Since work is slow (thankfully), I thought I'd put together a little list of what I'm thankful for right now, at this precise moment:
1. I'm thankful for my son's ability to make me laugh. His giggle is contagious and it never fails to shake me out of a funk.
2. I'm thankful for my daughter's love of reading. She reads to herself, and she reads to others, including her brother. The times that I read to her are the most peaceful moments between the two of us, and I treasure that time together.
3. I'm thankful for my husband's even-balanced nature and willingness to be a partner in our relationship.
4. I'm thankful for Pandora, for keeping me company on long, boring work days.
5. I'm thankful that gas is hovering around $2/gallon, meaning our trip back to Cincinnati won't break the bank.
6. I'm thankful that I have more than enough to eat, and that my legs work and take me outside to run off the excess that I consume on a regular basis.
7. I'm thankful that I have a job in this economy.
8. I'm thankful that my friends have remained my friends even though we don't share a zipcode anymore.
9. I'm thankful for the relative peace in my world--both inner and outer. I know there are many, many places on earth that are not peaceful right now, and I know I am lucky to have the peace that I do. I hope that those who are not as fortunate as me have peace soon.
10. I'm thankful that members of my extended family want to see me and my immediate family over the holidays. In lots of families, that isn't the case at all.
Happy Thanksgiving to my three or four readers. I wish you a full table, a comfortable belly, and a peaceful day with as much (or as little) football as you care to watch!
Monday, November 24, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
I shall give you roses
Phantom fragrances tickle my nose
Ghost-like fingers send icy shocks up my spine.
The powdered floral scent—
Always yours—
mixed with perspiration and undertones of high school angst
rubbed off on you when embracing your graduates, your alumni
who came to visit
like homeless pigeons
back to the sanctity of the nest,
the safe haven of the wooden floor, painted black
dim lights
orange couches
stuck-on chewing gum
and years of whispered secrets couched between the folded, cushioned chairs.
Your pale blue eyes
devoid of life
are closed now,
entombed in the pasty white of your stony face.
The chance meeting over oranges or potatoes is firmly in the past,
where you always wanted the past to stay,
but the ring of
“Hi Sweetie! Hi Cutie!”
still peals in my ears.
The last time I saw you—who knew it would be the last?—your clear eyes were tired,
the lines on your face more deeply-carved.
Your hug was still as warm,
but the bald head hidden under a black baseball cap,
the tell-tale one-sided sag of your sweatshirt told me.
I’d said my good-byes
Formally
when you had bid farewell to the life you’d once known
destined to go on with someone else at the helm.
And yet,
here I sit—it feels like a lifetime later—
immobile
as images from my history flicker by on a screen
reminding me how far I’ve come
and how much further I’ve yet to go.
The bubbled-up catch in my throat,
chokes my breath.
I swallow it down once more
and turn back to the task at hand,
mindful only until the next time the faded powdered roses float by,
plunging me back into memory
of you
of all that came before.
awj
17 nov 08
Ghost-like fingers send icy shocks up my spine.
The powdered floral scent—
Always yours—
mixed with perspiration and undertones of high school angst
rubbed off on you when embracing your graduates, your alumni
who came to visit
like homeless pigeons
back to the sanctity of the nest,
the safe haven of the wooden floor, painted black
dim lights
orange couches
stuck-on chewing gum
and years of whispered secrets couched between the folded, cushioned chairs.
Your pale blue eyes
devoid of life
are closed now,
entombed in the pasty white of your stony face.
The chance meeting over oranges or potatoes is firmly in the past,
where you always wanted the past to stay,
but the ring of
“Hi Sweetie! Hi Cutie!”
still peals in my ears.
The last time I saw you—who knew it would be the last?—your clear eyes were tired,
the lines on your face more deeply-carved.
Your hug was still as warm,
but the bald head hidden under a black baseball cap,
the tell-tale one-sided sag of your sweatshirt told me.
I’d said my good-byes
Formally
when you had bid farewell to the life you’d once known
destined to go on with someone else at the helm.
And yet,
here I sit—it feels like a lifetime later—
immobile
as images from my history flicker by on a screen
reminding me how far I’ve come
and how much further I’ve yet to go.
The bubbled-up catch in my throat,
chokes my breath.
I swallow it down once more
and turn back to the task at hand,
mindful only until the next time the faded powdered roses float by,
plunging me back into memory
of you
of all that came before.
awj
17 nov 08
Sunday, November 16, 2008
i agree, i agree, amen
From Carolyn Parkhurst's novel, Lost and Found:
No one ever loves you the way your children do when they're young. No one else will ever cry when you leave the room. I try not to spend too much time thinking about those days, because I know they're perfect only in memory, and I know I need to focus on the girl I've got in front of me right now. But sometimes I can't help but give in to it, to live inside the warm hues I've colored those moments with. To remember what it was like, back when she smiled just to see me, when she needed my help to move a spoon to her mouth or to walk down a flight of steps. Back when she had to reach up to hold my hand. Back when she thought I could turn on the sky.
Some days, I miss my babies.
Not every day, but some days.
