The Busy Body

1) I will be flying to Vermont for Christmas, braving the surly airline industry.  With reluctance.  Because there is no other remotely sane way to get from here to there with a 10-year-old in a reasonable amount of time.  One is assuming, of course, that the plane won't be delayed an unreasonable amount of time.

2) Life is full of uncertainty. 

3) I did too much yesterday and now I am paying for it.  I love yoga, but class yesterday has brought out pain in my upper back that I didn't know was possible.  Really, to have sore muscles under my shoulder blades is beyond enough.  It was an excellent class, however.

4) My kid thinks he wants to work in theater when he grows up.  As we all know, there's a lot of money and not a lot of heartache in that field.  I'm trying to talk him into science, but he thinks he wants to freelance at science, not get a PhD.  Just do experiments on his own.  Also, maybe archeology.  Ok then.  He has time to reconsider everything.

5) The Bears at their best are mediocre.  Today they were not at their best.

6) I started watching I Heart Huckabees two nights ago, liked it, and got halfway through before turning it off.  It was engaging, though much of the time one has no real idea of what is going on.  The main character is a bit of an idiot.  Lily Tomlin and Dustin Hoffman are charming.  I think I don't like watching movies by myself much.  I get restless.  I start to feel trapped.  When I'm with others, I don't get restless or trapped -- I enjoy the movies quite a lot.  By myself, I'd rather read a book.  Never feel restless when trapped by a good book.  Sporting events are good because I can walk out of the room and not lose any narrative and if something exiting happens while I'm gone ... they'll replay it endlessly, so you can't really miss anything really good.

7) The above is true unless I'm sick, in which case staring at the tube is sometimes exactly what one needs.

8)  I have to find the time to finish this movie that I'm halfway through.

9) Went to see Improv last night for the first time in years, and enjoyed it.  Much funnier than the last time I saw it, and much cleverer.  Though the performers did get tired by the end, and their inventiveness started to lag a bit.  And it still felt like they had the beginnings of a great show there, if they would just shape it a bit more, get rid of the stuff that didn't work, and fill out the bits that did ... yep, still feels like a rehearsal technique to me.  Nonetheless, a good show, and nice to see an Improv show that really did work and didn't talk down to the audience.

10) Have to go back to work tomorrow.  Two days of work, a day off mid-week to celebrate the anniversary of giving birth, and two more days which will be frantic since I took a day off and there's really too much work to do to get away with that.  I'm tired just thinking about it.

Once again, here's hoping some decisions will be made this week.

Life is on hold. I applied for a job, I interviewed for said job, and now I'm waiting to hear.  I thought I'd know by the end of last week ... but latest word is they are still deliberating.  Nice.  Make up your minds, people.

Really, I need to know.  Folks want to make Christmas plans ... but what do I say when I'm hoping I'll be working for someone else by then?

I want to drive to Vermont this year.  This is an insane impulse on my part -- what about driving from Chicago to Vermont in late December makes sense?  -- but it is a measure of how much I hate air travel right now.  I used to like it.  Now I feel like I'm being nickel and dimed to death ... so I can die in a tin can driven by underpaid and tired pilots.  Great.  Its Christmas, people: I travel with a 10-year-old -- there will be presents! So paying per bag or an insane amount for over poundage hurts.  Gack.  So I pay too much for our bags, then pay because they're too heavy, and then there are no snacks on the flight.  Barely a drink.  And since I tend to drink water on flights, its not like they're spending money on me (Ok, a plastic cup and a napkin, occasionally a tea bag).  On top of that, surly underpaid staff makes the airline experience complete.  Oh, and did I mention we seem to still be taking off our shoes for the TSA?  Of all the stupid useless things.  Search my kid for plastic screwdrivers if you must, but really -- shoes?  The Shoe Bomber just proved how inept a way of blowing up a plane that is, so of course everyone had to over-react. 

So I now wear clogs to fly.  When flying to Vermont, in the winter.  Its a good time.

Work is ridiculously busy.  I can't believe how much time I spend in just trying to get students reimbursed for their travel and parties.  Erp, their "student activities."  Really, two people to do four jobs is not enough.  Well, three and a half jobs.  And the temp ... she tries.  But the students want to talk to someone they know, and to someone who will respond quickly to them ... and that's me.  Although my response time is slowing down, which is depressing.

I have much maintenance work to do in my life.  I want to do none of it.  I have minutes to type up, bills to pay, dishes to wash, papers to sort through and throw out, home repairs to do, stuff to throw out as my house is too full, the freezer to clean, the kitchen cupboards to clean as they're getting icky, windows to wash, how to figure out a budget so I can hire my ex to do some home repair, yoga to do (ok, so I want to do the yoga).  And apparently cats to pet and admire. 

Cats have played a huge part of my life lately, and not just my own (who is a little cranky about how much I've been out this week).  My friend's cat got very ill, and I ended up going with her to the vet's.  I have never witnessed cat death before.  It was hard on all of us: as I was trying hard to remember that I was not the chief mourner in the room, I had to avert my eyes from the tech who was helping -- she was devastated.  If I looked at her, I would have totally lost it.  She'd had a rough day with way too much death.  My friend and I were not doing much better: after all, it was a much beloved and lovely cat who was dying.  That evening walking home from parking the car this cat came out of the alley I was crossing ... and she looked very like the dear departed one.  Not exactly, definitely not a ghost kitty, but enough to be a little spooky.  She was spooked a bit by me as well.   Then there was being harangued by a small cat named Penny as I was walking to the library in the pouring rain.  Penny was not happy to be out in the pouring rain, oh no, and she wanted me to know it and do something about it.  I was human, I have thumbs, I should let her in.  But which house?  Where did she live?  Her collar with the helpful name listed an address that was several miles south of where we were -- though it was the correct street.  She had no problem with me holding her and no problem walking up to my shoulders so she was better covered by my umbrella .... but I had no idea how to solve her problem.  I finally left her, disappointing her tremendously, and went to the library.  I chickened out and walked down a different street going back to the car.  Tonight I stopped by another friends house to check on her two elderly cats, mother and daughter.  Fed them, scooped their cat box, didn't see them at all.  Only evidence of their existence in the immaculate house was cat hair on the bed ... and poop in the box, of course.  I assume they are both fine.

My own cat is lying here, draped over my arms as I type, purring away.  Pleased that he is between me and the computer, but really feeling like I should be paying more attention to him and not the stupid keys.  I'm moving just slightly too much.

Make your decisions, let others know.  Please.

Here's the thing:  I love Whole Foods.  I love the fact that when you walk into my local Whole Foods, you walk into the fruits and vegetables section, and its beautiful.  There are so many different kinds, different varieties, different colors,  that your cart fills up with lovely looking fresh food before you get out of the first section -- which of course means there is less room for crap food-like substances later on in the shopping experience.  I love that they have chard and collard greens and kale and broccoli rabe and things I've never heard of.  I love that the produce section tells you where the food is grown (Peru? Michigan? California? Indiana?), and whether it is organic or conventional, thus allowing you to make the choice between conventionally grown produce from Illinois vs. organically grown food from Peru.  (This depends partly on what the produce is: strawberries & peaches, always organic; other veggies ... well, local food travels less and was probably picked more recently and used less fuel to get here ... and if the organic standards in the US are kind of shaky, what exactly are they in Peru?  Do we know?  More importantly, can I remember them when I am standing in front of "organic" blueberries grown in Peru?).  

