his life, he knew he wouldn't have been ready for it. That "wise man" was my uncle, and the "certain something wonderful" was meeting his biological brothers for the first time after 50 years of not knowing his brothers existed. He told me that if it had happened any earlier in his life, he would likely have refused the offer to meet them. As it happened, he enjoyed a happy reunion with them and a particularly close relationship with my dad for two years before my dad died.
A little perspective is in order when we go around regretting things we did or did not do. I love the movie "Chasing Amy" because it is a reminder that choices we made in the past do not define us today, but they can stand for where we were at the time. Looking back serves as proof for how far we've progressed. We can leave them in the past and go on to be who we are supposed to be.
I am in college now, and that is what is important. I had a wonderful career as a graphic designer which is not necessarily over. I will go on to be a teacher one day, and I will have the chance to bring all of my experiences and skills together at what I trust to be the exact right time. In the meantime, I get to do something I love to do: read books and discuss them with interesting people. It's a hell of an expensive book club, but I am having a great time.
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17:20
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Occidental Tourist
My French teacher begins class by asking, What is the date today? (Quel est la date aujourd'huit?) And, What is the day? (Quel est le jour?) I honestly don't know the date most of the time. Day, yes (I am not a pothead), but date as in, number, not necessarily.
I mark time by what is due in each class. Next Monday, for instance, I have a paper due in history class, then I get to go take an economics test. Tomorrow is a day off for Veteran's Day, which is how I know it will be November 11th. Which must mean that today is November 10th. I planned ahead and picked up some non-fiction dvds at the library for OC. Yes, I plan to plunk my kid in front of the tv for a good part of the morning so I can write in uninterrupted silence. So sue me, you litigious recalcitrant! Besides, the non-fiction aspect of the shows will be a
learning experience. Neener, neener.
I mentioned that I've been driving more slowly in an effort to conserve gas. I might add that I stay in the right lane. This morning, I was in the right lane and flying down the road a steady, cruise-controlled speed of 59 mph when a car behind me flashed their lights as if to request to pass. I could have understood this and responded if I was in the left lane, but I was on a four-lane highway, squarely in the right, slower-vehicles-only lane.
(pause for emphasis)
There was a truck matching my speed in the left lane, and that truck clearly should have passed post haste. Inappropriate Lightflasher guy should have been doing so to the truck! I avoided road rage because I am all about level-headedness, but I did not adjust my speed. Eventually the truck passed and Inappropriate Lightflasher passed on the left.
When we arrived in Bend, Inappropriate Lightflasher turned into the SHOPPING MALL. I may not know the specific date each and every day, but I do know that Christmas is a good six weeks away. I could not understand the shopping emergency that necessitated such an insistent need to pass, and believe me, I can understand the concept of a shopping emergency with the best of them. I think I AM the best of them when it comes to a therapeutic retail experience. Just, could you get off my back about it? I was SO NOT IN YOUR WAY.
* Oui. Un verre du vin, s'il vous plait.
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15:44
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Occidental Tourist
It's an interesting time to be in a macroeconomics class. Even on a Friday afternoon, I want to go even when it's the only class and therefore the only reason I need to drive all the way to Bend (all 15 miles....whew!).
Everyday we listen to a lecture which follows the book, but inevitably the current economic situation comes up. I like having a professor to interpret certain news reports, government policy, because of the way he puts it into historical perspective. Sort of makes up for having to learn some pretty dry, technical material. I don't want to go into more detail here, because I fear stirring up some heartfelt controversy, or devolving into politics - blech - but I did want to mention it. There, I said it. I like economics! Not the current times, but in general.
Tonight is movie night. On deck is "Ice Princess" for OC, and "Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day" and "Russian Dolls" for moi. The last title is a foreign film, a follow up to the very good "L'auberge Espagnol" (The Spanish Apartment).
There's something about being in college as an adult. You are supposed to be more responsible, to know how to study, to get better grades. I definitely feel this pressure and most of it comes from myself, to myself. School takes up a large amount of time, and I really look forward to downtime now. I am failing at coming up with a neat ending to this post.....so.....have a good weekend.
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9:30
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Occidental Tourist
It has snowed. I left history class yesterday and walked out into it.
School is keeping me very busy. I love it, but there is so much to do. The last paper I wrote took forever because I fiddled with the format for so long before finally settling and getting it done.
The weather has me way into creation mode. It's cold, must...make...hats!
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12:50
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Occidental Tourist
I am still running a few days a week, but that's been easy with relatively mild weather. I wonder how long it will be before I find enough excuses to stay inside?
Being self-motivated is great, but it won't last. I'll have to find a friend to either run with, or to go on a hike with once a week to break up the routine. I hear Pilot Butte is quite the haul.
I love to run, but I don't love it enough to want to do it every day. There are too many books and movies to read and watch, and it all takes time. I want to stay in shape and fit into my clothes, and I want to be healthy. I also want to improve my Butte-to-Butte times, if you please, but there are no marathon plans in my future.
I went running today, a 26-minute tempo run. Tomorrow, I may hike at Smith Rock in the morning, or maybe go to Pilot Butte in Bend. I may not do either, as I have to get ready to attend a wedding out of town where my husband is in the wedding party, so we have to show up early for the rehearsal dinner. Oh, darn, that means I'll have to get new boots! Life is hard.
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9:47
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Occidental Tourist
My car has this feature to do with gas mileage. You can switch between viewing your current gas mileage, how many miles you have left to drive on the tank of gas, see the last average mpg you achieved, and one other that I can't remember. I usually use the setting to see how many miles I have left on the tank of gas, mostly because it doesn't shift crazily like the setting for current gas mileage. Although that's a fun one, too, because when you let off the gas and coast you can get 99 mpg until the readout shows ----. Score! Now, if only I could coast everywhere I had to go....no more gas price crisis!
I've been experimenting a bit. It might not even work, but I've been driving back and forth to Bend every day and I set my cruise control at about 2,000 rpms. That's usually about 54 - 57 mph. I like to watch the gauge go up as I drive. Last night, after I'd driven up that monster hill to the college, the gauge read 320 miles left on the tank. When I'd reached the parkway, I drove 45 mph until I got out of town and upped it to about 56 mph. I listened to French language cd's and by the time I reached Redmond, the gauge had climbed to 345 miles left on the tank.
I also like to return library books and then go home and log on to my account to see if they've been received.
I know. Fun, right?
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14:11
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Occidental Tourist
The Redmond Maui Wowi coffee shop has closed its doors. The Eugene classical music station is having their fundraiser this week and still needs to raise $30,000 by tomorrow evening. Parking at the COCC/OSU-Cascades campus is difficult because enrollment is off the charts. When economic times are hard, people tend to go to school. With all of these indicators, it's easy to see the times are really hard. It's not Great Depression hard, but still.
I listen to the classical music station because it's great music to read by since there is usually not a lot of talking. The exception is during pledge week when the announcers tell us sadly, and somewhat chidingly, that the phone lines are not ringing. I had to call earlier this week after an announcer kept saying this, so I guess it's a strategy that works. He'd play another music selection, then come back on air to talk about how much money they still needed, give the phone numbers, and then sadly report that no phones were ringing. He went on to say that volunteers were not eating the donated pastries because they felt bad that they weren't taking phone calls for pledges. It wasn't a box of homeless kittens, but it made me nearly as sad.
My school schedule is not too tough, except when things coincide. I've had a French quiz and an economics test back to back. Next week (I think) will be our comparative analysis papers in history class. I don't know exactly what that involves, but I'll find out soon enough. I keep waiting for people to point at me and say, "You don't belong in a 400-level class, you mere Associate's Degree-haver!" What is with me?
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11:41
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Occidental Tourist
Next month I will have to check a new box, the one that says 35-40. Obviously this means I can't stay up past 10 pm anymore. That would make me too hungry since I eat dinner at 4 pm. Anyway. While I wait for my AARP paperwork to arrive in the mail, please enjoy
this video. May you also laugh off your ass.
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10:09
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Occidental Tourist
I have been caught in a knitting frenzy these past couple of weeks. We had a day where the weather was cloudy and, I think, even rainy. That's all it took for me to get the cozy up for winter bug.
I learned to knit about three years ago, and I'm still a beginner. I can do a cable, but I've not done much with more advanced maneuvers. I could be farther along, but I have worked with one particular book in which the instructions were confusing. So confusing for my poor, algebra-filled head to comprehend. After getting stuck for weeks and weeks, I was able to get through my first non-scarf project: a hat for OC. From the same book, I wanted to make a mother's day present for my mom in one of the other hat patterns, but I got stuck. Again. It turned out to be an early September mother's day present by the time I finished.
But now! I have cracked the code of that stupid book. Let's just say a little graphic design goes a long way. For instance CAPITAL LETTERS and bold work wonders when you want to convey information in a comprehensive way. In lieu of either of those fancy tricks, a little line spacing can be wonderfully illuminating in separating lines of instruction for the reader. Or knitter. WHO KNEW???
I'm sick of this sun, sun, sun, hot, hot, hot, all the damn time. Today's clouds are a welcome relief. We might even get rain in the next two days! It is perfect for my latest obsession.
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19:49
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Occidental Tourist
So, I'm back. I think I needed a little break from the daily blog entries. I'll be good for at least four per week. Hey, not that much happens in my life, folks!
Speaking of back, I'm also back in school. My schedule looks like this:
- French 101
- Economics 202
- History 473
It's going to be a challenge, especially that 400-level class.
Summer went by quickly. In August, my husband FINALLY turned 30 (I am five years older), and so I took him to Ashland and we saw a couple of plays and did some hiking.
Here is us on a beautiful hike up Grizzy Mountain east of Ashland:
Someday we'll look back on this picture and I will ask, "Remember that hot day in southern Oregon when we went on that lovely hike through the woods?" And he will say, "No." That is why I blog.This is the gorgeous view of the valley on that hot day, as pointed out by the Birthday Boy, Formerly Known as Merriwether Lewis:
The plays we saw were good. "Our Town" wasn't what I expected, was kind of slow, but I'm glad I've seen this classic American play. "Coriolanus" was thrilling and well done. Husband liked it a lot and that was good because it was his birthday present.
Au revoir, mes amis.
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9:43
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Occidental Tourist
I really feel for
affirmation girl. I was a lot like her - sans affirmations - in high school.
Sad!
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7:10
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Occidental Tourist
My husband's middle brother likes to climb mountains. He has climbed most of the mountains in Colorado, and a smattering in New Mexico, Arizona, Washington, and Oregon. Last year, he climbed Mt. McKinley. The year before that it was a part of the Andes in Venezuela, and this summer he was on parts of the Alps. So yeah, serious mountain man. He is visiting us this week and planned to climb Mt. Washington - in the Cascade range - but a thunderstorm proved too dangerous. Instead, he took us to a rock climbing gym in Bend. I didn't climb, but my daughter did. Observe:
She's seven, and she has no fear. I remember the time when I had no fear. I was young, and I climbed trees with abandon, rode a three-wheeler up the face of a very large sand dune at the South Jetty, and screamed with delight at Montezuma's Revenge, the ride, at Knott's Berry Farm.
That's my baby up there! Those long, lean legs used to be chubby thighs upon which I snacked. Oh, she was a delicious baby.Once I had a child, I fear all kinds of potential accidents: skiing into trees, carnival rides which jump their tracks, Bisphenol-A in water bottles. And that is all well and good. I am a mother, after all. I can't be reckless and for good reason. Now, I love with a kind of recklessness and protect my daughter with all the energy I used to exert on an adrenaline rush. It's nature at work.
I couldn't believe how quickly she took to it, and how high she climbed. After two hours, she was not ready to go home.
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13:55
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Occidental Tourist
I mentioned more than once that I have pictures, then I post nothing but words, words, words. My camera's memory card filled up and I was forced to download them in order to clear up space to record more precious moments. And now, for your viewing pleasure........
A stepping stone which OC helped me paint...
Colorful...OC rescued a dragonfly from drowning in our wading pool. The dragonfly needed some time to catch his (or her) breath, and so hung out on the rescuer's hand for about 10 minutes, allowing me to capture the moment in a half dozen shots...
OC explains the dramatic moment of the life-saving operation.
A close-up on our subject.
No wonder my memory card filled so quickly! How many shots of a dragonfly does one need? There are more that weren't posted. But, this is a pretty cool looking dragonfly.And finally, we get to summer camp. OC spent a week in the Cascades where, among other things, she rode a BMX bike, canoed in a lake, shot a bow and arrow, and rode around on an inflatable banana behind a motorboat. Of course, I don't have photos of any of these activities, but I do have one of her camp counselor.
This is Melanie from New Zealand.This is us on the way to camp:
Not one to waste time, husband brought his laptop in order to work out his raceway design. OC enjoys a classic Beverly Cleary story.Not shown: Mommy, recovering from a 7-tequila sunrise hangover from girl's weekend. I'm just not as young as I used to be.
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8:46
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Occidental Tourist
A thunderstorm is passing through, and I'm listening to booms which are so loud they shake the house. The rain sounds lovely, smells wonderful.
I'm working on fixing a beaded necklace that I had half completed but the design was boring, the length all wrong. Summer has been on fast-forward and it's been a lot of fun, but, it feels good to take it slow for a bit.
We've been to two weeks of tennis lessons, four weeks of swimming lessons, a sleep-away camp in the Cascades, a week of "Alice in Wonderland" with the Missoula Children's theater; we've gone bike riding and running, and now I'm going to keel over. In a good way.
The slowdown will be short-lived: tomorrow we leave for mother/daughter weekend at the beach! I promise, pictures will show up soon. I have lots of 'em.
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10:33
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Occidental Tourist
The thing about hanging your wash outside to dry is, it comes back with a few bugs that have caught a free ride when it comes back inside. Yesterday, a pincher bug was sitting on my jewelry case taking a nap before I ferried it to the great outdoors.