No one ever loves you the way your children do when they're young. No one else will ever cry when you leave the room. I try not to spend too much time thinking about those days, because I know they're perfect only in memory, and I know I need to focus on the girl I've got in front of me right now. But sometimes I can't help but give in to it, to live inside the warm hues I've colored those moments with. To remember what it was like, back when she smiled just to see me, when she needed my help to move a spoon to her mouth or to walk down a flight of steps. Back when she had to reach up to hold my hand. Back when she thought I could turn on the sky.
Some days, I miss my babies.
Not every day, but some days.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Nasty
It's nasty outside, and it's nasty in my chest. They match. And I can assure, it's not intentional.
Listening to my "new to me" ipod with lots of fun stuff I uploaded yesterday. And I only used one gig! Whee-hah. Unfortunately, though, with the clarity of digital, I can now hear how incredibly scratched my older cds actually are. I will have to repurchase (or repurpose or re-something that is not hyphenated by Websters) my World's Best Opera Album Ever! Not that it really is, but it's a start when I'm jonesing for an aria (and coping with the fact that I'm no longer studying and no longer have a piano at my disposal). It's amazing how much you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone. So people--appreciate your musical instruments, because one day you will down-size and poof, they will evaporate like the mirage of wealth that was the stock market.
I'm waiting for my project manager to arrive (she never appears much before 10:30, and I'm usually here by 9:15--but I can't stay until 7 or 7:30 like she can) and tell me what she wants me to do with the audio files she dumped in my inbox last night at midnight. They are apparently elementary school level stories, and I am supposed to make sure that the text on the screen matches what students hear. Fun times. But at least it's not the Civil War. I was ready to pick up my own smooth-bore musket and hit the ground with Grant so that the damned war would finally end. And after one horrendous chapter, it has. So has Reconstruction. It's amazing how times flies when you're reading about the past.
To that end, I started Wicked a couple of days ago (got from Paperbackswap--love it!) and this time, I actually like it. I think the last time I tried to read it, I was too close to having given birth to cope with the way the adults all shun the baby with the green skin. But now I'm beyond that, and Galinda's idiocy is a real treat.
I also wanted to spread the word about this great song "One Sweet Love" by Sarah Bareilles. I discovered it via Pandora and it's a new favorite.
Just signed up for NaNoWriMo, which starts Saturday. I know, I'm completely insane, especially since I'm allegedly working full-time at the moment, but it might give me something to fill the empty hours with at work. So now I'm kicking around novel plotlines and characters. I know what I don't want to write about (war, politics, the election crap, medicine, plotlines from Friends) but not what I do want to write about. I've milked kids, Starbucks, my grandfather, my eating issues, my college years....maybe something corporate, like a story set in an office, temping.... boring, boring, boring. I hate plot. Does anyone else want to write plot for me? I can always great stellar characters and make them really quirky and fun, but plot...sucks. Maybe something about my Motley Fool interview process? I think I hit on interviewing in another story I started but didn't finish. Can't remember now. I haven't written consistently since I left Ohio. But there is time.
Okay, I'll stop subjecting you all (all two readers that I have) to my psycho-boredome waffle. Enjoy your Tuesday.
Listening to my "new to me" ipod with lots of fun stuff I uploaded yesterday. And I only used one gig! Whee-hah. Unfortunately, though, with the clarity of digital, I can now hear how incredibly scratched my older cds actually are. I will have to repurchase (or repurpose or re-something that is not hyphenated by Websters) my World's Best Opera Album Ever! Not that it really is, but it's a start when I'm jonesing for an aria (and coping with the fact that I'm no longer studying and no longer have a piano at my disposal). It's amazing how much you don't appreciate what you have until it's gone. So people--appreciate your musical instruments, because one day you will down-size and poof, they will evaporate like the mirage of wealth that was the stock market.
I'm waiting for my project manager to arrive (she never appears much before 10:30, and I'm usually here by 9:15--but I can't stay until 7 or 7:30 like she can) and tell me what she wants me to do with the audio files she dumped in my inbox last night at midnight. They are apparently elementary school level stories, and I am supposed to make sure that the text on the screen matches what students hear. Fun times. But at least it's not the Civil War. I was ready to pick up my own smooth-bore musket and hit the ground with Grant so that the damned war would finally end. And after one horrendous chapter, it has. So has Reconstruction. It's amazing how times flies when you're reading about the past.
To that end, I started Wicked a couple of days ago (got from Paperbackswap--love it!) and this time, I actually like it. I think the last time I tried to read it, I was too close to having given birth to cope with the way the adults all shun the baby with the green skin. But now I'm beyond that, and Galinda's idiocy is a real treat.
I also wanted to spread the word about this great song "One Sweet Love" by Sarah Bareilles. I discovered it via Pandora and it's a new favorite.
Just signed up for NaNoWriMo, which starts Saturday. I know, I'm completely insane, especially since I'm allegedly working full-time at the moment, but it might give me something to fill the empty hours with at work. So now I'm kicking around novel plotlines and characters. I know what I don't want to write about (war, politics, the election crap, medicine, plotlines from Friends) but not what I do want to write about. I've milked kids, Starbucks, my grandfather, my eating issues, my college years....maybe something corporate, like a story set in an office, temping.... boring, boring, boring. I hate plot. Does anyone else want to write plot for me? I can always great stellar characters and make them really quirky and fun, but plot...sucks. Maybe something about my Motley Fool interview process? I think I hit on interviewing in another story I started but didn't finish. Can't remember now. I haven't written consistently since I left Ohio. But there is time.
