Van Gogh & Vivian Maier

This is simply beautiful. Even with the attention span of a kid raised on Sesame Street, I couldn't stop myself from watching this.

Drunk Oven

My oven in our rental didn't work until our landlord bought a new one a few days before Christmas. Before this, I would stand at the oven, while it was hot, reading the portable thermometer I bought at the grocery. When the temperature was too high, I would open the door until it cooled slightly, then shut the door until it was again too hot, repeating step one.

 Baking cookies this is a reasonable thing to do, standing in the kitchen opening and shutting the oven door for 15 minutes. Imagine this if I was baking a pie, a roast, or bread. I took the pressure off myself to cook from scratch this holiday season. I didn't want to feel neurotic with the oven door in my hand for 1 hour and 15 minutes, while the temperature hovered around 425 degrees: open, close, open, close, abierto, cerado, abierto, cerado....

I am grateful to such a landlord who would fix the problem. I'm used to problems being mine, and it was refreshing not to have to shoulder the responsibly for something that was not mine!

One aspect of the experience that was not refreshing was the odor of the installers who came to my door. They called because they were late. I was fine with their tardiness at that point, it was snowy out, it was lunchtime.   When they came to the door I realized I have been too understanding. Their smell told me they were not eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a juice box for lunch, or that they were late because it is hard to drive in the snow. Their stink was unmistakably alcohol.

I pause at the door before letting in the older worker. Do I let this man into my house to work with electrical outlets and wiring? Does this smell necessarily mean he is currently inebriated, or is it the stench from last night? I decided it was the former, and let them in anyway. I then went for a walk, while my husband stayed home to 'supervise'.

When I arrived home, the new oven was working, and I imagined all the pizza I could bake, cookies I could bring to parties, and fresh bread smells wafting through the house. I didn't feel sorry for two grown men who drink enough to smell like it by lunchtime, I didn't worry if they installed the oven wrong. I simply was glad the oven worked, and if it didn't, it wasn't my problem.  This maybe foolhardy, but after 2 weeks, nothing has exploded.

Twenty-ten

I had been writing a reflection for the year 2010, but this sums up nicely, without me having to type anything!  I got hooked on these folks in the Spring, they say it for me.



Also thanks to my kids, husband, franks, helmuths, music, pratts, siblings, outlaws, czechs and friends for making it  rich & worth it.

Bad Mom

During most of December my family has had the flu.  I have not had the flu, and I could say that it was my superior immune system, but I got a flu shot, and it worked.  The flu takes ages to recover from, it is hard to breathe, you can't sleep, you have low energy, and food tastes funny.  I wondered why the very cute packages of chocolate from the advent calendar were piling up on the counter in the kitchen.  I finally put them in a dish, one for each child.  They weren't too sick to open the little doors, but they weren't in the mood to eat the candy!  Could a kid ever be too sick for one piece of chocolate a day?  Could two children be that sick at the same time?
As the mother of these people who are not eating their sweets, what am I supposed to do?  I was thinking I would tell them that they had to eat them, as if they were lima beans.  As soon as they are done with the Halloween candy, I'll make them eat the Christmas candy, in time for Easter.

Bear Prints for Jim

The world is full of mysteries, some are more mysterious than others.  Animal prints aren't very mysterious or miraculous, and yet, they are a sign that something was there and now it isn't.    I was reminded of this, looking at these photos, and wondered why I would even be moved in the moment to take them:  They catch my eye, like a magic trick.  The animal is gone (in the case of the bear, not far ahead of me) and while I'm looking down, the creature is pulling away from me.

Camel print in Sinai Desert, Egypt

Black bear print, Malakoff Diggins SP,  California

Yesterday a man traveled ahead who has left as many tracks as a man can.  Tracks of Peace, and Love, Compassion and Grace.  As I look down to marvel at what he left, he is pulling ahead of me, just over the horizon.  I know he is there, I just can't see him yet.  I hope to follow.

I'm not the Only One

It seems I'm not the only one who has been thinking about the quality of Christmas music.
Here is an article from NPR:

Annoying Songs for Christmas

Smoochin' Santa

Christmas provides people who love music, hours of festive listening and music making.  It also provides us agonizing listening experiences in long grocery lines.  For every inspiring, sensational Christmas song that echos through concert halls across the world this season, there are also those unfortunate tunes that litter the easy-listening radio tracks.


It is one of the latter tunes that was confusing to me as a young person, and by young, I mean until I was 33, which was last year.  


