In recent negotiations with my mother, I've asked her to be more gentle when she wants to talk about things that might be sensitive to me. It has been a long, hard lesson to learn, but I think we're close to achieving it.
There are moments, though, that I know she's resisting saying something and can't negotiate the compulsion to do so. Knowing what she has to say might hurt my feelings or imply judgement, she finds a way around it. She has become incredibly adept at it, too, and sometimes I don't even notice. For example, this weekend at Harrison's birthday party, we were hanging out together on Sarah's front porch. We were chit-chatting about all kinds of things, taking a much need break from the whir of the six children inside the house.
My mom said, "So, when did you cut your hair?"
But what she meant was, "When did you cut off your hair that I liked so much?"
Monday, May 15, 2006
Friday, May 12, 2006
Peanut
I can't believe you're two.
I've been thinking a lot about you lately. I'm getting eager to see you since I haven't seen you in almost five months. That's too long when that's a quarter of your life thus far. Too, too long. Your mother and grandmother share all of their stories about you with me, so I feel like you are still part of my everyday life. I think about you constantly, especially about the first moments when you became a part of our lives, the ways in which you made it so complicated, and the ways in which you changed everything that would happen from that moment forward.
Recently I've been trying to think more about the music I listen to, and how it connects me to different people in many ways. The same way I rely on smells to bring me back to memories of my grandmother, there are certain songs I hear that make me think of you instantly. The first week your mother went back to work I stayed with you during the day. Whenever you were hungry and would cry, I'd try a bunch of different things to calm you down. Without fail, when I rocked you in the nursery, stroked your tiny cheek and sang Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" you'd quiet instantly. I remember several times forgetting the words and going around in a loop, sometimes 20 minutes at a time. You didn't care about this repetition as you drifted off to sleep.
It will be a long time before you realize all of the special moments you've brought to so many people already, despite being pint-sized. I love you so much, and hope you have a wonderful birthday today.
I can't wait to see you.
I've been thinking a lot about you lately. I'm getting eager to see you since I haven't seen you in almost five months. That's too long when that's a quarter of your life thus far. Too, too long. Your mother and grandmother share all of their stories about you with me, so I feel like you are still part of my everyday life. I think about you constantly, especially about the first moments when you became a part of our lives, the ways in which you made it so complicated, and the ways in which you changed everything that would happen from that moment forward.
Recently I've been trying to think more about the music I listen to, and how it connects me to different people in many ways. The same way I rely on smells to bring me back to memories of my grandmother, there are certain songs I hear that make me think of you instantly. The first week your mother went back to work I stayed with you during the day. Whenever you were hungry and would cry, I'd try a bunch of different things to calm you down. Without fail, when I rocked you in the nursery, stroked your tiny cheek and sang Fleetwood Mac's "Landslide" you'd quiet instantly. I remember several times forgetting the words and going around in a loop, sometimes 20 minutes at a time. You didn't care about this repetition as you drifted off to sleep.
It will be a long time before you realize all of the special moments you've brought to so many people already, despite being pint-sized. I love you so much, and hope you have a wonderful birthday today.
I can't wait to see you.
Wednesday, May 10, 2006
Friday, May 05, 2006
The Dooce effect
In honor and solidarity with Dooce's latest venture, (Actually, I'm lazy about blogging and this sounded fun!) I decided to embark on my own iPod shuffle journey. My iPod, Pinky, has been a trusty soul since I got her and she has been to many different places, states, altitudes, airlines, and households. Batter up!
Song One: This Train Revised by the Indigo Girls
This is not a good start to my mock-project. ("Mockject" Doug?) No, starting with a song about the Holocaust could spell a disaster for the rest of this experiment.
Song Two: Into the West by Annie Lennox
I have always loved Annie Lennox, and when I was a teenager I used to fantasize about being her, especially in her video for "Why". My epitomized existential dilemmas of teenagerhood were attracted by the video that depicted the intricate performance of face and image. I felt protected watching her sheild herself with layers of make-up and costume. Hearing her now, almost fifteen years later, the song immediately evokes the memory of how I felt the moment the Lord of the Rings films were over -- sadness, loss, and resolution all at the same time. I was satisfied that it had been completed, but mourned losing my friends Froddo and Sam after my heart had been trained to follow their story. Wow. I'm starting to sound crazy like Annie during "Walking on Broken Glass" days.
Song Three: There is too much damn Indigo Girls on my iPod. (Closer to Fine)
Song Three(a): You Cause As Much Sorrow by Sinead O'Connor
I am transported immediately back to being 14 and pissed and ready to shave my head as a big FUCK YOU to all who'd listen. But I didn't, so I just listened to a whole lot of Sinead. The best angst-ridden lyric from that song: "You've done nothing so far but destroy my life. You cause as much sorrow dead as you did when you were alive."
