Jenneral Commentary

Dearest Lulu, an apology.

2010-01-09T17:33:00.001-08:00

You are 1 year old, and I am clearly doing something very right. You are happy, healthy, and charming-as-hell.
I have to admit, I don't remember a lot of the details of the past year. Most weeks went by without the celebration that each and every one of your accomplishments deserved. In fact, a lot of the time I felt relieved when you went to sleep. It turns out that even having the best kid ever is exhausting. I had no idea that I could devote that much of my brain to worrying, yet still function (fairly) normally. I literally worried most of the time, and in ways that completely contradicted each other. I worried that you ate too much, not enough, the wrong stuff, that I was too anal about what you ate. I worried that I was doing it all wrong, that your Dad was doing it right, that I as too controlling, that I wasn't consistent. Somehow through all my worrying and second-guessing, you managed to flourish. Because of us/ despite us? I am still a work-in-progress, probably will always be. I'm sure I'm going to make at least 1 or 2 more mistakes between now and your 18th birthday. Thanks for being so cool about it, that really means a lot. I'll do better next year, be more organized, write in your baby book, wash AND fold AND put away your clothes on a regular basis. Somehow I'll get you to sleep through the night, feed and bathe yourself and recite "The Raven" in it's entirety. So, there's that to look forward to. Anyway, sorry about everything.

Granola

2009-08-19T08:01:00.000-07:00

I have this reputation. It's funny to me that I am seen as such a "hippie".
Yes, I'm a vegetarian and I wear my cloth-diapered baby and I make her baby food.
Yes, I recycle and I use cloth napkins.
I very rarely buy Styrofoam or bottled-water.
No, I don't have a microwave in my kitchen.
I compost my kitchen scraps and I mostly clean with vinegar and water.
I have a newly installed cork floor in my family room, and a vegetable garden in the back yard.

But I also drink Diet Coke and watch a lot of TV. We have both a gas- powered lawn mower AND snow blower. My daughter has plastic toy and WAY more clothes than an infant needs. I have a lot of purses and we use our central air conditioning.

I guess it's all perspective. I see myself as young and "alternative", but then I catch a glimpse of the me that others see. Walking my black lab in my Badger's Tshirt. Very much normal.. not at all punk rock. I don't really remember the vision I had of myself 10 years ago. I don't know how far off I am from the person I thought I would become, but I'm fairly sure that now, like then, I'm just not as cool as I think I am. But now I'm much more ok with that.

Required Activities

2009-07-20T15:36:00.000-07:00

For New Parents:

1. Learn how to do everything quickly and one-handed
2. Remember that hardly anyone else cares as much about your child's poop as you do
3. Accept that no matter how much you read, research, and plan... you'll question everything and still make mistakes
4. Worry. Worry in an intense way, in a chronic way, over the big and the small, all the time.
5. Do anything and everything to make that baby grin and then laugh.
6. Wake up one day and feel like a veteran/expert because you made it through the first 6 months.
7. Wake up the next day and feel like you don't know what the hell you are doing, and worry some more.
8. Enjoy the look of pureed broccoli being spit out in a spray
9. Stop washing off the pacifier every time it hits the floor.
10.Bathe your child in the kitchen sink and take a picture.

Nipples

2009-03-25T08:16:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking a lot about what I want to write about. I'm a new mom, and there is a ton of material right there. My little one is almost 12 weeks old, I have to go back to work next week, I'm really struggling with my post-baby body, I obsess about food and cooking. These are all blog-fodder.
Do I want to become a Mommy-blogger?
Should I talk about food, recipes, etc.?

Let's talk about nipples.

I have to admit, prior to breastfeeding I didn't give my nipples much thought. Well, sometime in my early twenties, I had one of them pierced. I thought a lot about that one for a while... ouch.
Other than that, not a lot of attention was paid to this part of my anatomy. At least not by me.
Now they have taken center stage! My nipples finally revolted, screaming for the attention that they have obviously been denied for too long.

My nipples are now infected.

Who knew? I sure didn't. I've been breastfeeding my little one since about 10 minutes after she was born. I have never considered not breastfeeding, even during the most painful of circumstances. My right nipple cracked pretty early on, and I've had pain during and between nursing sessions pretty much this whole time. I've seen nurses, lactation consultants, and a midwife. I was told it would get better, that I had a rare condition called Reynaud's, that my baby wasn't latching correctly. Nope. I had an infection. Possibly a kind of staph infection.

Thankfully, this doesn't hurt the baby at all. I am being treated with antibiotics that I may need to be on for 6 weeks or more. The idea that my breasts and nipples may stop hurting has brightened my mood and outlook considerably.... but I'm still pissed. I feel robbed. I really wanted to love breastfeeding, bonding with my infant, providing her with everything she needs...and I do love most of it. There are times when she looks up at me while eating that the look on her face breaks my heart in the best possible way. It's great being the "boob lady" as my husband calls me, because the boobs always work for my baby. I have the exclusive full-proof solution. But our first few months together have been flavored, tainted, by my pain. By this added struggle. And I'm pissed.