I was thinking the other day about this summer, and comparing it to last summer when I realized: I am having a good time. Why, I wondered? I think it comes from knowing more people, feeling more comfortable in this place, and having a backup plan in emergencies. That was probably the hardest thing about moving someplace new and where we didn't know anyone. Who will be your "in case of emergency" contact? What about a babysitter I can trust? Who, outside my immediate household, can I cry in front of? These are important people to have in your life. These are the kinds of people who make you feel like you are a part of something, instead of on the periphery, an outsider.
So, yeah, things are much better this year.
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15:09
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Occidental Tourist
Last week was too taxing to post more than once. Or twice. Or whatever lame number I managed to eek out of the keyboard before I melted into multiple dentist appointments, calling the jury information number, and packing for both girl's weekend (me) and sleepaway camp (OC).
Woe is me.
I didn't know what to do with myself (watch) when (many) that (episodes) daughter (of) of (Sex) mine (and) went (the) to (City) camp (and) for (stuff) a week. I managed to keep myself busy.
(Also, running at Smith Rock. It was hot, hard, and fun. Ohhh, dirty!)
I have some great pictures from girl's weekend, including bare leg from the hot tub shots, mid-stride bee escapes, and posed group shots. (A little dirty.)
I've not gone away for good, just needed a little blog vacation.
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14:03
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Occidental Tourist
My dad's 67th birthday would have been July 4th. I thought about him as I ran the Butte to Butte 10k that morning. It gets a little easier every day to remember.
We were in Eugene, and that was where he went to meet my then-six year old brother, who he would adopt. I remember how he said they went to the duck pond and talked, and Ric was such a sweet little kid, and how he knew he wanted to raise him after meeting him that day.
Things have settled down for me, living here. I am heading back to college in the fall and it feels really good to have a goal. I will accomplish something big with that and by taking control and doing something it makes me feel less lonely and lost. So over feeling those things.
Speaking of things being easier, running 6.2 miles was not so bad. Last year was our first year at it, and it felt hard. This year was a little easier. I shaved 11 minutes off last year's time, and OH was 8 minutes faster. That was pretty cool. Although we are nowhere near superfast runners, who gives a fat frog's fanny?
Oh, and while enjoying a local beer at the Steelhead Brewpub in downtown Eugene, we sat next to Sanya Richards. She was there with her fiance, NY Giants cornerback Aaron Ross. She is beautiful in person. I couldn't stop staring. I didn't know who she was except that she looked like one of the track athletes in town for the Olympic trials at Hayward Field. We went home and I saw her face on the cover of the sports page. The day before, she had won the 400 meter race with a record time of 49.89. She is already the American 400 meter record holder, and she is 23 years old.
This is the closest thing to a celebrity sighting I have had, except for when Charo was in line just ahead of me at LAX customs. I heard Sanya say when she ordered that she doesn't like guacamole or sour cream. OMG!
I wish I had known who she was, I could've gotten an autograph. I didn't want to ask for one without knowing who she was first, because that would've made me look stupid. Instead, I just stared at her until she turned to look at me, then I blogged about her food dislikes. That is way better.
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11:37
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Occidental Tourist
Obviously.
I watched the Olympic trials for track and field on tv Sunday night, held at Eugene's Hayward Field. A man broke the world record for the 100 meter dash - 9.68 seconds! But it won't count for the record books. Apparently there was "too much tailwind". He's going to the Olympics and that is well-deserved. These athletes are amazing, I am completely fascinated.
Since last Saturday's late night post, Sable has pooped in his litterbox and the stray cat howled once before going away. Ha!
I'm coping much better today. I want to say again, I know things are really quite good. These little annoyances are present in everybody's life, that's the way it goes.
On that note, it's in the upper 90's again today, and so I unveil my coping strategy: large pitcher of mojitos! Extra ice, extra mint, extra rum. Bon appetit, mes amis.
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22:47
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Occidental Tourist
Outrageous circumstances catch our attention. Let's say that in one day, a woman's home burns down, she learns she has breast cancer, and someone steals her purse. If she loses her marbles, it's a highly understandable result to a dramatic situation. I am afraid that my own life does not warrant the same sympathy. Despite difficulty keeping my marbles in one basket the circumstances surrounding their rolling away are not dramatic in nature nor sweeping in extent.
No, my marbles are in danger of leaving me for more desirable residence due to a series of small yet constant annoyances all day, every day. The lack of drama is so low that if I ever were to lose my fragile sanity, I can hear people wonder aloud to each other that I seemed normal enough, but it sure didn't take much for her to turn cuckoo.
It could be one of a number of things to finally send me over the edge. The stray cat which arrives promptly at dark each evening to yowl in our yard at perfectly synchronized intervals which coincide with my attempts to fall asleep. He'll be quiet long enough for me to be on the doorstep of dreamland before he starts bellyaching again. Every night, the same thing.
We have three cats of our own. Because they cannot read I will tell you that Dakota is inarguably my favorite. He is my buddy, following me around nearly wherever I go until he gets bored with that. This is great, except when he follows me around wherever I go. Makes me think those statistics about most injuries happening in the home are because home is where we keep our pets.
We have Rum, a very independent cat except for her highly perceptive radar. She can decipher down to the second the moment Dakota loses interest in following me around, and she takes up the endeavor. I don't know what makes these cats think I don't enjoy a moment where I am not giving some living being some attention, but this is what they think.
There is my aged cat, Sable. I love that cat, but I don't like him very much. He has taken to refusing a clean litterbox for the kitchen floor each and every time he eliminates. True, this is not as bad as cleaning the carpet, it's the repetition that's killing me. That, and the fear of stepping in it. My kitchen is far from the homey place to pull up a chair and have a mug of coffee. It's full of land mines, and this has been going on for months.
During the years I worked full time, I dreamed of spending my days home with my daughter. Now that I am so lucky to be home with her, I can't help but wonder what was the big attraction? I kid. Of course I love it, but it is more complicated than that. It's hard and frustrating because kids are these wonderful little bundles of sweetness and love which are wrapped up with demands and needs. That's how they're supposed to be. It's just that sometimes my capacity to give dries up before the day is over.
I love my family, wouldn't trade them for any amount of money. BUT. Sometimes I think I would trade them for a studio apartment in some rainy city with a view. This would be the place where I only have to clean up after myself. I have taken to staying up later in the evenings. The summer is a season which is suited to this activity, but I have ulterior motives. One, I can avoid the stray cat/yowling-at-bedtime routine but the real reason is to have some time where NO ONE NEEDS ANYTHING FROM ME. Good god, I had no idea when I was wearing the fancy white dress that something as simple as time to one's self would become so important to me.
See what I mean? None of these things are terrible, dramatic, or would make anyone think "that woman is in danger of having a fit and possibly needs medication". And yet, there are times when I get SO MAD because of these stupid, annoying things simply because they DO NOT CEASE! My child is a funny, sweet girl who is thoughtful and helpful and completely deserving of more of my time and attention, or possibly a more capable mother. Everything I normally do - the finances, cooking, shopping, cleaning, and gardening is enough, but add to that the gas prices, hot weather, and cat problems, and it's not a question of one thing driving me nutso but rather how it all works together in one day to do it. The straw that broke the camel's back is a saying with particular resonance.
And so, here I sit, blogging away in the blissful quiet of the late evening in my home where everyone else has gone to bed. The stray cat was here, but left after I encouraged his doing so by throwing a coffee pot full of water his direction. Oh no, I spoke too soon. He's back. The washing machine is at work cleaning my running clothes for the morning. Sable may or may not have left a mess in the kitchen, but for now I don't care. Right now, I can do anything I want, and what I want to do is go check on my sleeping daughter, then go to bed and think about what fun things we might do together tomorrow as a happy family. The question I always come back around to is this: How much time do I need to recharge, so that I can be a reasonably happy, well-adjusted person for an entire day? I'll have to get back to you on that.
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9:50
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Occidental Tourist
Ahhhh, summer. 70 degree temperatures, swimming lessons, stomach flu.
Not long ago, we were going to have a yard sale. We did, in fact, have a yard sale. Quite a large portion of our offerings went to new homes with families who could take better care of them than we could. OH and I spent the day resting between making exhausting sales, because the stomach flu was coming into our lives that day and would stay for the next four days or so.
There's nothing quite as wrong as chicken soup in the summer.
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8:22
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Occidental Tourist
Summer as a kid seemed to last forever. As an adult, it is flying by. Just like every other season.
I tried not to overload the schedule, and so OC is only taking tennis lessons and swimming lessons every day, and gymnastics once per week. Ostensibly, this is because I want to "expose her to many activities", but it also could be that I want to "wear her out" so that she sleeps well. Quality parenting strikes again!
The most challenging thing in my life at the moment - thank everything good and holy - is to find time to go running in the morning. Obviously, OC can't go with me, unless she rides her bike. And guess what? Precious doesn't want to ride her bike! If I run, she wants to run, too. I don't blame her, it just makes life more interesting to have this kind of restriction. I've been going while she has her tennis lesson, but I have to fit in a couple of long runs (1 hour +) and the lesson is only an hour.
Believe me, I'm glad I have this problem. It could be worse.
Then there's our yard sale this weekend. I'm not quite ready but whatever, those things are crazy anyway. And guess what! This is the high desert, where there are 488 days of sunshine per year, and it's going to RAIN ON SATURDAY. Hello, irony.
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8:50
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Occidental Tourist
Summer has arrived in the desert. The warm days mean a lot of water for anything you want to stay alive.
From the files of woe is me, the garden hoses are driving me nuts! They all have holes, leaks, or a joint where the hose has been cut and reattached. It's summer, right? Who doesn't want a nice cooling spray on a hot day? It sounds refreshing but what ends up happening is the water splashes onto the dirt and the dirt splatters onto my feet. I end up a dirty, wet mess. I need a new hose.
And finally, from the files of it's official, now I've gone crazy, we're having a yard sale this weekend. I am excited because of all the things that may be sold, but also, it's a lot of work. People will be here, judging my stuff and therefore, judging me.
The amazing part is that I've gotten OC to agree to part with a few things. We haven't finished going through her room yet, and so haven't done the beloved stuffed animals, but the progress has been painless so far. I told her that if she wants that stuffed bunny rabbit from Goody's, she's going to have to thin the herd at home first.
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8:30
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Occidental Tourist
It's the first full day of summer vacation, and I'm thinking of calling the babysitter.
Parents of young children have a challenge when it comes to the summer schedule. Older kids can stay home alone, or older siblings can watch the younger ones. Due to incredibly bad planning on my part, neither type of child exists in our household.
In preparation for
the 10k I signed up to do again this year, I've got to keep up my running schedule. This is the challenge, to run four times per week while my young child is with me. This year, I'm prepared to reach out even more than I did last year. It doesn't hurt that I know more people now than I did last year.
Other parents are the great resource to parents of only children. God bless 'em.
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10:47
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Occidental Tourist
Today is the last day of first grade. I remember those last days of school throughout the years. They were exciting, but also a little sad. We lived five miles from town and I knew I wouldn't be seeing my friends for three months. My parents used to wonder why I was always on the phone!
OC had a good year. I'm so glad we switched classrooms, even with all the trouble that came with it. I am happy with her teacher for next year, no surprise. The school didn't want to upset the troublemaker. Sometimes a reputation is a good thing, I suppose.
Here's looking forward to an entire school year at the same school and with the same teacher.
I've been sitting here thinking what OC and I will do this afternoon and I think we'll go to the bookstore. We haven't been there in months, and OC's babysitter has a birthday coming up. She (babysitter) likes to write, so I've been thinking of getting her a book of essays and some kind of reference book, such as a style manual. I like the Elements of Style by Will Strunk.
Party on, dudes.
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8:16
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Occidental Tourist
Math is over! The final was last night. True to form, the test contained a major error on one of the problems, exceptions because of material we didn't cover, and interruptions during the test. The entire class went like that, a sad reality of what was possible from an instructor who obviously knew her material but who lacked organization and focus.
Speaking of focus, mine has been divided for the past few months between math and listening to French language audio cds. I will begin formal French classes in the fall, but I am so old I figured that getting a jump on the language would be a grand idea. Listening to the language is great, but I need to see the words in order to know what I am saying. French in particular is one of those languages with words that do not necessarily look like they sound. Un mystère!
What will I do with my time without homework due and tests to study for? Possibly read one of my dwindling stack of
44 library books. That, to make my mom sigh at my pathetic use of the library when Amazon will ship things! Right to my door!
Actually, I do have work to do. My husband needs to put together marketing packets to send out. Graphic design work will be a welcome change of pace.
Next week, French II! Should I be that excited about it? It's getting hard.
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10:26
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Occidental Tourist
I have a math final next Monday. Eek! To counteract, I found out that officially, I do not need any more math to get my degree.
Whee!!!
Today has me back to my glamourous real life. My geriatric kitty cat, Sable, the most beautiful kitty cat in the whole wide world, smells like pee.
I have sympathy for his plight. His eyesight isn't the best, and he has idiopathic neuropathy which means he stumbles around like a frat boy at the end of pledge week. After he pees, he often steps in it.
Because his other faculties have degraded, his sense of smell has taken on bionic properties and he refuses to use the litter box unless it has been treated like a hazmat cleanup site. My bottle of Bac Out is never far out of reach and that does the trick, unless I don't get to it before His Majesty has to go again. He will pee in the box, get out, and minutes later he'll poop on the floor.
I stuck him in the bath tub this morning and wouldn't you know it, he purred. I mean, he was pissed and all, but now he's in my lap, wrapped up in a towel, purring. I think he knows that the bath makes him smell better. Plus, it's further proof that I am his inferior.
What a magical post! I hope your day is pet accident-free.
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10:01
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Occidental Tourist
I found a new one for this blog.
