Monday, 28 January 2008
It started so innocently. I loaded my CDs. Then I subscribed to podcasts. Lots of 'em. So far, so good, not a penny spent and I had lots to listen to.
But I had a list of songs and albums I'd wanted for ever so long. So I bought a couple of albums and a dozen or so songs. Still doing well, about the price of a dinner out, and I was highly selective.
After a few days, however, I got restless. I love to listen to the radio in my car, and I always switch stations so that I can get a wide variety. It occurred to me that I could simply jot down the names of songs and artists that interested me and create a new wish list. Except it was only 99 cents a song, one song at a time. And when you develop a heightened interest in music, you find yourself browsing a lot at the ITunes store and coming up with even more great finds.
Then there's the videos. This, too, started small. I mean, I couldn't imagine myself actually watching anything of any length on such a small screen. So I bought a few short films, really outstanding ones, for only $1.99 each. Now, instead of being bored while waiting in doctor's offices or restaurants, I could be entertained. I laughed, I cried. It was great.
Which led me to feature-length films. Because I never seem to get a non-stop flight for the prices I want to pay, and because you have to have a decent interval between connecting flights if you want to actually make your connection, I spend too much time waiting in airports. This is a place where a seriously good film can work. And the small screen bothers me not one iota, which is pretty amazing when you think about it.
I was going to branch out into audiobooks today, but I discovered that 8 GB stretches only so far. Good thing, because budgets stretch even less. And there's something very satisfying about reading a book made of paper. While you listen to great music on the nano. 
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Sunday, 27 January 2008
This topic needed a post of its own. I think, however, living in Florida, in an old wood frame house, near lots of citrus trees, I'll have to revise the topic to "Mice/Rats, Snakes, or Spiders?" All three creep me out, and I'm not sure which is the worst for me, so I'm going to explore this a bit.
First, mice. When I was a kid, we returned from a vacation to find dead mice and maggots in the house. My mom had put D-Con out before we left. She couldn't handle dead things, and my dad was never helpful in these matters, so Mom bribed me to do the cleanup, a dollar a mouse and fifty cents for all the maggots. I was saving money for a bike, so I did it, and I also learned that I could handle disgusting tasks, which became really helpful later when I started having babies. So mice were never a problem for me.
Rats, on the other hand, are just plain awful. Because one has moved in recently, I don't much like coming home at the end of the day. So far this one seems to be contained to the walls and one drawer, but you never know when they'll branch out. In Florida, when the rat population gets bad, you can sit out in the evenings, just at dusk, and watch them run on the electric wires, scurry down palm trees, and disappear into the brush. They've eaten my children's "Baby's 1st Christmas" ornaments in the attic, died in the walls and caused a stink bad enough that one year we moved into a hotel to celebrate the holidays. I obsessively clean when I know there's one on the loose. They're always at their worst in winter. However, I've never encountered a live adult rat face-to-face, so to speak, so they only creep me out from a distance.
Snakes and I go way back. My uncle, a really "cool" amateur magician and horror buff (but who also was, as I learned years later, a pedophile) kept snakes, both poisonous and constrictors. These snakes were continually breaking out of their habitats, so the woods that surrounded their place were always full of venomous snakes, and more than once my cousins were treated with anti-venom. But the boa was the creature of my nightmares for most of my life because my uncle insisted I hold it, and I hated the thing. I'll never forget the creepy feeling of being slithered over and squeezed by a reptile, and I now associate snakes with pedophiles. I'm very grateful I wasn't one of his victims, but I hate snakes.
However, snakes, like mice, taught me how to handle fearsome and loathsome tasks. Shortly after we moved to Florida when I was a kid, a pygmy rattler got into our house, and Mom gave me the task of removal, this time without a bribe. She gave me a 2 pound coffee can and sent me into my sister's room and shut the door behind me. I was on my own. But I did manage to capture the snake, proving, once again, that I was capable even when I had absolutely no desire to be so.
Spiders I was taught to respect, but I never liked them. My mom wouldn't allow us to kill them; for some reason she loved them (but she's terrified of frogs; go figure). So I learned to "shoo" large wolf spiders out of the bathroom before showering (creepiest experience in the world: one jumps on you in the shower). I learned which ones were poisonous, which ones were good to keep around as roach exterminators. Besides showers, the only really scary encounter with a spider was in a car. While driving at night, I saw a huge wolf spider on my speedometer. I was alone, in the middle of nowhere, and I had to pull over carefully (after swerving all over the road). When I got out of the car, the spider had disappeared. I searched everywhere. Eventually, I had to get back in the car to drive home. Other than trips to emergency rooms, that was the longest drive of my life.