I'm going to blame everything on this stupid infection. My failure to lose any weight, my mood swings, my inability to stop eating, mood swings, memory loss, this bum knee, my messy house.

Completely and totally worth it.

In order of importance

2009-01-21T10:58:00.000-08:00

Damn. Good. Week.

The Way-ya-ting is the Hardest Part (Tom Petty)

2009-01-02T10:03:00.000-08:00

I was so cocky. I told everyone that I was going to work right up until I went into labor. My big fear about that was that my water would break in my office. My carpeted office that I share with about 10 other people. People told me that I wouldn't want to, that I'd be too tired or uncomfortable. HA! I live with discomfort, I can do this. At least I thought I could.

Then, almost 2 weeks ago, I was resting on the sofa at the recommendation of my chiropractor who has been amazingly keeping me fairly mobile and active. I got up to go to the kitchen, and WHAM! My entire lower back seized, spasmed, sputtered and died. Breath-taking pain. I couldn't take any good meds, I couldn't even take ibuprofen. I could barely move.

So, my medical providers agreed with each other... I shouldn't go back to work. The late stage of pregnancy is aggravating my pre-existing condition... a genetic connective tissue disorder (another post, another time). It won't get better and activity will only make it worse.

Now, I'm a first-time parent. My goal/plan is to have a natural and unmedicated birth. I'm very committed to this, and I feel confident and resolved. BUT... the idea of going into labor ALREADY in pain scares the crap out of me. I feel like I am as prepared as I can be to use a variety of techniques to manage the normal, purposeful pain of childbirth. But the pain of injury is a very different thing, and the two together is daunting.

Two weeks later, I'm lying on the sofa. I haven't been to work, and I'm just waiting to go into labor. I'm cursing my fragile body while trying to take the best care of it that I can. It has a task to do.
An incredible, amazing, awesome task.
Sooner than later would be nice.

My Wedding Day

2008-12-13T13:46:00.000-08:00

I worked at my part-time job as a video store clerk during the day. I came home and took a nap on the couch.
I got up about an hour before the baby party was supposed to start and jumped in the shower. I threw on my black second-hand maternity dress and the nifty maternity footless tights (red) that I got on clearance. I put on my new jewelery, newly acquired from the Caribbean from a trip that I couldn't go on because I was too pregnant.
We were running late, so out the door we went. My girlfriends were throwing the party, and it was NOT a baby shower. There were no decorations, no games, no cutesy cake. Dave went to work setting up the bar, and I helped with food prep.
By 7:30 or so, we figured most people that were coming were there so it was time for the toast.
We gathered everyone together, I gave my sister my camera with the instruction "you might want to get this".... and then:

It was perfect.

watermelon woman

2008-11-29T19:55:00.000-08:00

A lot has changed.

My belly has grown to the size of a small watermelon, the organic seedless kind, and it's moving around most of the time, reminding me constantly that I have absolutely no control over what's happening to me.

I'm married.

My husband (weird to type) loves me, takes care of me, accepts me.

I'm so very blessed. I have a house, a job, a loving husband and a baby on the way.
I'm not sure I ever really believed that I could have this life.

Just wanted to put that out there.

Cliff Jumping

2008-09-06T12:18:00.000-07:00

When I was in my early twenties, I went on a trip to the Catskills with some friends. An adventurous group of folks that I had known since high school had taken their show on the road, and ended up living in a band-house in upstate New York. I'm not sure how these things happen to people, but I can attest to the fact that they do.
So up to the Catskills I go, to stay in an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere with a rock band.
Yep.. that was my twenties all right.
Feeling particularly motivated one morning, a group of us set off for a hike, with the promise of a waterfall somewhere deep in the hills. After a near-death experience with a fallen-log bridge and a bee-hive (another story for another day) we reached our destination.
A postcard worthy waterfall in the Catskill Mountains. It was beautiful and it reminded me that I do believe in some sort of God, because these natural wonders are too perfect to happen accidentally.
What my brave, and probably stoned, companions had failed to mention is that the plan was to jump off. People were stripping down all around me and running up to the top. Looking closer, I saw that this seemed to be the thing to do. There are other people there, jumping off gleefully with happy if terrified shrieks. So up I go. Because everybody else is doing it and I don't want to seem like I'm scared. By the time I get there I realize that what looked like maybe a 20 foot drop from below is definitely more like 50 or 100. Well, it seemed like it anyway.
I stood up there for what felt like hours. Debating. Talking myself in and out of jumping. Some of my friends jumped 3 or 4 times, and I stood. I realized two things.

One: Some of the other people jumping looked like they were 10 years old. My inner voice let me know that I was way tougher than some kid.
Two: I would never ever be here again. This was my chance. If I didn't jump, right now, I would regret it. I would always wish that I had conquered my fear. That I had been a little braver, a little crazier, a little more like my rock-band friends.
So I jumped.
It was great.

Now I'm well into my thirties. My life is very different than it was then. I am having a baby. I have a house and a fiance and a graduate degree. I have bills and a 401K.
But I am going to jump again, and it feels exactly the same.

