May 16, 2005 | This Life
This is it. In ten minutes I leave for Berkeley to take the last exam of my academic career. IZ says, “No, the last exam of this academic degree,” because he is convinced of additional work in my
future. To which I reply, “Uh… NO!”
But the future does not worry me at the moment–I have other more pressing concerns. At approximately 10:30 am pst I will be regurgitating everything I know about Church History (Years 975-1700ish) in my final exam of this semester. (ever!) Orally. Yes, the final exam of my academic work is an oral exam where I must articulate that I have been paying
attention. Evidently, paying tuition isn’t enough.
So, obviously, I’m freaking out. IZ, ever helpful, did the math and told me last night, “You know, even if you get an ‘F’ on this exam you still get a ‘B’ in the class?” Which was his way of saying, “Get it together, you are going to be fine.” And he is right. I will be fine. At exactly 11am I will be FINE. I will also be DONE.
But right now, I am not fine, I am not done. What I am is FREAKING OUT. Right now, there still exists the potential for a pointy grade–to which I’m inordinately attached.
Wish me luck!
May 13, 2005 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
We are less than a week from the official release of the last of the Star Wars movies. The Bay Area has gone particularly nutty. Oh wait. It’s the Bay Area, we were nutty to begin with. (Can I tell you that I’m elated to be moving to Oregon where the term “Nutty” has a completely different connotation? Not that it will apply to me there, since health food is the devil in my book) Anyhow, for some reason, big wigs in the area shelled out $500 to watch the movie one week in advance.
Now, I won’t pay $8.50 to see the same movie next week–I cannot fathom spending the $500 to see it ever… much less early. But out they were, in full garb, attending an event they labeled “charity” so they could justify what is clearly just a manifestation of their geekyness. Oh and Lucas, dear, could you stop your bitching already about how you are “tired” of Star Wars and are bothered to be part of the establishment? When you throw premier parties for charity, you don’t get to whine about the establishment. Smile for the cameras sweetie… yeah, there you
go.
Anyhow, this bit of lunacy caught my eye and sparked the following IM conversation:
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May 12, 2005 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
Christ is not speaking to the press at this time.
Headlines for this particular news story are far more entertaining than the news itself. Which is saying something, considering some lunatic in West Virginia (figures) wants to legally obtain a driver’s license for that state with the name Jesus Christ. Uh huh. Here are a few of the better headlines:
May 11, 2005 | This Life
First off–thank you to all my readers who have commented and sent email. It means more than you can imagine.
Sometimes life is… strange. Leaving here is not the bitter-sweet ending I had expected. When I graduated from undergrad work I cried through my commencement ceremony. The president of the university I attended looked at me and said, “Smile,” as he shook my hand. We were standing on the podium, posing for one last photo as he handed me my diploma. Those are the best tears to cry. Tears over leaving something you love. My professors and mentors sat in the front row facing the stage and I could see the tears of those I loved so much. They were saying goodbye and sending me off in the way graduates have been sent off since the beginning of all this pomp and
circumstance.
I won’t lie. I had expectations that my “end” here would be the same. Sadly, it is not case. I’m leaving here deflated and demoralized. I’m ready to pack my bags and begin anew. And that’s ok, too. Not every ending has to be bittersweet. Sometimes, it ends roughly, or without explanation,or in anger, or in silence. We don’t get to pick our endings every time.
Which is why perspective is always a GOOD thing. Like healing, it arrives in time. Sometimes with the help of friends. (Thank you–you know who you are!) Sometimes in the strange things that arrive in your in-box. Case in point:
PISCES (Feb. 19-March 20): One of the world's longest streets is Figueroa Street in Los Angeles.
It runs 30 miles. In contrast, Bridge Street, a lane near my house,
is about 50 yards long and connects two lengthy roads to each other.
The path you're on right now, Pisces, has a metaphorical resemblance to
Bridge Street. Your time on it will be brief, and it will serve as a bridge
between two phases of your life story. Soon you'll turn onto a longer
thoroughfare more like Figueroa. In the meantime, pay maximum attention to the
sights and sounds. This leg of your journey will be short, but it will reveal
clues that will be essential as you shift gears.
|
I don’t know about horoscopes in general–but I’m thinking the next 47 days are my Bridge Street. That this end is less about leaving and more about where I’m going. I’ve appreciated your company,dear readers, on this last 50 yards. Thank you for your presence–it speaks volumes.