There is something virtuous and enchanting about Christmas (besides the commercialism, and pregnant-virgin-teen), so I was righteously upset by "I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus". Did someone in the 1950's think that it was okay to spin the story of Santa: twinkly eyed, bowl full of jelly, tarnished with soot?  


How could it be that Santa would be cheating on Mrs. Claus with the singer's mother?  The thought frightened and shocked me!  Would Santa really come to a kid's house, with toys and Christmas cheer, while the reindeer waited on the roof-top, prancing and pawning their hoofs, and kiss someone else's wife?  Besides the song just being bad, to me, it was unethical, and messes up Christmas.


I've come to my senses, the song is still terrible, but in a moment of clarity last year, I figured out why this song is even allowed to be a Christmas song.   Mommy is kissing Santa, because Santa is really the dad, dressed up as Santa!  AH-HA!!!  I have been known for thinking outside the box, but I missed the point of this song for three decades.


There is still so many things wrong with it, the main one being, that if you are a smart kid, or smarter than me, you could tell there is no such thing as Santa just from this song, but I've come to realize that it is not unethical.  I still think it should be banned for the sake of believing, smart, children everywhere.

Baby Sitter

Addi, Emma, & Baby 

This is my sister, and my dog.  The dog loves my sister more than anyone in the whole world.  The dog is small, noisy, and weird, but for some reason she has the personality of a real dog, which I like! I guess she wanted to be right in the middle of the action, or wanted to sit on the baby's lap?

Christmas in the Trenches

Merry Christmas

Magazine Aspirations

Thursday I found a book in the mystery section at the library which was recommended to me.  Usually if a book is recommendable, it is also checked out and I have to wait in line for it.   It was sitting on the shelf waiting for me to pick it up, and check it out.

I recently read the top 100 books the BBC thinks are the best loved books.  I have read 65 of them, which to me, seem a lot!  I have read hundreds of books in my life, simply for the joy of a good story.  The book I picked up, however, I am not sure if I can read.  The book is An Instance of the Fingerpost.

As I was checking the book out, I told the librarian, that lately I've had magazine aspirations in regards to reading.  This book might be 80 magazines long!  With the hustle of life, kids to raise, parties to go to, cards to send out, gifts to buy, trips to plan, cookies to bring, socks to match, and detail upon detail to tend to, a 685 page book might not be in my near future.  If I renew the book, I can only have it 6 weeks!  That is NEXT year.

There was a time when I could read without interruption, for years.  Now I can not.  I am having to let my love of reading sit up on the shelf for a while.  Someday my kids will move away, and I won't have so much to do,  and I'll read all the long books I didn't get to read in my 30's, and miss my skinny, soft-faced, school aged children.

I'm going to try to read the book anyway, it has got to be better than a magazine, or even 80 of them.  All I have to do it stop blogging and heft the book into my lap, easy, right?

Sponge Bob Boy Pants

I took my 10 year old son to a Christmas party at a hotel in town.  I took him instead of my husband because we had nightly choir performances for a week, and I hadn't seen my kids all week.  Before dinner we visited the toy store and the book store, and I just enjoyed watching the boy who is leaving childhood faster than he knows, look at wind up toys, science kits, plushies,  bouncy-balls, and books.

He stood in the buffet line and talked to all the grown-ups, answering their questions without fear at the party.  He ate two heaping platefuls of lasagna, and washed it town with a cup of tea (or two).  He engaged all the folks at our table with fun commentary on the books he is reading, and the projects he is working on.

As we left, in the hotel bar, was a Celtic band.  He stopped and one man gave him a drum lesson, and let him sit in on two songs.  Their table was strewn with bar food and empty beer glasses, and they slapped him on the back and told him 'good job'.  He even got a penny whistle in exchange for a tune next time!  Overall it was a dream date to go on with my son.

I left the hotel with a smile, thinking of the time, knowing it was meaningful for both of us.  I was also smiling with a laugh in my belly remembering the quiet thing he told me while we were eating, in between his very grown-up conversations.  He leaned in, and told me quietly (which is a feat for any boy of ten: quiet):

Mom, there was this Spongebob where Patrick the starfish ate his pants, then he burped up the pocket and wiped his mouth with it, then ate the pocket.

The Earth is Not Made out of Trees

What is insurance?  Insurance is a service provided, wherein you pay  monthly, to insure that if some calamity befalls you, that your life won't be destroyed by the high cost and devastating effects of of illness/floods/car accidents/fire.  If everyone pays a bit, the statistics are that some will need more, and others will need less, averaging the cost overall.

