Chariots of Fur

In honor of Sesame Street's 40th birthday, I spent an absurd amount of time last night looking for my favorite Sesame Street clips. Here's one from the Monsterpiece Theater series:



Alistair Cookie is too perfect.

I admit to running like Grover -minimum speed, maximum melodrama.

And we get by with a little help from our friends. Morality tales from Sesame Street -a part of my childhood and my children's.

ET Phone Home

I make no claims that my life is more complicated than other grownups in the modern world. It's probably not even all that much more complicated than some children's lives in this modern world. Nonetheless, it's more complicated than I'm used to, so there's a sense of frantic-ness as I try to get everything done. (Sorry for pointing out the obvious. You've probably noticed my mild hysteria on this point.)

So, the question becomes -in part- how to be the most productive in the time I have available. There are other fruitful questions. I do know that. Are there things that can be cut from the schedule? How might I live gracefully, given the constraints of time and money that we all face? How can I live a balanced life? But today, I want to talk about being productive. If I'm more efficient with my task-time, then some pieces of those other questions answer themselves.

So, to make the question even more precise, how do you use your phone as a productivity tool? I have this fancy phone, and I do use it. But I have a feeling that I'm under-using it just a bit. As with everything else, it needs to earn its keep. What can it do for me?

I'm figuring out how to do mobile blogging. That's going to be rocky for a bit. I've figured out how to upload photos from my phone directly to facebook -which is hardly a productivity tool, but at least I don't waste time looking for the camera cord quite so often. I have my grocery, and hardware store, and Target lists stored in there. I do have the navigation tool, which I recommend. The stand-along GPS would be cheaper, but since I want to get back into long-distance cycling and I would take my phone with me anyway on those trips, the phone navigation tool is useful.

My brother uses it to calculate (or store... or view.... or something) his blood pressure records. My techno-whiz sister doesn't use it for an mp3 player, so I don't either. What do you know that I should know?

I'm This Kind of Athlete

Ages ago, my long-suffering life coach suggested that my weight and my fitness level would improve when I truly loved myself. Yeah, well, I thought. If I wait for that to happen, I'll die a fat, miserable, unhealthy old wreck of a human. Must.... muscle...through.

Clearly, that didn't happen. Perhaps too many other things in my life were requiring my muscle. Perhaps in subtle and un-subtle ways I had been told I wasn't good enough -and to own my complicity in that game, I am quite willing to go there with the slightest suggestion that it might be true. No one needs to work very hard to convince me of my unworthiness.

In spite of what I took to be my self-evident unworthiness, I set myself the gentle tasks of getting back to yoga and rock climbing in this fall semester. All I had to do was climb once a week and do yoga twice a week -and not beat myself up for not doing more. These are fitness (and wellness) activities that I love. They're not "working out," somehow. They aren't play, exactly, and sometimes these activities can be very hard indeed. But nor are they tedious, and for some reason I can get past the thought that people are looking at me as though I don't deserve to be there.

The visible results have not been stellar. True is true, and I still look like a fat person. And yet... my body is responding. I've talked before about how my hands are waking up, and no longer need to be iced after climbing. I can knit for hours -assuming I had hours in the schedule, which almost never happens. My flexibility isn't what it used to be, but it's way better than it was three months ago. And it's teaching me something important to have to work for it. Even my knees are better. They are still fragile and cause me tears. Yet, the other day, I forgot that I "couldn't" get into hero's pose and just did it. Of course, getting out of the posture made me cry, literally. But forgetting that there is an impairment is a huge change in self-concept.

So where do I go from here?

I don't want to climb Mt. Everest. It's probably cold, and I would have to carry my own luggage. (Or get a sherpa to do it, which is equally repugnant to me.) I don't want to be a body builder. In fact, I would prefer not to do strength training at all, but I don't think I'll get that wish. I don't want to play any sport that involves a ball. Ever. Ice climbing is a big fat "no".

"Maybes" include running. I've tried before, and failed, but something in me won't let it go. Kayaking is a maybe. There is much there that makes me feel inadequate, but I think it can be overcome.

Definites are long- and short-distance cycling, climbing, and yoga. I would love to be able to participate in a three-day walk for a good cause. Swimming is a yes, because scuba and snorkeling are definitely on my "someday" list.

I have no interest in being competitive or best or strongest or fastest. Feh. I'm not that kind of athlete. But now that I've watched my body begin to awaken from its long sleep, I know what kind of athlete I am.

I can do amazing things, on my terms. I can make progress as slowly as I want to, or not at all if I don't want to. I'm 51 years old and I climb rocks and bike and swim and do yoga. Today I'm going to the pool, wearing my appallingly-sized Speedo. It'll be psychologically hard, but I deserve to be there just as much as anyone else. Besides, once I'm in the water, no one can really see how big I am.

I'm that kind of athlete -the kind with low standards and big dreams.

Oh my lands. I am trying to blog from my phone. Unsupervised. This is unlikely to work, but once I master it, I hope it helps me claim lost bits of time.

Sit Down and Pay Attention

Yesterday, I didn't go to work. In the morning, I just felt tired. Not like "too bad you got a bad night's sleep" tired. It was more like "I can't move" tired. It felt different and bad. I slept the whole day. I worked from home for a little bit, feeling very virtuous -and then that was it. Bed. I think all I did was take out the trash and answer a few e-mails.

Possibly this was a message from the universe.

Then later that day, I heard that my brother had had a cardiac scare. He's fine. In the way of 40-something year old men, he is going to have to monitor his blood pressure and stress, and get some exercise even though, I fully agree, there is no time.

Possibly this was a message from the universe.

Early this morning, still sick (and now diagnosed with the flu), I heard that a friend has cancer. It's a "good" kind of cancer -highly treatable, and very slow growing. But it's scary for her, scary for her friends, and re-arranges life's priorities in the way that these worrisome diagnoses do.

Possibly this was a message from the universe. I think I have been told to sit down and pay attention.

Eliminate activities that serve neither your goals nor other people.

Add exercise.

Add meditation and reflection.

And do these things, not because I'm scared, or the universe is threatening me. Rather, I think the universe is telling me that I have important work to do, and that I need to be here to do it. To be here -to be fully present- in the things I am doing, that's my task. To do that, I have to be healthy.

So, I'm looking again at my calendar. How can the time budget be tweaked so that the important things are tended??

Dream Interpretation

Anyone up for figuring this out?

This morning, as I struggled to come to the surface from sleep, I realized that I was having an automotive dream -sort of. I know possibly less about cars than I do about fixing bathrooms (see below). Why dream about it??

And... Dave was driving. This is wrong on so many levels. The man is a terrible driver. If anyone else with a driver's license is in the car, that person should be driving. It's that simple. Moreover, I was in the back seat. Ummm.... symbolism, ya'll???? And, we were apparently on the way to the car hospital because I had poured the wrong fluid into the wrong receptacle. Oil in the radiator, or some such thing. The fluid and receptacle were not identified in the dream, because even my subconscious doesn't know them.

