Last night I made brownies, whipping cocoa powder, sugar, eggs at about 9:45 pm. It was one of those nights where I fumbled around for something to do to lift my mood. The brownies were a slightly manic, critical effort. My job, and one client in particular, had gotten the best of me earlier in the day. It was only after I’d hung up the phone that I’d realized I’d endured another bout of verbal abuse. The only cure, I decided on the way home, was watching an entire DVD of Sex in the City (season 4, disc 3) straight through. I crawled into bed as soon as I got home and watched on my ibook. Between the third and fourth episodes I got up to make the brownies. The old stand-by, Carrie and Co., wasn't working--I was still hanging onto the ruthless criticisms I'd endured during the morning conference call. I'd have to move onto the stronger stuff. I hate how the worst insults hang in little word bubbles over your head. Like a bad pop song--I couldn't get her voice out of my head. I came to the conclusion several months ago that I will never please this particular woman, but for some reason I keep trying. In fact, I'm working my ass off attempting to be perfect to avoid her cutting displeasure. Of course this never works and I cry every time she reminds me that I am far from it. So, last night I focused on chocolate--brownies I can do to perfection.
I wish I had a better strategy for dealing with people's shit. Clearly my current plan of simply taking it isn’t working. But, like every time of struggle I know I must be on my way to learning something. Right? Maybe the lesson today is, when life gives you shit you make fudgy brownies.
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Tuesday, June 27, 2006
women's lib
It feels cliche to bitch about being a girl, but sometimes it just fucking sucks. I feel proud to say many of my closest girlfriends are amazing, strong women. They have 401Ks, books on home electrical repairs, and car payments as well as vintage apron collections, candles on the tub rim, and unapologetic crafty hobbies like knitting and canning. We've made a statement (and a lifestyle) out of juxtaposing the stereotypes. We seem to know exactly what kind of women we are until we have to factor in men. I've done it, myself, acted out of politeness and expectations only to cry over my choices on the other side. A marriage or a one-night stand, it's the same. By getting wrapped up in what he and I were supposed to be to each other, I forgot who I was.
Women of my generation are suppose to feel grateful we were born now, after the brigade of liberators has already marched through. Our predecessors felt guilty about abandoning motherhood and homemaking for careers and life-long dating. We feel guilty when we realize we've let them down--that we're still trying to be the women men are looking for. There are songs about being true to ourselves and we've all sung along into the viscous breeze of open car windows. The tunes come back to haunt us when we realize we've catered to expectations of what a good woman is. We put on and put out and hate ourselves for it--after all, we knew better, right?
But today I'm thinking perhaps those moments and those lessons can't be learned by an innocent on-looker. You have to live it. You never really understand how to stand tough until you've been conquered once or twice. It takes some tears, and some uncomfortable lessons, but when you're a woman, I think, you have to be your own liberation.
Women of my generation are suppose to feel grateful we were born now, after the brigade of liberators has already marched through. Our predecessors felt guilty about abandoning motherhood and homemaking for careers and life-long dating. We feel guilty when we realize we've let them down--that we're still trying to be the women men are looking for. There are songs about being true to ourselves and we've all sung along into the viscous breeze of open car windows. The tunes come back to haunt us when we realize we've catered to expectations of what a good woman is. We put on and put out and hate ourselves for it--after all, we knew better, right?
But today I'm thinking perhaps those moments and those lessons can't be learned by an innocent on-looker. You have to live it. You never really understand how to stand tough until you've been conquered once or twice. It takes some tears, and some uncomfortable lessons, but when you're a woman, I think, you have to be your own liberation.
Thursday, June 22, 2006
birds of a feather
"Is it a jay?" he asked looking out my bedroom window. The plump bluebird that'd been living in my holly tree was noisy as usual. The morning was bright already at 6:30 and the jay, if he was a jay, was squawking his typical song.
"I don't know. Some kind of jay, I think," I replied. "Someone told me the name for the noisy ones like that, but I can't remember."