Now, the best way to ensure your fruits and veggies are grown in a sustainable way ... environmentally friendly, like ... is to know the farmer.   Some farms are "mostly organic" but don't quite qualify for the label.  Knowing how your food is produced is to truly understand and appreciate the food chain.  A good recommendation on how to do this is to regularly attend your local farmer's market, patronize the same farmers, and make friends with them (alternatively, join a CSA -- community-supported-agriculture ...).  Despite my commitment to lovely whole foods, I cannot seem to make it to a farmer's market in or near Chicago.  The only farmer's market I managed to attend this summer was in Burlington, Vermont.  It has pottery and art and lots of wrapped food from different cultures for sale (samosas and tamales and eggrolls and dumplings).  It has maple syrup and cheese and chickens, flowers and soap and perfume.  And yes, lovely beautiful fruits, vegetables, legumes, and herbs.   It is my favorite farmer's market, the standard to hold all others up to.  My mother knows the farmers at the market, but since I don't live there, I don't.  I am very tempted by everything there: but need to restrain myself.  My folks belong to a CSA and therefore there is no need to buy MORE vegetables since they get more than they can use as it is ... even with a shared share.  And buying veggies at the farmer's market in Vermont to fly back to Chicago sort of blows the whole sustainability thing, doesn't it?  As if my suitcase wasn't already full of cheese and maple syrup and honey as it is.  (MFK Fisher also recommends knowing a few farmers, as well, though in the context of the country at war that may have had to do with maintaining a supply of fresh eggs when possible).

Back to Whole Foods: despite my love for Whole Foods, I am currently boycotting it.  Basically, this is because its CEO is a libertarian creep who blocks his employees from being unionized and who doesn't really believe we need health care anyway -- neither his employees or his customers, apparently.  He sounded off on this in the Wall Street Journal: if you're interested, look it up: I am also boycotting the WSJ, so won't link to it (that's a matter of general principle [or cussedness], and that boycott causes me no pain whatsoever).   He postulates that if we all just eat healthy we'd be a lot healthier society and the government wouldn't need to interfere with the god-given rights of the insurance companies to defraud us (well, I may be paraphrasing a bit).  Of course, this entirely overlooks things like car accidents and diseases that are more a matter of genetics than lifestyle choices and the random acts of flu epidemics .... things that really don't care what you eat when they devastate your life.  Michael Pollan, a man whose writing on food I truly respect, disagrees with the boycott of Whole Foods, arguing that the company has done much to support local small farmers, and that its approach to food is arguably healthier for us (note the doorway into the beautifully-arranged produce department, rather than into the aisles of packaged foods) than other major food chains.  And he's right about that.  But where is the balance here?  Between the food and farmers and the employees?  There's also the story, possibly apocryphal, of the employee who was delighted to be transferred to a new store in Canada because he'd have health insurance there ... provided by the Canadian government, of course.  Does the good the company do outweigh the sheer hypocrisy of its CEO?  I don't really know if there's a right answer there.

I miss it though.  I miss my shampoo, which I have not found anywhere else (that may be trite, but its also true).  I go to my local chains, browse the produce sections, and get depressed -- because while on the surface they look enticing, there's very little organic produce -- and what there is is the same old same old broccoli carrots potatoes tomatoes bananas etc -- and there's a lot of the same stuff, even among the conventionally grown produce (the vast majority of the section).  One local store had put up LOCALLY GROWN signs for a while ... but those seem to be gone.  Produce is labeled "grown in the USA" -- lovely, but does mean Florida or Michigan? New Mexico or Illinois?  Vermont or California?  One of the knocks on conventionally grown foods is that the variety within a species is severely restricted: so instead of many kinds of tomatoes, or turkeys, or potatoes, we're down to 3 or 4 kinds when there used to be 20-30 (and I'm throwing these numbers out of my head: you want real numbers, read Michael Pollan's books).  When you look around the produce department in the "not-Whole-Foods" grocery stores, this is a depressing reality.  The only variety is provided by fruits and vegetables that are used in Mexican cooking, for the substantial numbers of residents whose family originally came from south of the border (and, I suppose, the adventurous Anglo, though I don't suppose that makes up a large share of the market for those products).  I don't have enough knowledge to gauge whether the selection is even adequate for authentic cooking.

While I'm waxing nostalgic about Whole Foods, let's detour into the whole "Whole Paycheck" meme.  I will submit to you that one of the most important things we do is eat.  The food we eat sustains us; if we eat the wrong food, or too much of the wrong food, it makes us fat and sick (the CEO is right about that, though wrong to suggest that the only way to healthy eating is by shopping at his stores: see CSA and farmer's markets ...).   Pesticides cannot be healthy for you, especially when they build up for years, and when they mingle in ways not foreseen by the scientists who declared them safe (This is a Pollan point, look it up: one of his beefs with scientists is that they look at the pieces and not the whole thing, so that while an individual pesticide may be safe for us to ingest in small quantities over years and years, what happens when pesticide A mixes with pesticide B in small quantities over years and years? Perhaps that is not quite so safe, as they react with each other .... again, I'm paraphrasing an argument he makes much better and backs up).  I've become quite offended by those who think that the cheaper food is the better, because its actually just the opposite: the cheaper food is, the more likely it is to be incredibly bad for you (see fast food and the concept of the "dollar" menu).  So, yes, organic food is more expensive, though its costs have gone down as more farmers get into the market.  But the larger point is that all big stores sell cheap products on some products only to gauge their customers dreadfully on others: you're not supposed to notice that while you are paying a few cents less for butter, the price of milk is 20 cents higher than it is somewhere else ..... One thing I notice is the price of tea.  I love tea, which probably means I will never be able to shop entirely locally, as tea is not grown in the upper Midwest.  I have expensive tastes in tea, which means I look at the prices, compare between brands, and sigh a lot.  Since I notice the price I'm paying, I notice that my favorite teas are actually cheaper at Whole Foods than at my local Safeway or Albertson's owned chains .... one brand of organic tea is more than $2 more expensive.  Over $7 is a lot to pay for a box of 22 tea bags, however high the quality.  So in my personal experience, with the things I like to buy, I have to admit I don't notice a big difference in the grocery bill from one chain to the next, but I do notice the quality of the produce is better at Whole Foods. 

Its also more inspiring.  The food practically begs for experimentation, for trying something new.  The food at my local chain (not so local, since its owned by a national chain as well) doesn't inspire.  I think in well-worn ruts there, I do this with that and that with this, no need to crack open a new cookbook or new recipe at all.  Boring.

So the wolf is at the door again, in the lack of inspiration in the food I buy, in gray dreariness of the day, in the stress of work and life.  Food is politics, politics drives the food industry and food science .... and there is no end in sight, really, is there?

 While I was on vacation in Vermont, I finally finished a book I've been reading for a while: "How to Cook a Wolf" by MFK Fisher.  Fisher wrote it in 1942, right as the US was coming out of depression and into a world war; my edition includes annotations she wrote in 1951, when she revised the text for a new edition. In my edition, these annotations are in brackets, and many of them are notes on the recipes included: [I now use a full cup of cream], but some of them are longer discourses on the differences between in 1942 and 1951 [Why only sons? Since I wrote this I have acquired two daughters, and they too shape the pattern's pieces, and the texture of my belief!], or, and most interestingly to me, scathing commentary on "nutritionists" who offer advice on economizing on giving your family a balanced meal at every meal [Not today, you can't! Not if you follow the balanced-meal plan, you can't!  Not if you buy it wholesale and cook it for fifteen people at a time, you can't! I know. I tried it. I went to auctions for unwanted potatoes, for dented cans ... All I got was more red in my budget book and more gray in my hair.].  Reading Fisher, you see the early cries against the food industry that will lead us down the road to obesity, bad food, and waste.