I had a bad day last week, and because of it I had some things to say which I expressed here, publicly. I am not the first blogger to run up against the question, what do I write, and what do I leave out? There is the fact that this is a personal journal, but it is not private. Because of that, I have to respect other people's feelings when it comes to their wishes about what remains private about them.
I will say that I am proud of my husband, he's a hard worker and deserves a lot of recognition for his dedication. He is supportive of me and he cares about his family.
I had a bad day. They come, they go. It's time to move on.
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10:14
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Occidental Tourist
Relationships are those squishy things that, much like intelligence, cannot be accurately measured. It can be hard on a good day.
I was very reluctant to talk about any of
this, but I got tired of dealing with it alone. I had great conversations with myself where I agreed with my thoughtful insights, but then it got to the point where I needed to interact with real people. Thank you for sharing your comments. Believe me, they helped a lot.
My husband and I are very different. I am chocolate ice cream and he is lemon. While chocolate and fruit complement each other well, the acid tends to curdle the milk after awhile. I don't know what that means.
What I'm trying to say is that, people who are different from one another are not necessarily doomed to fail at a relationship. It does make things a might more challenging than if they, say, clicked on every level.
*sigh
I like the idea of contrast. How can you know the beauty of the color red unless you see its opposite, green? How can you know a gorgeous sunny day unless you know the dark of night? How can you appreciate feeling good unless you've known aches and pains?
On the other hand, constant grinding against opposition is wearying. What good is a thing that is ground into dust, or broken?
A relationship is like a box of chocolates. There's the good, caramel-filled kind, and there are the weird, mystery nut-filled kind, and you never know which is going to reach out and bite your head off for making an innocent comment.
The trick is, to balance the take with the give. Everything in moderation, back and forth, blah blah blah. I know this theory well. What I'd like is a lot more of it in practice.
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11:09
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Occidental Tourist
It was August 2006. My husband called me that day to tell me he had been asked to be a partner in his firm. They were going to open a new office in Central Oregon, and they wanted him there. What did I think? he asked.
The first thing I thought was, it was great he was asked to be a partner. That's quite an accomplishment.
The second thing I thought was, there is no way we can move to Central Oregon.
For the next several weeks, we had terrible arguments. Things were tense, our points of view far apart. I wanted him to have this opportunity of becoming partner and being in charge of an office, but I didn't want to do it in Redmond. Our daughter was in a unique school, I felt like we had just put roots into the ground where we were. I was raw - losing my brother and father, getting a divorce; then getting married again, moving several times - and I needed those roots to stay in the ground. I wanted to stay where we were and build a life around it.
Eventually, he chose to take the opportunity, and I supported that. I don't regret the experience he has had, as he's learned a lot of things. I chose the opportunity, I didn't choose to live here. That was a byproduct.
I make the most of where we are, despite the challenges. There are many examples of this which I'm not going to enumerate. My involvement comes from the effort to find my place, to try and fit in. Some days, I do a better job than others. Then there are the days where I can't help but cry and feel sorry for myself, feeling alone and friendless. When my husband doesn't understand what it's like for me, I think, in all seriousness, is it too much to ask that he empathize? Not approve, not agree, simply understand?
When he talks about moving again, to the country or otherwise, he says he is picking on me. Ha ha, it's all a joke. He does want to live in the country someday, but where and when will be decided later. I say, enough with the picking, already! It feels like salt in an open wound because it disregards what I am dealing with. I think, doesn't he realize that it is a struggle nearly everyday to overcome the feelings of not belonging and homesickness to have a positive attitude and to keep going? Possibly not.
What I resent is not where we live, it is the lack of understanding and appreciation for where we are now.
What I want to say is yes, let's pack up and move to the country! Back to Yamhill County, please. But not here, not the desert. I never wanted to come here and I feel like I've given up a lot for us to be here. I spend time in a place I don't belong, please don't flick me crap about it.
My mom moved a lot when she was a kid. She hated it, and so she wanted to give her kids a permanent home. We had that for many years, before a tree fell on it. Despite the tree incident, I appreciate having had that home, more specifically the roots and sense of belonging that it brought. I counted, and OC and I have lived in five different places in seven years. That, to me, is too many.
This isn't the place for me. I know this because I've lived many places that were not for me, and a few that were. I know what it feels like to belong. I'm ready to have friends, a community, and roots.
I don't think that is something to joke about.
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12:58
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Occidental Tourist
Thank you for all your comments on the last post. Mom's not a bad writer, huh?
In a "Sex and the City" episode from either the fifth or sixth season, Miranda was told by her law firm partner that she was slacking off at work. They were concerned that she had been late a few times. She said she was committed to her job, it was home that she was failing at.
When Miranda said she was failing at home, I knew exactly what she meant. It was during my brother's illness that I had those feelings of inadequacy about EVERYTHING I was doing. I had a new baby, a full-time job, and a three hour daily commute. I was doing well at absolutely NOTHING.
There was the sense of absolute spiralling out of control when Ric was diagnosed, then spent the next 11 months going from ICU to remission, to death. Time was fleeting during the hours when I worked and my daughter was in daycare, my parents and brother in the hospital, my then-husband unconcerned about changing what we could to make dealing with the family crisis easier. It was awful. I didn't have time for family because I was too busy driving a ridiculous amount of time every day, spending the entire day away from my baby.
I know. It sounded crazy, even while I was living it.
Despite my mom's orders to the contrary, I have guilt related to that time. When I watched that episode, I felt all of it again. What can I do about it now? Nothing. There's no point to feeling guilty, I know, but sometimes I still do feel guilty. And that's the lesson right there. Learn from your mistakes and move on.
When my dad died the year following my brother of the same godawful illness, I was still in the same situation of working, driving, and daycare. But not for long. A month after he died, I moved out and began my new life as a woman who does not want to live far away from family ever again.
Which is probably why my current situation is so questionable.
I'm trying to decide on a college major, but what I really want to do isn't available here. My husband mentions at least once a day how much he wants to have acreage so he can grow things. I am ready to stuff a pillow in his face if he says it one more time. We are here because of HIM. I live where I do not want to live, for him. What does he want from me? I struggle with resentment over living here. There. I've said it. The world may end now.
More messages, it seems, that I do not belong here. I wonder how long this will continue? I wonder how long I will do this to myself?
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8:58
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Occidental Tourist
My brother would've been forty years old last Wednesday. Instead, he died from Acute Myeloid Leukemia six years ago.
The following is an essay written by my mom about my brother. She has agreed to let me share it here.
I held my son’s hand when he died that morning in May. His left hand. When I wrapped my own hands around it, his bruised fingers fluttered faintly and I felt his response. “It’s alright to let go now, Ric,” I whispered to him. “Don’t worry. We’ll be alright.” A ghost of a smile flitted across his face. I watched the muscles in his body, tautly held so long against the pain of the leukemia, release their tension. His labored breathing stopped, and I knew he was gone. I wept then, wept and held my son’s hand.
He turned thirty-four years old the day before he died. He had resolved he would not die on his birthday. It was his gift to me, as our birthdays were only days apart. The Gemini sign linked us, and together this day we shared a gift. From our home on the hill, we watched a rainbow dance over a green pasture. Then I saw my son’s face soften as he slowly scanned the room, turning his head to capture every corner. He looked at me, our eyes met, and I knew on a primal, gut level that somehow we would be alright. He grinned his familiar, lopsided grin and said, with a twinkle in his eyes, “There sure are a lot of people in the room, Mom.” Physically, he and I were the only ones there, but I felt what he saw. He would not be going alone when he left us.
* * * * *
I chose my son. He came into my life when he was ten years old. He’d been in protective custody and foster care for six years, and had scars to show from those places. We had three girls who wanted a brother, and since my husband had been adopted, it felt like a natural choice for us.
We fell in love with Ricky the first time we saw him. We knew he would be our son. This boy, with the horror stories to match the scars on his body, now reveled in his adoptive status. He knew he had been chosen. At last he had a real home. His joy was contagious. I felt my heart grow with him.
Two dozen years later, at his funeral, someone – gratefully, I cannot remember who – said to me, “At least he wasn’t your real son.” I was too numb to respond. I knew it was meant to be comforting, but “not my real son?” If he wasn’t real, what was he? Ricky was the son of my heart, as real to me as any child of my flesh. I knew for certain: he was real, and he was my son.
* * * * *
Three weeks earlier, in April, the doctors told us they had exhausted all treatment options. We were still numb from that news when Ric turned to me and asked, “Mom, will you ever be happy again?” I looked him squarely in the face and told him – for we had agreed months before we would be brutally honest with each other during this journey – that I could not see any possibility of being happy again. My son, this wise old soul, turned his distinctive hazel eyes with the golden flecks in them at me and calmly said, “My life won’t count for anything if you aren’t happy.” I had no words, for I could not lie to this boy, this man facing his own mortality far too soon. Happy? I wanted to rant and rave and break something, anything, to release my terror at the idea of life without him.
* * * * *
Life was never dull with Ricky. This lanky young boy with the bowl-cut brown hair delighted in telling me how he tricked his sisters by catching his farts in a metal Band-Aid can and getting the girls to open the lid. I remember when he broke his arm playing football, when he wrecked his bicycle and needed stitches, when his skin turned blue from playing in the cold Oregon surf, all the while insisting he was fine. I remember those times as a teenager when he grew so fast he couldn’t walk without tripping until his coordination skills caught up. The daunting amounts of food he could eat. The fear from learning he might be epileptic, and the relief when the doctor said it had been a mistake. How do you wrap your mind around your child’s terminal diagnosis?
* * * * *
We brought him home to care for him those last weeks. We set up a hospital bed in the living room, and Ric laughed that the bed was standard sized while he was not, and his feet hung over the edge. He laughed when I cried at the unfairness of it, the bureaucratic bungling. He laughed and reminded me of how I had spent hours massaging his feet in the hospital with what I thought was lotion, and one day a nurse asked why I was using liquid soap. He had the cleanest, slipperiest feet of anyone on the oncology ward, and now they were hanging over the end of the too-short bed.
Those weeks surprised me. I thought we would spend long hours talking about weighty matters, but what Ric wanted most was to watch one more NBA season finale. The Portland Trailblazer basketball franchise was only a few years younger than him, and he avidly supported his team. But the games were on satellite, and we only had a network antenna. I asked him, “You want to watch basketball???” “OK, Mom, here’s the deal,” he said, “The games give me something to hope for, and I’ve gotta have hope.” I called the satellite company. A man came and aimed a device at the sky and said there were too many trees and it couldn’t be done. Couldn’t be done? Couldn’t be done? I would cut down every tree on our property so my son would have hope. I had already heard “couldn’t be done” in the worst possible context, and this wasn’t it.
I would make it happen. I called my neighbor, a seventy year old retired logger. He quickly mobilized his heavy equipment: truck, loader, crane, crawler, winches, and chain saws. One sixty-foot tall Douglas fir tree fell, and the ground shook. No signal. He cut down another, then another, tears streaming down his face, until the satellite guy captured a signal and gave a thumbs-up. Ric had his basketball games. He’d felt the ground shake when the mighty trees fell. In his battle for hope, he knew there were other soldiers actively engaged with him.
One afternoon while Ric was resting the telephone rang. I answered it and a man’s voice said, “This is Bill Walton. Could I please speak with Ric?” Speechlessly I handed the phone to Ric. Bill Walton was the tall, red-headed center forward who had led the Trailblazers to their single World Championship against the Philadelphia 76’ers back in the glory days of 1977, when my little boy was nine years old. Bill Walton on my telephone? How had that miracle happened? I watched Ric’s face transform from tension into a loose, ear-splitting grin as he realized he was talking to his idol. Then he was asking me for a paper and pen, and wrote down Bill Walton’s cell phone number. When he hung up, he was still beaming. “Mom, Bill Walton said I could call him anytime, day or night. Bill Walton, Mom!” And my heart sang.
* * * * *
In the early stages of the adoption process, we took Ricky to visit friends. A local television celebrity lived next door, and casually dropped in to say hello. Ricky’s eyes got huge and his mouth dropped wide open. “You’re Ramblin’ Rod!” he shouted. Rod Anders, aka Rambling Rod, sat down with Ricky and told him all about his cartoon show, and invited him to be on it. Ricky told us the next day he would be the best son we could ever, ever have, if we would please, please adopt him. His joy, when we assured him he would be our son, was a tangible thing. It was his trademark. Like the time he laughed so hard on the Zipper ride at the County Fair that he swallowed his gum. When he stumbled across a skunk and got sprayed. The time he was home on a break from college, and my 6’4” son stood facing his 5’10” father, who looked up at him and said, “You’ve grown.” Without missing a beat, Ric poked his Dad in the belly and said, “So have you.” This boy – this man – lived joyfully. He wanted it to be his legacy. He had run his lap of life’s relay race, and was handing his baton to me. “My life won’t count for anything if you are not happy.”
* * * * *
In the hospital, Ric’s visitors had been limited because he could not risk catching an infection or cold. I knew my son had friends, but now I was learning how constant they were in staying connected. In these last weeks exposure no longer mattered, and on good days he held court. We carefully planned those brief hours when he would rally his energy to cheer his friends who came to cheer him. His room was filled with cards and photos, balloon bouquets, and banners scrawled with words and sketches. High school and college friends traveled hundreds of miles for a brief visit with Ric. They told stories, laughed and cried, and laughed.
Someone asked me during those weeks if it wouldn’t be easier to lose a child suddenly, in a car accident, rather than slowly to a devastating illness like leukemia. How do you answer an impossible question? Twenty years earlier I had sat with a friend whose son had died in a car accident the day before he was to leave for college. It was horrible. Are those my only choices? How about (c) never lose a child at all?