Rodents, reptiles, and arachnids. I respect them and their place in the universe. I want absolutely no personal contact with any of them. But snakes win, hands-down, for the one thing I never want to find in my house. Scurrying and crawling things raise the hairs on my neck, but slithering I just cannot handle.
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Saturday, 26 January 2008
I don't know its gender, but it appears to be building a nest of aluminum foil and plastic. I don't know its size, but it's small enough to fit in our wrap dispenser drawer, where a regular-sized rat trap does not fit.
I haven't actually seen this pe(s)t, (thank god!) but I've seen its leavings (it's apparently not house-trained).
It seems to have a penchant for chocolate, given the amount of cocoa powder that was missing from an envelope I'd stuck in that drawer, and it also likes catsup and mayo, judging from the little dispenser packets that are dispensed with.
We have not adopted this pe(s)t, and we've formally filed an eviction notice, in the form of a sticky, humane trap, even baited it with a leftover Christmas lollipop, but the creature will not be detained, nor will it leave.
It occurs to me that there may be more than one of these pe(s)ts, given the nesting thing.
Watch this site for the next exciting chapter in our story. But don't bring popcorn; I think they like it, junk-food junkies that they are.
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Friday, 25 January 2008
I need order and stability to stay sane, but then I get bored, so I seek chaos, and it's always so easy to find. So then I go insane and work hard to create order and stability out of chaos.
And so it goes.
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Wednesday, 23 January 2008
After I picked up both kids both times, on time, went over school stuff, supervised homework, made strawberry shortcake, observed a takeover of Barbie's DreamHouse by an army of plastic bugs, read Curious George for the eleven millionth time, was interrupted during several important phone calls, and threw a tea party, my son arrived. He told bad jokes, spoiled a film I've not yet seen (his specialty), teased me mercilessly, admitted he hadn't scheduled an important appointment yet, and showed me where his stitches are coming out. I said, I gave up my best years for this? and he smiled, evilly, and said, That was your best?
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Wednesday, 23 January 2008
It's Wednesday, so I'm halfway through a hectic week. Granddaughters are on their way over, and I get to do the drop off, drop off, pick up, pick up routine today because they are in two different schools, one a half-day pre-K. I remember those years with my own kids and wonder how I managed to only forget to pick up one child once in ten years of transport. Of course it scarred her for life, but I thought it was a good track record.
The coffee is strong and good this morning. We've got rain, heavy last night, and intermittent the next two days, and it's warm, about 66 degrees right now. Lots of details to take care of today between 8:30 and 11:30, and then lots of hugs and milk and cookies and Barbies, and then another evening working frantically to keep up with it all.
Currently I have not lost my mind, but I predict that one week from today, at this moment, I will have not one shred of sanity left. There is no way possible to get everything done I have to do in the next seven days. No way, and I've delegated everything I can farm out to my wonderful mate, who also is near certifiable.
Three more months of this, a week of grading, and then I'm home free. I can do this. I can. I can even enjoy moments of it, and often I can do it well. Except for when I'm tired. Like now. I think I have one of those internal, non-user replaceable batteries. I'm always operating unplugged, like they said, to preserve my battery's life, but the darned thing is wearing out anyway.
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Monday, 21 January 2008
All I can say is, disregard any previous post where I thought I had things under control. Pray that I can catch the feral cats and contain them and that there are no possums or armadillos living under my house and that the rats leave before they put up the giant circus tent and that somehow, everything goes according to this hare-brained plan I hatched this morning. There's about a million potential problems here with only one possible solution. I've no idea how I'm going to manage all this right now. Maybe they can issue me a clown suit and take me off this high-wire because I don't possess the grace of an acrobat, but I do make most people laugh and I've got a lot of juggling experience. 
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Monday, 21 January 2008
Reprieve!!!! Son called this morning to tell me his wife wants to spend the day with the kids. She works nights, so this is no small thing. Since it's a school holiday, and I am about a day behind in my work (already!), I have just been given the gift of sanity for the month of January. To be on task, on schedule, frees me up to enjoy a long weekend of play in the snow coming my way soon. Woo hoo!
I have made considerable effort recently to change personal habits that cause me a lot of grief, and it's beginning to pay off. To be honest, what motivated me was sheer panic. My family needs me right now, and I had to find a way to balance it all. It was all the small stuff that was getting to me. And, miracle of miracles, he has jumped right in the ring with me.
So we've started eating better. We clean the kitchen before we go to bed. I make a to-do list every day, prioritize, and cross off stuff when I finish it, and I don't worry about the stuff that's still on the list at the end of the day because I know it will move up to the top of the list eventually and get done.