The wolf she talks about is the Wolf at the Door.  How to eat on very little money, when food and fuel are rationed.  How to eat the wolf, before the wolf eats you.  Her chapter titles include such gems as "How to Be Sage Without Hemlock," "How to Distribute Your Virtue," "How to Rise Up Like New Bread," "How to Make a Pigeon Cry," "How to Comfort Sorrow," and "How Not to Be an Earthworm."  This last is how to cook while under blackout conditions, or what to cook and put away for life in bomb shelters.  Most of her recipes I probably would not cook; but some I may try.  Notably in this time when we are concerned about a "carbon footprint," she makes a big deal about food that seems economical in terms of ingredients, but takes a long time to cook, and therefore uses too much fuel to be called truly economical.  She points out that to be economical -- or green, in our day -- you should use your oven efficiently, cooking several things at once to not waste the fuel.  She also notes "our gradual mediocrization, in the process of which we are forced to eat so many downright poor foods that we leap with sincere delight for the mediocre."  Therein, I think, lies the fascination with processed food: the fallacy that food should be both cheap and easy, that saving time is more important than the quality of what we eat, that we need to finish the evening ritual of dining early -- cooking, eating, and cleaning up -- we need to finish all of this quickly so that we can do what the corporate world would like us to do: sit in front of the TV. We must not miss our programs!  How else are we to be indoctrinated?  Why does food need to be faster, easier, cheaper?  Perhaps in the slowing down of food, in learning to enjoy food again, we will also discover more balance in our lives, more enjoyment of each other, and more health.

One of the books I read last spring was Michael Pollan's "In Defense of Food," in which he takes on the "science" of nutrition, as well as big business agriculture, and he takes apart the way that nutritionists focus on small parts of food (this vitamin, this mineral, this small piece is essential!), instead of the concept that the whole food is essential.  Sixty years earlier, MFK Fisher is saying the same thing: why are we eating processed food when real food tastes better?  Eat Food: Why take out the germ to make white bread, pasty, tasteless, white bread, when eating whole grain breads is more nutritionally sound and tastes better?  Her scorn for "enriched" white bread is a thing of beauty.  She is appalled by the magazines that make suggestions to the "American Housewife" -- suggestions on economy, on feeding "balanced" meals to the family -- that completely leave out taste or imagination.  Food as sustenance and not pleasure is anathema to her, unless under the most dire of circumstances (and she does give a recipe for something she calls "sludge" made from vegetables that she says will sustain you for a while when the wolf has blown the door down).  Mostly Plants:  she pours some scorn on the American need for meat at every meal, and worse, at the lack of variation in our concept of meat.  If we are to eat meat, then we should eat the whole animal, and not be too fussy about eating organs or brains.  A quote: "But for all of us, no matter what our tastes, life would be simpler and the wolf would howl a little less loudly if we could adjust our minds to admit, even if we never quite believed it, that a tender sizzling rare grilled tenderloin was a luxury instead of a necessity."   Not too much: She lists the food that eating three "balanced" meals requires, then lists the food required for her concept of a balanced day of meals, and you understand why we are all fat.  The three balanced meals plan requires a lot of food to get the necessary balance, and it becomes repetitive and monotonous.  Her meal plan, on the other hand, has room for variation and enjoyment, and is infinitely lighter.  She takes apart the emergency rations list that were being put out at the time, and added a comment in 1951 on the sample she provides: "I refer to this later as "nauseating," but no one word is strong enough to suggest my scorn of it, esthetically as well as biochemically.  It is a shocking example of gastronomical panic, and if it were heeded would soon reduce us to malnourished as well as spiritually weakened creatures, past much harm from bursting atoms."

However, some wolves are to be invited in to dinner: some wolves come in human form, and are to be entertained for a while.  She advises putting a mirror in the kitchen, a little one, so when the unexpected visitor arrives -- or the expected visitor arrives early -- one can check one's hair and shiny nose.  Me, I would rather not know.  If the wolf arrives early, the wolf will need to have a sense of humor.  And a wolf without a sense of humor ... should probably not come by anyway.

There is something about MFK's writing that reminded me of my friend Poemless.  Their thought processes seem similar, though Poemless does not write on anything so frivolous as food: she writes on film and politics and Russia and Europe (her blog can be found here: http://poemless.wordpress.com/ ).  Poemless, I might add, writes more frequently than I do these days, so her blog is also infinitely more interesting than mine.  I have been in Poemless' kitchen, however, and while I can imagine a small mirror there, I cannot imagine Poemless cooking for a dinner party there ... though if MFK cooked there, it would form the basis for a very amusing essay on cooking without space. She, I'm sure, cooked in smaller and less convenient spaces in France, Switzerland and other places ... but Poemless' kitchen is indeed very small.

More wolves: I came back for Vermont, having read this lovely book on food, which made me all the more interested in reading recipes and cooking and eating healthy and enjoyably ... and I came home to a stopped up toilet which took me the better part of a weekend to clear.  I'll spare you the disgusting details (and they were truly disgusting), but one observation: when there is no place for the output, one's interest in eating and drinking goes significantly down.  Primed with ideas ... and discouraged from acting on them. 

And now I am sick, with fever: and really, all I want is comfort food, and not much of it.  I don't want to cook, just to eat what is easily available.  So all my plans to eat food, mostly plants, not too much, to eat more types of vegetables and grains, to use the vegetables I buy ... all made obsolete by the fact that I don't feel healthy enough to make myself oatmeal in the microwave. 

When I am healthy, I cook for myself, but not for my kid, because he eats about five things -- mostly peanut butter (he claims he eats more than five things, but if you roll up things like chocolate, ice cream, cookies, and cake into one big pile entitled "sweets," and make another pile for "some uncooked fruit," its five).  I don't know how to raise a kid with respect and enjoyment of food if he gags at anything with flavor.  And he does: if something is not right with his food, if there is a taste of pickle on his grilled cheese sandwich, if the bread gets soggy, he gags and throws up.  I think that the worse thing I could do is make him uptight about food: there is enough stress in both our lives without adding that to it.  If he wants to be vegetarian, fine, but I would love to be able to cook real food for him and have him enjoy it.  I'm assuming his taste will expand when he is a teenager and is hungry all the time: at the very least, he has to learn to eat cheese pizza so he can hang out with other kids.  But there are no guarantees in life.  He has agreed, however, that we will try to bake our own bread, in order to avoid the store-bought breads with unpronounceable ingredients (which Pollan warns against).  We'll see if we can manage to turn that into a routine.

Still, the lesson from MFK Fisher is that the more we truly enjoy food, the more we treat it with the respect it deserves, the healthier it will be for both us and our surroundings.  She quotes Edmund Burke: "Economy is a distributive virtue, and consists not in saving, but in selection."  Be respectful, choosy, mindful of portions, and eat for enjoyment -- which means paying attention to what you eat, no matter how little it is. 

I think Fisher gets the last word: "I believe that one of the most dignified ways we are capable of, to assert and then reassert our dignity in the face of poverty and war's fears and pains, is to nourish ourselves with all possible skill, delicacy, and ever-increasing enjoyment. And with our gastronomical growth will come, inevitably, knowledge and perception of a hundred other things, but mainly of ourselves. Then Fate, even tangled as it is with cold wards as well as hot, cannot harm us."