Time turned a precious commodity when its boundaries came into sharp focus. Once I had time to kill. Time on my hands. When it was Monday I yearned for Friday. When I was fifteen I longed to be twenty-one. Time had been like an artesian well, always there in abundance, a never-ending source. Now I scrambled to find the controls. Slow it down! Form a reservoir to store it up! Give me back the wasted bits and pieces!
We talked. As the days slipped past there was a point when Ric realized hope would not be enough, and we talked. As he fearlessly faced his own mortality, we talked freely about living, and dying, and what we thought came afterward. “Live your life joyfully, otherwise my life will have counted for nothing,” he said. I promised, even though I had no idea what that meant. I promised, because I still hoped to stop time and keep him with me.
* * * * *
At his funeral we were surprised at how many people attended. We hadn’t known Ric had so many friends. We invited them to share stories, and they showed me another side of my adult son: his loyalty to his friends. The time he walked a girl home after they got off work past midnight, to ensure her safety. She lived four miles away, in a remote area. He delivered her to her family, turned around and walked home. One man said Ric was the only friend he would ever let dance with his wife. Ric never forgot his foster care years, and counseled friends enduring their own tough times. He saved the lives of two people who had talked about suicide. The palpable elements of authenticity and joy, lived out in his own life, spoke to theirs and forever changed them. He had built a solid legacy. It wasn’t just words for him.
* * * * *
One afternoon during that last week, Ric’s girlfriend came to visit, and I slipped away to a mortuary to make plans. It was a surreal experience. He wanted a service that would celebrate his life. I wanted him to live. There was a lag time between his acceptance and mine, but I knew I could not let him down in his dying any more than I could in his living. The mortuary experience somehow brought his heart and mine into alignment.
I sat beside him that last night, holding his hand and talking to him. He was heavily sedated but never alone. My husband and I took turns, grabbing naps and keeping vigil. We were both with him when our well of time ran out. In the process of releasing his remains and preparing for his service, I thought the season of receiving any more gifts from Ric had passed, but I was wrong. His body went through the cremation process four days later, on my birthday. On Memorial Day.
* * * * *
When he was young his sisters called him “Ricky Ticky” and “Ricky Ricardo.” In middle school he shortened his name from “Ricky” to “Rick.” After college he shortened it again to “Ric.” I told him I liked it, but if he made any more changes, his options would be initials only, or lengthening it back to his given name, Richard. “OK, Mom, here’s the deal,” he said, “It’s just a name. I know who I am.”
* * * * *
Ric had been specific about where he wanted his ashes spread: the Oregon coast. Victoria, British Columbia. The San Juan Islands. A year after his death we met with some of his friends in Lincoln City, on the Oregon coast, to begin honoring his wishes. It was late May, cold and windy. There was a dark, heavy, low bank of clouds stretched across the horizon. Each friend had a vial of ashes, and we stood huddled together, quietly talking and waiting. There was speculation that Ric probably had something to do with the fact that the basketball season for the LA Lakers, Portland’s nemesis, was going badly. I checked my watch - 11:22 am. We had come exactly one year from his death. At that instant, a hole opened in the sky and a column of warm, sparkling sunlight descended, only on us, like a spotlight. “Ric’s here,” one of his friends said in a hushed voice. I could see my own awe reflected on the faces of the others. And echoing the cries of the gulls soaring overhead, I heard my son, laughing.
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20:18
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Occidental Tourist
Last week, I met author Dara Horn when she came to Bend to speak. I read her book,
The World to Come, Deschutes County Library's selection for collective reading.
The plot is based on a real event - the heist of a million-dollar Chagall painting - broadened to imagine fictional characters to delve into the question, who would steal a painting from an art museum during a single's cocktail hour? The book contains other real persons and events from history, such as the writer Der Nister and the Russian pogroms, telling the story of art, life and death.
Think about what it means to say, "the world to come". You might think of the afterlife or heaven, depending on your beliefs. Another way to interpret the idea is the world to come in this life, from the decisions we make. Cheating on a test, who to marry, where to live, to go for a walk....all of those things affect our lives in one way or another.
Historical events, fleshed-out characters, and philosophical ideas, all wrapped up into one well-written book. My recommendation for you, should you choose to accept it, is to read The World to Come.
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9:54
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Occidental Tourist
A lot can change in a month. Observe:
Front path, April 8, 2008...
Front path, May 15th, 2008...
The bees are buzzing in these, our flowering cherry trees. The blossoms only last for a couple of weeks. The constant wind means the petals don't stay long on the branches. When they fall it is like a pink snowstorm.
My dad became a beekeeper after he retired from his career in law enforcement. He called them (bees) his "girls", greeting them when he opened the top of the hive, always carefully replacing the lid so as not to squish any if he could help it.
I tried to catch a honeybee in action, but wasn't successful. Being busy as a bee is a serious kind of busy.
Honeybees are in trouble. When you realize how
important they our in the food chain, it is startling to read the hives are dying, and no one knows why.
At one time, my dad was president of the
Oregon Beekeepers Association. One of the things he did was work with researchers at Oregon State University to find out the latest information about threats to the health of honeybees. The worst thing at the time was a thing called the varroa mite, which could devastate a hive unless they were treated with medication. Of course, nature being the always-evolving process that it is, the mites could become resistant to the medication over time. This is a serious problem as hives succumb to an insidious pest. Wild honeybees virtually no longer exist. Something like 97% of wild bees have died, so the only reason we have them at all is thanks to beekeepers who work hard to keep them alive and thriving.
Beekeeping is fascinating. From time to time I would suit up and join dad when he smoked the bees to calm them before taking off the lid to
work with them. At first, it's unnerving to be so close to all that buzzing, but once you realize they are not after you and could care less about your presence, it's fine. The bees are gentle little things who are focused on gathering nectar and pollen, fanning honey cells, guarding the hive entrance, and feeding the newly hatched young bees. In other words, they've got enough to do without worrying about your scaredy-cat self. Please.
The closest I came to getting a bee in the shot is here. The bee is the blur seen in the lower left-hand corner.
My dad had five years of retirement to enjoy his grandkids, and his bees, before he died suddenly from an infection while being treated for Leukemia. From him, we learned a lot about bees and beekeeping, so when the news reports began about
colony collapse disorder we paid attention.
This is serious, as it affects everything we eat.
Honeybees are part of the food chain. We wouldn't have fruit, nuts, and crops without their (and other insect's) pollination work. Check out the
Haagen Dazs website to learn about the problem and see what you can do to help.The
University of California Davis and
Pennsylvania
State University are both researching the problem.
Beekeepers do what they can to keep their hives alive and pollinate for farmers and fruit growers. How long this will last, no one knows.
And so, for my dad, I will do what I can to
help the honeybees.
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10:08
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Occidental Tourist
I don't know about you, but I get into ruts. It seems to happen during a long season of unchanged weather. Around here, a sunny day does not necessarily mean a warm day.
In the past week or two, I've gotten out of my routine and went outside to do some gardening. The grass and weeds invaded the flowerbeds and it doesn't look good. I have grand plans to build a rock wall across the front of the house, providing a wind, noise, and animal barrier between us and the street. For now, I must stick to the small projects. Accomplishing one thing inspires me to do more.
I didn't do any work yesterday. For one day, I can sit on the couch and watch "Sex and the City" in the middle of a sunny (but kinda chilly) spring afternoon and not feel guilty. That's my kind of present.
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10:23
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Occidental Tourist
Don't feel like writing much. I received an extra writing assignment for a more newsy kind of article, plus my regular column is due next week. I have many ideas started, but nothing finished. Deadline: Monday. *gulp*
I'm off to the library to add to my
collection of library books which sit around my house waiting to be read. Hey, at least I can read them if I wanted, because there they are.
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12:08
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Occidental Tourist
OC is playing softball for the first time this spring. There are two games per week come snow, rain or shine, but no practices. She takes one gymnastics class per week for an hour. All of a sudden, we are going somewhere nearly every night. When I imagine if I had more kids, I don't know what I would do. Drink more heavily to numb the cold weather that is spring softball in central Oregon?
Which brings me to ask, what do you do to motivate your kids to do what they're supposed to do? I feel like the town crier, and a redundant one at that with as many times as I have to repeat myself to see any action. "Five o'clock! Time to tidy up!"
I wrote on notecards her chores, bedtime routine, and expectations and posted these on the fridge. The idea is to give her the power to complete what she needs to do each day without being asked multiple times. This way, I am not Taskmaster Mommy. If she chooses not to do them or to leave them incomplete, then we move on to the next paragraph.
I created a smiley-face/frowney-face reward/consequence system. For ten smiley-face stickers earned after completing everything for the morning and one for evening, she pulls a reward out of the reward jar. They are things like, a trip to the ice cream store or baking something special together. The consequence happens after only three frowney-faces, and are things like cleaning something.
What I want to know is, what are you doing to motivate your kids? Does it work? Kids are different and respond to different incentives. So far, this seems to be working. The down side to it is that it's something we have to do every day, twice per day.
The idea I don't like is giving a reward for what should be done normally every day. But then again, this is time to teach good habits.
Unlike SSRI's and a good bottle of wine, won't be necessary to use forever.
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7:10
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Occidental Tourist
There was a time when I had a recurring dream about an ex-boyfriend. Nothing erotic, mind you. In those dreams we would be somewhere together, the location was always changing but there we were, talking. For hours! This was very satisfying because it was something we didn't do, which I always wanted to do. After a dream like that I would wake up feeling fantastic.
Last night, the dream was about my dad, and the house where I grew up. My dad died five years ago, and the house was smashed by a tree two or three years ago. Talk about never being able to go home again.
The worst thing about losing someone you love is that the whole world doesn't stop with you. Jobs still need hours put into them, kids need your attention, bills need to be paid, etc. Everything else happens while you feel as though nothing can ever be accomplished again. Your job? Who cares! Your kid? Well, yes you take care of them as best you can. Bills? Who needs lights and heat when your life was just ripped apart and will never be the same and you can't hardly breathe much less get up, go to work, and write checks to the electric company! Those acts seems so meaningless in the face of human loss.
It's been five years. It's gotten a little easier, day by day, to resume normal activities and deal with the hurt from the loss(es) - my brother died the year previous to my dad's passing - and move forward so it doesn't hurt quite so acutely. Eventually, the hurt is not the first thing to knock you down when you wake up in the morning, but it's still there. It becomes manageable.
And then, one night my stupid brain goes off to LaLa Land then I have to feel as though it happened last week, and I can't even go out for coffee because I can't stop crying (yet) because now I'm thinking about my dad, brother AND grandfather. I think about how I'll never see them again, my husband will never meet them, and my daughter will never know them like I knew them and all of that is really, really hard to swallow.
The attitude I have about death, normally, is that it's not an ending. It's a beginning for another life, whatever that may be. These two successive nights of dreams have challenged my ability to be hopeful about the idea, and instead has sharpened the feeling of loss. Memories are a double-edged sword. On one side is this precious gift that can never be taken away by falling trees or blood cancers. On the other, they are sharp reminders of what was - and will never be again.
I've been okay with that for the last few years, but I'm not okay with that right now. I'm ready to have those dreams of unrequited love where Brad Pitt and my old boyfriend both reject me YET AGAIN, they don't even want to talk to me. Then, they walk off together into the sunset. That would be much more preferable to any other kind of dream, thank you very much.
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9:02
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Occidental Tourist
In my dream last night, I went to my grandfather's funeral wearing only a bra and underwear. What's more, the open casket was viewed in an underground tunnel. It was already halfway through the service did I realize that it might be a tad bit disrespectful to be at a funeral dressed this way. I didn't mean to be disrespectful at all, especially to my beloved grandfather (who died in 1991, by the way, and to whose funeral I was fully clothed). What happened was, I was completely inept at choosing an outfit, and when I ran out of time, I didn't get dressed at all. It had everything to do with my failures and nothing to do with an outward expression of feeling to my grandfather.
What could it mean? I thought about that this morning as I walked back from taking OC to school. Could it be that I do the most horrendously inappropriate, hurtful things inadvertently, only realizing so after the fact? The results of which hurt others, sometimes irretrievably?
I have really got to pay more attention.
On this same walk back from school - it's only three blocks, but a lot can happen in a short time - I ran into a dad and his 2nd and 3rd grade daughters. They are our neighbors on the next block, and we run into one another quite a bit but we've never gotten our kids together. I don't exactly know why. He's a single dad, and I feel uncomfortable with that. Not in a judgy way, in a man-woman way. I don't know why that would be, but since I do inexplicable things I am considering all possibilities.
Anyway, he was nice enough to ask if OC could join his girls at the park sometime. OC would love that, so I said yes, and said how nice that was to invite her. My little only child will be delighted to play with others.
Two seconds later, a woman I met at a birthday party last week came running by with her jogging stroller to take her daughter to school. We exchanged hellos, and I felt the warm fuzzies that came from realizing I am getting to know people! Other parents, whose kids can play with my kid, and of whom I can ask advice and go for coffee. This is great. As long as I don't mess it up by leaving the house half-dressed. And so I says to myself, "Good luck with that."
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9:54
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Occidental Tourist
The good news: The "Sound of Music" is a great, timeless classic with a great story and full of wonderful songs. We all three watched it this weekend.
The bad news: Every one of those songs playing in a continuous loop in one's head after viewing the movie.
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11:36
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Occidental Tourist
I found a photo and realized I didn't post it back on St. Patrick's Day.
As you can see, we know how to party.
This was the view from my front door on April 8th.
The flowers are as confused as I am about all this.
It is snowing as I write this.
At least we have each other for warmth on wintery spring days.
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9:17
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Occidental Tourist
When is she going to stop talking about her cat, already? Does she have a life outside the feline realm? What about that reference to
78 library books, could that be true? If so, what are some of the titles? Would she be able to recommend anything?