Okay, I'll stop subjecting you all (all two readers that I have) to my psycho-boredome waffle. Enjoy your Tuesday.
Wednesday, October 15, 2008
talking heads
Live debate blog:
Is Joe Plumber related to Joe Six Pack? I can only imagine who has the better body.
"i know how to save the taxpayers billions...." Okay, Sen. McCain. How are you going to reverse the deficit? I don't buy any of this. Blah, blah, blah. I wish I had a hatchet right about now. A scalpel wouldn't be bad either.
"Sen Obama, I am not President Bush." Well, not in name, but your policies sure as hell are looking like they're in line with his. Would you be okay with Bush Lite?
Woulda, coulda, shoulda--the bottom line is that this campaign is all blow-hard bs. Can someone please just direct these guys back to the economy and foreign policy? enough he said-she said and name-calling. what are you going to do to turn this ship around?
I miss Bill.
Bob, do your job. Please redirect these guys back to the issues. Who watches or listens to tv ads anyway? Who cares about personal attacks? Please just talk about what is going to happen if you get the job. Why should we elect you?
No. Seriously. He just brought up ACORN? Until a little while ago, ACORN was all about McCain. Sigh. Do we need to have permanent ink fingerprints at the polls? Is that the only way to avoid ballot box stuffing and other election corruption?
When I was eight years old, I hung out with Republicans' children. Has it influenced me in the slightest? Not at all.
Oh, our buddy Joe the Plumber is back.
McCain is really fighting hard. But he's coming off a little desperate. He's fighting for his political life.
Ooo goody. We're going to get to Sarah Palin. Schieffer, that was a loaded question. Of course Biden is a better running mate than Palin. Point to Obama, without even opening his mouth. Actually, McCain should get a point because the question is so underhandedly stacked against the Republican ticket. The "moderator" (and by extension, the media) needs to be impartial. Cmon. Give it a try. They'll fuck up on their own (the candidates).
Palin? A role model? Seriously? Not so much.
Senator Government? That was funny. Freudian.
Too boring to even go on....
Is Joe Plumber related to Joe Six Pack? I can only imagine who has the better body.
"i know how to save the taxpayers billions...." Okay, Sen. McCain. How are you going to reverse the deficit? I don't buy any of this. Blah, blah, blah. I wish I had a hatchet right about now. A scalpel wouldn't be bad either.
"Sen Obama, I am not President Bush." Well, not in name, but your policies sure as hell are looking like they're in line with his. Would you be okay with Bush Lite?
Woulda, coulda, shoulda--the bottom line is that this campaign is all blow-hard bs. Can someone please just direct these guys back to the economy and foreign policy? enough he said-she said and name-calling. what are you going to do to turn this ship around?
I miss Bill.
Bob, do your job. Please redirect these guys back to the issues. Who watches or listens to tv ads anyway? Who cares about personal attacks? Please just talk about what is going to happen if you get the job. Why should we elect you?
No. Seriously. He just brought up ACORN? Until a little while ago, ACORN was all about McCain. Sigh. Do we need to have permanent ink fingerprints at the polls? Is that the only way to avoid ballot box stuffing and other election corruption?
When I was eight years old, I hung out with Republicans' children. Has it influenced me in the slightest? Not at all.
Oh, our buddy Joe the Plumber is back.
McCain is really fighting hard. But he's coming off a little desperate. He's fighting for his political life.
Ooo goody. We're going to get to Sarah Palin. Schieffer, that was a loaded question. Of course Biden is a better running mate than Palin. Point to Obama, without even opening his mouth. Actually, McCain should get a point because the question is so underhandedly stacked against the Republican ticket. The "moderator" (and by extension, the media) needs to be impartial. Cmon. Give it a try. They'll fuck up on their own (the candidates).
Palin? A role model? Seriously? Not so much.
Senator Government? That was funny. Freudian.
Too boring to even go on....
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Ostrich-like behavior observed outside the Beltway
I am going to have to stop listening to the news. It's just too depressing. I came away from my morning run today feeling sad and beaten down, rather than energized. I just can't start the day that way anymore.
I need some escapism. The Great Depression had (affordable) films. What will we in the 21st century have? And please don't tell me YouTube. I avoid it like the plague.
My question following the ho-hum debate of platitudes last night:
Both candidates, how do you intend to finance the tax cuts/government takeover of struggling homeowners' mortgages/other campaign carrots you are throwing out to win the election?
And don't use the old "I'm going to go line by line through the budget and eliminate pork barrel spending and programs that aren't working." I don't believe you. You only have four years in office and it will probably take at least two to read through the budget itself, much less writing a new, amended one and getting that budget through a sharply-divided, I-won't-cross-the-aisle-and-even-if-I-do-it's-only-to-look-good-to-my-constituents-so-I-can-be-reelected Congress.
Why would either of these guys want to inherit the quagmire anyway? Who would actually want this job?
I want a solid plan with definitive details. I want to know that you are going to be responsible with the money you have been given to get us out of this mess. I want transparency on the Hill.