Song Four: Black Tornado by Dan Bern
I found Dan Bern three years ago and have been obsessed with his Bob Dylan-like charm, except that you can actually understand him. Despite the upbeat nature of this song, the ending makes me tear up every time. He croons, "And everything is changing faster than I can describe. And all I really know to do is grab the wheel and drive and look for love, and some adventure. And I try not to let my own breathing scare me off the road. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes." Within a year of buying this CD my nephew was born, and it wasn't until he became a part of my life that I understood the magnitude of everything. They day he was born my uncle in Vietnam died, and in the two years since Harrison's birth my grandmother's health has slowly declined. I've changed in ways I couldn't anticipate, and in dimensions that surprise me sometimes. There is a lot of freedom in how I feel now, and a lot of simultaneous joy and pain when I think about all there is to come, both life and death.
Song Five: Like seriously, WAY too much Indigo Girls! (Pushing the Needle Too Far)
Song Five (a): This is absurd and I'm embarassed and really freaking GAY, apparently! (Get out the Map)
Song Five (b): It's Only Love that Gets You Through by Sade
I can't say I've ever heard this song before. If we were in the car and the iPod was connected to both an iTrip and Tara's hand, this would get a quick *click*! I love you, Tara, and the painful, painful iPod iTrip dance you do!
Song Six: February by Dar Williams
If Dar Williams were a fictional character she'd be Mother Nature mixed with Betty Friedan. I think the most powerful songs evoke feelings and memories based on every sense, not just by creating a mood through music. I am fond of this song because it makes me think of my birthday, of course, and the long, tiring New England winter -- one that is intolerably long and hard to let go of at the same time. I love the renewal of spring, but the comfort of wood fires and fleece, too.
Song Seven: John, I love you by Sinead O'Connor
"I let tears fall like rain, apple-sized they were! Oh, the pain! And through all of those times, when you could have died, this is what you find -- there's life outside your mother's garden. There's life beyond your wildest dreams....kick off those dancing shoes, kick off those wedding blues!" Apparently all of the music I listen to is about coming of age. So, yeah.
Song Eight: Damn, these Indigo Girls are PRO-FUCKING-LIFIC! (Touch Me Fall)
Song Eight (a): Low by Kelly Clarkson
Everyone has to have some token pop. Shout out to KC and my dealer, Tara, for hooking me up with this sing-along-able candy!
Song Nine: Under African Skies by Paul Simon
Thanks to my sister, Simon and Garfunkel was the first music I ever heard that wasn't Johnny Mathis or some ESL singsongy crap. (Big trees, tall trees, big tall trees...) The imagery and melody of this song are powerful, and the african singing and drumming in the background make this song as ethereal as I imagine it is actually to lie under african skies. You know, african skies not in Uganda or the Sundan.
Song Ten (oh please be a good one!): Turn Off the Light by Nelly Furtado
Nelly Furtado makes my ears hurt not because she doesn't have musical talent, but because I never know what to expect from her music. Her second album was more interesting than the first, but I'm still loyal to this catchy favorite. Rumor has it she's putting out a new album this year. Hopefully it will contain as much complexity as this song and the rest of her albums.
So, the experiment is done. It was as much fun as I thought. I'll have another go at it next week! But if for some reason I don't blog for a while it's because I'm busy erasing the Indigo Girls off of my iPod and downloading some MAN music! (I'll have you know Song Eleven is Girl on the Wing by The Shins!)
Song One: This Train Revised by the Indigo Girls
This is not a good start to my mock-project. ("Mockject" Doug?) No, starting with a song about the Holocaust could spell a disaster for the rest of this experiment.
Song Two: Into the West by Annie Lennox
I have always loved Annie Lennox, and when I was a teenager I used to fantasize about being her, especially in her video for "Why". My epitomized existential dilemmas of teenagerhood were attracted by the video that depicted the intricate performance of face and image. I felt protected watching her sheild herself with layers of make-up and costume. Hearing her now, almost fifteen years later, the song immediately evokes the memory of how I felt the moment the Lord of the Rings films were over -- sadness, loss, and resolution all at the same time. I was satisfied that it had been completed, but mourned losing my friends Froddo and Sam after my heart had been trained to follow their story. Wow. I'm starting to sound crazy like Annie during "Walking on Broken Glass" days.
Song Three: There is too much damn Indigo Girls on my iPod. (Closer to Fine)
Song Three(a): You Cause As Much Sorrow by Sinead O'Connor
I am transported immediately back to being 14 and pissed and ready to shave my head as a big FUCK YOU to all who'd listen. But I didn't, so I just listened to a whole lot of Sinead. The best angst-ridden lyric from that song: "You've done nothing so far but destroy my life. You cause as much sorrow dead as you did when you were alive."