The concept of insurance seems to have been lost in the EXTREME cost of healthcare in our country.  Health care is so expensive, in large part due to the corrupt insurance companies, that insurance insures our family against very little.  Let me explain:

Our family has health insurance through my husband's job.  We also pay premiums, high co-pays for doctor visits, and have a high deductible.  We do this so that we can keep the direct cost to our family and to my husband's company as low as possible, and yet it is still very very expensive.  We also do other things to keep our health care costs down.  We eat healthy food, get plenty of exercise, sleep 8 hours a night, eat broccoli, and drink clean water.

In September, our daughter injured herself riding her bike.  She required a trip to the local ER, morphine, an ambulance ride, another big city ER,  pediatric surgery, a hospital stay, a catheter, pain meds and 3 weeks of recovery.  This excursion cost $20,000.

The whole time it was happening, yes, I was worried about my daughter, but also, I was consumed with the cost and our insurance.  It has been my experience as the mother of active and accident prone children, as well as being victims of accidents/fate, we are also victims of our insurance company and billing departments.

When we arrived home, I was waiting for the papers from the insurance company telling us that we owe them a detrimental amount of money.  Three months passed, and I thought I was wrong, but this week we got the bill for $3,000.

We called the insurance company, and because our girl was sitting in the ER past midnight, they have a loophole to be able to charge us for inpatient services overnight, which apparently are our responsibility to pay for.

I guess I was wrong to hope that insurance might insure our financial safety in the face of an accident.  Now we have to fight the institution, and the loophole, which is kinda making me feel sick.  We will not be paying $3,000.  We paid our deductible, our premiums, and our co-pay.  I'm grateful that my daughter was able to be sewn back together, and disappointed that the healthcare industry is so terribly broken.  I have no choice but to submit to it.

Yesterday, I received a mailer from Blue Shield of California, my insurance provider.  It said, "The Earth is Not Made out of Trees".  It was their attempt to go paperless, prompting me to use their website instead of sending me a bill in the mail (which is great for this tree lover).  I am assuming they are going paperless to cut costs.

Isn't it funny?  Sending me an exorbitant bill, though they are the ones who are insuring my safety?  Sending me paper to tell me not to use paper?

Security Czech

Several months ago, I  turned off my media outlet: NPR.  I don't have a television, and I only try to read global news pertaining to music or movies.  I guess I don't even consider it 'news'.  When my favorite actors are in a new movie it's not news, but I love movies.

I was driving to wait my turn in the elementary school pick-up line when a story came on about sea turtles swallowing crude oil in the Gulf of Mexico.  The turtles can't taste that the floaties are not jellyfish, and swallow the oil to their detriment.  I switched off the radio imagining the carnage, and haven't turned it on since.  I realized that I am not impervious to media, but I am significantly more sheltered from it than before.  That's why when I heard a group talking about the TSA being a bit too personal in the security line at airports, I knew there must be some news hype about it.

It also sparked my curiosity enough to Google it, and endure the media-induced frenzy on the subject.   I have had and intimate pat down while traveling last summer.  It did not insight a frenzy in me.  It did make me think about why it was okay for a total stranger touched every square inch (or centimeter.  I was in Europe.) of my body through my clothes.  Up to that point in my life the folks who had touched me like that have M.D. after their name, shared an umbilical cord with me, or are currently married to me.  I can now add a female Czech airport security guard to the list.

What was offensive about the encounter was not the woman's hands (okay maybe a little).  It is a concession to travel.  Couldn't the woman see what a good person I am?  Didn't she know that I'm positively more good just by looking at me?  I was offended that she couldn't judge by my appearance that I am an upstanding, contributing member of society.

A bad person is bad.  They will stand in the security check line at the airport and let the guard pat them down with malice in their heart, and the confidence that they are circumventing the security.  If everyone knows they will be strip-searched, x-rayed and hung by their ankles before air travel, the bad guys will do that, and then do the bad thing they intended, despite the safeguards.

Despite my goodness, doesn't the woman running her latex gloved hands all over me know that?  It is nearly too simple to understand.  Bad people will find ways to do bad things, despite our best efforts, that's what makes them bad.