Does this mean:
1) I'm not meant to be traveling in the same direction as Dave? (Really? What was my first clue?)
2) I'm getting sick and it's messing with my dreams?
3) I should learn more about cars, because mine is getting ready to blow up?
4) I just need more sleep?

Call the Men in White Coats...

... and just tell them to wait outside my house. It shouldn't be long now before their services are required.

Everyone knows about NaNoWriMo, right? It's National Novel Writing Month, and the idea is to write a novel in November. There is no obligation to write a good novel in that time. Rather, just sit down -you, the computer, and your thoughts- every single day in November and get a novel-length bit of prose. You say you want to be a writer? This is what it takes. Show up and write.

Now, I have no interest in writing a novel. I am quite possibly the least creative person on the planet. There are, however, things I want to write -things that have gotten no attention from me at all. So, really, in what sense do I want to write them, if I never sit down to, you know, write them? Fair question.

Thing the second - I have this list of 101 goals in 1001 days. I started the list in July, and I have made astounding strides on it -by my standards. Yet, some of the goals are goals I've only spoken quietly, lest the gods hear and laugh so loud I can hear them from Olympus. Those are, by and large, the ones I am afraid of. What if I'm not good enough? Smart enough? Organized enough? Writing is just such a goal. I keep track of the goals I've achieved by changing the typeface on my little list to bold; there is very little bold-ing in the writing section of my goals list.

And thing C -only apparently unrelated to the other two things: My friend Jill and her friends at other blogs have crafted a variation on a theme - NoNaShoStoWriMo. The Not-national Short Story Writing Month.

I think possibly the gods aren't laughing. I think they're saying, "Would you get a bloody clue, already??? Shut up and write."

"Yes," she said, quietly and humbly and with quite a bit of trepidation. I will write. By the end of November, I will have one knitting essay completed. If other people can get a novel, surely I can get an essay.

In addition to working what amounts to three jobs, taking care of classes, taking care of my house, working out, and loving my children to death (which happens in the background of all activities, so it sort of doesn't count as a time-consumer), I will write for a few minutes every single day. One essay. One stinkin' essay. I can do that.

The men in white coats just asked for a cup of tea and have set up camp on my front porch. Should I be worried?

Pulling the Goalie

It's a hockey thing. There's no law that says you have to have a player defending the net. You can pull the goalie, and play with an extra skater. It's a high risk maneuver, but when there's not a lot of time left it might pay off.

And it's pretty much my only option. I have a crapload of work to do, school is out of control, my house looks like a tornado went through, there's a conference this weekend, and on the same day a dear family friend is getting married. I'll be changing clothes in the bathroom of the conference, and breaking a few speed limits to get to the wedding.

So... yeah... we're pulling the goalie.

Just for fun

I gave the child of my brother and his wife my camera. The poor little dear was bored, and Auntie Andrea and Cousin Victoria decided to take this person on a photographic adventure. Guess the gender of this child. I'll give you two guesses, but you're only going to need one.




























I don't know what to tell you. There are literally dozens of these photos. Lug nuts. Hood ornaments. Dirty tires. Wheels, wheels, and more wheels. He didn't get it from me, that's for sure.




Meet the photographer-artist -my esteemed nephew Carter Lee Buford. You knew him when -just remember that.

Home Rescue

I do love this old barn of a house. I also worry that it is too much for me to manage. And I daily confront evidence that Dave had checked out long before I knew it. Everywhere, there are unfixed and unfinished things he just ignored; there are still other things fixed in a completely uncharacteristic (or so I would have thought) half-assed way. And now she who can knit anything but is not entirely clear on which is the business end of a hammer gets to tackle some of this stuff.

I'm thinking this view of the trim in my bathroom is a problem. That's mildew or mold or some other black ooze of death. My friend Terri (who helped me clean my gardens last year) apparently thought so too, because she showed up with tools and expertise and patience. She gently pointed out that this was probably not great news, either.


Four trips to Menard's later, we had, well, this. It's a bit of a mess, but we're calling it progress. Because it IS progress. The tub is re-caulked and the drywall is patched. My tasks, as I understand them, are to get some replacement trim, sand down the drywall mud a smidge, get some paint, possibly paint the trim, and get a new exhaust fan. We didn't talk about this, but a new shower-organizer-thingie and a new ceiling light would be good too. If I go back to Menard's today will the entire staff suddenly and mysteriously be on break?

But here's the thing. When you add this weekend to the weekend when my sister helped me to take down the shower doors (and why can't I find that blog post?), the bathroom hardly looks like it used to. With help, I'm making my mark.

All right, all right, all right....

I'm still alive and still floundering around trying to make a life. It has been two years -almost exactly- since I drove into the sunrise. OK, technically, I drove west as I left my marriage, but that's a lousy metaphor. I drove into a dawning new day, thanks to family and friends.

I think I will always have to acknowledge that day -perhaps someday with some gratitude that I found the courage (or desperation) to actually do it. But today is not that day. Yet, on the other hand, it is time and past time to change that song.

I stopped blogging, though, because I didn't yet know what the next song might be. I still don't, quite. But weirdly, I think THAT might be the song -making a new life in mid-life. Acknowledging -and humbled by- the fact that I have friends and family struggling with HUGE issues, I get to think about .... what do I want? How hard am I willing to work for it? Is this house too much for me to manage? Will I ever be in a relationship (THAT kind of relationship) again? Do I want to?

And those big questions have a thousand attendant little questions that support them? How do I schedule my time to make those things happen? What kind of environment supports the life I'm trying to build? For crying out loud, should I get pink sheets or white? You KNOW I can obsess about anything.

So that's the new plan.... thinking about life at mid-life. A new life. The one I get to make -not all by myself. In concert with a small group of thoughtful, SMART, LOVING citizens. Maybe there's something that other people might learn from watching the process. If not... I'll obsess quietly, over here in the corner, where I won't bother anyone.

While I Was Away...

Sigh....

I'm just crazy-busy. Over the top, now-you've-crossed-the-line insane busy. And in part it's because things are going so well.

But there are things that the "small group" could really think about and places where we could make a difference. But of course, I overslept this morning -because I stayed up too late last night- and now I have to run.

Here's question 1. I was chatting with a friend yesterday. (not chat, really. We have important conversations.) And I "confessed" that I had done one of those 101 goals in 1001 days lists. I am enjoying watching the goals get checked off. And wondering why whole sections have seen no movement. Are they, perhaps, not really goals? Or are they gestating somewhere in the back of my psyche, and their time will come?

And, as this friend points out, wondering if making the list public is just another way of inviting the universe to mess with you. Do you speak your goals out loud, to make them more real? Or do you hold them close to your heart and breathe gently on them until they are big and strong?

Is this all there is????