Hi. I know I've talked quite a bit about my cats lately. What can I say, I am a fool for their unconditional love. I do have a life outside of the cats (no I don't), and it's filled with adventure (liar) and celebrities (librarians).
Yesterday morning was an adventure. OC didn't want to go to school, and that is highly irregular for her. She stayed home Wednesday because she felt sick, and I could tell she wasn't feeling well although it was rather nebulous. No vomiting, a slight fever (99 degrees) that lasted a few hours, that's it. She hydrated with water and juice, and ate well all day while soaking in daytime cartoons on PBS and "The Sound of Music". (Hey, every once in a while my Netflix includes titles other people in the family want to see. Get over the shock.) I couldn't see a reason to keep her home again yesterday. But, she was REALLY upset at the thought of going to school. She cried, insisted she was too sick, kept saying "no, I don't want to go, no..." But she had lots of energy and was crawling around on the floor playing, so I decided she had to go. There was no reason to keep her home.
It turned out she had anxiety over the possibility of throwing up at school, and that was what scared her the most. Her teacher assured her she could leave the room to go to the bathroom without asking in an emergency, and that if she felt she couldn't make the bathroom in time that she could use the garbage can. This reassurance seemed to help. I stayed in the classroom for about twenty minutes to make sure she was allright. She stayed at school all day without incident.
Kids!
I really felt for her. I felt like an ogre, taking her to school over her protests. I wondered if there was some other reason she didn't want to go, such as a schoolyard bully. There wasn't. Just some good old-fashioned anxiety, the same kind that mommy has.
Genetics!
I mentioned books. I am absorbed in the fantastic
The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins. From the back cover:
Generally considered the first English sensation novel, The Woman in White features the remarkable heroine Marian Halcombe and her sleuthing partner, drawing master Walter Hartright, pitted against the diabolical team of Count Fosco and Sir Percival Glyde. A gripping tale of murder, intrigue, madness, and mistaken identity, Collins’s psychological thriller has never been out of print in the 140 years since its publication.
This highly readable classic, the existence of which I only recently discovered, I cannot recommend emphatically enough. If you have read it, please don't tell me how it ends as I am only about halfway through.
Now, if you'll excuse me, my cats want to sleep on a warm lap and I have a book to finish.
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9:41
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Occidental Tourist
The shininess of my upcoming jury duty may be wearing off. I know it is likely to be less an exciting adventure in civic procedures and more like a mind-numbing sojourn into the dark underbelly of citizenship duty, but what can I say? The offer of free wifi and lunch money buys my enthusiasm. It didn't hurt that I was already enthusiastic about the idea, hence the low incentive threshold.
I am resigned to the fact that my number probably won't get called, that I probably won't be a part of an interesting trial, that I will probably spend a lot of time for it to come to naught. Oh, well. Maybe I will finish one of my 63 library books. At least jury duty will keep me from going to the library and checking out more library books. I have a sickness.
As for Dakota, he is one fantastic-feeling kitten!
There is, however, something embarrassing about having your legs shaved, if you are a cat. Please ignore the lower section of the tote bag hanging from a doorknob which obscures the view. I need photography lessons, or something.
The bandages are from the I.V. In a strange coincidence, the vet outfitted him in the colors representing the Minnesota Vikings. That fits well with a certain someone (husband) football fan in this household, although I'm pretty sure Dakota is oblivious to the fact and cares not.
Sable barely noticed his absence and in fact, enjoyed not having to fight over the daily raw meat nugget. There was sniffing an "Oh! It's you!" moment upon his return because Sable has the memory of a goldfish and we love him for it.
He is healthy and happy, I can only imagine, to be rid of the plaque on his teeth and the fur mats which plagued his undercarriage.
Levels of indifference wax and wane, as if vollied between fluffy heads.
Welcome home, kola bear. We weren't the same without you.
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10:16
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Occidental Tourist
I've recently discovered the delicious humor of "30 Rock".
Rrrr Jrrr was my shout out to Tina Fey's awesome show. Do you watch that show? If you don't, you must rent season one immediately.
In other movie news, I watched "The Prize Winner of Defiance, Ohio". Wow. I am grateful that I did not have to boil the diapers from 10 children on my stovetop like the main character. What an amazing woman!
My Great-Grandma Squeezie boiled the diapers from six children on a wood-fired stove on their farm in eastern rural (or, rrrr) Washington. My grandma, whose real name was Naomi and stood all of 4' 10" tall, butchered her own chickens and rabbits, and endured an alcoholic husband who beat the entire family. All I can say is, I can't imagine the kind of fortitude it took to survive, year after year. By the time I came along, long after the death of her husband, she was an always-smiling and laughing woman whose favorite thing to do was sew doll clothes. She used to give me all the pennies in her purse.
I imagine she was probably happy to go to the supermarket to buy packages of meat, and maybe most of all, to be WIDOWED! Anyway.
The woman in "Prize Winner" had an alcoholic husband, but what I liked about the movie was how it wasn't all so easy to categorize people as "good" or "bad". Obviously, theirs was a hard life and mostly due to the husband's drinking, but he wasn't so easily just the bad guy. He did horrible things, true; but behind those acts was fear, and because this was portrayed along with his mostly feeble attempts to try, he was also a sympathetic character. Kind of. This made the characters three-dimensional, and so made the movie interesting and real. The woman was not a saint, but she did have amazing fortitude. That's what made the movie so good.
"Twelve Angry Men" is not on my Netflix list, and perhaps this would best be saved after any possible duties of the juror kind?
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17:43
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Occidental Tourist
When I picked up the mail this morning, I tossed it onto the side table without looking at it. It wasn't until this evening when I noticed the envelope addressed to me from the Deschutes County Trial Court Administrator. I knew immediately that my civic dream had come true. I have been summoned for jury duty!!!
I know this is an unusual reaction. Most people groan and hate jury duty as it totally messes up an otherwise perfectly calculated daily schedule, usually involving some kind of work-in-exchange-for-money scheme. Not me. Why? A little math will help to illustrate.
Jurors earn a per diem of $10 for the first three days, $25 per day after that, plus $.20 per mile. THIS IS MORE THAN I EARN AT THE MOMENT. So, as you can see, during my two-week stint, if I need to report every day I have the potential to earn....let's see, $30 for the first three days....$50 for two days plus $125 for the entire second week. That's $195 for two weeks worth of civic duty, not including mileage. Plus, there is free wifi in the jury room, and jurors and would-be jurors are invited to bring their books and laptops!
I can write my column, post to my blog or read one of yours, or, read one of the 78 books checked out from the library in my name. Getting paid to do any of this will be considered my Christmas bonus at this point. Plus, courtroom intrigue!
I realize that I may not be called, much less chosen, or that if I do, it will likely be a small-yet-important case involving stolen tires or overdue library books. I don't care. I've wanted to be called for jury duty for as long as I can remember. Some people are just like this. (Or maybe it's just me.)
Cross your fingers I make the grand jury!
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11:09
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Occidental Tourist
Kittens. Can't live with 'em, can't live without 'em. Am I right? I believe I am.
Dakota must suffer numerous nicknames, some of which are Peaches Cheeks, Kola Nut, and Pooky Bear.I have lived with these two furballs for 14 years. They have lived with me everywhere I have lived since moving out of my parent's house.
Sable sez, I am prettyer than u. Now, pet me now. Tanks!They are not so much kittens and more 72-year old geriatrics.
Sable got sick last fall. Diarrhea, twice a day, mostly on the carpet. I took him to the vet three times in the last three months of last year. I went through four types of dry food before I found one that he both liked and agreed with his GI tract. I tried different types of wet food and cleaned up a lot of vomit before I found one that he could tolerate. I've given him two different antibiotics twice per day for weeks on end, and vitamin injections once per week. I switched the litter boxes from scoopable litter to shredded newspaper, which must be changed twice (or more) daily, and regularly washed with soap and water.
After a while, I moved their bedding into the kitchen and put up a toddler gate blocking access to the rest of the house (and carpet). I had to put both of them in the kitchen, as it was the only access to food, water and potty boxes.
The range of emotions I have experienced in that time having to do with that cat could furnish a theme park with enough roller coasters to satisfy the most discriminating 7th grader.
I don't know what I would do without those two cats. They have always been there, sometimes to the exclusion of people.
It's been a long haul for us. Sable is eating and pooping normally now, but he has aged a lot since his illness. At many low points points when he was sick, I was ready for him to die and put us all out of our misery. As soon as I had that thought, I felt bad about it. As tired as I became of cleaning up everpresent messes, I still loved him.
Dakota is quite healthy and even runs around a bit after using the litterbox before settling in to his 23-hour nap. He is the most personable of the two. He's the one who wanders around the house looking for me so we can snuggle, or just hang out with me. If I'm reading something, he finds a way to settle down right on top of the book, or in the middle of the newspapers which are spread out on the floor. When I'm sick, he wants to lay down on my stomach by way of letting me know that everything is going to be okay. He is so relaxed. One of my favorite things about him is his chilled out attitude. He is no scaredy-cat.
Sable is a scaredy-cat, but he's so pretty. He's solitary and happy to be on his own, except for a vigorous, once-daily petting and appreciation of his beauty.
I know it is near the end of their lives. In many ways I can't believe they've lived this long. I had a cat in my childhood who lived to be 12, and for some reason I thought these guys would die around the same age.
Yesterday, Dakota went to the vet for a dental cleaning. I had avoided it for two years because the anesthesia was pretty hard on him. However, I noticed one of his teeth had a problem, and I began to imagine a raging infection which would kill him. The vet was fantastic! She assured me of their up-to-date methods and techniques, of the gas anesthesia which is much easier on the system, and how much better he would feel without a toothache. His bloodwork came back very good for a 72-year old, and at this very moment I'm waiting for a phone call to hear how it went.
I'm not ready to lose them. I know it's crazy. After losing people several years ago, I know this is not the same thing. I know they're just stupid cats. The thing is, they are SO NOT just stupid cats. Everybody poops, and everybody dies. Knowing this is one thing, but it still feels bad. It's hard to lose a friend no matter what form those friends take.
I don't know how much longer we have together, so I find myself picking them up more often and, much to their chagrin, kissing their furry heads like it's our last day together. I can't help it.
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10:08
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Occidental Tourist
I had a meltdown last month. It happened after I received the results from the third math test of Math 95.
Before I tell you that grade, let me tell you that the first test grade was a 96%, the second an 89%. I felt I had done well on this third test and furthermore, pressure was building (inside my own head, caused by my own self) to get an A. This was Intermediate Algebra, the kind they offer for free in high schools all across America, but here I was paying for it like a chump. A not-particularly-bright, grade-sliding chump at that.
I did not want to face telling my husband and family, who have been nothing but supportive and encouraging, that all I got was a B. In the first math class I've had in 14 years. Who had the plate of High Standards with a side of Unreasonable Expectations? Oh, right. That is me.
My mom is in college right now, too. She always gets A's. If she can do it, then so can I!
I do not have a crazy schedule, filled from morning to night with a 40-hour a week job with school on top of that. I have one child, one husband, two elderly cats; I take care of the house, cook dinner, and I have ONE CLASS. There are people who have much more on their plate who get really good grades - like A's - who work 50 hours per week, and who do so as single parents!
I got an 86% on that third test. Hence, I melted.
I melted because I felt I had worked harder than ever to prepare for the last test and all that work deserved more than a B. I had made many silly mistakes, like not checking my answers on the calculator, missing a negative here and there, and flubbing two questions to lose 8 points on those alone. All I could see was my grade sliding down the scale farther and farther in direct proportion to the harder I studied. There was a lot of homework every week, but I didn't put it off until the last minute. I did all the homework that was required, plus the homework that wasn't required.
Except for the sliding grade, I actually enjoyed math this time around. I was learning something. That was not my experience in high school when math was free. The story does have a happy ending.
First, they make a pill for the type of anxiety-induced blathering I tend toward. I used to take them the last time I had a round of uncontrolled anxiety. They worked. Why did I stop taking them? Second, final grades came out last week. I am happy - and slightly embarrassed, now - to say that my final grade was an A.
My whole family earned that A. They were quiet while I did my homework. They watched the laundry pile up and ate leftovers while I did my homework. They muddled through Sunday afternoons with bike rides and playing baseball while I studied at the library. My husband answered many math-related questions while I did my homework. Then, they listened to me have a meltdown because of a B on a test.
(Note to self: a B is a good grade!!)
My mom told me that she has in fact, earned other grades besides A's, especially in math. If math is not my major, then why was I so worried about it? I don't know, because unnecessary anxiety and ulcers sound like a party I don't want to miss? Point taken.
Math 111 started this week. This time, I've got something I didn't have before: perspective. I take 20 mg of it every night.
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7:43
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Occidental Tourist
The only thing that exceeds the ability to purchase organic, gluten-free food products is to obnoxiously discuss doing the same.
Insufferable nonsense. In the weekend calorie free-for-all, the calories won. Between the Dublin Mudslide AND Magic Brownie flavors there wasn't enough yoga in the world to combat those forces of delicious evil.
Family life has been restored. What makes me appreciate a little time alone is to have that alone time gloriously wiped out with the return of my daughter and husband.
It was Saturday afternoon and we were about halfway home when she decided to plan her triumphant reunion with the cats. "I will bring a few things with me from the car, but not all because I can go back out for the rest. Then, I'm gonna go wait by the door and run in place - because I'm too excited - while you open the door, and then I'm going to run inside and hug Dakota and then hug Sable!"
I understand this need of hers to plan. I find I do my best work when I visualize myself doing...whatever it is. I never thought I would be one of those people - the kind who need a wacky TECHNIQUE in order to do anything - but one of them, I am.
(It works, too. I'm pinching your head! I'm pinching your head! Hahaha!!!)