Song Four: Black Tornado by Dan Bern
I found Dan Bern three years ago and have been obsessed with his Bob Dylan-like charm, except that you can actually understand him. Despite the upbeat nature of this song, the ending makes me tear up every time. He croons, "And everything is changing faster than I can describe. And all I really know to do is grab the wheel and drive and look for love, and some adventure. And I try not to let my own breathing scare me off the road. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes. There is a tombstone of my father I visit sometimes." Within a year of buying this CD my nephew was born, and it wasn't until he became a part of my life that I understood the magnitude of everything. They day he was born my uncle in Vietnam died, and in the two years since Harrison's birth my grandmother's health has slowly declined. I've changed in ways I couldn't anticipate, and in dimensions that surprise me sometimes. There is a lot of freedom in how I feel now, and a lot of simultaneous joy and pain when I think about all there is to come, both life and death.
Song Five: Like seriously, WAY too much Indigo Girls! (Pushing the Needle Too Far)
Song Five (a): This is absurd and I'm embarassed and really freaking GAY, apparently! (Get out the Map)
Song Five (b): It's Only Love that Gets You Through by Sade
I can't say I've ever heard this song before. If we were in the car and the iPod was connected to both an iTrip and Tara's hand, this would get a quick *click*! I love you, Tara, and the painful, painful iPod iTrip dance you do!
Song Six: February by Dar Williams
If Dar Williams were a fictional character she'd be Mother Nature mixed with Betty Friedan. I think the most powerful songs evoke feelings and memories based on every sense, not just by creating a mood through music. I am fond of this song because it makes me think of my birthday, of course, and the long, tiring New England winter -- one that is intolerably long and hard to let go of at the same time. I love the renewal of spring, but the comfort of wood fires and fleece, too.
Song Seven: John, I love you by Sinead O'Connor
"I let tears fall like rain, apple-sized they were! Oh, the pain! And through all of those times, when you could have died, this is what you find -- there's life outside your mother's garden. There's life beyond your wildest dreams....kick off those dancing shoes, kick off those wedding blues!" Apparently all of the music I listen to is about coming of age. So, yeah.
Song Eight: Damn, these Indigo Girls are PRO-FUCKING-LIFIC! (Touch Me Fall)
Song Eight (a): Low by Kelly Clarkson
Everyone has to have some token pop. Shout out to KC and my dealer, Tara, for hooking me up with this sing-along-able candy!
Song Nine: Under African Skies by Paul Simon
Thanks to my sister, Simon and Garfunkel was the first music I ever heard that wasn't Johnny Mathis or some ESL singsongy crap. (Big trees, tall trees, big tall trees...) The imagery and melody of this song are powerful, and the african singing and drumming in the background make this song as ethereal as I imagine it is actually to lie under african skies. You know, african skies not in Uganda or the Sundan.
Song Ten (oh please be a good one!): Turn Off the Light by Nelly Furtado
Nelly Furtado makes my ears hurt not because she doesn't have musical talent, but because I never know what to expect from her music. Her second album was more interesting than the first, but I'm still loyal to this catchy favorite. Rumor has it she's putting out a new album this year. Hopefully it will contain as much complexity as this song and the rest of her albums.
So, the experiment is done. It was as much fun as I thought. I'll have another go at it next week! But if for some reason I don't blog for a while it's because I'm busy erasing the Indigo Girls off of my iPod and downloading some MAN music! (I'll have you know Song Eleven is Girl on the Wing by The Shins!)
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
Grammar police log entry no. 32942345
I'm not even sure what to say nor do I have any fancy way of deconstructing the following, except to say that IT MAKES MY SKIN CRAWL.
Sent to me in an IM earlier today:
"...to bad...her lose"
OMG.
Sent to me in an IM earlier today:
"...to bad...her lose"
OMG.
Thursday, April 13, 2006
Tara's no good, awful, terrible no luck day
In my coversations with the world travelers I know, I am often dumbfounded at their sense of surperiority when talking about jet-lag. Recently, Tara and I have learned that 30,000 or 3,000 miles doesn't make much of a difference. Add that we visited three states, two state parks, and five national parks/monuments in six days to the recent daylight savings change, and the 4:30 am departure to the airport, and that two of the three states we visited observe daylight savings and the other doesn't (and is in a different time zone) and finally, add that we waited nearly 45 minutes for our baggage and didn't get home until 1 am on Tuesday night, and you have two very tired gals. The only thing that could make this worse is if we had a 2 year old.
Well, we don't have a two year old, but it got to the point this week that we were telling time based on when we woke up, when we ate and when we were naturally hungry. This meant sometimes that we ate dinner at 11 pm or 1 am or whenever. Needless to say, when we returned home, we were exhausted. Ask me later about the phenomenal varieties of the southwest-lack-of humidity-induced snoring. When we finally went to bed on Tuesday night (2 am), our body clocks were thoroughly confused. It only got worse when Tara had to get up at 7:30 to go to work. After she plowed through 135 emails, she had to leave for class, which went until after six when I picked her up at UMass.