I moved out of my parents' home when I was 18 to go to college. I did go home for a few summers after that, but really, after that point I haven't lived "at home". I just did some disturbing arithmetic centered around that little factoid.

It's been 32 years since that date -almost exactly, since my leaving home would have been tied to the start of the academic year. That's 11,680 days. Here's the thing. There are 8760 hours in a year -a few more, actually. It might be 8766, because of the leap year thing. But really, let's think of the work-week type hours. That's 2000 hours.

If I've done even one hour of housework every one of those 11,680 days -and between making your bed, loading the dishwasher, unloading the dishwasher, fixing and cleaning up from a meal, wiping out the bathroom sink, and sweeping a floor somewhere- you've probably got an hour in on days when you think you've done nothing. So, VERY conservatively, I've done 11,680 hours of housework in that time. That's 6 years of housework, if doing housework were my full-time job.

Shouldn't I have something to show for it???? I need a house elf.

The "Taking Care Of" Business

I've always been a bit of a nurturer. My parenting style was pretty clearly hierarchical. "I'm the mommy; you are the babies." I believe that sentence may have fallen out of my mouth more than once ;) But also there was deep, crazy go-to-the-wall care for the little beasties sweeties. But they don't need day-to-day nurturing any more.

I took care of homeless people. And students. And a husband. Then I had to be the one taken care of. Gradually, I walked out of Crazytown, and could care about the world around me. But still, I didn't think I wanted anyone or anything to need me. I didn't want to care for anything that could leave me ever again -ever, I tell you.

Remember? I even said that I thought my garden was probably taunting me with my inability to nurture things -even nonsentient things.

And then, there were animals. I never even wanted pets. I'm allergic to animals, for heaven's sake -and my stuffy, drippy nose (how can it be BOTH??) attests to that. Silly little Claddagh has a cold, and had to go to the vet yesterday. He was so upset about the car ride, he had a little accident. Sigh. And now he's on three medications that he HATES to get. And he was mad, MAD, MAD at me yesterday, for allowing these injustices to be perpetrated upon him. Seriously...the look he was giving me clearly said, "And I trusted you....."

But now this poor vulnerable little kitten doesn't feel good and is depending on me to fix it. Apparently I can nurture again. I'm back in the "taking care of" business.

Darn cat! ;)

We Need a Little Christmas...

....right this very minute..... need a little Christmas NOW!!!

(Auntie Mame. You got that, right?)

Here's the thing. Saturday, at knitting, people were planning their Christmas knitting. And of course, it's not too early for that, but I choked. I'm pretty much ready to start thinking about planning to research the possibility of shopping the "back to school" sales ;) (I don't want to over-commit, there!) Christmas is out of the question.

Or I thought it was. On the way to rock climbing this morning, the girl-child and I were chatting. If we're going to invite ourselves to someone's house for Christmas, it's actually not too early to start plotting planning. Yet, as so often happens in my life, she encouraged me to step up a little. It's time, apparently, to host my own Christmas.

I'm petrified. I'm excited.

Christmas 1 - I fled, plain and simple. I went to Montgomery and stayed with my brother and his family and was pretty much a fixture that people worked around.

Christmas 2 -I traveled. That's different. I went to a sister's house. I also had a tree and decorations in my own house -the beginnings of pulling it together on the holiday front.

But this year, apparently, I'm staying put and doing Christmas here. I would love to invite the sibs here, but the no-furniture thing will not be entirely rectified by then. But I've claimed a future Christmas for that.

I'm sad. I'm thrilled. Sheesh.

Take Me Out to the Ball Game

I don't pretend to understand baseball, so really the game was an anthropological experience for me. How, for example, can it be true that this many people don't have anything else to do on a Friday afternoon?

Batting practice was mildly interesting, but mostly I was reading grant narratives. (One great, one will be great, and one... well, let's draw a merciful veil. The PI doesn't really want to do that one, is what I think.) Minor amounts of mustard on the pages will have to be explained, but I can do that. .









Then the army precision parachuting team arrived. It was hard to get pictures, but pretty astonishing. I'll climb rocks, but my hat is off to anyone who will, short of his children's lives being in immediate jeopardy, jump out of a moving airplane.

Then, the game started and the Cubbies got to work. By the end of the second inning, they had scored 14 runs. This, I am told, is unusual.













Good friends. Good fun. Warm beer and Chicago hotdogs. There are certainly worse ways to spend a day!

Write of Passage

The last 22 months have been astounding in some ways. I've come back from being a broken, bleeding wreck (OK, my friends held my hands and walked me away from that crazy place) and have made JILLIONS of amazing changes. Can I say it, who ought not? I'm proud of myself.

I own a house (well... you know.... I have a mortgage).
I have a fun job that most of the time I love.



I have a kitty purring on my feet right this minute. There's a sweet little puppy.....

There's more. of course. Traveling and coping and having parties and my academic efforts and.....

But, on some level, these are external changes. It has been pointed out to me that sometimes we change the external to change the internal. Or as a precursor to changing the internal -sort of a signal to our subconscious that we mean business.

So, do I mean business? Is this trajectory of change and moving forward going to continue? Looking around for an answer, here..... No hands raised in the class???? Well, shoot. I guess we'll figure out the answer together.

I know that this feels hard, too. Not harder than the other work. I don't think ANYTHING can feel more difficult than getting up and getting dressed in those early days. But it feels like it's going to be the work that makes the external stuff real. And I know that I have to keep writing in order to figure it out.

So, here we go. Chapter 2.

Glamping

I have a mixed history with camping. We did it a bit when the kids were little, and I liked it well enough. But camping is a BOATLOAD of work. I would have been fine if we'd stayed at the Ramada Inn and visited the forest, but it was not to be.

But weirdly -and no one was more surprised than I was- last summer I found myself wanting to go camping. I bought a tent that I could put up by myself, a sleeping bag that would keep me warm, a light, and a cooler. I wanted to camp on the solstice, and I did.

This year my schedule has been a little, well, insane is the only word for it. But the old urge to sleep outside has hit again. And the need to do it my way persists. (Seriously, I love this part of being single. I don't have to explain it... defend it... argue for it... or submit gracefully. Camping can be exactly as I want it.

And it's going to be glamping. (I didn't make up this term, but honest to Pete I can't remember where I saw it. A thousand apologies.) Okay, it won't be quite this elegant. I'm not a glamour girl, by any stretch of the imagination. But I'm going to practice early morning yoga outside. I'm going to drink champagne mixed with my orange juice. I am NOT going to eat a hot dog. I am going to bring the green bike of wonderment, and ride around for as long as I want to.

What else would make it perfect? Irish coffee at night around the campfire? Some time writing, while sitting at the picnic table? Walks with my pretty pink camera, taking pictures of whatever pleases me?

There's precisely one weekend available before Labor Day -and I suppose it is now spoken for. I'll be glamping.

Go See Yogalila

It's here: yogalila.