My friend stepped closer to the window, looking hard. The thick, bristling leaves make the holly tree paradise for birds--safe from predators and surrounded by glossy, red berries. At least the jay always seemed happy there to me.
"I think there's two," he said with childlike excitement. He pulled his fiance, one of my oldest friends, to his side. "Yeah, look, there's two. I think they have a nest."
I watched them watching--two dear friendships to me borne out of one. They are great together. I've know her since I was fourteen;I met him about five years ago, just after they started dating. The fact that he would be a friend of mine on his own, without her as the connection, makes me feel even more certain about it. I love them both and this fall I will be in their wedding. I've watched a lot of friends get engaged and married in the past few years. I try hard not to place odds on which couples I think will make it and which won't; that seems mean-spirited and too cold and typical for a divorcee (I am divorced but refuse to be typical in that catagory). But, I've got my secret opinions. I find myself asking could I be in that marriage? A lot of the time the answer is an unequivocal, no.
They say no relationship is perfect. Even the couples you admire are quick with the disclaimers, well, we have our issues--we fight sometimes, too, you know. It's the relationship equivalent of knocking on wood. I don't know what makes some relationships work and others not. My feeling these days is it's all about tendons between two people who love each other--the stuff that isn't easily explained but unmistakable when you feel it. Couples come together and it looks the same--meet, find a tree, make a nest. You have to look closer to see the things that keep them together.
My friend pointed out the window to show his future bride the glimpse of a nest and dull-feathered female jay resting deep in the holly tree branches. “Look,” he said. “He has a wife.”
"I don't know. Some kind of jay, I think," I replied. "Someone told me the name for the noisy ones like that, but I can't remember."
My friend stepped closer to the window, looking hard. The thick, bristling leaves make the holly tree paradise for birds--safe from predators and surrounded by glossy, red berries. At least the jay always seemed happy there to me.
"I think there's two," he said with childlike excitement. He pulled his fiance, one of my oldest friends, to his side. "Yeah, look, there's two. I think they have a nest."
I watched them watching--two dear friendships to me borne out of one. They are great together. I've know her since I was fourteen;I met him about five years ago, just after they started dating. The fact that he would be a friend of mine on his own, without her as the connection, makes me feel even more certain about it. I love them both and this fall I will be in their wedding. I've watched a lot of friends get engaged and married in the past few years. I try hard not to place odds on which couples I think will make it and which won't; that seems mean-spirited and too cold and typical for a divorcee (I am divorced but refuse to be typical in that catagory). But, I've got my secret opinions. I find myself asking could I be in that marriage? A lot of the time the answer is an unequivocal, no.
They say no relationship is perfect. Even the couples you admire are quick with the disclaimers, well, we have our issues--we fight sometimes, too, you know. It's the relationship equivalent of knocking on wood. I don't know what makes some relationships work and others not. My feeling these days is it's all about tendons between two people who love each other--the stuff that isn't easily explained but unmistakable when you feel it. Couples come together and it looks the same--meet, find a tree, make a nest. You have to look closer to see the things that keep them together.
My friend pointed out the window to show his future bride the glimpse of a nest and dull-feathered female jay resting deep in the holly tree branches. “Look,” he said. “He has a wife.”