Went to Toledo this weekend for a memorial service.  I sat with my ex-husband's girlfriend who commented that it was very different from the Russian funerals in her family: everyone is weighed down with grief.  This was more restrained.  Very Presbyterian.  Of course, we were at a service for a 98-year-old woman: however loved, no one could think she hadn't lived the fullness of her years.  We will miss her, but I think she was ready to go.  It was getting hard for her to move around, she was a little too blind, a little too deaf ... at some point you just start missing those who have died before. 

In the last visit I had with my grandmother, she said she missed her mother.  Her stories were all about her youth -- her courtship and early married life with my grandfather. She missed them. 

There and back within 24 hours.  Crammed into a smallish car for five hours there, five hours back.  Got into the hotel at 2 am; went to bed at 3 am.  Since the adults in the front seat were working on building a website there and back again, not much to occupy myself except my own thoughts.  I had some regrets that my crocheting project is now too big to travel with -- esp. in the summer since it is a blanket.  Me and two kids in the backseat for the way back: they enjoyed each other, but got a little carried away at times ...

It was a little lonely in that small car.  Definitely a fifth wheel.  But ok, that's not the worst thing that can happen: at least there was little tension, and no fighting -- so a relatively pleasant journey. 

I've been to Toledo many times to visit Grandma: but I feel like I've never really seen it. I've seen the same stretch of Reynolds Road, stayed at the Red Roof Inn, eaten at the Olive Garden (and two new restaurants this time around), and once been to the Zoo.  The shopping mall where my kid once rode a merry-go-round and we bought shoes for him is now being torn up.  But I've never gone much further into Toledo -- I don't really have a sense of it as a whole, just this little piece of it.

Here's the thing about family: you may divorce the man, but you don't really divorce the family.  They stay family.  Especially if there is a kid involved: I remain related to them through him. Aunt Ann introduced me as my son's mother: which solved the problem of how to introduce both my ex's girlfriend and me in the same breath (we were standing by each other -- we sat with each other at the service as well: second row, as opposed to the first row of family).  Good to see family and catch up a bit. Odd because I've been so lax in keeping up (must do Christmas cards, must not blow them off). 

Here was Grandma: active and kind, interested in others, quietly helpful, strong and courageous, intelligent and resourceful.

Yes, we will miss her. I'm glad my kid got to know at least one of his great-grandmothers.

Haven't written in a while -- its been a busy summer.  I feel like there's barely been time to breathe.  And I need sleep.  Beautiful sleep.

I think the computer problems I've had this spring into summer have made me lose my habit of writing frequently.  I don't think this is good.  I think writing is like anything else: the more you do it, the more it becomes one of those important things in your life, and the more you just do it.  And the less you do it, the easier it is to blow off.

I've been acting that way with yoga lately: I crave it, but it is too easy to blow off.  I did did mention exhaustion, didn't I? 

So much has happened: and so little.  I'm still waiting to see what they're going to do with my job and others at work.  I've been grateful to have a job, but there's part of me that just wishes they would make up their minds and do whatever it is they are planning.  I want to spend some money, but have been holding off -- what if I need that money to eat?  But now the dishwasher is completely dead, and I need to replace it.  I want a new phone.  I also need to fix my car and replace the refrigerator ... and then I could make a list of other things which need to get done in the condo.

Meanwhile, my ex-husband's grandmother died.  She was 98, so not a huge surprise -- and she was probably bored with being a little too deaf and a little too blind.  But those she left behind miss her.  She grew up on a Kansas farm, and spent her life happy not to go back.  Elegant and proper, but very tough.  My favorite story: we went to visit her in Virginia one Thanksgiving, and she told us this story after dinner -- were we eating pie?  We'd certainly had a few glasses of wine.  She went into Washington to see a play with some friends, had a lovely time, and came back late.  Her friends drop her off, and she goes about her evening chores, getting ready for bed.  She's in her nightgown, and she goes into her closet to put away her shoes, and sees a snake.  Does she scream?  Does she back out and call her friends who dropped her off?  Does she call 911?  No.  She kills it with her shoe, and puts it in a box to throw out in the morning.  She was in her mid-80s at that point.  Me, I would have screamed, backed out, and gone to sleep in another room, hoping it wouldn't find me.  I don't care for snakes, but they are fine outside -- in their space.  I just don't think they should be in my space. On the other hand, while I am quite vicious about moths, I do not think I could kill a snake of any kind.  Grandma was kind, lovely, and really quite surprising at times.  Grandma was the last grandmother either my ex or I had left.  One generation now gone.  I am grateful my son got to know his great-grandmother and will remember her.  So I will drive to Ohio with my son, my ex, and his girlfriend for the memorial service. 

Meanwhile, I miss my grandmother still.  She died when I was pregnant: so ten years ago.  She was nearly 89, and fell at church.  She had been missing her mother and her husband a lot.  I wish she had known my son, though I am really glad she knew I was pregnant before she died.  I still crave butterrum lifesavers in June because they remind me of her.

There's more to write about: Harry Potter, campaign work, Illinois politics, health care reforn, corrupt politicians, books, reading, fear and loathing in Chicago, weddings, and ... oh, lots more.  Which is good: maybe I'll write more than once every two months. 

Look for it. Meanwhile, did the Sox win, or just the Cubs?

I feel unsettled tonight, as if things are happening out there that are about to strike.

Things are happening to my friends, good, bad and indifferent -- some graduations, some divorces, some moves, and so on -- but so far my life has been pretty static.  Mostly it goes along as it is.  Tiredness hits, stress hits, but real change -- no.

Frankly, I'm kind of bored with my own life.  It could use a bit of a shake-up.  But -- big caveat -- only in a good way.  I've gone through my share of trauma, and I don't want more right now -- I want good change.  The most important good change would be a new job.

Men -- do I really want a boyfriend?  I go in and out of being cynical about men.  I look at the shitty husbands I have known, the guys who are just obnoxious to their wives, and think -- do I really need this?  And then I look at some of my male friends and think: oh, but he's lovely to his wife.  (and yes, the lovely men are all married: which does not leave a lot of hope for finding a lovely and single man).  

So a new job is really where its at.  One more thing that needs to get done this weekend: find a new job and apply for it.  Really, I've applied to so many jobs over the last few years, and it never gets me anywhere.  Where's the job on a golden platter?  Don't I get that? No? 

My friends are dealing with the changes in their lives, some coping but just, some looking forward but with some trepidation, some glorying in the accomplishment of tangible completion and moving on to the next phase.  Finish a degree, find a job.  Finish a degree, move out of town.  Divorce a husband, sell a house, find a new place to live and a new life to go along with that.  Place an ad, start interviewing boyfriends.  Work that goes from forty hours per week to fifty.  Finish a job, get laid off, look for new work.  Change the work you do.  

So the winds of change are blowing around my friends.  And me, I go along as I have.  Things slowly getting better in many ways, but the big things don't change.  And by big things, I mean my job.  Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful to have a job.  But I'd like to have a new one, preferably with a boss who is not insane.  And more interesting work.  Different work.  Challenging in all the good ways. 

The future's so bright I have to wear shades.  Or maybe bifocals.

I just read Thers at Whiskey Fire for the first time on his home blog.  I have read him before, when he posts on Eschaton (i.e., the blog of Atrios, though as far as I know not related to the House of Atreus) -- but it is amazing how much he cleans up his act at Eschaton.  I had not particularly noticed the pulling back of punches, but to read him on his home blog is to read a thing of effing beauty, a swearing of a vehemence, literacy, and strength that one rarely finds these days.  And it is all too the point as well, not some knuckle-dragging kid swearing who can't speak for saying the F-Word and sometimes the Mother F-Word every other word as if they had no idea of its relevance in their conversation but just have a notion that it is, perhaps, vaguely shocking and daring of them to say it.  Makes them tough, you see.  Thers comes across as if he knows what the relevance is and is completely pissed off.