It's a team blog, with some dear yoga friends -friends who are smart and funny and insightful and drop-dead stunning in their abilties to practice and reflect about yoga. I've moved my posts about yoga over there, and I just put one up.

This month we're thinking about yoga and fear. But -being us- we also post whatever comes to mind at the moment. So you'll find workshop summaries, thoughts about the sutras, rants about clueless people at yoga class.... whatever.

Come play with us.

A Birthday Without Heartache

That's my mom. Some ASTOUNDING number of years ago today, I made her into a mom. (I wonder if I did her a favor?!) Thanks, Mom, for having a birthing day!

Last year, my sisters were here, and we had a party for friends and family. As it happens, it was the first big backyard party of what's turned out to be a series of backyard parties. Who knew? Last year, too, Dave returned to town on more-or-less this date. We literally have not seen each other in a year. Once I saw him from far away on his bike. That's it. Who's hiding from whom, here? This town is awfully small (and campus is smaller yet) for us not to have run into each other. (And seriously... do you know anyone else who got stood up for her own divorce? I didn't even see him then!) It's been another year of that strangeness-and I know I can live through it.

I'm making a life. It's bumpy and new and full of mistakes -but it's also shiny and new and full of wonder. I'm glad to have made it another year. I wonder what next year holds? Thank you for all the moral support and the kindness and the strength and the coffee and the hugs and the being-there. You're part of the giftedness of my life, and I thank my lucky stars for you every day.

Mr. Watson, come here. I need you.

Can I find a metaphor that helps me understand technology's role in my life? I'm not sure that I can. It's my sister's area of expertise, and she can be quite eloquent about it. Me? I just know what I know, and mostly wait for someone to mention new possibilities to me.


There are conflicting thoughts bouncing around in my head. First is the truth that people eventually adopt their last technology -sometimes intentionally. I remember my father-in-law (He was my father-in-law at that point, may he rest in peace) saying that he just wasn't going to bother to upgrade to DVDs. He fancied himself an early adopter of technology, but he just wasn't adopting another one. It was totally his call, and inconvenienced no one. But I've also seen quite young (relatively speaking) people do this. What happens if you quit adopting new technology and you're only 40-ish? Such a person becomes less employable on some level, less connected to other people, and has to work harder to get mundane tasks such as banking done. The world gets sort of ossified into a previous state, and I don't want that.


Or, does that person preserve a kinder, gentler, more old-fashioned and sweet style of interaction? And incur fewer risks to her personal information, to boot? Both can be true, of course, but which is better?


I'm getting an iPhone in a few days. I've figured out how to make inexpensive international phone calls on my cell phone. I no longer have a land-line. (What a weird idea -a house phone. Why would my house get phone calls?) I pay all my bills on-line. I order my clothes (and would order my groceries, if I could) on-line. I'm on twitter and facebook and academia.edu and flickr. I watch movies and television programs on-line (legally, thank you very much) and download my music from iTunes. Clearly I blog. I'm at the point where I can hardly manage my multitudinous on-line accounts, and am trying to coordinate them through chi.mp.


And yet, I still use a paper planner. I've tried the electronic ones, assuming that they would work for me, but I've had no luck. I make hand-knit clothes, which surely isn't the most up-to-date technology for getting that done. I ride a bicycle, when obviously a car would be faster.


I thought at first the distinction was "appropriate technology." Why zoom when a stroll is sufficient to the task? Why muscle through a task when grace and finesse will work as well? Why wait until the last minute so that speed becomes essential? (If I figure out that last one, my life will be significanty improved.) And then I thought perhaps the distinction was artistry. I write in a paper journal with a nice pen because the process pleases me; the outcome is no different. My thoughts are no nearer to brilliant because I wrote with a fancy pen. But the design of the iPhone and the iPod is a kind of artistry -one I can appreciate but not imitate.


Maybe it's just that new technology can be fun. That's what gets it in the door. If it doesn't remain useful, it falls by the wayside -replaced with the next fun and potentially useful thing. So what's the next fun thing? What am I missing?

No Rush

Nature doesn't hurry, yet everything is accomplished.
-Lao Tzu


101 Goals in 1001 Days

1) get teeth fixed
2) get weight back down to where it was in college -and yes, I know that number
3) keep wardrobe updated and professional (Victoria-approved, is what that means)
4) ride three centuries
5) get back to a daily yoga practice
6) find a yoga teacher; drive to a class if necessary
7) swim
8) walk and strength train at the gym
9) become a 5.10 climber -this is insanely ambitious
10) participate in the Run for Congo Women a year from now
11) really drink enough water
12) publish
13) present
14)attend 3 conferences
15) identify academic mentors
16) win the Nolan Prize
17) research what's already out there in terms of Social Justice Institutes; make a plan
18) think of yourself as an emerging scholar of global homelessness and refugees; step into that life
19) have 5 rooms in the house "done": new office, family room, dining room, living room, my bedroom
20) new garage -2010
21) central air and new furnace -2012
22) get a patio/deck organized -2011
23) upstairs bathroom repaired -2009
24) house painted -or at least be ready to tackle that as the next big project
25) maintain a clean house
26) maintain a tidy house
27) maintain an organized home
28) maintain a welcoming home
29) develop and maintain the gardens in a way that suits you
30) establish graceful rituals to your days and weeks
31) outdoor outlets installed
32) become a non-dogmatic foodie ;)
33) have a decent wine cellar and liquor cabinet
34) order house numbers
35) get new dishes
36) gradually install new windows for energy efficiency
37) see the ocean once a year
38) go camping once a year
39) stay at Starved Rock for a weekend in the lodge
40) go to Ireland
41) knit for presents
42) knit for me
43) knit for the house
44) write all the essays for the knitting book
45) develop all the patterns for the knitting book
46) publish the knitting book
47) join and participate in a writing group
48) develop your collection of pink impression glass -until you have enough to serve a whole dinner party
49) sewing for the house!
50) crafty-stuff? (Is this really a goal?)
51) See mom at least once a year
52) host Christmas at least once -I think I'm claiming 2011
53) cook for friends once a month
54) acknowledge birthdays
55) take care of (dear friend) as needed
56) make new friends
57) continue with the bonfire parties in the summer
58) host a Christmas Open House
59) spend meaningful time with the kids
60) hang out with out-of-town friends more regularly
61) participate in sib trips
62) visit one sib a year for a non-sib trip
63) figure out an investment plan -call smart sister and have her figure out an investment plan, is what that means
64) keep all consumer debt paid off
65) take a "reading week" once a year -to evaluate, to dream
66) get name change all the way completed
67) renew passport
68) get employment records updated
69) take care of physical health
70) make an appointment with a tax preparer
71) get a new car
72) start composting again
73) figure out a better way to deal with the recycling
74) use re-usable grocery bags
75) get fair trade coffee delivery
76) get a rain barrel
77) be sure all light bulbs are CFLs
78) on the first of every month, haul donation stuff to the Goodwill
79) calculate your carbon footprint; figure out how to reduce it
80) unplug the television
81) turn off the computer at night -get a power strip and a timer and you won't have to think about it
82) install a low-flow shower head
83) motion sensor outdoor security lighting on the side of the house
84) replace floor lamps with Energy Star models
85) get Real Time Pricing electricity
86) storm door on front porch
87) storm door on side porch
88) in good weather, ride your bike to work at least a few days a week
89) work towards a car free day once a week; start with once a month
90) have an Earth-Hour party
91) be sure you're using green household cleaners
92) if green electricity becomes available, sign up
93) make plans for a Social justice institute
94) serve on the Board of Directors of a non-profit
95) become a blood donor again
96) use expertise on global homelessness as a way to make things better
97) figure out how your on-line presence can help make things better
98) figure out how to have a national presence to make things better
99) have a party where we cook for Hope Haven
100) help to make this a more bike-friendly community
101) offset airmiles