I am starting my own business. I am going to market myself as an expert. I am going to tell people that I know what I am talking about, and they should pay me to help them. I want to help people that want my help. I want to do it on my terms. If I don't, I'll always wish that I had.

Check me out
www.parentingsolutionsllc.com

ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

2008-08-16T07:22:00.000-07:00

I'm waiting to wake up as a completely different person. Well, maybe not completely different, but at least noticeably different. I'm now 20 weeks pregnant. Half-way there. Definitely a mother now, but I still don't pick up my dirty clothes, or put away my shoes every day in a neatly organized closet. My garden is a mess, I'm sure the neighbors hate me. I don't weed or sew. I have baby stuff in storage bins, and no "nursery" to speak of.

So, when does this magically change? Shouldn't I be my mother by now? I want to calmly and peacefully manage every day. I want to clean up after myself, find a hobby, talk to friends and relatives, feed myself and my family a healthy home-cooked meal, and retire to a neatly made bed with a Jane Austen book. I want an effortless-looking, but actually meticulously cared for, front garden. I want the t shirts that I fold to stay wrinkle free.

Instead.. I haven't made it off the sofa much today except to pee every 10 minutes. The egg pan is still sitting on the stove, and I can see the weeds in my front garden from here. I could put together another dog with all the dog hair that's drifting across the un-mopped hardwoods. The bags from yesterday's garage sales are still full and sitting in the kitchen, exactly where I set them upon walking into the house.. on the way to the couch.

I can't believe "they" are going to let me bring a child home. In about 20 weeks.

Big Fat Elephant

2008-06-19T05:46:00.001-07:00

Everything has changed. I've never felt that sentence so literally. It's like I was lifted up and set back down on the other side of the same mountain I've been looking at for 33 years. And now I see...
I think I have whiplash, or PTSD, or some other condition that you can get when your world changes in less than a minute. My legs are shaky, I feel panic coming on most of the time, I think I might vomit. These are the symptoms.

And I have to walk around every day like nothing is different.

Even at my worst

2008-05-03T07:55:00.000-07:00

Cooking makes me feel better. At least for the moment, and often for moments after.
When I was trying to list the times that I lost track of time, they all revolved around food. Well, food and slot machines, but that is another post, another day.
Not only do I lose track of time, but I forget that I hurt. I forget that I'm stressed, and tired, and that I've heard terrible heartbreaking stories of poverty, cruelty and pain all day.
The beautiful feeling of a well-made knife that is perfectly sharp, slicing through a raw onion.
The smell of frying said onion with garlic in olive oil.
Throwing in a little salt, a little special spice that I buy from an entire store dedicated to seasoning my habit.
Knowing, seemingly innately, what goes together. What flavors make other flavors actually taste better. Pairings as historic as Adam and Eve, Yin and Yang. Ginger and Sesame. Basil and Garlic. Tomato and Oregano. Lemon with Capers.
Expertly flipping the pain, feeling a sense of mastery and skill. Then throwing it all together on a plain and unassuming piece of cheap pottery, serving it to someone that I love and watching him enjoy the nurturing that I have literally served to him on a platter.
That makes me feel better. When I have little to give, I really enjoy making dinner.

To Do List

2008-04-13T09:14:00.000-07:00

Buy sunblock, a new pair of shorts and a wicker tote bag.

Shave my legs, paint my toenails, load my ipod.

Take a deep breath and let it all go.

I leave for vacation on Wednesday.

The condition my condition is in

2008-04-10T17:00:00.000-07:00

I went to the Doctor last week. Again. I've been to lots of Dr's lately. She was giving me test results.. and I lost it. Couldn't stop crying. Tried desperately to keep it together... didn't make eye contact.. tried to act tough. Did the thing with the tissue when you make perfect creases, and try to get the tears before they even come out of your eyes.. without messing up the day's makeup.

She didn't know what to do with me. She was pretty speechless.

Mostly because she was giving me what should have been good news. The (many) test results are back and ... drum roll please.... everything's fine. Unremarkable, nothing abnormal, etc etc.
So I, of course, burst into tears. Not the "thank goodness, I'm so relieved" kind of tears, but the
"ohfuckinggreatImustbecrazyoryouthinki'mcrazywhatthehellisthematterwithme" kind of tears.
I'm exhausted, and my head hurts a lot, and my body feels so heavy, and there's this pain. These pains would be more accurate.

And there's that look. From caring supportive primary care Dr. #20....that "I can't help you so there must be something wrong with you mentally" look.

Dr. Rehab, who I saw today, can't help me either.
Keep doing what you are doing, even though you are not feeling better. Oh, and get this test on your heart. This is today's news. This heart test. It won't affect my pain one way or another, but my aforementioned condition can cause heart problems. Somehow not the reassurance I was hoping for. So, today my $42 copay got me this heartwarming message (pun intended) "You will continue to be in pain, there's nothing more I can do, oh and you may have a heart condition that causes sudden death, but you probably don't".

Seriously.

Ode to Good Food

2008-04-06T10:10:00.000-07:00

I am fascinated by food.