That said, this is my favorite anecdote:

Double Toddler Fail

The 3-Year-Old, in the shopping cart at Wal-Mart tonight, in the checkout line, at the top of his lungs:

He was of course holding his toy triceratops, which he had incorrectly identified as a rhinoceros. He was waving it about and pretending it was announcing "I'm a rhino" to some imaginary audience. Only he was very foolishly mispronouncing "rhino" as "wino."

Everyone thought he was a total dork (or a very small alcoholic). I pretended I didn't know him.

On the other hand, there's the Rude Pundit as well.  Liberal/Progressive bloggers have had good reason to swear for the past ... oh, 20 years.  Since the right wing nutcases began dominating the discussion, pushing truly insane ideas into the mainstream, and ridiculing the sense and sensible ideas of the progressives ... ridiculing the idea of "empathy" is their latest, but by no means most egregious, ploy. 

And why am I not swearing? Saying "effing" and "the F-Word" as if I am a grade-school teacher?  Well, though I am enjoying the swearing of others, I do not at the moment feel like swearing myself.  

There is a time and a place.  Usually after talking to someone from India.

Sorry for the lack of posting.  Going over a month and a half without posting anything is ridiculous, especially in a blog that was meant to have new posts every night.  Over the winter I was trying to at least do twice a month (how mighty are the fallen ambitions).   And then ... nothing for 7 weeks.  What gives?

Well, what gave was a dead computer.  Hard to write when one's computer has no screen.  This was in February ... suddenly, one morning, the computer booted up ... but the screen remained blank.  So technically, not a completely dead computer, but definitely one that its ability to communicate severely restricted.  Took it in to a repair shop, and they said -- well, for $300 bucks you could probably get a new laptop.

Ah, yes.  I had my eyes on a nice Dell computer that was on sale.  When I called Dell they said "oh, that sale ended two days ago and we don't have that computer anymore."  Which should have been my first clue to hang up and look somewhere else.  But I wanted a new computer fast. After all, I have blogs to write and taxes to do and minutes to type up, right? 

So in 10 days or so the pretty new computer arrived.  Right away I noticed something not quite right with the keys, but I thought it was me.  Or something I hadn't figured out yet.  I took it in to the nice computer geeks to transfer data from one computer to the other .... and mentioned it to him.  He fiddled a bit, said it should be better.  But no. 

So did taxes (computer is mostly fine in Quicken).  Struggled.  The act of writing became a chore.  I grew somewhat desperate.  Cranky.  Unhappy.  Finally called Dell technical support.  In India.  Have I mentioned I have a Evil Boss From Hell that I hate?  He was originally from India (although now, Schaumburg -- one more reason to avoid the suburbs).  So the last thing I want to do in the evenings is talk to some man with an Indian accent.  (I'm sure there are lovely Indian men out there: at the moment, though, i don't know any.  I do know some lovely American guys of Indian descent ... but they don't count in this contest).

Note to Dell: 1) talking to India is incredibly frustrating.  They were not always understandable, their English syntax was often odd, and they came off as incredibly condescending to me.  2) They didn't solve my problem.  3) It took over a week of my time before they finally admitted the problem couldn't be fixed.  4) Replacing the motherboard and keyboard did not make this angry customer happy, nor did it solve the problem.   5) By the end the customer service man in India was stalking me via the phone, but never leaving me the routing number for the new computer so I could figure out why it didn't arrive as promised.  6) Don't make the address FedEx is trying to deliver to unchangeable by the customer, because when you screw up the zip code, it means instead of being able to fix it and have it delivered, your already pissed off customer has to drive all the way to Skokie to pick it up.  Oh, and 7) if a customer is pissed off and tells your customer service rep she didn't give him permission to use her first name, he should NEVER use it again.  He should, in fact, ask what she prefers to be called.  Just sayin'.   That goes back to the condescending part.

So now I've finally transferred data from one computer to the next, without the aid of computer professionals but with the aid of my friend Elle, whose IT skills were invaluable in figuring out why my bookmarks and address book and emails hadn't transferred over.  And now I am starting to write more on the new computer sent by Dell .... and the verdict is ...

Better.  Not perfect.  Still the intermittent crazy thing.  But much much less frequently.   Well, I didn't mean to underline that last phrase, and now I can't seem to un-underline it.  Hmm.  But here's the thing: how much more time do I have to waste arguing with Dell India?  Do I have time to write a nasty letter to the president of Dell?

And my suspicion is the computer is fine, but Microsoft Vista does not like the fact that I prefer Mozilla and Thunderbird to IE and Outlook.

Blah.  Mac next time.

I have finished my taxes.  With some trepidation, they are now efiled.   I spent all weekend updating my Quicken, so I would have accurate information as to "educational expenses" for my child and "charity" donations.  Though in the end all the pertinent information was already entered. 

Somewhere along the line I became the world's worst bookkeeper. Why? How did that happen to me?  I lost it somewhere around the time of my divorce, despite that being the time I needed to track everything more carefully.  And it's not like my ex kept all the books when we were married: we had separate accounts always, so nothing changed there.  I just had to do my own taxes for the first time in more than 10 years after the divorce.

I had a couple of firm ideas on jobs that are the guy's responsibility in a marriage: car repairs, taxes, and dead mice.  Well, all dead animals.  Each time I came upon one of those chores post-divorce it felt like once again I was up against a reality I was completely unprepared to deal with -- and I was deeply resentful of having to deal with that reality.  Not what I'd signed up for! Oh wait? Speaking of contracts waiting to be broken ...

Which we were not.  We were speaking of taxes, the price we pay to live in the somewhat civilized world.  Our thanks to teachers, and firefighters, and police officers, and ambulances.  Our price for roads and bridges and mass transit. 

But you send off your taxes, and there is just that moment of fear: have I forgotten something dreadful?  Are they going to audit me and go tsk tsk tsk ... why don't you keep better records?  What was that check for?  Did you really spend so much at Borders?

And that anxiety prevents the sense of accomplishment that should be there: hurrah! taxes are filed! done way before deadline! whoo hoo! instead, there is just a feeling of anxiety that they're not done properly.  The feeling that Quicken still needs more work though I have devoted an entire weekend to it.  The fact that though I have thrown away and recycled mounds of paper, there is still more to be gone through and thrown away.  There is still so much more work to do.

And it snowed today.  To top it all off. 

I saw the movie MILK last night -- the only one of the Oscar movies I really wanted to see.  The others seemed so dreary .   I have no desire to see Slumdog Millionaire, being afflicted with a sadistic Indian in my life already -- and also no need to see bad behavior to children.   Doubt ... The Reader .... The Wrestler .... sigh.  

But even though I knew that it ended badly, I really wanted to see MILK.  It lived up to expectations.   Still digesting it -- on the one hand, we have come so far since then ... and on the other, the same kind of  Anita Bryant arguments are still made, this time about marriage and adoption.  However, Anita Bryant's own life took a turn for the worse after her involvement in the anti-gay propaganda biz -- loss of contracts, divorce, loss of face within the conservative evangelical movement which couldn't handle her divorce (oops: an "alternative lifestyle," how bold of her), re-marriage, and bankruptcy.  So rarely does karma work out so exquisitely.  