When the kids are here, I stop work and worry and enjoy my time with them. When my mom makes impossible requests at the last minute, I make no promises. Everyone in my life is learning to live with his or her own consequences, however major or minor, and I am learning to let go. It's a long process, I can tell you.
It is now 7:49 a.m. I am on my second cup of coffee, and it's time to change the load in the washer. I have all the materials I need for work set out on my desk, and a clear approach for dealing with it. I slept well last night. Whatever the week brings, I can handle it.
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Friday, 18 January 2008
One of life's little ironies is that, by the time we realize what a gift free time is, it's gone. The older I get, the more time I need and the less time I have. Time races like a runaway freight train I've just missed, and I run more slowly every year.
I've also discovered that time is liquid. I can't hold it in my hand, and it moves with a fluidity I wish I had. If I could move like time, I could deal with things much better.
When I talk with my mother, I feel like a child again, and whatever she asks me to do, I feel compelled to obey. Therefore, I was ever so happy when I could tell her last night, truthfully, (because I still can't lie to Mom, nor can I tell her no without a good excuse) I can't fill in as a babysitter this afternoon because of a rescheduled doctor's appointment.
When I talk with my son, I feel like a mom again, so next week I'm babysitting every day I'm not teaching. He has a lot to deal with, and that makes me feel responsible for him again even though I know better. What I really want to do is to float back about 25 years and come up with a magic BandAid.
When I'm with the grandkids for extended periods of time, I feel like an ancient elder, with no energy and less patience. Monday is a school holiday, and I'll have the kids ten hours. I always feel their problems keenly when I spend a lot of time with them, and even though I know that they are my responsibility only temporarily, I worry about their futures.
The older I get, the more I need time alone, time to process, time to reflect, time to come up with better solutions, time to get my work done, time to let go, time to just be. Actually that last one seems to be the most important these days.
I need to just be. Because, on campus, a place I love, I am surrounded by people. I do enjoy my students, my former students, and people I've mentored, and I love watching them grow in confidence and ability, but so many people, floating in and out, is sometimes a bit much. However, even though the relationships I build at work are fairly transient, they give me lots of food for thought (in my free time).
Transience seems to be the operative word. We are all here for such a short time. Everything changes, even when we feel as if things stay the same. And David Bowie was right, darn him. Time may change me, but I can't change time.
Seize your day.
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Thursday, 17 January 2008
Yesterday, the wind toyed with my wind chimes all day, and last night I was lulled asleep by a soft rain which is still making little plip plop sounds on the plants outside the window. In a state where several people died and many more were injured partly because we don't get enough rain, gray rainy days are soothing. I plugged the ipod in, clicked on a little box, charged my 99 cents, and now I can listen to Jo Dee Messina and Tim McGraw on the way to work. There is beautiful music in what we so often think of as background noise, such joy in small, ordinary packages.
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Wednesday, 16 January 2008
I blogged. I caught up on my email. I downloaded a 24-song album to my Ipod. I listened to it. I played several online games. I'm back to the blog.
Turning off the computer is the only way I get any work done, but my work is online. What's a bored, lazy, shiftless, under-motivated, disillusioned, over-educated, under-employed woman to do?
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Wednesday, 16 January 2008
Actually, I already knew what it feels like to be invisible. After all, I'm a mom. However, yesterday, I reached new depths of obscurity at work. A former prof of mine, highly esteemed in our world, someone for whom I worked my butt off, treated me as though I was not there.
I've had moments like this with this person in the past, but I could always write them off as maybe she didn't see me or she probably had other things on her mind. Yesterday, however, neither of those could apply. I've never done anything to alienate her, always treated her with respect and, dare I say, devotion, because she is so passionate, knowledgeable, and highly regarded in her area. As a professor, she goes above and beyond, both in and out of the classroom. That was then. This is now.
I'm an adjunct. I'm below the radar, not worthy of notice, a worker ant in a colony of queen bees. When I saw this prof yesterday, I was headed to teach my third class in a row, waiting for the only working elevator. I was tired, but class went well again yesterday, so I felt somewhat encouraged. In fact, I'd just given myself a pep talk on the walk between buildings.
It does not matter, I told myself, your position in life. All that matters is that you find good work to do. Teaching is good work. Yes, you could have been a contender, would have been, had you begun college before forty. But you made other choices, good choices. This is enough.
It should be enough, would be enough, but it's not. I would like to live in a world where respect is accorded by who you are inside, what you do to make the world a better place, rather than your title or income or position.