[putting head back in sand]
That's all for now.
I need some escapism. The Great Depression had (affordable) films. What will we in the 21st century have? And please don't tell me YouTube. I avoid it like the plague.
My question following the ho-hum debate of platitudes last night:
Both candidates, how do you intend to finance the tax cuts/government takeover of struggling homeowners' mortgages/other campaign carrots you are throwing out to win the election?
And don't use the old "I'm going to go line by line through the budget and eliminate pork barrel spending and programs that aren't working." I don't believe you. You only have four years in office and it will probably take at least two to read through the budget itself, much less writing a new, amended one and getting that budget through a sharply-divided, I-won't-cross-the-aisle-and-even-if-I-do-it's-only-to-look-good-to-my-constituents-so-I-can-be-reelected Congress.
Why would either of these guys want to inherit the quagmire anyway? Who would actually want this job?
I want a solid plan with definitive details. I want to know that you are going to be responsible with the money you have been given to get us out of this mess. I want transparency on the Hill.
[putting head back in sand]
That's all for now.
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
the snorefest that was the emmys
Yes, I watched, since there wasn't anything else on and I was knitting. Have to have something to take my mind off the monotony of stockinette stitch.
And I wanted a glimpse of Jon Hamm, a fellow Mizzou alum whom I did theatre with occasionally.
Anyway, loved this recap by Heather Havrilesky on Salon:
"Ah, but justice is never served during these torturous times of censorship, rampant idiocy and national decline, haven't you noticed? That's why, after HBO's "Recount" wins Emmys for made-for-television movie and for directing for a miniseries, movie or dramatic special, "John Adams" writer Kirk Ellis is cut off midway through his acceptance speech (writing for a miniseries, movie or dramatic special) just for thanking a few people "for giving me this amazing opportunity to talk about a period in history when articulate men articulated complex thoughts in complete sentences. They used words ..." Cue chirpy promo for the next segment. Yes, articulating complex thoughts and using words are strictly forbidden at these 60th annual Emmy Awards, just as in the mainstream press coverage of this presidential election. If you can't speak entirely in empty clichés, America doesn't want to hear it."
Sadly, so true.
Heroes is on the dvr, waiting for me tonight. Thank god the fall season of tv has arrived. I never thought I'd be saying that, but look, here I am.
And I wanted a glimpse of Jon Hamm, a fellow Mizzou alum whom I did theatre with occasionally.
Anyway, loved this recap by Heather Havrilesky on Salon:
"Ah, but justice is never served during these torturous times of censorship, rampant idiocy and national decline, haven't you noticed? That's why, after HBO's "Recount" wins Emmys for made-for-television movie and for directing for a miniseries, movie or dramatic special, "John Adams" writer Kirk Ellis is cut off midway through his acceptance speech (writing for a miniseries, movie or dramatic special) just for thanking a few people "for giving me this amazing opportunity to talk about a period in history when articulate men articulated complex thoughts in complete sentences. They used words ..." Cue chirpy promo for the next segment. Yes, articulating complex thoughts and using words are strictly forbidden at these 60th annual Emmy Awards, just as in the mainstream press coverage of this presidential election. If you can't speak entirely in empty clichés, America doesn't want to hear it."
Sadly, so true.
Heroes is on the dvr, waiting for me tonight. Thank god the fall season of tv has arrived. I never thought I'd be saying that, but look, here I am.
Thursday, September 18, 2008
Update!
Fairfax, VA--Knitting books unearthed in large, heavy box buried under two strollers, a bike rack, and a boxed surround sound system.
Owner ecstatic with news; immediately picks up needles and casts on full-length, intricately detailed, lace-weight cabled sweater.
------
Okay, maybe not the last part. But they have been found!
Owner ecstatic with news; immediately picks up needles and casts on full-length, intricately detailed, lace-weight cabled sweater.
------
Okay, maybe not the last part. But they have been found!
Sound the alarm
I don't know which to be more alarmed over--that she was using Yahoo for official business, that hackers were able to get into her account, or that the media is trying to use this whole thing to discredit her. There is enough to discredit her, I think.
Tuesday, September 09, 2008
what i lost in the move
lots of things, i'm sure, along with my resolve to eat more healthfully, but at the moment, the most pressing loss is my collection of knitting books and knitting patterns.
i have been through the storage closets and shelves in the three places in the house where we stashed stuff when we moved in, and though i can find boxes of toys, stuffed animals, hotspur bobbleheads and programs, videos, empty dvd cases, teaching textbooks, literature paperbacks, and more books on judaism than either one of us would ever want to read, i cannot find my knitting books. this is alarming to me; i feel as though i have lost an arm. i'm trying to put it into perspective and say, "well, at least it wasn't a box of journals." but i am hopelessly stationed between one sock syndrome and start-itis, and i was looking for a quick felt project to kick me in the ass. alas, i cannot find the books or patterns. i have a few i've downloaded, but one in particular, from One Skein is haunting me. i haven't given up all hope; this weekend i plan to enlist reinforcements to go through the video/dvd/book boxes and search again for the knitting and crochet books.
on another note, what does it say about me as a parent that both my children have voiced that they want to go as pumpkins for Halloween this year?