Dan White, who got off lightly in a complete travesty  of justice -- could the trial have been more rigged? -- committed suicide after getting out of prison after five years.  Fortunately, with a name like "White" his children don't have to live with the association -- a common name, easy to blend in.

So much of the movie was inspiring.  The ability to find a place in the world despite odds, after not living up to one's potential.  The building of a movement.  The persistence in running, and running and running again.  The personal ties, the committment to be a force for good.  The win, after many odds.  And the defeat of Prop 6: so sweet.  Which makes the passage of Prop 8 even more distressing: where did all that organizing talent go?  Was it all lost to AIDS?  Did all the wimps survive, all the bold visionaries die?  But the other lesson was not to accept defeat -- to keep going on, working even in the face of defeat, moving forward, not allow the bigots to win. 

Then the unbearable sadness of death -- I remember the murders, remember the astonishment at the verdict, remember Dan White's suicide as a minor footnote.  It was shocking that someone could walk into a building and shoot public officials.   Learned today that they had just put in the metal detectors at City Hall shortly before the murders -- because of Jim Jones and Guyana.   That shocking event was completely left out of the movie  -- a side-show which didn't add to the story of the movie in any way but does add to the general horror of the time.   So much tragedy in such a short space of time. 

Minor notes: Life was tense throughout February between the lack of job security and the life of single-momness.  As well as the ongoing election in the 5th CD, for which I was undecided until the last moment.  So irritating to be undecided in an elec tion that was actually happening in my neighborhood -- which meant I couldn't canvas or work for anyone.  I thought that working for a candidate would imply that the candidate had my vote as well ... and since there were at least three I was sincerely interested in, no work.  So a season in indecisiveness, rather than committed work for a candidate.  

And then my laptop went kaput -- of course on a day on which I was home sick.  Which meant I got to take my stomach-fluey kid and drag him to two computer stores before I found one which was willing to look at the computer within a reasonable amount of time.  Turns out a new one was in the cards -- the old one was too expensive to fix.  Now I have a loaner -- thanks much!  Was very unhappy not being able to have access from home ... one feels very cut off.   But now I have access, and it will be nice to have a new laptop ... feeding my addiction :)

The snow has stopped: now we have rain.  Much easier to park in the rain than in the snow.

Of course, its easier to go door-to-door in the rain, too -- but hey, the elections are set up for the convenience of the Machine, not the convenience of the challengers.  But I did notice in the movie how the insurrection against the powers-that-be -- Milk against the Machine -- was always done in fine weather.  Marches, rallies, parades --- lovely weather, rarely even raining, certainly no snow and sub-zero temperatures.  Here in the midwest, however, the insurrection has to happen in the worst weather -- sub-zero cold and wind and snow.   And the main event is always the primary held in ... February or March ... whereas the general is a formality.  So if we're ever going to beat the Democratic Machine here in Chicago .... we have the worst weather in which to take on the Machine.  Its not just that its hard on campaign workers: its also that the electorate is distracted with survival issues, and not receptive to politics.   Who cares when its so damn cold, so hard to park, so much energy just to get from place to place?  So much money to pay the energy bills, so dark all the time ....

Tonight the news is of a paster who was killed in his sanctuary.  So much violence.  Why do the disaffected take out their problems with guns?  Why is that even an option here? 

 

It is deep winter here in the City on the Lake.  Its unbelievably cold.  There is nearly a foot of snow on the ground.  The wind chill is incredible.  The stress of commuting to work is tremendous.  Both ways today, driving on the highways around the city -- and even the local roads -- felt extremely hazardous.  Will the car start slipping at any moment? Is there black ice underneath?  Why are there idiots speeding around me?  Why do we have to go to work? Can't we all just stay home and hibernate?

Its deep winter at work as well.  The buildings are cold: the front doors of our building does not keep the deep cold out, so the vast lobby is beyond chilly.  Since the bathrooms are off the lobby, across from the front doors, they get nicely chilly as well.  Fun!

But the winter extends beyond the cold and snow.  The economy is so bad.  We're expecting layoffs.  Everyone is tense, nervous and unhappy.  Some of the higher ups have already lost their jobs; rumor has it that others have taken pay cuts.  How low will the cuts go?  I figure the cleaning crews are essential: they won't get cut (the lower the pay grade the more useful?).  But how low?  My salary is not that great: will I escape?  How will the department fare overall? 

Its the waiting that is the killer.  Again, the urge to hibernate until it all blows over is strong.  But that won't help.

Meanwhile, there is a special election coming up: because the last election didn't go on long enough, so we need more.   I get to vote for a candidate of my choice: not the incumbent vs. a loser.   Too many candidates at the moment, but some winnowing will happen by next Monday when we learn who has managed to file the required signatures.  And then we have a few weeks to canvas and campaign for the candidate of our choice.  In February.  In Chicago.  Did I mention its both extremely cold and snowing here? 

Deep winter.   Its brought more excitement than we really need right now.  

I do not understand fatwas.  Not being Muslim, this should not be surprising.  I was recently sent a news story about some clerics in Malaysia who have issued a fatwa against yoga.  This is surprising to me: what can there be about yoga that upsets people so?

The Muslim clerics are not the only ones disturbed by yoga.  Every once in a while you read a story about a church that suddenly decides yoga is corrupting their youth, and they will no longer allow a yoga class to be taught in their church basement.  Or a minister/priest who suddenly decides that yoga is not Christian, and no true Christian should practice it.  From Kansas to London, these stories crop up occasionally. 

These are often the same people who manage to justify torture, or killing those who are not in agreement with them, or placing bombs to stop the unholy, whether you call it jihadism or martyrdom or whatever.  Violence is practiced by  fundamentalists of all faiths, Christian, Muslim, Judiasm, etc.  -- even the Buddhists occasionally set fire to themselves in protest.  What is the difference between the bombing of an abortion clinic, or the bombs set at the Olympics, or the shooting of a doctor, or the bombing of a federal building, or the flying of airplanes into buildings, or the terrorizing of a city with hostages and shooting and bombs  -- where does it end? 

Its about fear.  Fear that leads them to hate other groups, other religions.  Fear that leads them to believe violence is the only just answer.  Fear that leads to the banning of everything from alcohol to dancing, from movies to yoga. 

They do not understand yoga, and fear that it will lead people astray, that by doing yoga suddenly people will wish to become Hindus (oh noes!).  

There are many of us who have done yoga for years without experiencing the need to become a Hindu.  There are some who like what it does for them physically; there are some who feel a mental uplift while and after yoga; there are some who feel the practice deepens their own faith.  And there are some who are searchers.  But the searchers will search, whether you ban yoga or not: they will look beyond what is right in front of them, finding dissatisfaction with what is "normal."  

Banning stuff does not stop the search.  Hindering a means to healthy living leaves you a flock of unhealthy people (and yes, there are other means to healthy living, but there are those of us for whom yoga is the one exercise that does not pall, that has tangible and immediate effects, that is adaptable to our own state of being on any given day .... it works for us). 

The fear produces action that is the opposite of what every major religion teaches.  The golden rule, of course: love your neighbor as you would love yourself.  Be kind.  Take care of each other.  First do no harm.   Honor God first, yourself second.  God, for the non-religious, can be replaced with the community in which we live -- humans, animals, the earth -- honor what is outside of us first. 

What can you do with minds that are closed?  How can one ease the fears that beset us?  

A week ago I went to the Opera.  I go about once a year, when my mother-in-law gives me a ticket.  This year I got her ticket because she had to go to a funeral -- so I went with her friends, which is not as much fun as going with her (occasionally one of her friends can't go, and I get his/her ticket ....). 