Braver than Before

I'm trying to be braver about this blogging thing, and actually blog more, as I enjoy it.  Though my mind is mush right this moment, and I could tell you that I spaced out on a run and ran more than I meant, to get back to my car, and now have a terrible head ache because I am so distractible while listening to good running music, blah blah blah.....  Rather than do all that, I'll post some photos of myself, as this is my blog, I'm a bit loopy, and I can do what I want.  I've been told people don't want to read, they just want pictures.  So here:

Looking inebriated at Disneyland

As you can see, someone was following me around with the new camera.

Hand-Me-Down Frankenstein

I found these blood pressure machines at Fry's Electronics.  The small town I live in has no stores like this, the warehouses actually are warehouses, not mega-marts.  As I was waiting for my  husband to find the 1001st cable that we have, in isle 256, I started thinking about how this "store" made me feel.  It has been my new trick: think about how I feel.  I know I might be late to the game of processing my life as it happens, but better late than never.

The irony of Fry's carrying blood pressure machines typifies how I was feeling.  This place makes my blood boil with anxiety.  I have a huge margin of anxiety before my heart explodes, as my blood pressure is ridiculously low, so don't worry.  I was wondering why I didn't want my husband to buy me new speakers in my 17 year old car even though they were broken.  The reason is I don't want to go into a shop like this, selling electronics (and Pillow Pets, and thousands of candy bars, and television antenna- do those even work anymore?).  More than not wanting to go in, I don't want to spend any money.

When I met my husband we were children, who could know who we would become, or our earning power.  In college our earning power, if you could call it that, was $9,000 just 10 years ago (thank you state and federal aid).  In college we needed electronic supplies in the form of computer junk.  Standing looking at 12 brands of blood pressure takers, I figured it out!  I hate this place!  I hate it not for itself, but  because when my smart, but young husband wanted to buy stuff for our computer in college it seemed like such a waste.  We didn't have a cushion to buy 2mb of RAM for $100.  I was nervous in those formative years and carry those nerves right into Fry's Electronics in 2010.

What I didn't realize back then, was the time and money that boy spent on electric cables, hard drives, RAM, and more cables was an investment.  We didn't starve, and he usually made hand-me-down frankenstein computers anyway, only needing to buy cables.  Sometimes investments feel scary, risky and make your blood pressure go up.

Today that boy is a software engineer.  The hours he spent with his hands in the guts of a computer is now the very reason I can go to Fry's and afford to buy stereo speakers.  The very thing that made me afraid,  is paying my rent.

It's in the Jeans

Scout is seven.  She is extremely good looking.  I don't have the authority to make this sort of judgment as her mother.  I can't stop looking at her because I am in love with her, I also believe that she is particularly good looking, despite my bias. 

Lately, she can not stand in front of a camera without making some silly face or gesture.  In this photo, she is not making a face because she is asleep, it is the only time you can get her NOT to pose.  Here she is, lying still for the camera, with a pair of Levi's on her noggin.  She went to bed that way.  She thought this was worth trying. 

Irony.

Barely Legal

Warning:  The title of this blog is more suggestive than its contents.

I've blogged about my relative age before.  My observations of my story give me more and more to blog about and this post is pointing out the borderline ridiculous.

Here in California, marijuana consumption is nearly legal.  This is an excellent opportunity for small businesses to sell paraphernalia to the occupants of California for this nearly legal activity.  These popular stores are called head shops.

Does this hoodie make my head look young?

It was in one of these shops that I found myself.  Well, it wasn't just me, and we were there looking for fully-legal smoking tobacco.  There were 8 of us in the shop, thinking it really was just a smoke shop until we were all bodily inside.  Four of the people with us were born in the late 90's and early 00's, making them clearly underage.  They also are our children.

If you were like us, and not paying attention, then you wouldn't have seen the tell-tail signs, which were pretty obvious.  I figured it out as my feet cleared the threshold, I am not exceedingly naive.  The most conspicuous sign was actually a sign, it said 'No one under 18 allowed', which no one really registered.

Though I didn't get a good look, I got the general impression.  A brightly lit counter.  Ads on the walls with white lights on bikini-clad tobacco girls.  One part of my mind was telling another, this might not be the shop for pipe tobacco.  There were a few shelves of brightly colored, kitschy tobacco products......and that was when the shop girl came out from behind her Oz-like curtain.  This was also when my ability to take in my surroundings ceased.

She looked at the adults and informed our party, that anyone under 18 could not be inside the store.  She started pointing at the children, age 13, 11, 10, 7 and just when I thought there should be a pause in her voice, or a breath, she pointed to me.  She did ask me for my ID instead of just throwing me out.  I didn't have my ID, it was in the car, which meant no matter what I had to leave the shop.