oh, the henry costume. must look.
and i suppose it is all normal and good that my son says that my daughter doesn't like him--and he wakes up in the middle of the night saying "no, Sydney, leave me alone! get out of my room!" and he's only half-awake.
freud would have a picnic with us all in this madhouse.
off to find henry. maybe i'll find the books in the meantime.
i have been through the storage closets and shelves in the three places in the house where we stashed stuff when we moved in, and though i can find boxes of toys, stuffed animals, hotspur bobbleheads and programs, videos, empty dvd cases, teaching textbooks, literature paperbacks, and more books on judaism than either one of us would ever want to read, i cannot find my knitting books. this is alarming to me; i feel as though i have lost an arm. i'm trying to put it into perspective and say, "well, at least it wasn't a box of journals." but i am hopelessly stationed between one sock syndrome and start-itis, and i was looking for a quick felt project to kick me in the ass. alas, i cannot find the books or patterns. i have a few i've downloaded, but one in particular, from One Skein is haunting me. i haven't given up all hope; this weekend i plan to enlist reinforcements to go through the video/dvd/book boxes and search again for the knitting and crochet books.
on another note, what does it say about me as a parent that both my children have voiced that they want to go as pumpkins for Halloween this year?
oh, the henry costume. must look.
and i suppose it is all normal and good that my son says that my daughter doesn't like him--and he wakes up in the middle of the night saying "no, Sydney, leave me alone! get out of my room!" and he's only half-awake.
freud would have a picnic with us all in this madhouse.
off to find henry. maybe i'll find the books in the meantime.
Wednesday, August 27, 2008
The pull of the tides
One of my closest writing friends, whose words have nurtured me for more than three years on an almost weekly basis, wrote in her blog of the pull of the tides. It was ironic, a bit, as I too felt a pull--back to Cincinnati, to the space in Silverton where women write, read, listen and breathe; where ritual is queen; and where for two and a half hours each Monday night, there is freedom to transcend the now and glimpse the essence of your soul. I miss Monday nights. I miss Annette and Inga, Naomi, Rita and Peggy, Eve, Sally--and all of the women's voices I have grown to love to listen to over the semesters.
This is a time of transition--one that I feel I should be documenting more closely in my journal or on my blog--as my oldest goes to Kindergarten, my younger one approaches potty training, I embark on a new career, and I learn to love a new city and a new home. So much change.
We just returned from a trip to Chingford to visit my in-laws. It was remarkable to me how much things have changed from our visit two years ago. There are more grey hairs and creakier bones. Smells that were once erased by vigorous cleaning have taken up permanent root in the fibers of the home they have owned for more than 30 years. Local shops have shuttered or been reborn, hocking new wares that no longer feel necessary to scoop up and carry home. Even the West End--usually one of the highlights of the trip for me--lost its luster this time. Perhaps because it was August--typically a holiday month in Europe before the onset of autumn and the new school term. Maybe everything was overshadowed by the Olympics and Russia's quick-quell of the Georgian rebellion. Maybe I've grown jaded, or maybe more cosmopolitan in my months' inhabitance in an international city (I doubt it seriously). Or maybe I'm simply preoccupied with all of the change in my life.
It was an enjoyable two weeks; it went quickly but not too fast. Enough time to reconnect with family and a few friends, to take stock of our new lives, to watch our children fall in love all over again with English chocolate and crisps, Nanny and Per, Uncle Pemper and the rest of the extended family.
We had a private tour of Abbey Road studios and photographed ourselves (like idiots) crossing the crosswalk as the Beatles did. My husband took our nephew and had a tour of the new Wembeley stadium. He went to a football match and was towed away... making it the most expensive match he's ever attended ($600 all told).
And today, when a toy played "Jingle Bells," my daughter sang:
"Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way.
Oh what fun it is to see Tottenham win away...."
without batting an eyelash.
I surpressed a laugh, and listened as she and her brother plotted out a new track for the trains on the train table, and then crawled into her bed. He asked if he could read her a story, and she said, "no, you can't read yet," and then relented--"well, you can try if you want to." He thinks he is going to Kindergarten with her next week, and no amount of explanation will convince him otherwise.
Off to finish the bedtime routine. There are more stories to be told, I am sure, but the pull of the children is stronger now than the pull of the tide, and I must obey.
This is a time of transition--one that I feel I should be documenting more closely in my journal or on my blog--as my oldest goes to Kindergarten, my younger one approaches potty training, I embark on a new career, and I learn to love a new city and a new home. So much change.
We just returned from a trip to Chingford to visit my in-laws. It was remarkable to me how much things have changed from our visit two years ago. There are more grey hairs and creakier bones. Smells that were once erased by vigorous cleaning have taken up permanent root in the fibers of the home they have owned for more than 30 years. Local shops have shuttered or been reborn, hocking new wares that no longer feel necessary to scoop up and carry home. Even the West End--usually one of the highlights of the trip for me--lost its luster this time. Perhaps because it was August--typically a holiday month in Europe before the onset of autumn and the new school term. Maybe everything was overshadowed by the Olympics and Russia's quick-quell of the Georgian rebellion. Maybe I've grown jaded, or maybe more cosmopolitan in my months' inhabitance in an international city (I doubt it seriously). Or maybe I'm simply preoccupied with all of the change in my life.