The growing of it, the cultural implications, the traditions and rituals, the history, the preparation, the smell, look, taste. I read cookbooks like novels, I will watch any TV show about any food, even though my own diet is fairly limited.
I have books on healing through nutrition, eating through Europe, and how to prepare green leafy vegetables 366 ways.
When I was 21, I rather suddenly became a vegetarian. One day I was eating a ham sandwich at my nephew's high school graduation party, the next day I gave up meat all together. My best friends were veggie so I guess I did it to be cool. A friend of a friend had cancer and a naturopath told him to stop eating all animal products. He went into remission. Diet for a Small Planet was still making the rounds of college campuses (more than 20 years after being published), and I wanted to save the world.
So I quit.
More than 12 years later, I still haven't had beef, pork, or poultry . At least not on purpose.. there have been the occasional mistakes at Asian restaurants..I try not to remember.
A few years ago I started eating fish, so I'm not a strict vegetarian anymore. I'm an ovo-lacto pescetarian if you want to get technical.

These decisions changed my life, in obvious and less than obvious ways. First, and foremost, I learned how to cook. I also learned that I LOVE to cook. Combining parts to make a delicious whole became a passion. I learned about amino acids and complete proteins. I learned how to use spices and the difference between frying and sautéing. I worked in a prep kitchen in a restaurant and learned knife skills. I worked as a waitress and learned how to talk about food.

After a particularly nasty surgery and recovery, I turned to an acupuncturist and Chinese medicine herbalist. She recommended limiting or eliminating sugar, dairy, soy and peanuts. I didn't really know how to be a vegetarian that didn't eat tofu, cheese, or peanut butter. That's when I started eating fish. Another huge opportunity to learn how to cook all over again. Suddenly I was learning the versatility of rice milk, the thickening power of arrowroot, The Joy of Seitan!!!!!!!!!

And guess what? I felt better. A lot better. I know now for certain that my body works best when I eat a lot of vegetables and grains, and not much else. I can tell the difference in how I feel after eating too much sugar (especially that nasty white refined stuff) or too much dairy. So I try to listen to my body.

Somewhere along the way I also became committed to sustainability. To local produce and organic practices. I swear that sweet corn from a local organic farmer tastes better in July than any other corn, any other time of year. I pay attention to my food. I pay attention to my choices and how they affect the global economy and the environment. I may only be one person, but I believe that my choices make a difference.

I also believe that eating is important. The rituals around meals, the family history of certain recipes, the cultural implications of spicy vs. bland and boiled vs. grilled. What we use for fuel to survive is the most important decision we make every single day. It makes me sad that, as a culture, we have lost that truth.

I am lucky enough to have a partner in life that will eat virtually anything I put in front of him. What's this? Curried Wheat Gluten with Quinoa and Swiss Chard? Looks Great! So I will continue my own culinary journey, at home. With family, friends, and maybe someday with strangers.

thanks to Maggie for reminding me to not only think about this, but to blog about it too.

Accident Prone

2008-03-08T07:57:00.000-08:00

That's what they called me as I grew up. Clumsy, fragile... those were the nice ones. When I was on crutches, or in a brace it was Gimpy, or Ilene (I-lean). That was still in good fun. The one that really stuck was Faker.

As you can probably guess, I got hurt a lot. I broke my arm once.. or was it twice? That was a "real" injury, with x-ray evidence and a cast to prove it. What was much more common were the nonspecific injuries. Muscle strains, bruised bones, sprains, tendonitis, pulled ligaments. I am very familiar with these terms. I couldn't begin to count the number of visits to the doctor's office I had as a child, how many x-rays, how many splints and ace bandages. The x-ray technician at my family doc's office used to call me her apprentice. She said that I must know as much about taking x-rays as she did. I know all the poses. And they all came back normal. No broken bones, no evidence of injury. Often only mild swelling, no bruising. All I knew was that it really hurt.

But it started to sink in that other people didn't know that it really hurt. Other people didn't believe me, I could see it in their eyes, I could hear it in their voices. And sometimes it was right there in their words. "Faker".
I took that criticism, that accusation right in. I internalized that so deep, that I still don't trust my own experience of pain. Every time that I am sick or hurt, I second-guess it. I call myself a faker inside. I accuse myself of making it worse than it really is, of being a baby. I tell myself it's not that bad, that I need to suck it up, and that I should really stop complaining. I remind myself that nobody likes a whiner, and that my friends must surely be sick of hearing about my numerous physical ailments.

What I know now that I didn't know then is that I have a weird condition. I'm too stretchy. It's called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome: Hypermobility Type. Symptoms include unstable joints and easy bruising. Medical history to include many nonspecific injuries with "normal" x-rays. Prognosis: chronic pain, possible degenerative joint disease, more injuries that no one else can see. Treatment: ummm... yeah... not really. Be careful. Build strong muscles around joints. Avoid activities that destabilize or stretch.. like yoga and swimming. Pray.