Perspective also comes with clarification. In the last post I mentioned a note I received in the mail from a past friend. My read on the letter was skeptical at best, completely jaded at worst. And today (along with ANOTHER email from housing asking if I was leaving… heh) I received the following:
Wen, I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time in preparation for your transition. After reading your recent blog, I’m also sorry that you weren’t able to
receive my card in the way it was intended. I really did mean it
sincerely and had hoped it would be conciliatory. I still wish you the best in all you do. |
So, I’m printing a “retraction” of sorts. I think my reading at the time was legitimate considering my circumstances. I also acknowledge that those circumstance have probably clouded my perspective just a wee bit. (OK, not probably!) Her card took me completely by surprise–I never expected to hear from her again. I certainly never expected her to read my blog. I stand by my words–but not necessarily my interpretation. This much I will say, she has way more moxie than most people around here. She at least has the courage to tell me I had it all wrong! And for that bit of perspective I am deeply grateful.
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May 9, 2005 | This Life
I’m not dead yet, but the vultures are already circling. While my eventual demise is a given,
even by me, I’m astounded by the size of the flock my yet to be rotting carcass seems to be attracting. Evidently, just the prospect of fresh kill draws a crowd here at the Seminary.
Sadly, these people cannot be classified as enemies, despite their behavior. As enemies I could delude myself into believing that revenge is justice long over due. No, these people are good people on the whole, people who used to be my friends and close confidants. News of my fall, my departure, my demise, my “whatever you want to call it” has made its way through the grapevine–The response has been staggering and not in ways I ever expected.
A few weeks back I got the following email:
Ms. X tells me you are not going to be her intern next year cuz you are
moving to Astoria. Is this so? If it is
I will need to know when you expect to vacate, with the understanding that you would have to move
no later than June 30th. |
This lovely piece of correspondence was from the housing department here at the Seminary. Never mind I had just lost my job. Never mind my Internship is falling through and I won’t be around to do all sort of things for housing next year. Never mind that the email is not in possession of the “facts” much less the “truth.” No, it’s just “when are you leaving?”
For the record, because the facts are important to me at least, the email (or more likely its writer) has placed the proverbial cart in front of the horse. I’m not going to be an Intern here next year because while the school was given 6 months to raise funding they chose to do nothing. I’m moving to Astoria because it was our fall-back position– the place we would move to next year only if we had no other destination. Sadly, we are being compelled to fall back. We are falling back because my internship never meant enough for the school to actually fund it. Instead, they were relying on my campus job at the bookstore to be my funding, banking on my willingness to work for nothing. Trust me, when I suggested they be creative about funding my work I never expected the results I got! I meant lower my rent or give me health care or come up with some small gesture of your good faith. Never in my most paranoid moments did I think “be creative” would be interpreted as “do nothing.” Which, in fact, up until the time the school decided to
close the bookstore in March is precisely what was done. Nothing.
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Apr 27, 2005 | Boy Wonder
For a brief moment, I became my mother. Upon coming home from work on Saturday, I discovered our child had managed to “color” on my favorite tablecloth. One look at this child’s bedroom suggests I can’t have anything nice for very long. But I’m an optimist. I don’t think a house should be a museum or that you should save the good stuff for when company visits. So, I
foolishly draped our table with a lovely red bark cloth tablecloth covered in white roses. Our child foolishly colored with markers that have a tendency to bleed through paper–in this case right onto a 1940’s vintage piece that was a gift from my adorable sister-in-law. Both the fabric and decent sister-in-laws are hard to come by–which means the artistic genius probably shouldn’t have been left unsupervised anywhere near it.
I’m not going to ask where his father was–since this particular child is eight and has been
told since before inception that, “If you are going to color at the table you have to USE A MAT.” But did he follow the parental wisdom he has been so privileged to receive for the past eight
years? No. He did not. No, instead he hauled out his markers and proceeded without caution. All that prenatal coaching down the drain. That’s when I became my mother.
I stamped my little feet. I scrunched up my face and through glinty eyes I uttered those bone chilling words all children come to dread, “HOW COULD YOU?” This was followed by a five minute tirade about taking more care, not being so selfish, being more responsible, and USING A MAT, FOR PEET’S SAKE! I then huffed, “Go ahead, jump on the couch, trash the house, color on every available surface. I don’t care anymore. And when your friends come over and ask why
you live in such a pit you can tell them it’s because we are WHITE TRASH.” I then stomped up the stairs to seethe in my room.