It was an enjoyable two weeks; it went quickly but not too fast. Enough time to reconnect with family and a few friends, to take stock of our new lives, to watch our children fall in love all over again with English chocolate and crisps, Nanny and Per, Uncle Pemper and the rest of the extended family.
We had a private tour of Abbey Road studios and photographed ourselves (like idiots) crossing the crosswalk as the Beatles did. My husband took our nephew and had a tour of the new Wembeley stadium. He went to a football match and was towed away... making it the most expensive match he's ever attended ($600 all told).
And today, when a toy played "Jingle Bells," my daughter sang:
"Jingle Bells, Jingle Bells, Jingle all the way.
Oh what fun it is to see Tottenham win away...."
without batting an eyelash.
I surpressed a laugh, and listened as she and her brother plotted out a new track for the trains on the train table, and then crawled into her bed. He asked if he could read her a story, and she said, "no, you can't read yet," and then relented--"well, you can try if you want to." He thinks he is going to Kindergarten with her next week, and no amount of explanation will convince him otherwise.
Off to finish the bedtime routine. There are more stories to be told, I am sure, but the pull of the children is stronger now than the pull of the tide, and I must obey.
Wednesday, July 30, 2008
Monday, July 28, 2008
hello mcfly?
In this miasmic mess of fossil fuels, rising gas prices and the like, I sit and wonder:
With all this concentration on alternative fuel sources, E85, hybrids, etc., why has no enterprising individual followed the lead of Dr. Emmett Brown in Back to the Future and figured out a way to provide fuel for cars and homes on garbage. Surely the technology can be created? Somewhere? Composting is one thing, but how much easier it would be to just chuck all of the weekend's non-recycleable waste into the trunk incinerator/disposal and fuel your commute to work?
Or what about solar powered cars? We wouldn't need constant sunshine--just enough to get the battery to turn over. As mine bakes in the driveway under sunny skies and 90+ degree heat, I've given up worrying about paint and bird droppings. Shouldn't there be a way to harness the sun's rays that beat down on the car, and turn those rays into energy? We do it for homes, after all. Why not make the roofs of cars solar panels? It would eliminate the need for a sunroof, right?
I guess all those who love their convertibles would be SOL then.
Thanks, curb girl, for getting my brain jump-started this morning.
With all this concentration on alternative fuel sources, E85, hybrids, etc., why has no enterprising individual followed the lead of Dr. Emmett Brown in Back to the Future and figured out a way to provide fuel for cars and homes on garbage. Surely the technology can be created? Somewhere? Composting is one thing, but how much easier it would be to just chuck all of the weekend's non-recycleable waste into the trunk incinerator/disposal and fuel your commute to work?
Or what about solar powered cars? We wouldn't need constant sunshine--just enough to get the battery to turn over. As mine bakes in the driveway under sunny skies and 90+ degree heat, I've given up worrying about paint and bird droppings. Shouldn't there be a way to harness the sun's rays that beat down on the car, and turn those rays into energy? We do it for homes, after all. Why not make the roofs of cars solar panels? It would eliminate the need for a sunroof, right?
I guess all those who love their convertibles would be SOL then.
Thanks, curb girl, for getting my brain jump-started this morning.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Trash twice, recycling once and a lot less gasoline
Not a manifesto on what the government needs to do (or not do) to solve the "crisis at the pumps" as the media has titled it.
rather an oddity about life here in Northern Virginia, which, according to callers on the Kojo Nnamdi show last week, is a completely separate entity from the rest of Virginia, I am learning.
All trash collection here is privatized. Odd. There are companies competing for your trash business. The result is that they pick up trash two times a week and recycling once a week. Lawn and yard debris is on an entirely different day. At least the company we're with now picks up recycling the same day as trash (Trash is Monday and Thursday, recycling is just Thursday). The other company, who wanted $150/quarter for service, was "trash on Monday and Thursday, recycling on Wednesday." Marc's job just got infinitely harder, he says.
One of the perks of being here is that I am definitely driving less. Whereas in Dayton I used to fill up the minivan every six days or so, I can now go two weeks between heart attacks at the pump. No treks into Cincy to see my friends (sniff, sniff), and the kids go to school and camp right around the corner, instead of 15 minutes away. Of course I'm probably spending the difference on public transport but at least I'm saving the environment (or something).
Tuesday I met a friend in DC proper for lunch at Les Halles. Yum. Adult conversation and good food that I didn't have to prepare. It wasn't cheap but nothing is here. Then we headed over to the Newseum for a couple of hours to gaze on artifacts and headlines of bygone times, a twisted news antenna from the top of one of the WTC towers, a car that was blown up with a journalist inside and other random things that were decisively "historical." I wanted to spend a lot more time there, but unfortunately, had to get back. It was a $20 admission ticket--one of the only DC museums that isn't free--which I thought was expensive, even by DC's standards. I can become a member for $75 but as I would probably have to go alone, I'm not sure about that one. Entertainment dollars (?) can be finicky.