My husband had gone camping with some friends. In the snow. By the time it was Sunday, I had begun having thoughts about a group of people found frozen to death in their tents when he walked in the door. I married a crazy man, I have come to realize.
OC carried out her sweet homecoming plan, although I don't remember any running in place. The cats did not share her exuberance, but then again, they never have.
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21:02
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Occidental Tourist
It's Friday night, and it worked out that I am home alone. My family has gone to do other things and I have 24-plus hours to myself. This is a good thing when you get to be my age. So. What to do?
Yesterday, I went grocery shopping to stock up on supplies and it seemed as though I was buying things as though my parents were leaving me home alone, albeit with a few upgrades to purchasing power: organic gluten-free rice and bean chips, all natural Breyer's ice cream, a couple of types of Ben & Jerry's, myzithra cheese to make Spaghetti a la Homer, etc.
I went for a walk this afternoon. I would have gone running but I'm trying to heal an old injury in my leg and if I had gone running all that would have happened was I would be spending the evening hobbling around like an older-than-what-I-am year old. I walked for as long as I could stand it but it was absolutely freezing outside. The wind was relentless! Back home I went after about 20 minutes.
I had a healthy dinner, then, broke open the chips and ice cream! (Yes, unbelievably, this got me excited.) Except, since my walk was so short I could feel the calories enter my body and immediately meld to my thighs and butt. Ick. I did a few sets of push-ups and sit-ups to offset this unsavory occurence, followed by a smaller dish of ice cream of a different flavor. Then more push-ups and sit-ups.
When I was 16, I don't remember feeling that I had to immediately exercise away the calories. But then again, that was a long time ago. Maybe I'm not remembering correctly.
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19:53
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Occidental Tourist
I know that everyone and their mother will have already seen this because it was linked from an uber-popular blog, a blog which I love. But, my mom hasn't seen it and so I
link to it in order to share the joy.
It is the most hilarious bit of parenting advice in the form of visual aids I have seen, possibly, ever. Prepare to wet your pants. It is that funny.
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6:43
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Occidental Tourist
I watched a video recommended by another blogger which was about life from a dog's point of view. I liked it so much I watched another one by the same people, Futureshorts.
The moral of the story is: Be careful when you think you have a great idea for a practical joke. Holy cow! Observe.
This is the video about the dog. Very sweet. I liked it, and I am a cat person.
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6:48
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Occidental Tourist
I feel like the weight of the world is off of my shoulders now that my math final is done. Call me Heracles - or Hercules if you prefer the Roman version - because I've just tricked Atlas in order to give back to him the earth and sky. Ancient mythological sucker!
What will I do now? I don't know, let's think about that. I could read a book without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could knit the hat I started for my husband back in aught-seven without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could watch whatever Netflix has sent without thinking about the homework I should be doing instead. I could write, anytime, and now that I mention it I really need to do that since I've been late the last couple of times with the deadline. Editors don't really like it when you do that. I could do anything now that I've sent the homework monkey packing.
It's spring break! I'm a college student! I should be planning my trip to Cancun or Cabo, packing lightly and then drinking heavily. That is not my reality. My family might object to such behavior. And now that I think about it that's not my idea of fun things to do while Mexico. That list would involve much more reading and sitting by a quiet swimming pool than it would loud partying with strangers. That's what being a grown-up is, I guess, sedate activities while fully-clothed.
That's not to say that being a grown-up is boring. Right at this very moment, I'm trying very hard not to panic because there is no coffee in the house. I need to go deal with that crisis before my head explodes. I've either got to take a shower NOW and go buy a cup, or take a shower NOW and go buy some beans and then come home and make it myself. The former is probably more realistic because I don't have the kind of patience required to perform a multi-step task involved with first buying coffee and then, making it myself. Who am I, if not Paris Hilton's more astute younger sister? Except, the Hilton's have people to do the coffee buying and at the very least, the dealing of the no-coffee-in-the-house-crisis, for them. No, I am more like Paris Hilton's second cousin twice-removed's husband's love-child, having to get by on her own wits to figure out these kinds of things and rise above them. Speaking of which.
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17:42
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Occidental Tourist
I live a non-journalist's life. I look for the texture of ordinary things.
----- Nuala O'FaolainBless This House
Bless this house, o Lord, we pray.
Make it safe by night and day.
Bless these walls so firm and stout,
Keeping want and trouble out.
Bless the roof and chimney tall,
Let thy peace lie over all.
Bless the doors that they may prove
Ever open to joy and love.
Bless the windows shining bright,
Letting in God's heavenly light.
Bless the hearth a-blazing there,
With smoke ascending like a prayer.
Bless the people here within...
Keep them pure and free from sin.
Bless us all, that one day, we
May be fit, O lord, to dwell with Thee.
This evening we celebrate St. Patrick and kindle memories of our
too-short stay on the Emerald Isle by stuffing our pieholes with baked ham, colcannon, champ, and soda bread. Dessert? Traditional girl scout cookies.
Irish Marriage Blessing
May God be with you and bless you.
May you see your children's children.
May you be poor in misfortunes
and rich in blessings.
May you know nothing but happiness
from this day forward.
A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal.
----- Oscar WildeI am not young enough to know everything.
----- Oscar WildeThe only thing to do with good advice is pass it on. It is never any use to oneself.
----- Oscar WildeAn Irish Prayer
May God give you...
For every storm, a rainbow,
For every tear, a smile,
For every care, a promise,
And a blessing in each trial.
For every problem life sends,
A faithful friend to share,
For every sigh, a sweet song,
And an answer for each prayer.
Every action of our lives touches on some chord that will vibrate in eternity.
----- Sean O'CaseyIrish blessings and prayers are sweet and hopeful. I especially like this one:
May the blessing of the rain be on you—
the soft sweet rain.
May it fall upon your spirit
so that all the little flowers may spring up,
and shed their sweetness on the air.
May the blessing of the great rains be on you,
may they beat upon your spirit
and wash it fair and clean,
and leave there many a shining pool
where the blue of heaven shines,
and sometimes a star.
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
-----Samuel Beckett, "Worstward Ho", 1983Vladimir: That passed the time.
Estragon: It would have passed in any case.
Vladimir: Yes, but not so rapidly.
----- Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot (1955)The Ireland I now inhabit is one that these Irish contemporaries have helped to imagine.
----- Seamus HeaneyHappy St. Patrick's Day.
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6:55
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Occidental Tourist
Hello, Dutch Brothers barista. If I wanted you in my car, I'd ask you out on a date. As it turns out, I don't, so when the music inside your place of employment is at the volume that it requires you lean out of the window so far as to invade my personal space as I sit inside my vehicle, I'm just going to go out on a limb here and suggest you turn it the hell down. Let me also add that while I applaud your efforts to correctly interpret my very important beverage order, my appreciation dives in direct proportion to your proximity to my person. You seem nice, but no, I don't want to chat about my day or what I've been up to. I just thought you would want to know.
Furniture store clerk: I love your store! However, I do not love the way you chit chat with me while I'm trying to look at your fine goods. I have a seven-year old, I do enough listening as it is. I'm happy to listen to my seven-year old, I draw the line at spending inordinate amounts of what should be happy shopping time listening to a stranger go on and on when I can see perfectly well for myself and prefer to do just that in peace and quiet. When I have a question, you have my sacred word spoken on a stack of Bibles that I will approach you and ask. Until then, please, for the love of god, shut up.
I saw a truck today which seemed to be an installation company of decks, patios, landscape, and sannas. I'm guessing they meant to say sauna, but who knows? Maybe there is some new thing called a sanna and while I don't know what that is, I want to find out. If they did in fact mean to say sauna, somebody didn't get their money's worth at the sign shop.
Occidental Tourist out.
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7:49
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Occidental Tourist
Guess who said what this morning in the following conversation, as OC and I discussed her choice of clothing.
"Are you wearing your play jeans?"
"Yes."
"Do they have holes in the knees?"
*impish smile, which means yes
"You look like a.....a....what is the word?"
*thinkthinkthink
"Give me a minute. I'll think of it."
*thinkthinkthinkstupidbrain
"Your minute is up."
"You look like a...why do I want to say flower, or muffin?"
"...teenager?"
*checks thesaurus
"A guttersnipe? Tatterdemalion? I've never heard of those. Wait, muffin was close. Ragamuffin! That's it. You look like a ragamuffin. Oliver Twist. Please sir, can I have some more?"
"Whaaaaat?!?" takes bowl away
The girl thinks quickly, I'll give her that.
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9:56
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Occidental Tourist
Your Love Element Is Metal
In love, you inspire and respect your partner.
For you, love is all about fusing together for one incredible life experience. You attract others with wit and a bit of flash.
Your flirting style is defined by making others want and value you. Greatness and optimism are the cornerstones of your love life.
You may let go too easily, but you never get weighed down by your past.
You connect best with: Earth
Avoid: Fire
You and another Metal element: will control and smother each other.
What Element Is Your Love?I would guess my husband's "love element" to be fire. Maybe? Have a nice weekend.
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14:02
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Occidental Tourist
I've added a poll in the margin. To clear matters, I am fishing for respondents who are regular attendees of Girl's Weekend with me. If you are not, please do not mess with my mind in this manner.
In other news, school is hard. Now, I will eat cookies. Good bye.
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11:58
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Occidental Tourist
It's Dr. Seuss week at OC's school, like a lot of schools, which is great because it's fun to reread Green Eggs and Ham. I read it twice this morning to two different children. It's a great book. And now I'm good for the year.
OC wanted to go to a Dr. Seuss event at the city library this week, so off we went, and on a school night! How crazy. There was a Dr. Seuss movie - "Horton Hears a Who" - and a Dr. Seuss craft - Cat in the Hat headband - and a few songs. The story goes that Dr. Seuss didn't give his permission to have a certain poem put to music and so someone changed it enough to be original and called it something, something Waltzing with a Bear....something. And there was actual dancing with a stuffed, life-size bear. OC loved it. Especially the cookies and milk afterward. That's my girl!
After the party, we went to the children's section of the library which she had never seen. She's been to the Redmond library many times, but not the Bend library. I know, she's a deprived child. We found the section of books in her reading level, and she gasped, and I quote: "Oh, my gosh! I am seriously going crazy!"
No lie. That's what she said. She began grabbing at books, gasping again when she found the Magic Tree House and then the Weather Fairies series; thrilled to see many, many new titles. Bend is a bigger library and so there were quite a few more books to choose from. We left with a couple dozen paperbacks.
OC needs to be reminded again and again to do certain things. She easily loses focus, talks a lot, and really, really hates to quit playing something fun when bedtime sneaks up too quickly. But she likes to read. I'm completely thrilled that we share this trait, along with our eye color and overdeveloped sense of excitement over Girl Scout cookie time. I hope it sticks.
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20:50
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Occidental Tourist
These pictures are from our trans-state trek earlier this month. I added captions, but every one reads some version of, "Snow Piled Higher Than the Car + Haulin' Semi Truck Drivers On Your Tail + Hey, Look It Started Snowing Again = Fantastic Road Driving Adventure". That is, if your idea of fantastic includes white knuckles and stomach bile.
Lookit! All the pretty snow!
So the snow is higher than the car, it's not like there's ever been an avalanche which fell onto passing cars or anything. Wait a minute, didn't that happened in Washington? Must think happy thoughts.
Drifting, ghostly wispies never hurt anybody.
Oh, look, it's starting to snow. I should mention that it was really easy to take pictures and drive at the same time. The camera was sitting on the seat next to me, I just turned it on and held it in one hand while I steered with the other. We were traveling about 15 mph so there was plenty of time to pay attention to the road. Besides, it's not like I was taking pictures of what was behind us. Plus, I am a woman, we can multitask like that.
Why am I reminded of the Donner party at this moment? Weird.
The Donner party never had multiple snowplows go through and plow a mile-deep path for them. Hmm, maybe we will survive this after all. I always tell OC that I'm going to eat her up with a spoon, but now with the whole Donner party thoughts that crowd my min, that idea taking on a totally new connotation.
Snowplow #8 in the 1 1/2 hours from Detroit to Sisters. Hooray!
Who am I kidding, I get to travel with her, all smiles and optimism. Cannibalism is not an option. Life is good. Oh, and we were stopped when I took this one.We made it through - much gratitude - but I do NOT want to do that again anytime soon thankyouverymuch.
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20:55
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Occidental Tourist
Yesterday started off with a bang. Literally. I'm not talking gunshot, I'm talking a brand new jar of organic tamari soy sauce crashed down from the overhead cabinet onto my coffee mug, shattering the whole mess. This was BEFORE I had a chance to take a sip of coffee, as what caused the crashing was my reaching for the turbinado sugar which was on the shelf next to the soy sauce.
Good morning!
And then today. I'm putting dishes away and a grab-it bowl decided to be rebellious and defy its name when it crashed to the floor and shattered into a million pieces.
No one was hurt, not like
last time. I am definitely beginning to feel like I should not touch the good china. Which will be easy seeing as though I don't have any good china.
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9:47
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Occidental Tourist
This week, I had the chance to smile and nod at some other local bloggers. I would say I got to talk to them, but what happened is more like my wimpy voice that blends in to background noise and renders me unhearable meant I did a LOT more listening than talking.
Photographic evidence exists of my not-entirely-mute, but-kinda presence.
I met some bloggers who I read but didn't have a clue what they looked like until now. Boy, did some of them surprise me. Examples include
BOR who as a matter of fact, has a real face and
not one made of food. It seems Shannon's camera adds a hamburger and fries where they would not be normally.
Chubby Mommy, who is in fact, not so much with the chubby and is sweet to talk with. Beware if you tell her to come to jury duty despite nursing a newborn! Asses will be kicked. Of course, it was great to see
Jen, who had her
picture printed on the cover of the Source! She knows more about the happs with coffee shops in my town than I do. Something is wrong with that but so far it's not bugging me because when she knows = less work for me. She mentioned some other blogger as being her heroine, a blogger who is not me, which I'm pretty sure is some kind of wild oversight.