Remember What You Want

I'm reading a good book. It's called Nudge: Improving Decisions about Health, Wealth, and Happiness, and it's written by two University of Chicago economists (Richard Thaler and Cass Sunstein). Economists who can write, wittily. The mind reels. I know. It sounds like it's going to be a tragic, self-help book that people buy in desperation, just to learn again that nobody's figured out what you need to know. This isn't that. It's really a book about public policy and the architecture of choices.

Take their first example: the food in a school cafeteria. We know that people will make different food choices based on where and how the food is presented. Moreover, some "paternalism", if you will, is inevitable. The food has to be put somewhere; abstaining from choice architecture is not an option. So, cafeteria designers can, without denying anyone anything, arrange things in such a way that it's easier to make good choices. Absolutely, choice architects can over-reach -denying us the freedom to make bad choices. The authors explore how nudges can make it easier to "be good" while expanding our freedoms.

So lately, every conversation I'm in is about this book. And I think about Peter Maurin and his "Easy Essays" where he hoped for "a world where it is easier to be good." The decisions where we mess up (based on our own value systems) are when the time lag between the decision point and the outcome is significant, or when the bad outcome is uncertain. If we got fat the instant we ate a jelly doughnut, or cancer from the first cigarette, or were guaranteed to die a gruesome death if we didn't wear a seat belt, then those choices would be clearer. But this is real life, and important decisions are sometimes hard.

The thing is, they don't always have to be hard; there's no particular virtue in making something artificially difficult. There's no less of a good outcome if we structure things so that the good choice is more likely. Sometimes the bad habit has become so concretized in our lives that we don't even think about what we might be doing instead. Maybe we just have to look at things differently.

How could I make it easier to workout more regularly?
How could I make it easier to do the studying and writing I want to do?
How could I make it easier and more graceful to care for the people I love?
How could I make it easier to..I don't know.... do any of the multitude of things I say I want to do but I'm not yet doing? Do I even remember what I want?

On a lark, I'm going to make a 101 Goals in 1001 Days list. Then I'm going to see if I can create little nudges, to make the right choice the easy and grace-ful (grace-filled?) one. If I get the nerve, I'll post my list. We'll see....

Kitteny Goodness

I won't do this very often.... but here he is in all his Claddagh-mischief:





He's a pain in the neck, but things are nicer with him around.

Brace Yourself

They lie. Dentists lie. Invisible braces are so very not invisible. I look ridiculous. But I'm committed now. For the next two years, I have a mouth full of metal and plastic -and if this weekend is any indication, discomfort. All in the service of a higher goal.

Which is what, again?

There's probably some metaphor here about gentle pressure across time to effect change, or bones and resistance to change, or the need for (or at least the inevitability of) discomfort when creating change.

Feh. Pass the ibuprofen.

You Just Haven't Done It Yet...

Anything's possible. That's what good parents tell their children. Our mother -an excellent mother- had her own spin on this maxim. When we would sputter and fret about doing the next frightening thing.... dancing very close to the words "I can't", she would just respond in her no-tolerance-for-nonsense voice, "You just haven't done it yet.

I can not even tell you how very much that sentence annoyed me as a teenager. And yet, I remind myself of its truth at least once a day.

Lately, the task escaping me is home renovation. I've discovered that I find the idea of being a person who renovates her own home more appealing than the actuality of it. I want to have a lovely, cheerful, organized office/studio, for example. I imagine myself working there, struggling sometimes certainly - but with words and concepts and issues, not... THIS. I want to bathe in bubbles in a lovely candlelit bathroom. The reality is considerably less romantic. My kitchen ceiling still looks like it's going to fall on my head.

And yesterday, on a lark, I took a day off from the tasks that loom literally over my head. I went to see an outdoor production of Madama Butterfly and drove around the countryside. And had the what-for scared out of me. I saw a beautiful old absolutely falling-down house. Gorgeous. And it was having an open house. What is it about old houses that inspires the completely ludicrous "I could fix this" feeling in me? And if my house exceeds my abilities, this one would have exceeded my abilities, my mental health, and my bank account in short order.

And the house -with gaping person-size holes in the roof, inhabited by more animals than the zoo, and with standing water on the first floor- was still inhabited by a little old lady. What the HECK? Where is this person's family? Where are the social services? What's the story??? My fertile imagination and my social worker training provided a possible story. Through mental illness, dementia, or merely the force of her will, she no longer sees the house as it is. She sees it as it was. This house was built for leisure -or someone else's work, more accurately. There are servants' rooms, back stairs, buttons for summoning the servants.... Alas, they no longer answer and she's living in a world that used to be.

I am officially terrified. True enough, I "can't" fix my kitchen ceiling. But I hear my mother's voice. I just haven't done it yet. I will not become this sad, sad woman (whom I haven't met and whose story I have fabricated). I will get to work. Right after I go rock climbing with the men in my life ;)

Skater Aid

This is a project in Atlanta, started by one of my multi-talented and energetic sisters. It's brilliant in its focus on the perfection and power of being an adolescent, and using that energy for such a good cause -and in memory of their friend Ian. Please help as you are able. Here's a link to their website: SkaterAid.

Other Things That Matter

Many things are happening here in my world. We have a new kitten, Claddagh, who has come to live with us. I have taken many a picture. Alas, he never holds still, so all the pictures are a mess. Maybe he'll fall asleep soon, and I'll show you his cuteness. He's had a hard start, so he's a little sick and a little scrawny. We will fix this.

But that's not even what I wanted to talk about. It has come to my attention that my personal space and my professional space are blending (or colliding, I suppose) in peculiar ways, in part because of this blog. I've said this before and I'll probably say it again. Only a numbskull has a blog and yet expects it to be private, and I am surely no numbskull. Moreover, I see no need to pretend that I am completely defined by my professional self. A fully professional person can have -MUST have- a personal life. So.... again, and to a different group, welcome. I mean that. All gentle souls are welcome here.