Wednesday, June 21, 2006
(writing) exercise
It’s hot. Not hot exactly, but the sunlight is baking. It’s the first time the sun’s been out like this in a while and the dog is restless after several days of neglect. His walks have been too short and this run is overdue. He trots along; he knows this route—a gravel path in the slough. It's warm and my shirt, even with its short sleeves, feels too tightly woven. It’s hot and I’m out here alone. I’ve never passed more than half a dozen people the times I’ve been here before. This is our route. Five miles out and back and plenty of space for the dog to wander off the trail and back to me again. He knows the spot where I take his leash off. He slows there and sniffs and waits for me to unlatch his collar. He waits as I fumble with the headphones and leash—they tangle around each other and my fingers. He sniffs and pulls a bit. Then, he’s free. It’s hot. I squint, looking west, watching the dog run. No one’s out there with us—everything is still except the grass along the river. I grab the edges of my white shirt and pull up. I’ve never done this before, at least I honestly can’t remember a time I have. I take my shirt off trying first to slip it over my head with the headphones still on. The collar catches on the chords and everything comes off--headphones with the shirt. The temporary loss of the music feels uncomfortable, exposed. I’ve never going jogging in just a sports bra, but I’ve always wanted to. I’m thin and I have been since I was about 15, but I’ve always had a soft stomach—hidden under t-shirts. My chubby stomach has always kept me connected to my chubby adolescence. I’ve never been able to get rid of it, and I’ve worked at it, believe me. I remember despising it when I was younger—stretching in careful poses when I dared to wear a bikini, turning away from sisters and friends in a dressing room, never lifting my shirt to wipe a sweaty face after a long, summer run. I don’t ever talk about it, though. It bothers me enough that I can’t tell people. I don’t want to hear what they might say back—scoffs and rolled eyes or sit-up suggestions, there’s no good response, really. I’m too sensitive. My shirt’s off; I wrap it up with the leash and headphone chords and start running along the path. Deep breaths make my ribs feel taught and solid against the breeze. My stomach is soft, though; it shakes as I run. The last time I bought pants they were a size 4. My stomach shakes. That annoys me. I don’t know how to think of my own body. It feels good, though—the air, the openness, the exposure. It feels great to do something I’d been so afraid of. I see three bikers ahead and I hold my posture higher. They pass, I don’t care. I wonder what I look like to them; what that perspective is from the outside. Could they tell, as I pulled my arms in closer to my sides, that I'm not comfortable this exposed? What's it like from their view? I remember learning about the Venus statues in my first Anthropology class in college—small clay figures with disproportionately large and oblong breasts and bellies. They were made by early, cave-dwelling women, sculpting from their own perspective. The proportions were all off because they only saw themselves from above. I look down at myself. Do I look different from someone else’s eyes? It must be better than how I see it. That’s how I’m doing this--exposing what I like least about myself. I've decided to hope that other people see me better than I see myself
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
single-girl sonar
I was waiting for the Max downtown last Saturday and I got restless, so I ducked into a shop and bought myself a ring. I didn't see it in the window or anything, I just walked in knowing there'd be something there for me. And I was right--six dollars and perfect. No need to deliberate. I was out of the shop and back at the lightrail stop before the Max arrived, the funky silver ring on my right middle finger looked as if it had been there all along. It makes me happy when I look down at it now--a testiment of spontinaity and kismet. Okay, it's only cheap, silver-plated jewelry, but come on, a whole series of epic novels has been written based on a little band of metal. Humor me.
The ring has concentric circles radiating out like sonar. It fits how I've been feeling these days--tuned into life around me and sending out some waves of my own. Like last night. I went out for beers with a good friend, mostly because I knew his cute co-worker would be there, too. I rode my bike to Mississippi St. and pulled up to the patio of one of my favorite spots. They'd already finished half a pitcher by the time I was locking my Cannondale to the railing. I saw him watching me from across the patio as I crouched and fiddled with the lock. I paid attention to my movements, hoping he was still watching and already interested--take off the helmet but don't brush those dramatic, wispy hairs back; don't use your teeth to rip the velcro on the bike gloves off; and for godssake, don't yank your bra or jeans up...I don't care how much you want to readjust...he's watching. I don't know if he was, but I wasn't risking the wrong signals. He's a sweet guy with steady eyes and a great body. We talked well together, although I've learned that conversations with new people can be deceivingly interesting just because it's all uptapped--Really, you're from Ohio? Oh, you have a labrador? Yeah, I love the bratwurst here, too. Not too tough. That's why those first meeting conversations are much more about the waves--the eye contact between the banal background check. And that's what I've had a lot of recently. I've collected a handful of imaginary suitors this way, none of whom have my phone number or have offically asked for a date, thus their imaginary status. But, there've been waves.