So while I didn't drive into the District, I shelled out $4 in quarters for on-street parking at the metro station and $6.50 for a round-trip metro ticket. That would buy me two to two-and-a-half gallons of gas, which was probably less that it would have taken to get into DC. But then there's the problem of parking. I will, at some point, figure all this out.
What preoccupation. I must go read, edit and proof--not my own stuff, unfortunately. That languishes in the drawer, waiting for me to rediscover it.
rather an oddity about life here in Northern Virginia, which, according to callers on the Kojo Nnamdi show last week, is a completely separate entity from the rest of Virginia, I am learning.
All trash collection here is privatized. Odd. There are companies competing for your trash business. The result is that they pick up trash two times a week and recycling once a week. Lawn and yard debris is on an entirely different day. At least the company we're with now picks up recycling the same day as trash (Trash is Monday and Thursday, recycling is just Thursday). The other company, who wanted $150/quarter for service, was "trash on Monday and Thursday, recycling on Wednesday." Marc's job just got infinitely harder, he says.
One of the perks of being here is that I am definitely driving less. Whereas in Dayton I used to fill up the minivan every six days or so, I can now go two weeks between heart attacks at the pump. No treks into Cincy to see my friends (sniff, sniff), and the kids go to school and camp right around the corner, instead of 15 minutes away. Of course I'm probably spending the difference on public transport but at least I'm saving the environment (or something).
Tuesday I met a friend in DC proper for lunch at Les Halles. Yum. Adult conversation and good food that I didn't have to prepare. It wasn't cheap but nothing is here. Then we headed over to the Newseum for a couple of hours to gaze on artifacts and headlines of bygone times, a twisted news antenna from the top of one of the WTC towers, a car that was blown up with a journalist inside and other random things that were decisively "historical." I wanted to spend a lot more time there, but unfortunately, had to get back. It was a $20 admission ticket--one of the only DC museums that isn't free--which I thought was expensive, even by DC's standards. I can become a member for $75 but as I would probably have to go alone, I'm not sure about that one. Entertainment dollars (?) can be finicky.
So while I didn't drive into the District, I shelled out $4 in quarters for on-street parking at the metro station and $6.50 for a round-trip metro ticket. That would buy me two to two-and-a-half gallons of gas, which was probably less that it would have taken to get into DC. But then there's the problem of parking. I will, at some point, figure all this out.
What preoccupation. I must go read, edit and proof--not my own stuff, unfortunately. That languishes in the drawer, waiting for me to rediscover it.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
note to self
for characters, present and future (paraphrasing James Lipton in Inside Inside, who is paraphrasing Sandy Meisner, I believe):
What is the glue?
Example: Two brothers want different things in life. One wants to study art in Florence, Italy. The other wants to be an MLB player. Problem? They are Siamese twins.
What forces two characters who want different things to share the scene, to stick with it?
The answer lies not in plot, but in character--depth of character. Key to remember for writing or for acting, but not directing. Not the job of the director (or editor, or even reader, methinks). Job of writer.
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
What is the glue?
Example: Two brothers want different things in life. One wants to study art in Florence, Italy. The other wants to be an MLB player. Problem? They are Siamese twins.
What forces two characters who want different things to share the scene, to stick with it?
The answer lies not in plot, but in character--depth of character. Key to remember for writing or for acting, but not directing. Not the job of the director (or editor, or even reader, methinks). Job of writer.
Now back to our regularly scheduled program.
Monday, July 14, 2008
new yoga studio
Found a new yoga studio that does work exchange! This is very happy news, as a class runs about $120 for an eight week session. There is one work exchange slot left for the summer session (Sunday nights from 5:15-7:15) which would probably work fine. Lots of classes to choose from, although I will still miss Jennifer horribly.
Also corresponded with a fellow raveler today about a knitting group in fairfax. this was happy. yeay community!
jobs, anyone?
patience, daniel-sun (or as amy f. used to call me "daniel-daughter"). it will come.
Also corresponded with a fellow raveler today about a knitting group in fairfax. this was happy. yeay community!
jobs, anyone?
patience, daniel-sun (or as amy f. used to call me "daniel-daughter"). it will come.
in the cave
i am in the cave (basement or lower level) of the house, where we have set up our offices (ha! if you can call them that) and i am trying hard not to freak out over:
1. the lack of light in the house. lots of mature trees means lots of shade, which is great on some fronts but not for natural light (the stuff, not the beer) lovers like me. it is actually affecting my mood.
2. the closed-in feeling of being in said cave and trying to be creative and/or work.
3. that i don't yet have a job or really, any reliable job leads. i need to network to someone and i'm not quite sure how to make that happen. i've been talking to just about everyone i meet and making sure i tell them what i do. i had my temp interview and that went find, but now the recruiter isn't returning my calls, which does not bode well with me.