With Socrates, I believe that the unexamined life is not worth living. Of course, the examined life may not be much better, and he forgot to talk about that, but I'll go with Socrates as far as he went on that point. I need to examine all the pieces of my life. The purely professional argument might be that one could examine a life and also refrain from splattering that process across the internet. OK, three points (point-like remarks, anyway.) If I need to write to authentically reflect, and if the comments and assistance of the like-minded gentlefolk who accompany me on this journey are helpful, then.... pish-posh. A blog is a useful tool. And secondly, my blog has 50 readers a day. If I had them, which of course I don't, I could probably post the nuclear launch codes, and it wouldn't matter. So, really, perspective if you please. And finally, we have to think about boundaries. Certainly, some are healthy. Yet, boundaries can be both too diffuse and too rigid. Too rigid boundaries regarding what one shares create an illusion of self-sufficiency that is not sustainable. The universe will provide the needed lesson, and it's a whopper. Of course, I'm in no danger of having too rigid boundaries. I get that ;) But the alternative elliptically being suggested -that one can publicly reveal only one's professional persona- seems truncating and entirely too rigid.

That said, though, it IS time to do something else with this space. I feel no song in my heart when I think about turning this into my strictly-professional persona. It's not that I'm not happy in that role. It's not that there's nothing to think about there. But... there it is... I hear no singing :) And since "all things considered" and even "the panopticon" are taken as titles for things, I have to call my reflections something else.

Other Things That Matter. Because darn it, there are other things that matter. All the things we talk about together... social justice, music, activism, relationships, knitting, yoga, houses, travel, ...and now, kittens, those are all pieces of life as well. Well, not just that. They are pieces of life that have something to teach us. We'll figure out what, exactly, as we go along.

Sentences Heard While Rock Climbing

"Just hook your toe on the roof." Does it bother no one else that that sounded like a reasonable suggestion??

"Don't let me die." Three guesses who said that, but you're only going to need one.

"You could climb around on Chuck Norris again." Somehow I think he might have something to say about that, as would I, come to think about it.

"This clip? Oh, it's for if you have to go to the bathroom while you're climbing." a) You do know there are no bathrooms up there, right? And b) I now know that harnesses were designed by men, because that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard.

And this sign pretty much tells the whole story:

I'm Easy

Victoria tells me that I'm not supposed to say that.  Quoting the immortal Inigo Montoya, she tells me "I do not think it means what you think it means."  OK.  What I mean is, I'm comfortable with however things turn out.  "Should we see this movie or that one? I'm easy. "  That's what I mean.

Another version of "easy" is one I've noticed in the last two years. When the time is right, the next step is easy.  All the thrashing around and fretting that's come before was either unnecessary or resolves itself, and I step into the next thing.  I'm easy.  It's easy.  Whatever....

Traveling in Italy in high summer has made me think about another kind of easy -one about which I know nothing.  I was in a tiny village in wine country, in a hotel that was a medieval castle.  By hotel standards, it was small.  But the grounds are extensive.  And seriously, can you imagine the logistics behind turning a medieval stronghold into a hotel that meets modern standards for comfort and connection?  Oddly enough, the knights in their shining armour did not plan ahead for, say, Wifi connections and hot tubs.  Or indoor plumbing, for that matter.  So, the owners and the staff work really, really hard.  They must.

But I never saw them do it.  Not once.

If I wandered through the public rooms with that "must have coffee or I might die" look, someone was available to sit with me and have a cup and be companionable.  If they were working in the kitchen garden (roughly the size of my entire yard at home), they would work for a while, stop and rest, have a glass of fizzy water, and then work again for a little while. 

Even preparing the meals had a different sort of flow.  When I cook, I, by God, COOK.  I'm in the kitchen working hard, making lots of mess, and getting dinner on the table in record time.  I like that process well enough, actually.  But there's another way.  They start the bread rising, then go do something else -possibly even sit down for a minute.  Then they wander back into the kitchen (although I'm certain that the timing is probably quite clear to them, it looks like wandering or floating to me), and start the broth cooking that they will need for supper.  Then it's off to something else.

It turns out that I'm kind of a linear person.  I seriously never thought that.  I tend to bang away at one problem until it gives way, or I do.  And then I move on to the next one.  But maybe there's another way -and maybe it's about being easy.  In a good way.

I'm not sure how to do that, of course.  It's not multi-tasking, which is where I will take this if left unattended.  It's one-pointed attention, in the Quaker sense of paying full attention to whatever is in front of you because you know that the full picture is well-tended.   You can relax into this project because that one (whatever it is) isn't pounding at the door, needing attention because it's overdue and neglected and....  Well, you get the picture.

Once again, I need to think in circles and swirls.  I need to think like a dancer thinks -not just shapes in space, but the connections between them.  I need to think about flow.  And when the time is for relaxing, take that time with the certainty that I'll get up in a minute and work again.

This is a major mind-shift, but I think I might be on to something.

Mommy Blogging

I know. Mommy blogging is the subject of much scorn and derision. Tough beans. We mommies are a tough lot, and we can take your ridicule. Just LOOK at this handsome lad. Holy mackerel. The groom (seated) looked nice, too. But that best man... he is something!

Who Am I?

I'm Andrea Buford, that's who I am. I no longer want my ex-husband's last name. It makes me sad every time I see "Rusin" written anywhere with "Andrea" attached to the front. Who IS that person, I wonder.

Like any change, it's been a little more complicated than I would have liked. I'm working on it, though -one step at a time. A small thing has been to change the name and e-mail account that is associated with this blog, without losing all the content associated with the old name. I needed space, time, and patience to figure it out, but apparently I finally did -and without moving the blog to another server. So, I THINK that from the reader's point of view, nothing has changed, except that you'll see my new name attached to posts from here on out. If that's not true, please let me know. From my point of view, this is now one more place where the new-me (the old me?) is fully present.

Whew! That feels good!

HowManyOfMe.com

There are 17 people with the name Andrea Buford in the U.S.A. How many have your name?

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Vacationing in Andrea-world:

1)Definitely, go to a week-long workshop that has three yoga sessions a day, when the longest yoga session you've done in 2 years is probably 45 minutes. Yeah, that's a good idea. Oh my lands, I hurt everywhere.

2)Since this is a "girl's weekend" for you, pack all your girly face products, which will then spill on the clothes in your suitcase, doing what face masque does -become rock hard. So now you have two outfits.

3)Get asked out by a very interesting Italian man, and then realize type-wise, he IS your ex-husband. And you don't have any clothes to wear that don't have green goo solidified on them, anyway.

4) And definitely, definitely, when you know full-well that you are the kind of person who can get lost in her own bathroom, leave your GPS in the car.

5)And forget the cord for the camera. I have pictures, but no way to upload them. I'll take care of that when I get home.

I'm having fun, and I'm very glad that I took this time for myself. But that thing I say "wherever you go, there you are" -it turns out to be true.