The ring has concentric circles radiating out like sonar. It fits how I've been feeling these days--tuned into life around me and sending out some waves of my own. Like last night. I went out for beers with a good friend, mostly because I knew his cute co-worker would be there, too. I rode my bike to Mississippi St. and pulled up to the patio of one of my favorite spots. They'd already finished half a pitcher by the time I was locking my Cannondale to the railing. I saw him watching me from across the patio as I crouched and fiddled with the lock. I paid attention to my movements, hoping he was still watching and already interested--take off the helmet but don't brush those dramatic, wispy hairs back; don't use your teeth to rip the velcro on the bike gloves off; and for godssake, don't yank your bra or jeans up...I don't care how much you want to readjust...he's watching. I don't know if he was, but I wasn't risking the wrong signals. He's a sweet guy with steady eyes and a great body. We talked well together, although I've learned that conversations with new people can be deceivingly interesting just because it's all uptapped--Really, you're from Ohio? Oh, you have a labrador? Yeah, I love the bratwurst here, too. Not too tough. That's why those first meeting conversations are much more about the waves--the eye contact between the banal background check. And that's what I've had a lot of recently. I've collected a handful of imaginary suitors this way, none of whom have my phone number or have offically asked for a date, thus their imaginary status. But, there've been waves.
Monday, June 19, 2006
vanity and value
I watched Vanity Fair tonight. I’ve never read the book, though now I might. I love films where the opening scene comes into focus once the movie progresses. I look for the full circle and feel satisfied when I see it close. In the opening of this film the young girl was sitting in her father’s studio as he painted. A wealthy patron comes in to buy an oil--a portrait of the girl’s dead mother. Her father offers it for four guineas, same price as all his paintings. The girl stands in protest shouting that the painting is, in fact, ten guineas. Not because that's its worth, but because that amount would be “too much to refuse.” The story unfolds from there and Rebecca Sharp, the heroine, spends the rest of the film discovering and redefining value.
I wonder about how that happens in life. We spend so much energy sizing things up, deciding if what we have is worth the effort we put forth and eyeing options for the moment when we might trade up. We chase satisfaction and puzzle over why we’re never happy. But, there’s something irresistable about growth and accomplishment. I’ve always thought ambition was a great virtue, now I wonder if it isn’t the thing that stands in the way of peacefulness and satisfaction--the truest accomplishments in a human lifetime. (Or at least I guess the Buddhists would say so.) So, is that voice inside me just American-bred rhetoric that I might be great if I only hold fast, work hard, and aspire for the gilded life I secretly know I’m destined for? Afterall, haven’t great men and women admitted that success is always there for anyone to harness, if you’ve got the tenacious grip? I’ve wondered if I had the heart and hands for greatness. Sometimes I have felt it resting there, taunting me with possibility.
A few days ago I had lunch with my ex-husband. He’s an attorney now with his sights set on politics. He could do it. I married him knowing he could; maybe it was one of the main reasons I became his wife. We ate bistro burgers at the power lunch spot downtown. It was my suggestion. I did that throughout our relationship--put him in the environment where greatness might take hold of him. I may be overstating my influence, but I think that’s how he got to law school in the first place. He got through it on his own, for sure, but I know I was a big part of the momentum. Looking back I wonder if I pushed him forward in that you-go-first kind of way because I didn’t know if I could accomplish the same success. Or maybe I wasn’t willing to fail (and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to try to begin with). At the very least, I’d learn from watching him go first. He asked me if I was resentful of that--him in school as I worked to pay bills. If that was the reason we split. I said honestly, no, but now, awake at midnight, I reconsider my reply. Not whether I resented him, but I wonder what was so frigtening about valuing myself? Why did leaving him feel like the only way I could really do that? I guess for whatever reason, what I had with him wasn’t enough.