IZ, getting the distinct feeling he should back me up, spent another five minutes calmly explaining to boy wonder the importance of taking care of your things and other people’s things within reach of your markers.
I know what you are thinking. And I was thinking it too about three minutes into my seething. But, it’s not just a tablecloth. This child has a long history of “decorating” things that do not belong to him. Take the time he decided my china would look better with his artwork on it. Or the time he drew a map to Disneyland on his bedroom wall. Or when he gilded the edges of an expensive
Interlinear Bible with markers. Or grafitti-ed the foam interior of his father’s Palm Pilot case. No, this child has a penchant for making things more colorful and I have to admit it gets me thinking about my parenting skills. In comparison to my eight year-old self I realize this child is responsible for very little around this house. I don’t think it’s too much to expect him to put away his toothbrush or hang up his wet towels. It’s hardly abuse to suggest he respect our home–even if I was giving him the “look” in the process.
No, there is something about my childhood that makes me loath to nag him into responsibility. My mother’s standards for clean included the holy grail of domesticity: You could eat off her floors. And she had a bad habit of nagging that often escalated into all-out war. And while I can understand her desire for clean, having done my fair share of picking up after a very messy boy–I can’t bring myself to become a nag or a yeller. Instead, I seem to be content to follow behind
the child picking up after him. Hanging up towels, putting away toothbrushes, until that moment when I pick up my cherished tablecloth to find it covered in black marker. Then, then I become my mother.
But, I’m not my mother. Despite my tantrum, it’s not my style to stay mad. Besides, I think you have to parent for the long haul–if the house isn’t perfect but you raise a responsible child, who really cares? Which gets me at the core of my frustration–in the process of being a tolerant parent, in an effort to not be a nag or a ranting lunatic, somehow I’ve coddled my child. I’ve done too much. I’ve expected too little. In the long run this is a recipe for disaster. After much talk and brainstorming, IZ and I decided that it was time for a rite of passage.
Note to the eight year old: Yes, you too can become a responsible human being. And you get to start now, lucky you!
In a word, we bribed him. We set up a schedule of chores he is expected to accomplish (with gentle reminders) on his own. If he completes these things then he can be paid for the extra chores available. If he doesn’t–then he gets to do the other chores without any financial gain. We reminded him about all the things we had to do for FREE when “we were his age.” We told him he was a really lucky kid to have parents who loved him enough to recognize when they needed to
make a course change in their parenting approach. And then we gave him the cold hard facts. Funny how he can calculate his projected earnings for the year but can’t seem to hear me when I
suggest he pick up his shoes. So, I’ll let money do the nagging for awhile.
And before all you naysayers out there start pointing out that cash is not a proper parenting tool. Consider this: boy wonder did ask if he could earn enough money to replace my tablecloth.
Apr 15, 2005 | This Life
Ok, so I feel like an addict who has gone off her choice of poison cold turkey. Twitchy, jittery, nervous. Comcast had some sort of glitch Wednesday that caused a huge system failure on IZ’s computer. (He took my laptop to Astoria this week.) When connectivity was finally restored the computer refused to believe it. IZ has a BAD ASS computer that weighs a ton–so pulling it out to swap out cables between the modem, computer, and router was no easy task. That last sentence makes it sound like I have some clue as to what I’m doing. I don’t. IZ spent the better part of an hour on Thursday night coaching me over speaker phone–to no avail. I’m sure it’s something really idiotic that can be fixed just by IZ breathing on it–but until he gets home on Sunday night I’m without access. Unless you count dial-up at work.
A word about dial-up. It’s the devil. No, seriously. It absolutely is the slowest thing on the planet. SLOW. Combine that with the antiquated computer the bookstore has and the evil that is Microsoft Windows and you have a recipe for disaster. Crashing is an olympic sport around here. Anyhow, here I am tempting fate, trying to get in a post before the inevitable happens. And I’m flying without a spell-check net so God only knows what exactly I’m saying.