So I should go easier on myself. Of course I don't, and I'm currently laid up with hip pain that started out as mild and manageable. So I ignored it. Then it got worse, so I stopped working out, and ignored it some more. Now I'm barely functional, every step hurts, and I depend on my arsenal of narcotics (legally prescribed), muscle relaxers (also prescribed), a heating pad, various pillows in just the right position, and a heap of self pity.

I go for an MRI on Wednesday. I promise I'm not faking.

My ex-girlfriend

2008-03-01T13:45:00.001-08:00

This is a copy of the letter I sent to Rep. Tammy Baldwin. I love her, I really do, but I guess we are having a lover's spat.

Dear Tammy,
I am a long time supporter of yours, I have contributed to your campaigns in the past, and volunteered. I have had numerous yard signs, bumper stickers, and pins with your name on them. I have met you a couple of times, and I think you are a smart, compassionate, genuine woman. I recently received an invitation to contribute to your 2008 election campaign, and I was about to write you a check when my partner told me that you are planning to cast your superdelegate vote to Hilary Clinton. This feels like a slap in my face. I am a Obama supporter, so it is a personal issue for me, but it is also a political issue. Why do you think that you are smarter than I am? Why is what you think more important than what I think? I have always admired your political integrity. Now I am questioning your motives. So, I am not sending a check, and I'm sure that my $50 won't matter much. But I guess I wanted you to know why.
Please reconsider your responsibility to the democrats in all of the counties in your district. Thank you for all of the good work that you do.

Post-modern bride

2008-02-06T18:46:00.000-08:00

So, I 'm getting married.

Yep.

Engaged.

Me.

First of all, I'm really really happy. I have found the absolutely most perfect guy for me. He thinks I'm cute, he doesn't freak out, and he's so honest/trustworthy/chock full of integrity that even I can't be cynical about him. I am not worried about being with him, and only him, for ever.

I don't know how to be this engaged person. I haven't been dreaming about a huge white dress with 6 blushing bridesmaids in matching horrible dresses. We don't have a song, there was no formal proposal, we don't have a church and I don't even like cake.

I get really uncomfortable when we tell people that we are getting married.

It feels like anxiety, or like embarrassment. I feel like I'm blushing and I want to quickly change the subject. I think that I just didn't ever think about being this person, how I would incorporate my feminism, my ideals, my social conscience and innate distrust of the status quo with being "engaged". But I'm figuring it out.

Diet Craze

2008-01-13T09:56:00.000-08:00

I have never been a skinny girl. Maybe before the age of 10, but I'm not even sure about that. I have never experienced a flat tummy, a size 6, or a significant period of time during which I truly didn't think about what I was eating or how I looked. That's a big confession for me. I'm a critical thinker and a feminist. I try everyday to not buy into the beauty myth. I am philosophically opposed to the corporate machine that tells girls and women that there is something wrong with them in order to make them feel bad enough to spend money on whatever product *guaranteed* to make them thinner, less frizzy, less splotchy, less wrinkly, and more "beautiful".

I eat better than most people. I don't eat meat other than fish, I avoid sugar and dairy, I haven't had a cream sauce in years. I choose baked over fried, I eat my veggies. I cook most of our meals, and they are almost always vegan and full of whole-grains and fresh vegetables.
I try to exercise regularly. Maybe not often enough, but I'm by no means sedentary.

The thing is.. I'm still not a skinny girl. I've been a (mostly) vegetarian for 12 years, I've been a health foodie for the last 5 years or so, I've had a gym membership for many many years, with periods of increased activity (and periods of hardly any). I go months without any refined sugar passing my lips. And I'm still not a skinny girl.

My logical, critical, educated, feminist brain tells me that this is my body. This is the body I'm supposed to have, it's happy at this set point. I have not gained or lost significant weight in years. Sometimes my pants get a little tight. Sometimes they fit a little looser. That's about the extent of my fluctuation. No matter if I'm sticking to a strict healthy diet and exercising daily; or eating less healthy foods and barely exercising at all. This should tell me, unequivocally, that this is my body and I should accept it. Even be happy about it, as it works pretty well. I can run, jump, climb trees (hypothetically, I haven't really tried in a while). I am mostly pain-free, which is a blessing and the topic of another post. I should carry and wave the "Every Body is Beautiful!" banner proudly. Some days I can.

Some days, though, are tougher. Right now I'm "dieting". I've never really dieted. I don't believe in fad diets, only realistic, sustainable, lifestyle changes. But right now.. I'm dieting. And I'm dieting to lose weight. Not to be the healthiest me ever.. although I say that to myself and others, and I even believe it from time to time. Being the healthiest me ever will be a nice side effect of being thinner. Right now, I want to be thinner. I want to look good in a bathing suit. Just once. Just once in my life, I want to know what it feels like. I want to maybe even wear a bikini. I never have.

Right now, it feels like defeat, because it's not really the person I want to be. It's not what I would teach my daughter, if I ever have one. It's not the way I want the world to be.

So, I'll go the gym, I'll eat baked whole grain crackers instead of chips, I won't even buy the snacks and sweets that I still crave. I will be healthier, and there is a real reward in that. But I won't fool myself.