So much has changed for me since then, but what was frustrating me at lunch was how much hasn’t. How I still feel that uncovered something within me that I can’t quite grab the corner of. I can’t decide which direction to tug, but I’m dying to expose something new. I worry that I’ve already spent too much time deliberting it. Like Becky Sharp, I seem to be born with the notion that one inncorrect step could lead directly to ruin, so I stay motionless. Where is my faith in cycles now?
There’s great danger, I often fear, in trading up. In the bargaining stance, sure footing is never guaranteed. And lately, putting my foot down feels a lot more like tiptoeing. Like a TV ad for a local used car lot--I'm given ‘em away, folks. My deal feels like being a deal.
People say in your twenties you struggle with who you are. Maybe that’s what this is for me. But it feels like something bigger--not simply wondering who I am, but deciding what I’m worth and more than that even, what in life is worthwhile. I have two more years of my twenties to go. I feel completely clueless about the answers to these questions. Ten years doesn’t seem long enough to make such huge determinations. One lifetime doesn’t seem like enough. So I watch someone else’s story on film, wait for the circle to close, glad that someone else is going first.
I wonder about how that happens in life. We spend so much energy sizing things up, deciding if what we have is worth the effort we put forth and eyeing options for the moment when we might trade up. We chase satisfaction and puzzle over why we’re never happy. But, there’s something irresistable about growth and accomplishment. I’ve always thought ambition was a great virtue, now I wonder if it isn’t the thing that stands in the way of peacefulness and satisfaction--the truest accomplishments in a human lifetime. (Or at least I guess the Buddhists would say so.) So, is that voice inside me just American-bred rhetoric that I might be great if I only hold fast, work hard, and aspire for the gilded life I secretly know I’m destined for? Afterall, haven’t great men and women admitted that success is always there for anyone to harness, if you’ve got the tenacious grip? I’ve wondered if I had the heart and hands for greatness. Sometimes I have felt it resting there, taunting me with possibility.
A few days ago I had lunch with my ex-husband. He’s an attorney now with his sights set on politics. He could do it. I married him knowing he could; maybe it was one of the main reasons I became his wife. We ate bistro burgers at the power lunch spot downtown. It was my suggestion. I did that throughout our relationship--put him in the environment where greatness might take hold of him. I may be overstating my influence, but I think that’s how he got to law school in the first place. He got through it on his own, for sure, but I know I was a big part of the momentum. Looking back I wonder if I pushed him forward in that you-go-first kind of way because I didn’t know if I could accomplish the same success. Or maybe I wasn’t willing to fail (and I wasn’t sure I even wanted to try to begin with). At the very least, I’d learn from watching him go first. He asked me if I was resentful of that--him in school as I worked to pay bills. If that was the reason we split. I said honestly, no, but now, awake at midnight, I reconsider my reply. Not whether I resented him, but I wonder what was so frigtening about valuing myself? Why did leaving him feel like the only way I could really do that? I guess for whatever reason, what I had with him wasn’t enough.
So much has changed for me since then, but what was frustrating me at lunch was how much hasn’t. How I still feel that uncovered something within me that I can’t quite grab the corner of. I can’t decide which direction to tug, but I’m dying to expose something new. I worry that I’ve already spent too much time deliberting it. Like Becky Sharp, I seem to be born with the notion that one inncorrect step could lead directly to ruin, so I stay motionless. Where is my faith in cycles now?
There’s great danger, I often fear, in trading up. In the bargaining stance, sure footing is never guaranteed. And lately, putting my foot down feels a lot more like tiptoeing. Like a TV ad for a local used car lot--I'm given ‘em away, folks. My deal feels like being a deal.
People say in your twenties you struggle with who you are. Maybe that’s what this is for me. But it feels like something bigger--not simply wondering who I am, but deciding what I’m worth and more than that even, what in life is worthwhile. I have two more years of my twenties to go. I feel completely clueless about the answers to these questions. Ten years doesn’t seem long enough to make such huge determinations. One lifetime doesn’t seem like enough. So I watch someone else’s story on film, wait for the circle to close, glad that someone else is going first.