I met
this woman almost one year ago, and she is still lovely. I wonder if she is planning to do
that walk again this year?
And I met the most gorgeous
pregnant woman,
Shannon, who organized this little shindig. I hope she had fun. I had fun meeting everyone.
It makes being in a new place that much better when you have the chance to make friends. Like, duh.
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16:31
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Occidental Tourist
In an attempt to get out and go skiing more than once this year, the family and I headed up to Hoodoo last Saturday. I have not heard people rave about skiing at Hoodoo - probably because Mt. Bachelor is nearby and a perennial favorite. I wasn't expecting much, so when it turned out to be probably the best day I've had skiing ever, I was surprised.
Hoodoo has an area called Easy Rider, which has the gentlest slope I've ever seen with a chair lift. Easy Rider could be called Chubby Baby Cheeks, as gentle and soft and edible as it was. I've been to four ski resorts in my entire life, so I've seen
at least four chair lifts, if not five. I know of that which I speak. OC and I spent a good hour on Easy Rider, experiencing a state of relaxation like never before while attached to waxed projectiles of possible death or at least very real danger.
Normally, my ski day starts when my body produces a good healthy sheen of anxiety-produced sweat, about at the moment we arrive at the mountain and my mind makes sense of the information that I am about to be attached to extremely slick
rented objects that will hurtle myself down a slippery hill at high rates of speed of which I am barely able to control. Also, that of my innocent child. A nagging worry soon follows which makes me imagine that my leg is about to be broken, or god forbid, OC's, and these are our last moments as fully-functioning human beings. This is when I cram everything down into my stomach and instead, bravely put on my gear and hope for the best.
It must've been good to start the day off slowly, for after a few runs down Over Easy and Hesitation, the skiier in pink also known as OC adopted a new battle cry. "See you at the bottom!" She called out to us as we ate her dust down the mountain.
Me, eating said dust.As a parent, there are things that are inevitable and best to accept rather than dwell upon them. One of those things - among the many and various - is that at some point, your child will smoke you at something. Whether it's skiing, basketball, height, or Civil War trivia, you cannot fight it. Instead, let the defeat wash over like a soothing, chamomile-scented bath. Think back on how chubby and cute their little baby bottom was. It doesn't seem so bad after that, because after all, you were the one to raise and encourage that little behind to grow up and do so well at whatever it is.
This is much preferred over a bumper sticker announcing the achievement. Trust me on this.
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11:43
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Occidental Tourist
I'm really, really tired of complaining about the snow, of talking about how much of a pain in the arse it has made getting around. There are so many real problems in the world. My adverse weather conditions issues are so minor and silly compared to real problems in the world.
Now that we have some perspective, I give you this:
The first math test of this class was scheduled for Thursday, January 31st. I would take the test, then spend the rest of the day packing for our family's sojourn to Depoe Bay, where we have sojourned as a family since the mid-1980's. Friday, we would leave and it would be stress-free and fun, because it's vacation! That WAS the plan. What actually happened was, well, a picture would tell you all you need to know:
S!N!O!W! Thursday morning I woke up to snow, and the test was cancelled because the college was closed. I emailed the professor. I had no choice but to wait until Friday morning when I could check the status of the college. Luckily, I had the option of going to the testing center to take the test out of regular class times. That is what I did on Friday.
Except, when I got to the testing center at 8:55 am, there was no test there. I had to call the professor at home - luckily, she had given out her home number, otherwise, screwed! - and she trekked up to school right away and brought the test to me.
One hour later, the test was done. Eleven hours later, OC and I were hanging with these people:
You might recognize some of the women
from previous posts. These are my girlfriends from way back. I went through school with them and we've known each other for something like.....holy crap, 28 years, is that right? I'm asking you like you know.
The guy in blue on the left walked with me at our 8th grade graduation. The guy in white on the right was also a classmate. That's such a formal word, classmate. This situation calls for a synonym.
A synonym search revealed the alternative options are:
day pupil
school boy
school girl
school kid
school lad.
Classmate it is!
Speaking of school girl, here is another one.
There are a lot of stories surrounding the people in these pictures. Such as, I used to smoke cigarettes at the halftime of football games with the school girl, above. We were cheerleaders, which explains why we only had halftime to get the smoking done. A friend from the first picture used to borrow her mom's car - unbeknownst to her mom - when she was 14. We grew up in a small town, most of us lived several miles out of town. One day, she accidentally ran over one of their guinea hens because they
usually got out of the way. That was a tough one to explain away to her mom and step-father.
Good times!
It must be said that I took pains to pack lightly for this vacation. I managed to accomplish this when it came to clothes (the black duffel bag contains outfits for EIGHT DAYS, people) but, being gone for such a long time necessitates many shiny objects to pacify my attention-deficit self. The other bags are full of knitting projects, books, math homework, laptop, thank-you notes to write from Christmas, extra shoes, games, art projects, and OC's toys.
My mom came to visit, so this was the view in my rearview mirror:
What did we find to do on the Oregon Coast? Grandma took OC to the aquarium so I could do my math homework. We visited a tea shop which has a hedgehog in residence. I have never seen a hedgehog before, and now that I've seen one I'm thinking it's not a bad idea. Just look at this adorable thing:
It's Mrs. Tiggywinkle!
Not really. It's a boy, and his name is Horace.
OC loved Horace the hedgehog. Of course, she also loved their two dogs and their cat.
It's funny how much our routines matter to us, and how flummoxed we (some of us) get when they are disrupted. That was the underlying issue to all this kvetching.
I was glad to have time with OC outside of our normal routine, where I worry about getting to school on time, having enough clean jeans for her during the week, homework, and all the other hundreds of things to do with daily life. Distance from that plus spending time in such a peaceful place which overlooks the Pacific Ocean felt fantastic. I think OC enjoys the escape as well. Talk about creating memories, who's going to forget that hedgehog???
This week's weather: not a snowflake in sight.
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20:08
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Occidental Tourist
If you have a blog and you live in Central Oregon, you might be interested to know there is a gathering scheduled:
February 21st
5:30 pm
Blacksmith, 211 NW Greenwood Ave, Bend
I will be there, what else do you need to know?!?
RSVP shanlee at gmail.com
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16:34
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Occidental Tourist
What is my deal? This time, it's because I'm on vacation and while I did bring my laptop, I don't have wireless internet card installed, blah blah blah. I am a sucky techie.
I'm here to print out my next week's homework for math class, except it's not been posted.
How's the vacation, you ask? Oh, great. Getting here, now that is a long story. A long, long story which includes mountain passes closed due to avalanche, two long-ass drives, and math homework. It barely qualifies for vacation at all except for the fact that I am not at home and I don't have to clean a darn thing. Good enough.
More later. I need to wash my hands after this.
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7:43
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Occidental Tourist
I was planning to take the highway over the Santiam Pass tomorrow morning to head to our condo at the beach.
These cars?
Are stuck, due to an avalanche which closed the highway.
We go to Depoe Bay every year at this time. The problem this year is, the route to the coast is laden with snow-covered mountain passes. Even the coast range has snow, and the coast range's summit (on Highway 18) is 793'. Woot.
I'm not a person who likes winter driving adventures. This is really cramping my style. I had prepared for it mentally. I was all psyched up for going out in my front-wheel drive car with studded tires and a week's worth of water and snacks plus a wool blanket. While my brain said "You can do this!" my inner Girl Scout said, "But bring plenty of provisions, just in case."
Too bad it's not quite Girl Scout Cookie time. I could use a box or ten.
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18:53
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Occidental Tourist
I know that's an over-used phrase, but appropriate when applied to me.
College is interesting. The people in class with me, what an amalgamation of people! For instance, there's a girl in class who talks too much but she doesn't know it. When the instructor says something rhetorical, such as, "Fractions, they are our friends, let's work on that problem." this girl says, "They're my friends!"
No one says what we are all thinking, and that is, and are they your only friends?
That was mean. Let me explain. Small talk with this girl looks like this: she begins to talk and then swivels her head completely around slowly and in a complete circle to see if she can make eye contact with anyone and therefore be engaged in "conversation". This conversation, I might add, is one-sided and requires of the second person only that they listen. The second person's comments are not necessary whatsoever. I know this, because I fell for this once and only once. The next time I heard her start to talk, I pointedly studied whatever paperwork happened to be in my hand at the time because who does this? She who does this, I dub thee, TalksToHearSelf.
One day, TalksToHearSelf's cell phone rang during class. She got up and walked out of the classroom to take the call, letting the phone RING THE ENTIRE WAY. Silence the ringer? That's for the well-socialized. So, she goes out into the hallway, and just then, someone opens the door and walks into the classroom. The entire class hears TalksToHearSelf say, "I AM in class, mom!!!"
You've got your assortment of advanced-agers, which I mean is anyone over 24. Then there's the young; the dew-skinned and fresh-eyed 18-year olds. Boys, girls, men, and women, all assembled to ponder the impenetrable world of trinomials and linear equations. And, by the way? There's a test on Thursday.
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12:33
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Occidental Tourist
What is it like to go back to college at age 34?
In a word, intimidating. It's been a long time since I've had basic classes - like Algebra! - so I'm always afraid I'll look stupid because I won't know something elementary, such as the First Chief Justice of United States Supreme Court.
Maybe that particular example would not be something recalled by the typical person, including myself, and I realize it has nothing to do with Algebra. Tell that to my self-conscious imagination, who thought it might be on the long list of required knowledge one must have at the ready in order to enter the classroom on the first day of class, like a secret password to a backroom, illegal poker game. A list, by the way, which looks suspiciously similar to another list titled "Stuff I Used to Know But Have Forgotten in the Intervening Four Hundred Years Since I Was in High School and Had Time to Study That Kind of Thing".
P.S. John Jay was the first Chief Justice of the Supreme Court. I had to look it up, just in case.What classes are you taking?
Class, actually, because it's just the one Intermediate Algebra class.How is that going?
Very well, so far. I mean, I had to do a LOT of review of basic algebra skills the first weekend of classes, but once I did, it all (mostly) came back to me. Do you remember FOIL? Because I had to review FOIL. And exponents. And how to deal with parentheses and negative numbers with exponents and parentheses. It's just not information I retained. Thank goodness for the internet, specifically www.algebrahelp.com, the existence of which meant I did not have to buy an Elementary Algebra textbook at $77 million dollars from the college bookstore.What do you like about being in college again?
I like the feeling of being extremely focused. I have lived a little, and now I know what I want to do. It means that every class is relevant to my goal and so I don't take them for granted. I do all of my homework and have it done early, unlike the last time around. Also, I like the feeling that I am not wasting time anymore.What is your goal?
I want to complete my Bachelor's Degree in the Classics, and then a Master's in the same. Ultimately, I'd like to complete a Ph.D. in the Classics and teach college. Unfortunately, I can't take Classics courses in Central Oregon. In the interest of time I will complete a Bachelor's with a minor in History and also possibly Literature. I can get a Master's of Arts here and then teach high school. When we live somewhere that does offer the Classics as B.A., M.A. and Ph.D., I will happily pursue this ultimate goal.
I guess I am one of those people who like school, which makes sense that I want to teach. What a weirdo.Thank you for your time. It has been most enlightening. Also, did you know you bear a striking resemblance to Drew Barrymore?
You're welcome. And thank you. I think that likeness is especially apparent if one were to stand 20 yards away, close one eye, and hop up and down....but I appreciate the compliment.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I must open the latest wine club offering and do my homework.
I just thought of another benefit to being a 34-year old college student, and that would be the ability to buy one's own booze. That's not to say that alcohol isn't plentiful and easy to come by at college when you are underage, rather, the benefit comes in because it completely removes the fear of there being rufies in your glass.
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11:49
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Occidental Tourist
I'm an enjoying my new gig as Paid Writer. I still can't believe I write things that people publish, and then they pay me for it. I can't say I'm all that bright, however. My first paycheck came in the mail, and at first, I thought it was a sweepstakes check. I wondered what I had won.
The chance to write another article, apparently.
It's not going to pay the bills at the current earning power of $50 per month, but, it's an opportunity to improve my writing skills. It's better than no earnings. I have a deadline and a purpose to write, which is incentive to push forward and write more. And hopefully, I'll learn how to construct better sentences, preferably those that do NOT end with whatever part of speech the word more is. Oops, there was a preposition. Try again:
...with the word more, whatever part of speech it may be.
Ha. Now the sentence is better, but you know for sure that I am full of it.
I can say with authority (such that I cannot say in other areas, like math) that I am now an accomplished knitter, due to having more than scarves in my repertoire. See this hat? I made it, with my own two hands.
I made the kid underneath the hat, too.
Look, Ma, new teeth!
Kitty Kola says, "I am not your monkey."
What was that, Dakota? I couldn't hear you, your voice was all muffled.Not too shabby.
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6:18
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Occidental Tourist
Lord Peter Wimsey said, "Books...are like lobster shells. We surround ourselves with 'em, then we grow out of 'em and leave 'em behind, as evidence of our earlier stages of development." I couldn't have said it better than Dorothy Sayers's perspicacious English sleuth in "The Unpleasantness at the Bellonna Club."
Reading is one of my favorite activities. Growing up, I especially enjoyed the Ramona books by Beverly Cleary, which feature the Quimby family: Ramona, older sister Beatrice (affectionately nicknamed Beezus); mother, father, and the family cat, Picky-picky. There is nothing special about this fictional family; nothing particularly funny or strange. They don't live at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel, or homestead the great western frontier. The Quimby's live in a quiet, residential Portland neighborhood.