Right now I am just trying to be skinny.

Tis the Season....

2007-12-14T15:55:00.000-08:00

Every [enter winter holiday of your choice, I prefer solstice or yule because I'm actually celebrating the importance of life and survival and being grateful and blessed by family and friends, but that's me and I don't want to offend anyone because I'm from Madison], I end up feeling an intense pressure to find exactly the right present for every person on my list. I really want each one to be meaningful and show how much I value it's recipient.
I am sure that this is a fairly universal experience, at least gender-specifically universal. Most of the women I know do some amount of agonizing over what to get for whom. I want my friends and family to know that I pay attention to them when they talk about their likes, dislikes, hobbies, etc. And I do feel a great sense of pride when I find exactly the right thing.
But it's really hard. And I don't have a lot of money. And I'm not very crafty. And I'm really effin' busy.
So I feel guilty, and stressed. Which is not what I want every [winter holiday: see above] to be about. I'm sure that my people would love a scarf, a gift certificate, or even a fruit basket. My people are kind and generous people... it's why I love them so much in the first place.
I wish everyone had a thing, that would be easier. If every year I could buy every person on my list some variation of the same thing, and they would love it. Let's all start things!! Someone take lighthouses, someone else gets ironic coffee mugs.... you get the idea.
I love pitchers.

It's official

2007-11-29T06:25:00.001-08:00

I'm a grown up.

Here are just some of the things that make it true.

1. I have a joint checking account with someone

2. My body hurts a lot more than it used to

3. I don't like fast food or cartoons anymore (well, not as much as I used to)

4. The weekends mean sweatpants and sleeping more instead of party clothes and staying out late.

5. I care about property taxes

6. I own furniture that I bought new

7. I have a guest room

8. My dog is older than the Titanic (the movie)

9. My niece is 16, has a job, and a nose ring.

10. I dye my hair to cover gray.

The Vegetarian Goes to Texas

2007-11-20T06:53:00.000-08:00

I'm off to Houston today, to spend the rest of the week with the b/f's family. This is the first holiday in ages and ages (maybe ever?) that I haven't spent with my own family. This relationship thing is weird. Plus... I'm a vegetarian. Going to Texas. For Thanksgiving. The last time I went to one of his family things, it was in Iowa. There wasn't anything much that I could eat. Some potato salad and chips, maybe. Even the broccoli had bacon in it. Most members of the family hadn't met a vegetarian before, not to mention had one over for dinner. It was the conversation topic of the day.. over and over and over. Finally his Mother couldn't stand my near-starvation anymore and sent for the trail mix out of the car.
They are very nice people.

One thing I am not...

2007-11-11T09:11:00.000-08:00

A Gardener.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing. We moved into this lovely home this summer, and it has a lovely perennial garden for a front yard... and some annuals.. and another lovely garden in the backyard.

It was fairly low-maintenance over the summer and fall... it needed more maintenance than I actually gave it, but it still looked ok, I guess.

Now it's time to actually do some work, I think, but I don't really know what to do. Prune? Cut Back? Is that the same thing? Mulch? Thin out? Leave the leaves, clear out the leaves?

The woman who lived here for 30+ years before me clearly knew what she was doing. And I am about to ruin all her years of hard work.

I feel like I should know this stuff.. My mother has a beautiful yard and has always gardened. I have early memories of both of my parents working very hard to keep rose bushes alive.
It didn't really sink in I guess.

That's not the worst of if though,

The truth is, I don't really like doing it. I really feel like I should. Like I'm supposed to enjoy my lovely garden, and all the backbreaking tedious weed-pulling, pruning, raking, mulching that goes with it. But I don't. There is my dark confession. It's not that fun. I'd rather be watching America's Next Top Model.... maybe that's my dark confession.

Evil Doers

2007-11-04T07:45:00.000-08:00

No, not terrorists, not serial killers, not even politicians (although I'll have plenty to say about them too)... but Health Care Companies.
Specifically prescription drug companies and insurance companies.

On Friday morning I went to an ethics conference focusing on the drug companies. Dr. Marcia Angell, the author of The Truth About the Drug Companies: How They Deceive Us and What to Do About It, was the keynote speaker. She said a lot of interesting, scathing, upsetting things and I encourage people to read her book. What I heard was a steady chant of "Corruption! Corruption! Corruption!" The FDA doesn't care about us, it cares about them, the profit-hungry, soul-less, investor-driven drug companies who make more money than almost everyone else in this country. Yet another example of how our government and very society caters only to the rich. This agency is supposed to protect and serve the American people... make sure that these profit-oriented corporations do the research, test the drugs, make sure our medications are SAFE and EFFECTIVE. Well, guess what? They don't.

In the past 7 years, 599 medications have been approved by the FDA. Of those 399 have been non-innovative, and not helpful. The vast majority of drugs approved every year are not significantly different or more effective than other (cheaper) drugs already on the market ( in generic form). This is how the FDA spends their time.