I'm old enough to know when I should just take a compliment.  It wasn't worth an explanation and it was totally worth the laugh when the whole deal was over.  I'm old enough to filter my words and not say: "I'm old enough to have a kid who is old enough to step through the front door." but since I'm telling you about it, maybe just barely.

Little Bit of Hallelujah

This last week, was full of time with friends and family.  Sometimes, I'm encouraged by my children, friends, my husband, and then sometimes in miraculous and delightfully unexpected ways.

I think a pod of dolphins swimming at the bow of a boat with you for an hour, might be as encouraging and satisfying an experience as one can have.  I hope these photos convey the Hallelujah my heart feels.

Not making a silly face for the camera

Even excited in line at the Happiest Place on Earth

Hunting for treasure.

Salty Ice Cream

How my kid thinks about the world is creative and beautiful.
She gets eczema sometimes.  Here is her observation, as we made home made ice cream tonight ( I know it is October).  With her elbows on the counter she said:

Ice cream has salt in it?  OH!  Salt is very very good for you.  Salt is very very good for eczema!

We have given her salt bathes to soothe her burning skin.  I like the way she thinks but I still asked her:

Do you want me to slather you with the ice cream? 

Face Blind

I pay attention to coincidence, or a better way to say it: I don't believe in coincidence.  It might be hard to  turn away from dazzlingly obvious coincidence, but for ages I let small things pass by, without giving them credit.  I've stopped doing that, and am paying attention.  

As I clean house, or do boring things, I like to listen to NPR programing on my iPod.  This week I heard a story about 2 men who are face blind (Prosopagnosia ) on Radio Lab.  Face blind is a condition where a person can not discern one person's face from the next, or if they know the person, because they can not remember what they look like.  It is really debilitating because it seems that folks affected by face blindness have a huge hurdle when it comes to relationships with people. 

I was interested in this condition because I have had similar experiences with letters (Dyslexia).  I've seen individual letters, or letter strung together to make words for 34 years, but sometimes, it is as if I have never met that letter or word before.  It is interesting that I enjoy writing, as one might think it nearly impossible for me to write or read, but I can.  I can read and write, just more slowly than you.  I have made some adjustments so that you might not be able to tell that I can't tell the difference between "3BE",  how many "r's" are in arrive, and which way the hook on a "J" swings.  The folks on this radio program do the same thing, except with people.  

One of the men took the approach to stay in.  This way, he doesn't run into people.  Not being with people is his way out of awkward situations with his siblings, and boss.  He has to talk his way out of a lot of situations anyway, even if he does stay in.  He is a neuroscientist, so I'm sure he sees people sometimes and he has an assistant who helps him (he can do that, he's rich, I can't hire someone to read numbered exit signs for me, even if I were rich).

The other man does the exact opposite.  He treats everyone he meets as if he has known them his whole life.  He is outgoing and friendly, just in case he is speaking with his mother, but can't remember what she looks like.  He looks at everyone without condition.  He recognizes no one, and treats them as if he loves them.  I am sure, he still has to talk his way out of a lot of awkwardness, but the difference was striking.

This story was nagging at me because I could relate, on two levels.  The first I already mentioned but the other was more subtle.  While driving yesterday, I heard another story about a woman who fell in love with a man who is face blind (which ended badly, as you might guess).  Confirmation that it was no randomly nagging me.  Before Tuesday, I'd never heard of Prosopagnosia once in my whole life, and here it was twice in as many days. 

A light went on in my soul.  I am like the first man, mostly staying in.  You might not notice it, but I'm hiding it, and I can talk my way out of it.

I want to be like the second man.  It is more brave of this man even though he probably is as confused as everyone with this condition.  I want to see people for who they are each time I see them, even if I don't recognize them.  I get that it is a curse to not recognize people, but it seems that making the most of it, strong-arms you into being a loving person.

I have been stricken with my ability to put conditions on people I know, and people I love.  If I strive to live in the moment, then I have to realize I'm not in the moment at all,  and to love better.  The time I get with people is the time I get with them.  It is redundant, but profound.  A person with face blindness has to enjoy a person for the time they have with them, and try to treat them well.  They have to use tricks like I use to keep letters and numbers straight.  They have to be careful.  I'm admitting that I didn't realize how profoundly bad I am at loving unconditionally.

You can listen to the episode of Radio Lab here.