All of this is to say it’s been a LONG week and I’m glad it is almost over. I’ve spent the time hanging out by the phone like some love sick teenager–sad, but true. I did manage to get out to dinner once but was feeling so poorly I should have gone to bed instead! Tuesday night was probably the brightest spot of the week***–Becca came over for homemade pizza. We giggled like school girls over Mochas until her sweetie whisked her away. This afternoon I’m headed out to see a movie and I’ve managed a few walks into the burrough for coffee–but I will admit it, I much prefer connubial bliss to single life–even if I do sleep better alone. I miss my boys–fiercely. And as lovely as dinner out with friends can be, it’s sad to come home knowing they aren’t there–dinner in with them is always my preference.
Sigh.
They, on the other hand, seem to be having the time of their lives! The house is proving to be a much larger project than can be accomplished in one week–so it appears that IZ will either make another trip up or we will have to work on it in the process of moving. However, they both seem really pleased with our new space and are promising pictures. Which, will have to wait until Sunday since I have no way of viewing them online. As will any further posts since I won’t tempt fate any further.
Have a great weekend.
***No, the brightest part of my week just happened. As I was typing this–Flowers were delivered to me at work. Darling IZ sent me the most amazing bouquet of all my favorite flowers. Lilacs, roses, tulips. Come home soon, sweetie. I MISS YOU.
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Apr 11, 2005 | This Life
Yep, as it turns out, I am all by myself this week. IZ pulled out early Saturday morning with the kid in tow. He and G are spending the week at the new house attempting to get it painted. Or
started, at least. I did not think this was such a great idea as iit’s a long way to drive on your own–not to mention “camp” with an 8 year old while trying to work in the morning and paint in the evening. However, when I pointed to all these reasons for not going IZ promptly quipped, “I go to prepare a place for you.” Heh heh… Imagine using the words of Christ against me. Sheesh.
I have mixed emotions about their being gone. On the one hand I miss them terribly. On the other hand, sleeping on the ground for a week and breathing in latex fumes would spell disaster for me. So, I’m better off just hanging out and attempting to get some work done. To that end, I should go. But do keep me company in the comments this week.
Apr 5, 2005 | This Life
My mama used to ask us, “Were you born in a barn?” every time we left the door open.
“No,” we would sheepishly answer.
“Then close the door, already” she would reply.
Close, already. This has been the plea since last Thursday. We were supposed to close on the 31 of March only to be delayed until 1 April. IZ, being IZ didn’t
want to close on April Fools Day and evidently the universe heard his
prayer because the loan finally funded TODAY. It’s not like there
was anything holding it up, either. Our lender kept telling us,
“Today”. Thursday passed. We called Title and they said the
same thing, “Today”. Friday passed. When Monday came we
thought for sure this was the day– and both the lender and the Title
agreed, TODAY. You see this coming, right? Monday passed.
Finally, TODAY has arrived.
It’s a little anti-climatic. We’ve had several unofficial
“celebrations,” every time spurned on by the assertion that “today was
the day.” Oh well, more champagne for me, I guess. But it
makes you wonder who involved in this process was born in a barn–It
wasn’t me, although my Mama might argue that point with you.
So, here it is. I wish the photo was better. This was taken
as the sun was setting and sadly, the photo on the MLS is no longer
available.
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Apr 4, 2005 | You Can't Make This Stuff Up
I’m not a big fan of bathroom talk on blogs. Certain A list blogs get away with it because they are A list blogs, not because it is particularly funny or worth reading. You’re constipated? SO WHAT. Oh, you’re an A list blogger? OMG, you’re constipated? How sad for you!
However, you will have to suffer my hypocrisy today–most of my readers are SPAM bots so who cares what you think–because today is a new day. A day of liberation. A day that officially marks the end to my inability to pee. Not that I can’t pee and pee freely–I can, thank you very much. But for the last three years I’ve been compelled to share a bathroom with two other people–two
other people who think bathrooms are vacation spots, two other people who are endowed to pee standing up (UNFAIR), two other people besides ME. And you have figured out by now that it’s all about me, right?
Yes, today it is official. Soon, very soon, I will no longer share a bathroom with the boys. Instead there will be a bathroom for each and every one of us, God bless us all. A chicken in each pot, and a pot to pee in each, yada yada yada.
I would post a photo of the new liberation front–but I think suspense is good for you. And consider this payback for the lack of commenting as of late. And because I think the following cartoon from Natalie Dee sums up my reality far better than you can imagine.