Thursday, June 15, 2006
spoiled
So, I found this quiz on another blog and thought it was interesting. Supposedly, if you score 40 or more, you're spoiled. I scored 25. I don't know if I feel spoiled, but I definitely feel fortunate.
I bolded the ones that applied to me:
☐ your own cell phone
☐ a television in your bedroom
☐ an iPod
☐ a photo printer
☐ your own phone line
☐ TiVo or a generic digital video recorder
☐ high-speed internet access (i.e., not dialup)
☐ a surround sound system in bedroom
☐ DVD player in bedroom
☐ at least a hundred DVDs
☐ a childfree bathroom
☐ your own in-house office
☐ a pool
☐ a guest house
☐ a game room
☐ a queen-size bed
☐ a stocked bar
☐ a working dishwasher
☐ an icemaker
☐ a working washer and dryer
☐ more than 20 pairs of shoes
☐ at least ten things from a designer store
☐ expensive sunglasses
☐ framed original art--um, maybe, if my own art counts!
☐ Egyptian cotton sheets or towels
☐ a multi-speed bike
☐ a gym membership
☐ large exercise equipment at home
☐ your own set of golf clubs
☐ a pool table
☐ a tennis court
☐ local access to a lake, large pond, or the sea
☐ your own pair of skis
☐ enough camping gear for a weekend trip in an isolated area
☐ a boat
☐ a jet ski
☐ a neighborhood committee membership
☐ a beach house or a vacation house/cabin
☐ wealthy family members
☐ two or more family cars
☐ a walk-in closet or pantry
☐ a yard--but only in the front
☐ a hammock
☐ a personal trainer
☐ good credit
☐ expensive jewelry
☐ a designer bag that required being on a waiting list to get
☐ at least $100 cash in your possession right now
☐ more than two credit cards bearing your name--um, I believe this makes me stupid, not spoiled
☐ a stock portfolio--for retirement
☐ a passport
☐ a horse
☐ a trust fund (either for you or created by you)
☐ private medical insurance
☐ a college degree, and no outstanding student loans
Do you:
☐ shop for non-needed items for yourself (like clothes, jewelry, electronics) at least once a week--well, what's a "need" exactly?
☐ do your regular grocery shopping at high-end or specialty stores
☐ pay someone else to clean your house, do dishes, or launder your clothes
☐ go on weekend mini-vacations
☐ send dinners back with every flaw
☐ wear perfume or cologne
☐ regularly get your hair styled or nails done in a salon
☐ have a job but don’t need the money OR
☐ stay at home with little financial sacrifice
☐ pay someone else to cook your meals
☐ pay someone else to watch your children or walk your dogs
☐ regularly pay someone else to drive you
☐ expect a gift after you fight with your partner
Are you:
☐ an only child
☐ married/partnered to a wealthy person
☐ baffled/surprised when you don’t get your way
Have you:
☐ been on a cruise
☐ traveled out of the country
☐ met a celebrity*
☐ been to the Caribbean
☐ been to Europe
☐ Been to Hong Kong
☐ been to Hawaii
☐ been to New York
☐ eaten at the space needle in Seattle
☐ been to the Mall of America
☐ been on the Eiffel tower in Paris
☐ been on the Statue of Liberty in New York
☐ moved more than three times because you wanted to
☐ dined with local political figures
☐ been to both the Atlantic coast and the Pacific coast
Did you:
☐ go to another country for your honeymoon
☐ hire a professional photographer for your wedding or party
☐ take riding or swimming lessons as a child
☐ attend private school
☐ have a Sweet 16 birthday party thrown for you
I bolded the ones that applied to me:
☐ your own cell phone
☐ a television in your bedroom
☐ an iPod
☐ a photo printer
☐ your own phone line
☐ TiVo or a generic digital video recorder
☐ high-speed internet access (i.e., not dialup)
☐ a surround sound system in bedroom
☐ DVD player in bedroom
☐ at least a hundred DVDs
☐ a childfree bathroom
☐ your own in-house office
☐ a pool
☐ a guest house
☐ a game room
☐ a queen-size bed
☐ a stocked bar
☐ a working dishwasher
☐ an icemaker
☐ a working washer and dryer
☐ more than 20 pairs of shoes
☐ at least ten things from a designer store
☐ expensive sunglasses
☐ framed original art--um, maybe, if my own art counts!