Academic Arrogance

Ummmmm.... you guys, am I arrogant??? (Don't answer that, please; I think I don't want that answer.)

I know those of you who know the in-real-life me are probably expecting a different post. You'll get the yoga and knitting and travel and Tuscany posts, I promise, but I don't want to lose this germ-cell of a thought.

Here's the back story. (You knew THAT was coming.) It doesn't take long hanging around the ivory tower before you notice that there's a certain amount of pomposity; about 5 minutes will do it. Well, probably you noticed in the first minute. It just took you another 4 minutes to realize that some of it is unmerited posturing. That nonsense depends for its success on the innocents among us (and I usually count myself in this camp -maybe it's time for a facebook quiz on this question) believing that arrogance is the same as aptitude.

Yet, some people do have just flat-out jaw-dropping intellect. Through a series of youthful misadventures that involved accidentally (I still believe) getting admitted to a world-class college, I have had the privilege of hanging around with some of these people for a good bit of my adult life. I think it's false to say that the best minds don't need arrogance and can just be relaxed good-natured folks. Some are, but even then... a certain kind of idiotic questioning and challenging can bring out arrogance that is a SIGHT to behold. It's there all right. And it does what it's designed to do -put idiots in their place. This arrogance is just the certainty that very VERY few people play in their playground and that there's work to be done to get an invitation to this party. OK, there's a little bit of smackdown going on, too.

And academics aren't the only ones I don't understand. What gives people the audacity to challenge someone they don't even know, simply assuming they are on equal footing given the subject-at-hand? Say, hypothetically, you're on an airplane and someone sits next to you and asks what you do. So you try to describe it. OK, so it's not all that hypothetical. For the record, I stuck with social worker and described my research a little; it's true, and way easier than describing the whole story. This person had already told me his life story. He probably took one course in psychology in high school (because it was an easy A, he reveals), 15 or so years ago. He remembers THAT imperfectly, and has certainly not followed the research and the literature. But he knows my research plan is flawed in the following million ways, and that homeless people are all mentally ill and deserve their fate, and won't change, and....

A year ago, I would have rolled my eyes (possibly visibly), but not gone for the smackdown. I would have thought it, right enough, but I wouldn't actually have said anything. And then I would have been upset for hours. I think, though, it's possible that there is something in between the arrogance earned by those with jaw-dropping intellect and foolish preening (which is just a measure of a lack of self-confidence, when you get right down to it.)

Before I go any further, there are things that need to be clarified. I don't think a PhD is the only thing in the world worth wanting. I don't think an academic life is the only life worth living. I know plenty of people without advanced degrees, and some of them are brilliant.

But, and oh dear, here come the truly obnoxious question. Are brilliant and untrained people qualified to question and challenge? OK, of course they are. The knowledge that professional researchers come up with is pointless if it can't be explained -and knowledge isn't the same thing as wisdom, anyway. But what if their questions are just flat-out dumb? (Another falsehood is that there are no dumb questions. I think Fox TV and Rush Limbaugh have pretty much proven that one.) And some questions reveal by their word choice and the questioner's tone a political agenda and its attendant assumption that there can only be one right known-in-advance answer. I am a smart-enough person, but I wouldn't go up to a chemist and suggest that he's misunderstood the subtleties of the polymerase chain reaction. I wouldn't do that, because I know that I don't have the first freakin' clue if he's done that or not. I don't even know what the polymerase chain reaction IS. I might have made it up.

When you're questioning from a position of fundamental ignorance, you should probably shut up and listen instead. Being smart IS NOT ENOUGH. There is work to be done, reading and thinking and making connections between this body of work and that one, and extending and nudging theory. Then you can play in the sandbox.

Yeah, I went for the lady-like smackdown. "My goodness, that might have been more effective as a question rather than an assertion." But now, of course, I'm upset about having done that. And I am wondering if I've taken a path that just leads to trouble.

Sigh.

Second star to the right

...and straight on til morning. That's how you get to Neverland, if you'll remember.

I'm off to Italy. Me??!!! We're deeply into the melting down phase of our program. WHERE are my yoga clothes? What knitting do I take? Should I take my rock climbing gear? WHY didn't I remember to charge my phone last night?

But I always do this. I know that. I can't quite get past the "who do I think I am to be doing this" question. I wonder if I'll be sad not to be sharing it with another person. And I'm irritated that every darn thing still makes me afraid. But I'm doing it anyway, and that's not nothing.

I'll send you pictures.

New Garage

It's not here yet, but we have plans. The people door and the car door will switch places, the trim will be white, there will be carriage lights, the garage doors will have windows... and I think those are the only changes. I'm just taking a little break while my bank account recovers, and then we'll get back to work on this project.

And then, I'm finished with big projects for the year. The new furnace and central air will have to wait until next year.

The Twirly Skirt

Knitter Notes: I got the pattern off Ravelry. It's knit with 4 colors (pretty much all the pinks) of Brown Sheep Cotton Fleece. The pattern is written in two pieces. WHY???? I disregarded that entirely, and it caused no trouble at all.

Now... It's knit for this little peanut....

Meet Nina, my one and only niece. She's a little older than this now. She can't twirl yet, but I remain steadfast that she needs a twirly skirt. Moreover, in spite of the fact that she has red hair and her mother is probably going to want to bop me over the head with a skein of cotton fleece, she needs a PINK twirly skirt. (Aunties have privileges, and I exercise them all!)

Do you remember that? Twirling and twirling, just to watch things spin and to see your beautiful skirt move like a dancer's? And then you fell down in the grass, laughing, just from the joy of the spinning?

Yeah, we pretty much all need a bit of that. How can we teach the little ones to twirl, if we don't do it ourselves? OK, so now that I'm not a toddler, literal twirling makes me queasy. Metaphorical twirling, that's more like it. Today will be a twirly day! We'll see how it goes.

At Least it Leaned to the Left (???)

My big house project for the year is underway. Can you see the problem?



Yeah, it leaned a little bit. And it was being held up by a house jack in the center. And the doors were ugly, and weren't even the fold-able garage doors, like they've made for, oh, about the last 75 years. It was unsafe and ugly, and had no redeeming historical value. It had to go.

I knew the demolition guys were coming this morning, so I acknowledged that I'd seen the garage for the last time. They've been doing preparatory work for days, but the weather has been so rainy, they couldn't actually get the thing done. But the task was scheduled -again- for today, and the weather was lovely. I knew the garage had reached the end of its days. Even so, when the girl-child called me and said that they'd started, I felt a little gasp of fear. This is a HUGE thing to have undertaken. Who do I think I AM? Someone who knows how to do all this???? Who am I kidding?

I'm glad I missed this:










I was breathing into a paper bag at work, as it was. And then I got home and saw this: Okay, they'll come back for their equipment, and they didn't leave a bill. So, I'm thinking they're not done. But it's not as though the view has been improved, exactly.