On Friday evening I watched Michael Moore's new movie, Sicko. Man, I thought the drug companies were bad.... Insurance companies are evil incarnate. We entrust our health, well being, and sometimes very survival to corporations who's only mandate is to reap the highest profit margins. Doctors, Nurses, yes.. even therapists.. who have sold their soul to the corporate dream and spend their working hours trying to figure out how to deny people health care.
According to Moore, America is the only country in the Western world that doesn't offer universal health care. America also has a higher infant mortality rate, a shorter life expectancy, and a much higher per capita expenditure on health care costs than any other industrialized nation.

So, I 'm left thinking about moving to Canada (again), and struggling with feeling so defeated. The greed, corporate corruption, unethical lobbying, and government complicity is so huge and heavy and overwhelming. Is there any hope that this can change? It's hard to stay optimistic. But I'm going to try.

To start again....

2007-10-06T14:06:00.000-07:00

I have felt compelled to write more lately, or vent more, or communicate more. I thought about starting a new blog, particularily about food and cooking and health. Then I remembered this blog. This long-neglected effort to be witty and interesting.

So.. do I start a new one or just keep this one going?

The beginning may have nothing to do with the end... but I guess that's true for almost everything, isn't it?

Girls Like Me

2006-07-23T16:29:00.000-07:00

I was at a party last week and also in attendance was "Gene"...name changed to protect the far-from-innocent.... I went to a get together at the home of two of my women-friends. They are fairly hippie-ish, progressive, near-east side women, not lesbians but often mistaken for lesbians, which I can relate to. It was the usual suspects, a gathering of artists, do-gooders, service-industry folk and then there was "Gene". What the hell was this guy doing here anyway? Loud, rude, tactless and seemingly from another planet, or at least another side of town. This guy thinks that touching women uninvited is flirting and that look of disgust they get is playing hard-to-get. Throughout the evening I heard "what's up, bitches?" several times as a conversation starter.
At one point the man referenced my "titty"... no lie. I was so shocked I failed to do the honorable thing which would have been to kill him where he stood.

So, naturally when I ran into him again during the week, he asked me for my phone number. He told me that he went over and grabbed his balls first.. I believe he was referencing courage, but again... I was stunned into silence. I did manage a meek and feeble "no", but not nearly the verbal lashing and stern lesson on gender relations that he deserved.

All that I could think on my way home was "girls like me don't go out with guys like you".

Ken Lay dies of a heart attack

2006-07-05T20:27:00.000-07:00

C'mon.. how am I supposed to feel about that? The guy is... was... a huge jerk-off who screwed thousands... tens of thousands of people. He cared only about getting rich, staying rich, and staying out of prison.
Now he's dead and I'm kinda ambivalent. He died in a freakin' ski chalet for god's sake. He never admitted to any wrongdoing, and he never had to see the inside of a prison cell. I'm glad that no one has to foot the bill for some white-collar pseudo-penitentiary, I don't have much faith in our justice system's ability to "rehabilitate" such a heartless criminal, so I guess I'm happy that he's dead. But left feeling unsatisfied.
His poor family... having to face a very unsympathetic world. Their grief is genuine regardless of what a waste of oxygen the man was.
C'ya Ken...

Ok, I'm re-committing

2006-06-11T08:36:00.000-07:00

This will be about blogging.

What is this urge that people feel to write about their most mundane experiences and trite observations? It's not only for documentation, but some sense that what I have to say is important, interesting, new. Solipsistic for sure... somehow my reality is the only and best reality.

There is something more communal about it as well. Something about connecting and sharing. Being so honest, so naked... but also maintaining a carefully clever distance.

Here I will share what I really think, and maybe it will resonate with some, and maybe not. Maybe I will be known through a semi-anonymous writing exercise that I bravely display to any and all, without revealing anything that I don't choose to reveal. Not that different than face-to-face experiences.

Or maybe it's just egoism and ridiculous. I guess the end will define the motive if not the means.

It's all about the Benjamins Part 1

2005-11-25T14:12:00.000-08:00

I'm broke right now.
Even saying that makes me feel guilty because my broke is so much better than most people's "broke". I will eat, have clothes to wear, gas in my car, heat in the house, food for my dog and even the occasional cocktail, movie, or night out.
That's not broke.... but it feels broke.
I can't take a vacation or buy elaborate gifts for my loved ones. I can't buy the brown boots that I desperately need. The new down comforter will have to wait, as will the Cuisinart food processor that I've been coveting.
When did this become my life? I used to survive on much much less. Hand-me-down furniture and kitchen essentials were the norm, as were thrift store clothing and *gasp* 200-thread-count sheets. I drank rail liquor and drank freeze-dried auto-drip coffee.
Now I'm an all-around snob. Good Vodka, Coffee and Food. I have a damned handbag collection and jewelry. (not actual jewels or designer bags, but still). I have extravagantly expensive grocery bills because I buy organic olive oil, pre-washed and stemmed spinach, and even organic "healthy" frozen dinners and mac-n-cheese.
This is a lavish standard of living by global and historical standards, yet I'm not one of our society's wealthy or elite. I would have a hard time supporting a child or buying a home without making some significant changes to my lifestyle. If I'm snobbish and have an unreasonably high standard of living, what does that mean for our truly wealthy citizens? Stay tuned for Part 2.