☐ Egyptian cotton sheets or towels
☐ a multi-speed bike
☐ a gym membership
☐ large exercise equipment at home
☐ your own set of golf clubs
☐ a pool table
☐ a tennis court
☐ local access to a lake, large pond, or the sea
☐ your own pair of skis
☐ enough camping gear for a weekend trip in an isolated area
☐ a boat
☐ a jet ski
☐ a neighborhood committee membership
☐ a beach house or a vacation house/cabin
☐ wealthy family members
☐ two or more family cars
☐ a walk-in closet or pantry
☐ a yard--but only in the front
☐ a hammock
☐ a personal trainer
☐ good credit
☐ expensive jewelry
☐ a designer bag that required being on a waiting list to get
☐ at least $100 cash in your possession right now
☐ more than two credit cards bearing your name--um, I believe this makes me stupid, not spoiled
☐ a stock portfolio--for retirement
☐ a passport
☐ a horse
☐ a trust fund (either for you or created by you)
☐ private medical insurance
☐ a college degree, and no outstanding student loans
Do you:
☐ shop for non-needed items for yourself (like clothes, jewelry, electronics) at least once a week--well, what's a "need" exactly?
☐ do your regular grocery shopping at high-end or specialty stores
☐ pay someone else to clean your house, do dishes, or launder your clothes
☐ go on weekend mini-vacations
☐ send dinners back with every flaw
☐ wear perfume or cologne
☐ regularly get your hair styled or nails done in a salon
☐ have a job but don’t need the money OR
☐ stay at home with little financial sacrifice
☐ pay someone else to cook your meals
☐ pay someone else to watch your children or walk your dogs
☐ regularly pay someone else to drive you
☐ expect a gift after you fight with your partner
Are you:
☐ an only child
☐ married/partnered to a wealthy person
☐ baffled/surprised when you don’t get your way
Have you:
☐ been on a cruise
☐ traveled out of the country
☐ met a celebrity*
☐ been to the Caribbean
☐ been to Europe
☐ Been to Hong Kong
☐ been to Hawaii
☐ been to New York
☐ eaten at the space needle in Seattle
☐ been to the Mall of America
☐ been on the Eiffel tower in Paris
☐ been on the Statue of Liberty in New York
☐ moved more than three times because you wanted to
☐ dined with local political figures
☐ been to both the Atlantic coast and the Pacific coast
Did you:
☐ go to another country for your honeymoon
☐ hire a professional photographer for your wedding or party
☐ take riding or swimming lessons as a child
☐ attend private school
☐ have a Sweet 16 birthday party thrown for you
Tuesday, June 13, 2006
fire hazard
About a week ago a truck exploded behind my house. Metallic clanging, like someone dragging a barrel across a railroad track, and then voices interrupted my dreams. There was a loud pop and a roar, and everything started moving. I ran a couple loops through my small house, using up the adrenalin that overpowered logical thinking. I didn't plan for this. The kitchen windows, glowing orange, kept pulling my eyes back as if the flames wouldn't encroach if I kept watching. I managed to think of the file cabinet and scrambled for files that, I hoped, had the important papers--title, insurance, phone and policy numbers I was sure I'd need when my house burnt to the ground. I remembered my cell phone, leashed my dog and was out the front door, in pajamas, legal file folder under my arm. I checked my phone when the fire truck arrived--3:27 a.m. I watched from across the street. When the fire was out, I cried. But, everything, as I reported to friends and family the next day, was fine.