Despite having a best friend from childhood who has the voice to be an operatic soprano -- though her life didn't quite take her in that direction (though now she sings opera for kids now in a touring company in New Mexico ...) -- anyway, despite that early positive influence, I don't love opera.  Its the singing that gets to me.  It all sounds a little ... forced.  Beyond the singing, there's the pacing.  It all moves so slowly, because they have to sing as they die a slow tortuous death.  

So, not really appreciating the music, and not loving the pace of the performance, why do I go?  Well, I go to see the spectacle: its amazing what you can do with a lot of money.  Often the costumes are terrific.  Plus I'm interested in the stories of the opera.  I go to say I've been, because you can't dis a whole genre without giving it a fair shake, without trying to see what its about.  In my years of going, I've never seen the same opera twice, and there's been a broad range, from The Ghosts of Versailles to Doctor Atomic to ... well, I can't even remember all of them. At least one where the main character died of consumption, though :) I keep thinking, well, I'll hit the right composer and then I'll see what all the fuss is about. Why people love this so much.  Also, I have a deep respect for live music, and know I can't listen to the recorded versions with any patience.  So off to see the spectacle.

So far, not so much with figuring out why its enjoyable, though.  I still don't love the singing, though sometimes I do like the orchestral music.  One thing at the Lyric though -- I am always conscious of the amplification of the music and singing, and keep wondering "why don't we just stay home and listen on a recording? It sounds like one.  This is not why I come to hear live music."   Given that the Lyric is an old theater, the seats are small, hard, and slightly uncomfortable, especially if the act runs over an hour. 

Last week I saw Porgy and Bess.  Gershwin! What is there not to like?  Well, again, I liked the Gershwin parts.  Summertime, however -- practically unrecognizable.  For some reason, they took a three act opera and decided to split it in two ... so the first and only act break came an hour and a half into the performance, and the pacing was SLOOOW.  And my rear hurt, my legs needed to move .... physical discomfort does not lend to aesthetic enjoyment. 

And here's the thing: the last two operas I've seen I've come away slightly disappointed in the spectacle.  That's it? I think.  That's the best you could figure out with all that money on hand for sets? For costumes?  The huge crowds on stage move into pretty pictures and all I think is "well, that's a pretty picture ... what does it mean?  Where's the emotion?" The set for P&B was huge, brilliant in many ways ... but when it comes right down to it, not mobile enough to give you a sense of difference from beginning to end.  Too static (though it did move a little ...). 

I think I am not an opera fan.  Just not cut out for it.  I am much more of a minimalist in my stage aesthetic to ever truly enjoy opera.  I did see a production by a small opera company, in a much smaller theater, of La Traviata -- and that was much more enjoyable, because it was on a human scale.  Though to tell the truth, I wasn't in the audience for that one, but working back stage, so I wasn't sitting through it -- and maybe that was part of the difference.

But the one thing that truly pisses me off when I go to the opera: the people who leave early.  Here is the opera: its a very traditional art form.  Opera goers have a hard time with innovation, with trying something new (to give the Lyric its due, they do produce new operas almost every season, they try for a balanced repertoire, and they are very aware that in order to stay alive the art form must have room to grow, which it won't if its just the same old operas every year).  Opera is in its very core a conservative art.  Heroines die routinely for falling in love with the wrong guy, for having sex with the wrong guy, for being in the wrong place at the wrong time .... tradition!  So when you go to the opera, it is polite to honor that tradition.  The performers have sung their hearts out for you for three plus hours.  Singing opera is not easy: its wearing to the core.  The polite thing to do is to applaud.  If they've been good and moving, a bravo! or brava! is appropriate.  If its been very good, or if the leads have been very good, a standing ovation is certainly called for.  Do they take curtain call after curtain call in the opera?  Oh yes.  Tradition!  So to walk out before the curtain calls is the height of bad taste and rudeness.  "Oh, we have to beat the traffic!"  Um, no, you have to give appropriate acknowledgement to the artists who have sung their guts out for you, who have produced an elegant piece of work for you.  Why is beating the traffic so important?  You still get stuck in it, because in the city there is no way to beat the crowd.  You're supposed to be part of a sophisticated audience, one who appreciates fine things, and you should act like it.  Not like you were born in a barn and no one taught you respect for others.  Leaving early .... I can't even imagine.  I'm blown away every time I go. 

Its just rude. 

Felt worse today.  My ex and his girlfriend have the plague as well, so I was asked to pick the kid up from his dad and take him to school -- this is how my day started.  Did, don't mind that part - its just getting to work really late is not the best way to start the day.  I felt lousy, worse as the day went on ... and there I was at work, trying to tough it out, and getting sicker and crankier as the day went on. 

And did have a meeting with the EBFH today, and it went about the way I predicted last night.  I sat there coughing, thinking about going home early, and looking at him like he was insane.  But not only was I thinking it, I was also very cranky and not happy to be there .... so it was not an easy meeting for him.  No, can't work "extra" when I am sick: if I stay late I will not be able to come in tomorrow.   I should grow up and be a better employee ... but if he had any clues whatsoever he would grow up and be a better boss.  But whatever.  I do what he tells me to do, even when I think his priorities are absolutely insane.   I respect the work, if not the guy who runs the place -- so the work gets done the best I can do.

But hey, if anyone knows of another job that my skill sets would be perfect for ... I'd love to know about it.  What are my skill sets?  Sigh.  I really belong in an academic job,  but whatever.  Still, the economy is terrible, so I should be grateful for any job, right?  Pah.

I still feel icky.  As a result, off to bed.

My headcold is now officially a week old.  It can leave any time now.  Its mutated into a nasty cough and more stuffiness.  I am tired all the time -- of course, I should try sleeping more.

Work is really busy right now -- with no end in the foreseeable future.  And the EBFH thinks he wants to meet with me tomorrow.  I can't imagine what benefit he thinks he'll gain from this: nothing like having a miserable coughing employee sitting across from you during a meeting looking at you like you are insane, is there?  And thinking about maybe going home sick?

The headcold is boring.  Done with it.

The cat is sitting between me and the computer, purring loudly.  I'm supposed to pay attention to him, you see.  He tried to sit between me and my dinner and got shifted off the desk pretty quickly.  He was irritated by that.  He's gotten over it apparently.

I have no thoughts on the Obama transition.  Lots of people have fears: I am willing to trust Obama for now, and see what happens.  He's proven to be very smart so far - a very good tactitian.   I think he gets to pick who he wants around.

I have thoughts about the race for the 5th CD in Illinois ... but I think it all needs to shake out a bit.  Who is really running?  Who is floating a feeler? Who is hoping to make his/her withdrawal a bargaining chip?  Would be interesting to know what is going on behind the scenes, indeed it would.

That's it.  Bedtime.  Sorry not to be more coherent: maybe when the headcold goes away ....

Last week I had a three-day work week.  Lovely in many ways, except I never really had an intuitive sense of what day of the week it was -- after working through a weekend, traveling the next weekend, taking Monday and Tuesday off -- I just had no clue where we were in the week.  Now I'm back to normal, I guess, after having a full real weekend (though as always, I could use another day).  But other than the time dislocation, the three-day work week is a good thing: perhaps the unions will get strong again and we'll get a better weekend?