Yeah, we sure taught England. We're a democracy, and proud of it. Our society is not ruled by class. No siree. We can pick ourselves up by the bootstraps and make something of ourselves. It's the American Dream. Except for this little escape clause. Some of us are held back by circumstances that, no matter how hard we try, no matter how well we do, we'll never quite rise above. Certainly we can make something of ourselves, but we'd better not put our hopes too high or we'll get slapped back down to earth with not-so-subtle reminders.
A verbal pat on the head. A cloak of invisibility. A glass ceiling.
Ah, well, keeps me humble. Keeps me grounded. Keeps me wanting things I now know I will never have. So I must work at being happy with what I do have, which really is a lot, and really is more important.
But they really had me going there for a while.
***Never mind me. I think it's the over-the-hill, over-my-job, January-sucks blues.
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Tuesday, 15 January 2008
Listening to the Once soundtrack, a gift I gave myself, hopelessly romantic music, on the nano, a gift he gave me that is possibly the best-loved and most-used gift I've ever received, a gift that keeps on giving. Sipping Queen of Babylon, a white tea from Teavana, purchased last summer by gift card from son, another gift that keeps giving. I sealed it twice, and it's still fresh and flavorful, at least for me. Heating a delicious Country Cassoulet, a meal we prepared last Saturday with several others at Dinner Done, a company that provides all the ingredients pre-measured and the kitchen space and the sealing materials and even the cleanup. This was a gift from our daughter, and we love it so much we plan to continue because for two people it's cheaper than most meals we'd prepare at home and certainly cheaper than eating out. We even find ourselves changing for dinner and lighting the candles.
Why am I pampering myself so much? Because I need it. Mr. Bluesky's car turned into a lawn ornament a week ago. Son overdid after his surgery, and I think he's okay, but he's depressed again, and that always brings me down. I forgot to pay some bills, can't seem to concentrate on grading papers long enough to get it done. I am behind and remiss in several areas, heck, all of them, and sometimes I wonder what's going on with me.
But the music is good, so good, and the tea is wonderful on a cool evening. The sunset is beautiful, just gorgeous. I am alive and well. The rest...well, I'll deal with that another time.
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Thursday, 10 January 2008
It was a small, relatively minor surgery, as these things go, but anything to do with his heart, his big, beautiful heart, sends me over the edge. This time, however, was different. At the last minute, his dad was able to get off work, and I had to work...what a switcheroo. But having his dad there with him made all the difference to me, and I was able to kiss our son before he was wheeled off and leave the hospital before he came out of surgery, and I only blanked out once on the interstate.
So this time, I got the information second-hand, a call that came while I was in the classroom, a call that made my students stop their group work and fall into complete, unabashed eavesdropping. A call that made me sigh with relief, tear up a little, and finally, finally, say a silent prayer of thanks. And then I went back to teaching, and this time I could fly through the day. I had wings.
You see, this time it was completely out of my hands and out of my realm. This time, I could finally let it go. This time, there was some father-son bonding time, without Mom, which was good, so good.
This time he made it. This time he requested a banana milk shake from Checkers and a Whopper from Burger King, and I had to drive miles out of my way in heavy traffic to deliver, and you'd better believe I did.
And now I begin to pray about the next time, the next procedure, coming soon. Because nothing makes me return to my roots, makes me feel a presence in what so often feels like a void, like gratitude for having my son here for one more day.
This time. It was a good day. And I am thankful. I think I can make it now.
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Wednesday, 09 January 2008
I tossed and turned all night with hot flashes. This has been going on for a month now, and I no longer take sleep meds, so I'm completely worn out and have zero coping skills. Hubby's car, that he worked on for over a week of our "vacation" and spent hundreds of dollars on, is once again a lawn ornament. Our son goes in for surgery tomorrow, and I have to drive hubby to work and then drive son to hospital, and then go to work myself probably before the surgery is finished, then run back to get hubby from work and maybe back to the hospital, depending.
And then we were out of coffee this morning, and I'm having a bad hair day, and went straight to Starbucks after dropping him off looking like Godzilla and couldn't even give my coffee order in an articulate manner. I fought the traffic all the way home (one interstate has a 15-mile backup this morning due to wildfires and resulting accidents). I have a doctor's appointment this morning and stacks of papers to grade today, and I cannot seem to sort my teaching schedule out.
I hate 2008. Can I have a do-over?
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Wednesday, 09 January 2008
My day has gone downhill just in the short time since I posted. I discovered that the bad scent in the family room is due to sour milk in the carpet and that the same culprit once again forgot to pay his own charge bill, incurring yet another penalty. Don't get me wrong. I love the man; I just really hate cleaning up after him, but this seems to be the assigned role of women.