Next up, pouring a new foundation and pad for the new garage. One step at a time.... the path is the goal....

Pass another brown paper bag, could you?

Our Capacity for Self-Deception

It's huge. The only thing to do today is laugh about it.

Knitting....
What we say: This will probably start to look smaller when I decrease for the armholes.
Truth: Unless you're having a fling with the Jolly Green Giant, that sweater's not fitting anybody you know.

Biking:
What we say: Wow, I must be getting stronger. Yay me!
Truth: There's a big ol' reality check waiting for you when you turn around and the wind is now in your face.

Rock Climbing:
What we say: "Check me out. I climbed a 5.8. Hey, I wonder if my belayer is getting sick; he's breathing awfully hard."
Truth: He's not sick. He's worn out from hauling you up the rock face.

Oh well. I had fun in the process.

About this Yoga Thing

That's not me, it need hardly be said. What it is, is a slightly imperfect triangle pose (really, her top hip could roll back a smidge), and it's one of my favorites. And it was lost in the great life-changing debacle. I'm too old to be sedentary for two years, apparently. Bad things happen -and losing triangle pose isn't the worst of it, of course. But it bugged me.

You would think this posture would be simple, to look at it, but there's a lot to think about and explore. It's one of those postures that is available to most yoga practitioners (possibly modified, but still an authentic pose)on day one, and remains interesting across a lifetime's practice. And it feels really good, to boot.

It's a yoga belief (in some schools of yoga, anyway) that there is always a modification to make many postures available to everyone. Believe me when I tell you that the modification of triangle pose that I was doing is the one reserved for little old ladies in the nursing home. My knees were the problem -which seems a little odd. Your hips, or back, or neck, or balance.... those are the obvious challenge points in this posture; but for me it was my knees. I lock them, and it hurts.

So, ummmm, "stop locking your knees" comes to mind as a solution.

Therapeutically, locked joints are a (potential) indicator of over-discipline and a distorted need for control. Believe me when I tell you that knowing this doesn't help. Ceding control got me where I was 18 months ago, and that will never again happen to me. Heartache may well be out there for me again, but it won't be because I turned my life over to someone else.

But there's power and a certain kind of healthy mastery -and there's grasping control. As usual, I'm seeking a balance that is elusive. This morning, I gave triangle pose another shot -and fell over backwards. Given my current weight and fitness level, the thud shook the entire house; I wasn't sure the roof wasn't going to cave in ;) The situation was so ridiculous, the only available path was to laugh. Do you suppose the right path through this grasping-letting go quagmire is to let go, laughing?

Women in Black

In an on-line support group I'm in (all women, but not by design), we have a running joke about donning our black pants, black turtlenecks and black sunglasses, grabbing absurdly large and destructive armaments of some kind, and avenging any wrongs perpetrated on one of our members. We are the Women in Black, setting out to make a more perfect universe, and Will Smith and Tommy Lee Jones should quake at the mention of our name. Hell hath no fury, indeed.

The thing is.... it's hard not to notice that most of the wrongs are perpetrated against women by men. I am not a man-hating feminist. Moreover, I think that's largely a myth. All feminists come with fathers, most with brothers (I imagine), and certainly some with male partners. Some feminists ARE men, forcryingoutloud. But, for the love of Mike, it's sort of hard not to notice the pattern.

Certainly, you all know that I believe I was treated very ill by a man I trusted. I imagine that trust issues will now haunt me for a good long while, possibly forever. His actions were brutal. He knows that. He knew that when he was doing it, but felt entitled to act that way anyway.

FOUR women who are dear to me are in relationship-drama. The drama ranges from dire to worrying-but-probably-nothing. And it is all perpetrated by men thinking (apparently) that they can have bloody well whatever they want. I've had it.

Men who are dear to me and men who are not, these are the rules.

You don't have to go all Promise Keepers on me, but if you made a promise, keep it. If you must break a promise because the keeping of it is more destructive than the breaking of it, do that with as much gentleness and integrity as you can find.

YOU are not the center of the universe. Sorry. Your mother didn't lie, exactly. You were the center of HER universe, but she sort of thought you'd figure out that you weren't the center of the whole bloody thing. Work on that for me, would you?

Treating your wife as a partner and a friend is not some post-apocalyptic violation of all that is true and holy. Grow up. You can't be all things to all people. Honor your wife's giftedness. Respect that she can do plenty of things you can't do -and let's discount the obvious stuff like have a baby. She has talents and gifts and wisdom you don't have. This fact does not threaten your virility.

And about that virilty. We like it, true enough. But it's not the only reason we love you. Seducing a 22-year-old won't help you relocate it. She doesn't think you're hot; she wants a father figure. Give it up and come home.

We will warn you a few times when you break these rules. But there is an end-point. After that, I'm calling my friends. We're getting our black turtlenecks out of the laundry basket and getting to work. Don't say I didn't warn you.

This is America

Let me preface this by saying that I am emphatically a patriot. The thing is, there's a slight difference of opinion about that. Many of the people who are out there describing themselves as patriots wouldn't consider me to be one. I think dissent can be patriotic. I don't think waving a flag around is enough. And I really, really don't think either of the wars we are involved in has anything whatever to do with patriotism. I think they are monstrous disasters.

So that's the background.

Yesterday was an amazing day. I got called to serve on a jury. As with many people, when the time came for me to put my patriotic beliefs into actual, inconvenient action, I had to heave a sigh and make myself act appropriately. But I got through it and drove to Sycamore to our beautiful old courthouse (last seen by our heroine on the day of her divorce).

I hadn't realized that on that very same morning, a Sycamore-based unit of the National Guard was scheduled to return from Afghanistan. There was to be a parade in their honor at the exact time court was supposed to start. Instead, the courthouse was (temporarily) closed, and the streets were lined with flags and people. The Boy Scouts were out. The high school band was there. People I know -at least one whose son was in the unit- and people I didn't. One little girl on a teensy pink bicycle was riding next to the soldiers, yelling "Look Daddy, I can ride my bike!!" There were babies and strollers and old people in wheel chairs. Judges and jurors and police officers lined the streets.

And there was not a a dry eye to be seen. Seriously, it was a picture right out of a Norman Rockwell painting. Or a country music song. Honestly, if it were in a movie, you would have thought it was too sweet to be believable. But there it was.

I hate these wars. But it's also true that I have a brother who is in the Air Force. He's safely state-side at the moment, but I want it to be true that there are parades in his honor and people saying thank you, and (rather dreadful) bands doing their best to celebrate his heroism. I want the town to temporarily stop to say "oh my goodness, we are so glad you're back," and to take a moment of silence for the ones who can't come back. He deserves it; he really does.

And so... I'll stand with the other patriots. For a minute, we'll make room for each other, and celebrate other patriots who express their beliefs differently. They'll go home and, God willing, watch their children ride pink bicycles for a while. I went to the courthouse and did a different kind of duty.