Movie - Crash

2005-11-21T15:09:00.000-08:00

I know, I know... everyone has already seen (and probably criticized) this movie, but I'm a little slow.
I loved it, it was a brilliant depiction of just how close and how amazingly far apart we all are. It's race, it's gender, it's class, it's educational background, it's the way we talk and the way we dress.
All of these arbitrary things that we put up to keep us separate. Different. Is it our own struggle for uniqueness? To feel special? Maybe there is an inherent human desire to stand out, so we must pay extreme-amounts of attention to the differences, instead of just reveling in the sameness.

Now, don't get me wrong, I'm not one of those "we should all be color-blind" kind of people. I understand that only really works for white middle-upper class men. There really are differences in experience, access to opportunity, and social recognition. It's privileged and elitist to suggest that race, and other difference, doesn't (or shouldn't) matter. But it's all social. It's all made-up... all of these differences are completely fabricated. To serve who? It's easy to say that white guy over there, and I agree.. he does seem to make out the best, but is it that simple?

This movie showed a diverse group of people with prejudices based on race, gender, and anything else you can think of. Every character was flawed. Every character was remarkable.

See it. Everyone should see it.

Girl on Girl Crime

2005-11-14T19:21:00.000-08:00

The first of many self-criticisms....

I understand that the socialization of girls in our culture is responsible for women distrusting each other and judging each other harshly; thinly masking a competition for male attention.
I understand that this only benefits men. And that it doesn't really benefit men in any genuine way, but more on that later.
So, as a smart, educated, aware feminist, why is it that I still feel this almost physical response to "some" girls. Particularly girls that may or may not be interested in a guy that I may or may not be interested in? I could tell you ten things wrong with her... her outfit, her manners, her presentation.. but why is that something that I feel compelled to do?

There are a few pervasive and invasive ideas that have been socialized into me, and the women I know, to such a degree that they feel inherent. Being too fat, too ugly, too "something" is one. Feeling spiteful bitter wrath toward other females is another. I swear sometimes I'm two steps away from seeking counsel in Cosmo. The thought: "I'm way prettier than her" actually entered my head recently... and to be honest, came out of my mouth as well. A sentiment with which my bestest girls firmly and immediately agreed, therefore supporting both my temporary loss of female solidarity and my renewed love for these particular girls.

So, who and what does this competitive crap really serve? Not I, not her.. I don't want to be a better person because of her... and I'm sure she couldn't care less about me. Mostly I just get to feel mad and frustrated and mean and direct it toward some woman that I don't even know. Then all my sweetness and light (what there is of it) can be saved for the undeserving male object of my attention. Does he benefit? Not really... he then only sees certain parts of me, or of woman "x"... we actually serve to make ourselves less of whole people in his eyes. Which just opens the door for future disappointment and disillusionment all around. Cuz, guess what? It may come as a shock, but I'm not all sweetness and light.

So, I will embrace this girl (figuratively) as a teacher. She reminded me that I really don't want to buy into that paternalistic bullshit.

Inaugural Critique

2005-10-19T15:02:00.000-07:00

This is too much pressure.... I'm initiating this blogging-process with an easy one. Restaurant Review.
The other day I was dining with my roomie at the Brochach Irish Pub. I'm a somewhat-fan of this place already, the atmosphere is pretty ok, our buddy Ethan behind the bar, various familiar faces throughout the croud...
But on this occasion, the roomie and I were there to eat, and we were greeted and seated politely, blah blah blah.. so we decided to order rather light, because we didn't want left-overs. I order the veggie tart, which I have no complaints about other than it was in a puff pastry, which doesn't scream "tart" to me... so she gets the "roasted beet salad" and the salmon platter. Ok, I may have given it away with the quotation marks. Her salad was a bed of (probably bagged) mixed greens with 5 sorry slices of canned beets and some sort of soft salty cheese. Not roasted and not a BEET salad. The Salmon also came on a bed of greens, so she basically ordered 2 salads. Lame. We even asked for the menu back to double check... no clues there.
So, don't order that.

Other than that the night was fun. Ran into some friends that irish coffee drinks are heavenly, the service was only ok.

Whew... first critique out of the way. Thank Goodness.

To define is devine

2005-10-12T15:35:00.000-07:00

Among the many definitions for the word "critical" I found the following to be of particular interest:

Inclined to judge severely and find fault.
Characterized by careful, exact evaluation and judgment: a critical reading.
Forming or having the nature of a turning point; crucial or decisive: a critical point in the campaign.
Indispensable; essential: a critical element of the plan; a second income that is critical to the family's well-being.
Being in or verging on a state of crisis or emergency: a critical shortage of food.
Fraught with danger or risk; perilous.

There is plenty in our current state of culture and society to judge harshly. The skills of being truly critical in our interpretation of what is provided for us as "information" have never been more important than they are now. Being critical is critical. We are in a state of critical emergency. It is critical that the public become more critical. Perilous? Maybe to some.