Their ordinariness was perhaps what was most endearing. I identified with Ramona, a seemingly mischievous and annoying child. Time after time, she proved to have perfectly good reasons for behaving the way she did. These reasons were often best understood by children, as adults found them trifles. There was the time in first grade when Ramona's class made owls out of paper bags, decorated them in any way they wished. Ramona noticed that her neighboring classmate, Susan, had copied Ramona's work. What was worse, Susan's owl was held up as an example for the class to admire and praise when Susan was nothing but a copycat! Ramona was furious, because now that everyone had seen Susan's owl, they would think Ramona had copied Susan. Her teacher doesn't see the cause of Ramona's frustration, and injustice ensues. Beverly Cleary has the ability to portray childish indignation without disdain.
Lest it sound overstated, this is not Greek tragedy. Nonetheless, my nine-year-old self found the storytelling memorably engaging. Ramona could be sassy in the face of authority in a way that I dared not be. She is frustrated by her inability to articulate her position to the adults in her life. I understood that frustration. I can't count how many of our experiences were similar. Ramona was misunderstood, and really, who isn't?
Beverly Cleary and I have parallel lives, except, in the reverse and then several decades apart. She lived in Yamhill, a small community in the foothills of the coast range, until the age of six. At this time, the family moved to Portland. Their Yamhill Victorian home is still a private residence on the edge of town. The parallel - in reverse - is that I was born in Portland and lived there until the age of six, when my family moved to Yamhill.
This proximity to the real life of a beloved author turned the process of reading books — which were already enjoyable — into something meaningful and deeply personal. It was as though I, alone, was privy to secret information. I knew the Quimby's were named after a street in Portland! I recognized the Marquam Bridge which was mentioned in the story about taking the girls for a professional haircut! My parents were good people, but like every parent they didn't always understand me. It felt good to know someone else knew this particular brand of loneliness.
My mom took me to meet Beverly Cleary when I was eleven. She was speaking at an engagement at the library. I was so excited, with no idea what to say. I vaguely remember I managed to say something about "liking your books" and then smiling and wishing I could be more articulate. Rather, I wish I had been able to express how much her books meant to me. Reading about Ramona made me feel like someone understood my youthful plight. I would have liked to discuss the many ways in which our lives were similar. Even though I wasn't able to communicate all that I wished to Mrs. Cleary that day, I was fortunate to have grown up in her shadow with her wonderful books at the beginning of my reading journey.
Lord Peter Wimsey — or, Dorothy Sayers — has it right. The books one reads as a child do linger, even as one grows and leaves behind beloved chapter books in favor of English mysteries and the . Look around; the shells of books past are there.
Reprinted with permission from the Redmond Spokesman, December 12, 2007.
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7:29
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Occidental Tourist
For Christmas, OC received a My First Sewing Kit. We had a chance to open it up recently and found it contained an instructional booklet, extra patterns, and a couple of pre-cut, felt chicken shapes. These chickens are to be sewn around the outside and then stuffed, an easy first project when you have everything to learn about sewing, such as how to thread a needle and who knew a needle had an eye?
She chose the thread color, threaded her own needle, and got to work. As she worked to sew together the two pieces of chicken-shaped yellow felt, she exclaimed, "Mama! I'm doing it! I'm just like the old people!"
Another thing we've begun doing is reading the Little House series by Laura Ingalls Wilder. OH and I take turns putting her to bed and reading the pioneer stories. A few nights ago, it was my turn to read and it happened that the story was to the part about hog-slaughtering time. What a way to end the evening! I couldn't leave her with that image so I read through until we got to the part about Pa playing his fiddle.
I'm glad OC is excited about sewing, just like Laura Ingalls Wilder. And all the old people.
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9:44
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Occidental Tourist
Friday, already? What have I been doing that the week has escaped so quickly? It's not like I've been watching "Shrek" in 3-D or anything. These two did that:
The library is full of wonderful, questionable things. "Shrek 3-D", for instance.
I remember Christmas. That was two days after OC's birthday, when she acquired an impressive array of new toys and art supplies, followed by more new toys and art supplies:
For which we are eternally grateful, lest the child desire to interact with us. Now mommy can drink more, which is, coincidentally, my New Year's Resolution.Christmas kitty Sable sez, "Wherez my noo stuff? Want katnip! I can has katnip?" (purrrrrr)
Sadly, Christmas kitty Sable did not receive catnip, possibly due to the fact that Santa saw him poop on the carpet. Naughty kitty! Instead, Christmas kitty Sable must endure bow-on-the-head related torture, to the delight of the humans - especially to the one who cleaned up the offending poop.
Let this be a lesson to you naughty kitties out there: SANTA IS WATCHING WHERE YOU POOP.There. You're caught up through December. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some Algebra homework to do.
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7:44
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Occidental Tourist
I decided several months ago that now is the time to complete my Bachelor's Degree. I am two math classes away from entering as a Junior. This gives me winter term and spring term to complete the math, then start full-time next fall.
I applied to the only game in town, was accepted, and received a nice letter on December 26th which contained strong language about this hideous lack of math. It went something like, Welcome! We're glad to have you in our school! However, if you don't take some serious, college-level math classes, we might be forced to drop you from our enrollment out of shame over your mathematical stupidity. P.S. Don't forget to join a sorority!
(It didn't really say that last thing, and for the rest, I was paraphrasing.)
I could not enroll before classes began because the letter arrived during the holidays, when offices were closed. I didn't have my student information, all those secret codes which allow you to accomplish something on the website. But here was the kicker: all new students must attend a student orientation before they can register online or the fantastic software blocks you out of the system. I was in Boise during the student orientation which was held on the Sunday before classes began. I had five days notice about the orientation and I had already purchased my plane tickets. Upon my return, I talked to my advisor, who lifted the orientation hold on my account which meant I could register, but! Classes had already begun. I would need to pick up an Add a Class form - also known as form A29j62411 - from one building, go to class and have the instructor sign it, then take the now-precious and worth-its-weight-in-gold form to a different building than the first and the process would be complete.
Simple!
Except, it snowed earlier in the week and classes were cancelled the first day. I went to the next day of class, which was supposed to have been the second day of class but wasn't, due to snow, and spent time searching for a parking space which required no permit since I had no parking permit. You cannot purchase a parking permit without student ID. You cannot get a student ID without registering for a class. Classes have begun, so adding a class requires attending a class and getting the instructor to initial your Add a Class gold form A29j62411, so you might as well start shoving knitting needles into your skull since doing so would accomplish as much as I had.
I bought the textbook and took my form to class only to be horrendously late, (snow, parking, stupid) so I waited until class was over to speak to the instructor. She said that as long as I was comfortable with the material and two people dropped the class, which she said was very likely, I was in.
Great! It would seem. So, no.
I spent the weekend studying math. I found a basic algebra site online and went through the lessons in order to refresh my memory. I haven't had an algebra class since, oh, 1994 or so, so it was a little rusty.
By late Sunday afternoon I was feeling good, so I emailed the instructor and told her how much review I'd done, that it was all coming back to me, how determined I am to take this class and succeed, blah blah blah. She wrote back quickly, saying she was sorry, but there were five students over her limit of 40 students and I should find another class.
*choking death cry sad WHAT!?!? I emailed her to say that when I talked to her after class last week what she had said about coming back to class after doing the review, and the part about needing two people to drop the class. What changed in three days??? No reply yet.
The good news is, I learned a lot this weekend. I spent hours and hours doing review, then completed the Prerequisite Quiz, which covered every algebraic concept known to Algebra I and II students. If you added it up, that's a lot of review just to complete eleven questions the Prerequisite Quiz contained.
I wrapped up the Quiz on Sunday afternoon, just in time to start the homework which is required but not graded. That is not to mention the homework quizzes, which are in addition to the Prerequisite Quiz and the homework, but which IS graded. Also, I need a graphing calculator which I will go buy today, and also the knowledge to use it, which I don't think I can buy, ALL BEFORE TUESDAY.
It would be nice to have a parking permit.
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12:08
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Occidental Tourist
The school year has resumed and I asked OC how she liked her new classroom. "Good," she said. (FYI: This is a rave in OC-speak.) I asked her if she liked it better or the same as her previous classroom. "Better!" she said, emphatically. I asked why. "It's so much quieter." Oh...my...gosh. I know my kid. Who knew??? Other than myself, I mean?
If I had to rate the second meeting we had last year solely on the merit of its outcome, I'd say it was a smashing success. I'm thrilled she is in a classroom that suits her. The process, however, was wrenching and I think it was unnecessarily so.
If I heard one hundred examples of children whose teachers were not the best but the kids turned out fine, I could then hear one hundred examples in the reverse. The point of the whole thing is that this is here and now. My child has one chance to do the first grade - one hopes - and the teacher has a career with many first grade years. What is more important? And, if I heard a story about a parent whose child was not in the right class, would it behoove anyone that nothing was done about it? Or would it be best to change?
What I don't understand is why the reaction on the part of the principal was not this: can this be fixed within the current classroom? No? Okay, then what are the numbers in the other classrooms? Can she be moved without upsetting the balance of things in a significant way? Yes? Okay. She can move classrooms, end of story.
Straightforward. Logical. Based on clear, logical, straightforward, rational steps. Silly me for thinking that is the way it should go.
Today was anxiety-ridden for me, I couldn't help it. I went it, was nice to everyone and smiled. I helped in the new teacher's classroom, and aside from spilling my coffee on one poor child's work, everything went well. I read with the SMART kids, one of which is from OC's old classroom. When I went to drop him off at his classroom, I smiled at the teacher and she smiled back.
I feel like I did something big, and for the better, and while I don't care what anyone thinks I also feel an undercurrent of....something. Power? I have a hand in things? Something like that. 'Don't worry,' I want to tell the school, 'I will only use my powers for good and not evil...but just to be safe, don't piss me off. Kisses!'
P.S. I felt so bad about the coffee spilling. I had a travel mug with lid but somehow it leaked! What an auspicious introduction. Hello, I am your new classroom helper, Inept Coffee Spiller. I can destroy drawings and writing with a simple flip of my travel mug. Oy...
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8:01
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Occidental Tourist
Happy New Year!
We're here visiting my mom and family. In an odd twist of events, I forgot to pack underwear for both OC and myself. I have no explanation for this, nor do I want to explore the implications. Luckily, they have stores in Boise.
I like being here, to see people, but also to see pictures and things from childhood that mom has saved and displayed. She has a miniature ceramic lighted Christmas tree, some goofy craft projects of mine when I was a kid, and old and new family pictures among other things. Oh, and books. She has so many books that she could open her own small bookstore. I love to look through and see what there is. She has a way with decorating and arranging things in a way that makes sense and that no one would have thought to do. She can make anyplace look nice. I can't do that. It's nice to be here.
We fly home tomorrow just in time to go back to school on Monday and to OC's new classroom. I don't know what to expect from the new teacher (anger at me, or what?) so that promises to be an adventure.
Today we are going to Eagle, where there is a yarn shop among other places to check out. We can do that now that everyone is properly attired.
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9:32
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Occidental Tourist
Something of unknown name and origin wiped me out for the entire day yesterday. It was so bad, I couldn't even drink coffee! Consciousness was iffy for a while. Same with eating or drinking. I spent most of the day in bed. I took a sojourn to the couch in the evening for an hour or so before a quick shower and returned to chambers. Come to think of it - besides the feeling terrible part - it wasn't a bad way to spend the day. Wouldn't want to do it all the time, but a day in bed every now and again could do us all some good.
Saturday we went to get firewood. We are completely out. "Two or three hours" my husband estimated it would take. To his credit, he accurately estimated the number of trees to fall in order to fill up the trucks. Five hours later - one of those hours was spent sitting beside the truck playing I Spy with OC. The keys got locked inside and so we waited while my husband drove in the other truck we had, an old Ford loaded down with firewood, the 26 miles home to get the spare key. I'm thinking that last hour sitting huddled in the cold either caused or greatly contributed to my falling ill with whatever I fell ill with the next day.
In the department of good news, it turns out I can run a chainsaw with neither causing injury nor maiming myself. Although this is probably not a skill I will use much, on the occasions it becomes necessary to use a chainsaw, it will be nice to know I can do it without (much) fear of those three things. I'm fond of my appendages, and would grieve the loss of one of them.....especially if it came because of my own ineptness.
It's New Year's Eve. Do I have plans? Other than not repeating the Great Mystery Illness of 2007? No. Do you? You would think after spending an entire day in bed it would seem appealing to stay awake late one night for a holiday, especially one which consists of nothing more than celebrating the coming of midnight with lots and lots of booze. This is the way I spent much of high school and so enjoy fewer hangovers as an adult. This is not something I am proud of, but it does come in handy occasionally.*
Happy New Year!
* Not what I would recommend to high schoolers. If you are a high schooler, please do not drink! It makes you stupid. To wit: have you read my blog? Uh huh. The end.
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16:22
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Occidental Tourist
1. Sled track is for sledding.
2. Walk up the hill on either side of sled track. Take your pick! The choice is yours. Either side is preferable to walking up the sled track. (See rule #3.)
3. The sled track is not for walking back up the hill.(See rule #2.)
4. The sled track is not for plopping down on your behind to relax. Sledders want to use it, and if you do this you are now IN THE DAMN WAY.
5. If you are going to run down the hill after a small child, please do not run down the sled track and leave your large, booted footprints which gnarl up the track for everyone else.
6. Outdoor fires are nice, but maybe - just maybe! - not appropriate to build one at the bottom of the sled hill. Do I need to explain why?
7. If you cannot or will not follow these rules, then please stay home.
Thank you.
- The Establishment.
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Dakota must suffer numerous nicknames, some of which are Peaches Cheeks, Kola Nut, and Pooky Bear.
Sable sez, I am prettyer than u. Now, pet me now. Tanks!
For which we are eternally grateful, lest the child desire to interact with us. Now mommy can drink more, which is, coincidentally, my New Year's Resolution.