A week later the burnt shell of the Chevy is still there, about 30 inches from my house and charred. Leaves over 15 feet high on trees nearby are blackened. It was so close.
When I bought my house last year I had a thorough inspection. The inspector was a thin man with a mustache that muffled his words. I knew him for less than 3 hours, but I trusted him. After all, he put on a full plastic suit and slithered into my crawlspace to get a closer look at some suspicious mold. (I wouldn't do that for $425!) And he talked to me like a father would. We walked through and around the house as he pointed out all the things I'd need to fix. His words became the dialog in two months worth of anxiety-filled dreams after I'd moved in. I'd dream there was a huge hole in the side of the house, then I'd turn and hear him talking calmly and softly through that 'stashe. "Raise the gutters, improve the basement ventilation, clean the air ducts"--it felt like warning shots. Judging by my guilty conscience you'd think deferred maintenance is a mortal sin.
I went out this morning to look at the spot where the fire had been. One of his first remarks rang in my head: "Trim back those hedges. There should be a space--they shouldn't touch the house. That's a fire hazard." The hedges have grown 10 months since then, untrimmed. I didn't totally get it back then, but it's blatant now. The truck was parked on the other side of those hedges. That space could have been the difference if the fire had spread. It would have been my fault. After all, I'd been warned.
Now I feel shaken enough to have renewed vigilance. As always, my experiences and my thoughts about life are overlapping and I see a new lesson emerging. Where once I thought coping with life's struggles was about erecting boundaries and holding solid, I wonder now if the difference is really in maintaining that cushion of empty space--not to close yourself off to what might come your way, but to insulate yourself with open, yet protective, air. And maybe what makes a person a whole "self" is as much what you are as it is the space that defines and holds you seperate from everything else. It certainly give new meaning to the cliche of
"needing space." But, lately things feel overgrown and weedy, vulnerable to flames. And it all feels like my fault. I've deferred maintenance because I can't decide if I'm more fearful of the fire hazard or the emptiness.
A week later the burnt shell of the Chevy is still there, about 30 inches from my house and charred. Leaves over 15 feet high on trees nearby are blackened. It was so close.
When I bought my house last year I had a thorough inspection. The inspector was a thin man with a mustache that muffled his words. I knew him for less than 3 hours, but I trusted him. After all, he put on a full plastic suit and slithered into my crawlspace to get a closer look at some suspicious mold. (I wouldn't do that for $425!) And he talked to me like a father would. We walked through and around the house as he pointed out all the things I'd need to fix. His words became the dialog in two months worth of anxiety-filled dreams after I'd moved in. I'd dream there was a huge hole in the side of the house, then I'd turn and hear him talking calmly and softly through that 'stashe. "Raise the gutters, improve the basement ventilation, clean the air ducts"--it felt like warning shots. Judging by my guilty conscience you'd think deferred maintenance is a mortal sin.
I went out this morning to look at the spot where the fire had been. One of his first remarks rang in my head: "Trim back those hedges. There should be a space--they shouldn't touch the house. That's a fire hazard." The hedges have grown 10 months since then, untrimmed. I didn't totally get it back then, but it's blatant now. The truck was parked on the other side of those hedges. That space could have been the difference if the fire had spread. It would have been my fault. After all, I'd been warned.
Now I feel shaken enough to have renewed vigilance. As always, my experiences and my thoughts about life are overlapping and I see a new lesson emerging. Where once I thought coping with life's struggles was about erecting boundaries and holding solid, I wonder now if the difference is really in maintaining that cushion of empty space--not to close yourself off to what might come your way, but to insulate yourself with open, yet protective, air. And maybe what makes a person a whole "self" is as much what you are as it is the space that defines and holds you seperate from everything else. It certainly give new meaning to the cliche of
"needing space." But, lately things feel overgrown and weedy, vulnerable to flames. And it all feels like my fault. I've deferred maintenance because I can't decide if I'm more fearful of the fire hazard or the emptiness.
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