4. that i have nothing on my to-do list today (well, other than laundry, which i don't want to do right now, and going to the dmv to register cars etc, which i have to wait for marc to do so we can go together, and pick up the kids from camp and feed them, etc. because marc has a late meeting). i am idle and it feels uncomfortable. wwfac-ers would tell me to write about that uncomfortable feeling. it feels like i have bees buzzing in my fingers. they are itching to get out and fly away, but my skin is holding them in. i don't want to sit still. i don't want to read or knit. i don't want to do anything. except find a job so that i know that we will be able to afford to live here.
calm down. breathe.
i need to find a consistent yoga class. i miss jen at the y! i have been following my run-walk program consistently, but now that yoga is missing, i find i really miss the balance. i was counting on yoga at the j, but it is only offered on monday nights and marc has monday night meetings every other week. that in and of itself feels like an intrusion of sorts, as monday nights have always been "my nights" away for writing class, etc.
i need to find friends. i have been looking into knitting groups. now i suppose i should check out writing classes. but gainful employment seems so much more pressing. i know there are jobs out there that i can do, be successful at, and enjoy. i'm just not sure how to find them.
big sigh.
took the kids to the national zoo yesterday. it was fun, but i won't be repeating that experience in a hurry. very hilly, sydney refusing to get out of the stroller and walk, even though sam really needed to be in it, heat was 90 degrees plus and sunny. i am not a zoo person, i have decided. i have never been an animal lover (or hater, for that matter). i am indifferent. and i don't feel the need to trudge around in the heat, pushing a five year old in a stroller (who is TOO LAZY to get off her ass an WALK!), gawking at elephants throwing straw over their backs, or meerkats or prairie dogs or hippos. i just don't care that much.
sometime i will write in a more positive way about my experiences of moving here, but the zoo is too fresh in my mind (and muscle memory--ouch) to do so. i will have to snap some pics of the wooded areas around the neighborhood that make me sigh with contentment when i pass them on my almost-daily walk/runs.
i am not miserable nor depressed. i am just a little bored. it will pass. so i keep telling myself, anyway.
1. the lack of light in the house. lots of mature trees means lots of shade, which is great on some fronts but not for natural light (the stuff, not the beer) lovers like me. it is actually affecting my mood.
2. the closed-in feeling of being in said cave and trying to be creative and/or work.
3. that i don't yet have a job or really, any reliable job leads. i need to network to someone and i'm not quite sure how to make that happen. i've been talking to just about everyone i meet and making sure i tell them what i do. i had my temp interview and that went find, but now the recruiter isn't returning my calls, which does not bode well with me.
4. that i have nothing on my to-do list today (well, other than laundry, which i don't want to do right now, and going to the dmv to register cars etc, which i have to wait for marc to do so we can go together, and pick up the kids from camp and feed them, etc. because marc has a late meeting). i am idle and it feels uncomfortable. wwfac-ers would tell me to write about that uncomfortable feeling. it feels like i have bees buzzing in my fingers. they are itching to get out and fly away, but my skin is holding them in. i don't want to sit still. i don't want to read or knit. i don't want to do anything. except find a job so that i know that we will be able to afford to live here.
calm down. breathe.
i need to find a consistent yoga class. i miss jen at the y! i have been following my run-walk program consistently, but now that yoga is missing, i find i really miss the balance. i was counting on yoga at the j, but it is only offered on monday nights and marc has monday night meetings every other week. that in and of itself feels like an intrusion of sorts, as monday nights have always been "my nights" away for writing class, etc.
i need to find friends. i have been looking into knitting groups. now i suppose i should check out writing classes. but gainful employment seems so much more pressing. i know there are jobs out there that i can do, be successful at, and enjoy. i'm just not sure how to find them.
big sigh.
took the kids to the national zoo yesterday. it was fun, but i won't be repeating that experience in a hurry. very hilly, sydney refusing to get out of the stroller and walk, even though sam really needed to be in it, heat was 90 degrees plus and sunny. i am not a zoo person, i have decided. i have never been an animal lover (or hater, for that matter). i am indifferent. and i don't feel the need to trudge around in the heat, pushing a five year old in a stroller (who is TOO LAZY to get off her ass an WALK!), gawking at elephants throwing straw over their backs, or meerkats or prairie dogs or hippos. i just don't care that much.
sometime i will write in a more positive way about my experiences of moving here, but the zoo is too fresh in my mind (and muscle memory--ouch) to do so. i will have to snap some pics of the wooded areas around the neighborhood that make me sigh with contentment when i pass them on my almost-daily walk/runs.
i am not miserable nor depressed. i am just a little bored. it will pass. so i keep telling myself, anyway.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Vote for GEAR
Cool art campaign in Kansas City area. There are four days left to vote (you can vote once a day & have to register email addy to do so). Read GEAR's statement under his billboard submission; vote for that if for no other reason. How cool would it be if the 'Nati did something like this???
http://artthevote.com/view-and-rate-billboards/
http://artthevote.com/view-and-rate-billboards/
Tuesday, July 01, 2008
Best exchange of the week
This made Marc and I laugh out loud.
Syd: Daddy, what are those hooks for, on the ceiling?
Marc: For hanging plants. Like baskets of flowers and things.
Syd: Oh. (Long pause) I thought Captain Hook lived here.
Gotta love the 5 year old mind.
Syd: Daddy, what are those hooks for, on the ceiling?
Marc: For hanging plants. Like baskets of flowers and things.
Syd: Oh. (Long pause) I thought Captain Hook lived here.
Gotta love the 5 year old mind.
you know you've entered the digital age when...
You text GoogleText for the nearest Costco store, and then use your GPS system to find it.
God bless Garmin.
God bless Garmin.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)