Which leads me to this article that sums up my feelings about the Democratic primaries very well:
"Women Are Never Front-Runners"
P.S. Couldn't figure out what happened with this post. My time zone was wrong; I fixed it; now the posts are in the wrong order. Story of my life.
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Tuesday, 08 January 2008
I can't focus, can't plan, can't cope, can't sleep. I thought I'd be starting the semester with everything together. Not the case. I don't feel up to the task. My coping skills are zero, and there's more to cope with than usual.
However, yesterday I did something important. I helped rescue a baby squirrel. His eyes, not open yet; his little legs clawing the box, his tiny face rooting, searching in vain for mommy. The neighborhood hawk is the culprit; but this one escaped his clutches. I hope the shock of the fall and relocation to the vet's will not do the little critter in. He's just starting to grow hair. I never realized how cute baby squirrels are.
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Monday, 07 January 2008
Actually, it was a wild hog, just under 100 pounds. It's residing in my sister's large freezer because, though I try to be understanding about his hobbies and even encourage him to go, I'll never be able to stomach the hunting thing. Poor dear. He's like a cat that's carried a dead mouse to my door, only to be chased off. Or he's a cold-blooded killer, bringing down Piglet's daddy with a single shot. Depends on your perspective.
Th-th-th-that's all, Folks!
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Saturday, 05 January 2008
I wasted a heckuva lot of time on my time off, and now I have to scramble to make up for lost time and get ready to go back to work. I did do a wonderful, splendiferous thing, however. Today is our 34th anniversary, and my husband woke up to another day of freezing, pre-dawn temperatures to tramp through woods hunting wild hogs, smiling all the way, I'm sure. A long hunting weekend was the best gift I could give him, because he worked hard for nearly all of his "time off," and you would not believe the brownie points I racked up by encouraging him to chase animals with guns on our anniversary. Plus, we're going out on our date tomorrow, and we've got a long, snowy weekend together later in the month. Best of all worlds, although my mother will never understand it. Poor Mom.
This morning I must work before I play. Have to send the syllabus out to the printer. A lot of classes were cut in my department just yesterday, and somehow I avoided the ax this time. While record numbers of students are enrolled in universities, our department's numbers in the freshman courses dropped by about 500 this term. I've got my theories on that one. Heck, probably most of the drops were my own students from last term.
Just to thoroughly mess up my head before planning the next term, I perversely checked my ratings on ratemyprofessors. For the first time in ages, I had a good surprise. The last two ratings posted were fair and said the same thing from different perspectives. Apparently my students do learn, even if my course is unbelievably hard.
As I plan, I try to incorporate activities to make learning fun, but, to be honest, this course really is a lot of hard work. I care. I am fair. I do not coddle. I do not win popularity contests.
I teach. Learning is optional. *rolls up her sleeves*
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Friday, 04 January 2008
"...I'm the sparrow on the roof
I'm the list of everyone I have to lose
I'm the rainbow in the dirt
I am who I was and how much I can hurt..."
Roseanne Cash, "The World Unseen," Black Cadillac album
Someone is dying, or in the first stages of the final stages, the end result of a sick and dissipated life. He's hurt a lot of people throughout the years. He's an alcoholic, addict, user of everyone and everything, unrepentant and mean, ugly to the end, still blaming everyone but himself, still trying to use anyone who will allow it. Al-Anon helped to close the door, but the hurt remains, largely for his brothers, who tried, oh how they tried.
Someone else is killing herself slowly, and we love her and are sad and afraid and unable to stop her. And it's hard to watch, hard to stand by, hard to love with open arms, full hearts, and empty, lonely eyes of children now grown, now making other choices that feel selfish but are healthy and wise, or so we hope.
Someone else is getting sicker, slowly, inexorably, not his fault at all, never was, and it breaks our hearts a little more each year, as time and health and strength march inexorably to a place we do not want to go, not ever, a place we cannot avoid, and it's not fair, dammit, it never was. He cannot run fast enough or far enough, and neither can we, and I want to take it back, all the years and tears and fears and start all over again, do it all over again, just one more time, even though I know the results won't change, because there's never enough is there?
I can barely type this post, for my fingers tremble uncontrollably with fear acknowledged.
My Christmas Ipod has turned out to be the greatest gift. I'm revisiting old albums, rediscovering the past, examining the present, moving ahead, always, inexorably ahead to face whatever the future brings, good and bad. One moment at a time.
"...We drank a toast to innocence
We drank a toast to time
Reliving in our eloquence
Another auld lang syne..."
Dan Fogelberg, "Same Old Lang Syne," The Innocent Age album
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Wednesday, 02 January 2008
In a moment of startling clarity, she realized that she had absolutely nothing to say. And so she didn't.
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