The work itself was stressful though: another event.  Did I mention I hate event planning?  I'm not one who likes to plan parties down to every last detail: I like to leave a lot of room for serendipity.  I like flexibility, wriggle-room, let's - figure-it-out-as-we-go-along.  This is not a good attitude for work events.  Esp. not with my bosses, who are obsessive about details.  The event itself turned out well, given the circumstances.  We ordered too much food, to make up for not ordering enough the last time we had this event.  Not as many came as last time, two years ago.  Ok then.  Of course the economy is different ....

And I have a lot to get done this week.  Having been busy with "events" and then out for three days -- now I need to play catch up.  And soon I'll get sucked into the vortex we call admissions .... and I'll get none of my work done.

Since one of my colleagues found a new job (yea for her!), the EBFH has alternated between being relatively pleasant (please don't quit!) to his normal I-can't-get-through-a-day-without-finding-some-way-to-give-you-a-put-down.  He wins no friends.   The two of us who are left would quit at the drop of a hat should better jobs come along.  As it is, we stick it out, not being stupid enough to cut off our noses to spite our faces.  Yet.  Also.

I'm still fighting my nice little virusy-cold thing.  Today it threatened to turn into conjunctivitis.  Not dire, but I don't want to have pinkeye.  The cold basically means that even though I think I should be operating at 100% now, I'm not really.  I come home, facing all this stuff that needs to happen in my household, and I can get through the basic stuff in an evening: yoga, dinner, reading email ... that's about it.  And when exactly am I going to have the energy to look for a new job?  Sort through the reams of paper? Pay bills? 

Sorry for the dull blogpost: I had some stuff to work off my chest.  First the mundane, then I can strive for original.  Maybe.

Well, I would write more, except I have a nasty headcold, and can't breathe.  And when you can't breathe, you can't think.  And if you can't think, you can't write.  Well, you shouldn't write if you're thinking impaired.  Of course, I can think of several politicians for whom this does not seem to be a problem. 

But I will not inflict my sick ramblings on you.  Why, what did you think I meant?

Ok, I'm back to posting.  Life is marginally less stressful.  Oh, I still need a new job, a new boyfriend, a new life ... but hey, its time to start writing again.  The stressful symposium is done, the cousin's wedding is done (yea for him!), and tomorrow is the kid's birthday ...  But we're done with overtime at work, we're done with travel for a while, and so perhaps I will have energy at the end of the day to write without whining.

But the cat still feels the need to be between me and the computer, purring loudly and pushing his head against me.  He is a very social being -- loves a party -- and so he still recovering from me and the kid deserting him on Friday and leaving him alone until Sunday afternoon. Alone is not his favorite.  He likes napping, but he likes his social time as well.  So here I am in the living room, with the computer on a small table in front of me, and he has to try to squeeze between me and it.  Purring loudly.  He should be putting the kid to bed. 

The kid is still awake.  Its after 11:00 pm.  I am not pleased.  I am waiting for him to fall asleep so I can wrap his presents.  How can I wrap presents for a kid who is determined to stay awake?  

So, on the election front, Obama won, my favorite Illinois candidates did not, and we don't know about Burner and Franken yet.  Why can't they count the votes in a reasonable time?  Don't they know enquiring minds want to know? 

The Symposium went OK.  After a lot of work and long hours on my part.  And the EBFH getting in the way.  It was not fun, either in the planning or the execution.  Always there are glitches, and really, there are just some things you can't anticipate.  It happens.  There was as always the least favorite student who insisted on being a problem .... quietly and implacably a problem.  Sigh.  There were the usual transportation issues.  

The wedding however went beautifully.  Flights went well, hotel was nice, food was mostly good, and it was good to see family.  Now, if my aunt will take herself to a decent medical center, because she looks ... frail.  She is too young to look as frail as she does.  She worries her family -- its not good. 

But the bride and groom were both radiantly happy, and it was very lovely to see.  Weddings give one a sense of hope.  Of course, then I come home to my lack of love life and the hope drains away, but hey, it is lovely to see them in love and happy to be married.

So ... work and family: work is the bad stressor and family the good stressor ... and I am glad to have a day or two off to play, do laundry, and run errands.  I could use some more time to catch up with life.   But it is not to be.   Tomorrow and that's it.

When I was a very little girl we lived in New York City for a few years.  We had a big old TV on which I watched Captain Kangaroo, Mr. Rogers, and UNDERDOG! Oh, and the Friendly Giant.  If you didn't grow up near the Canadian border you have no idea about the Friendly Giant, but I loved him (who wouldn't love a Canadian with puppets: charming).   I also saw the Wizard of Oz for the first time there: and was totally terrified.  The witch, the monkeys: hiding behind my mother.  There were also a lot of ads for new movies coming out.  Even though I went to a fair number of new movies with my friend Sarah and her nanny, the ads for new movies on TV were all for the same one as far as I was concerned, and I would tell my mom every time with great excitement:  "COMING SOON TO A THEATER NEAR YOU! COMING SOON TO A THEATER NEAR YOU!"  What a great movie.

COMING SOON TO A THEATER NEAR YOU -- THE ELECTION.  The election that has gone on forever is about to end.  We'll know the ending to this story next Tuesday night.  It feels like we've invested so much of our lives in this election, between the presidential -- which has been a LONG campaign, hasn't it? -- to the congressional and local races.  There are so many races to care about: Al Franken up in Minnesota, Darcy Burner in Washington, can we please defeat Chris Shays in Connecticut already, Kay Hagan in North Carolina (bye bye Liddy),  Mitch McConnell in Kentucky ...  buh bye.  Same to Saxby Chambliss (could revenge be so sweet?).  

And the local races: Dan Seals, Daniel Biss, Dan Kotowski, Debbie Halvorsen, Scott Harper, Bill Foster, Anita Alvarez (boy is Peraica a total loon) ....  please Dans, win.  I want so much for Dan Biss to win: it accomplishes two things -- gets a mediocre Republican out of office, and does it without any debt to Mike Madigan and the Machine ... a good progressive Democratic in Springfield: could it be?  Could we be so lucky? Could it be the beginning of change down there? 

My secret fear is that after the election we'll get bored.  I mean, what will we do without the campaign to obsess about every day?  Reading blogs, making fun of Sarah Palin, being amazed at how low McCain will go .... and Obama on the campaign trail, being inspiring.  Its going to be a huge wrench to switch over to obsessing about the next election, and to obsess about who will be in the cabinet ....

My other life is preventing me from doing any campaign work this weekend, or Election Day.  If I were able to do some campaign work, I'd probably feel better.  Leave it all on the road, and all that.  After this weekend, the evil Symposium will be over, and I will have survived it three times -- and after each time I say "never again. never again will I go through this: I will have a new job before I do this again" -- and it hasn't happened yet.  What is that about?  I have been applying and applying ... and so far nothing has come through.  It feels pathetic.  But whatever, I have to get through this weekend, and then I can return to the rest of my work which I am now behind on.  As far as work is concerned, I hate October.  And November.  Possibly December too: we'll see how bad the Admissions season will be.  Its shaping up to not be pretty: we're down one staff member already (yea to her: she found a new job! hurray! there's hope!), so there's two of us and a temp. We've done it before.  But if the other one leaves, if her dream job comes through -- or even any other job -- then I'm doomed.  I can't do admissions by myself, and I don't know how to do it -- and neither does the EBFH.  

So anyway, by next week two major stressors will be over: the Election and the Symposium.  Things are looking good for a positive result for the election; all I want from the Symposium is to survive it. 

COMING SOON TO A THEATER NEAR YOU! The beginning of a new administration, a new Congress, a new chapter in our lives.

Now, if I could get my personal life movie to also be coming soon, I'd be very happy.  A little positive change would be lovely.  Yes we can!