We had grand plans to vegitate in front of the TV and do laundry. As I cooked dinner, Tara took care of some stuff around the house. Once dinner was on, I sorted and started the laundry, which, you should know, is something we try to do at least twice a week because of the size of our dryer. We have a stackable 3/4 size washer/dryer in our apartment. This means the loads are smaller, and it takes longer to do laundry. Well, by last night at 7 when we started laundry, we had at least ten loads. Ten Loads. Ten full loads. In fact, we had so many loads that each color got its own load. Purple. Reds and Pinks. White. Green. Blues and aquas. For some reason we have a lot of aqua colored clothes. Tara's bathingsuit is aqua. My favorite shirt is aqua. A shirt we bought new for vacation that was worn once is is aqua. Wait -- make that two shirts we bought for vacation.
After we finished dinner, cleaned up, and watched some TiVo, I went to take the fourth load out of the dryer, and put the fifth load into the dryer and the sixth load into the washer. It should be known that I hate doing laundry, though I love having clean clothes. Hate it. I find it tedious and annoying, and it never ends. It certainly never ends when you have 10 loads plus sheets and towels, and you've already had a really long day. As I opened the dryer door on the aqua/blue load, I see something strange in the back of the dryer. In fact, the strange thing I see is actually a collection of things, and then, to my horror, THE THING in the back. I load up my arms full of clothes silently gasping at their appearance, grab The Thing out of the dryer and say, "Um, honey?" Still blissfully ignorant Tara says, "Yes, honey?" and I walk into the living room and hand it to her. It. Her lovely, $9.99 ball point Dr. Grip pen, which has now exploded in the dryer, spraying ink all over the clothes, and staining the enamel on the inside of the drying unit. I drop the clothes in front of her and set to work at getting any of the ink off I can while the ink is still wet. I'm scrubbing and scrubbing, but the inside drum of the dryer looks like the outside of a dalmation, and the ink is not budging. I hear Tara say, "FUCK!" a few times, then the familiar sound of the stain remover spray bottle. The clothes are only half dry, so Tara was still holding out hope.
And so there we were, scrubbing then spraying. Spraying and scrubbing. After ten minutes, I had gotten most if not all of the wet ink off of the dryer when I heard the spray bottle stop, and a deep sigh from the living room. When I pulled my head out of the dryer, Tara was standing there, and when I looked at her she wailed, "I'M SOOOOORRRRRRRYYYYY!" and started to cry. I hugged her, then we went into the living room to assess the damage. It wasn't good. Not only did the dryer look a dalmation, we now had seven or eight blue skinned dalmations lying on the living room floor.
We spent the next hour or so spraying, rubbing, scrubbing, and finally, looking on the internet to find some miracle solution. Let it be known here and now: ink does not come out. Dry or wet, it does not come out. Tonight we're going to try rubbing alcohol, and they also suggest pure acetone. PURE ACETONE. And then what, put it in the dryer?! Blue skinned dalmations is one thing. Exploding blue skinned dalmations is something entirely different.
If I'm feeling particularly cruel or humorous, I'll post a picture of the carnage later.
Well, we don't have a two year old, but it got to the point this week that we were telling time based on when we woke up, when we ate and when we were naturally hungry. This meant sometimes that we ate dinner at 11 pm or 1 am or whenever. Needless to say, when we returned home, we were exhausted. Ask me later about the phenomenal varieties of the southwest-lack-of humidity-induced snoring. When we finally went to bed on Tuesday night (2 am), our body clocks were thoroughly confused. It only got worse when Tara had to get up at 7:30 to go to work. After she plowed through 135 emails, she had to leave for class, which went until after six when I picked her up at UMass.
We had grand plans to vegitate in front of the TV and do laundry. As I cooked dinner, Tara took care of some stuff around the house. Once dinner was on, I sorted and started the laundry, which, you should know, is something we try to do at least twice a week because of the size of our dryer. We have a stackable 3/4 size washer/dryer in our apartment. This means the loads are smaller, and it takes longer to do laundry. Well, by last night at 7 when we started laundry, we had at least ten loads. Ten Loads. Ten full loads. In fact, we had so many loads that each color got its own load. Purple. Reds and Pinks. White. Green. Blues and aquas. For some reason we have a lot of aqua colored clothes. Tara's bathingsuit is aqua. My favorite shirt is aqua. A shirt we bought new for vacation that was worn once is is aqua. Wait -- make that two shirts we bought for vacation.
After we finished dinner, cleaned up, and watched some TiVo, I went to take the fourth load out of the dryer, and put the fifth load into the dryer and the sixth load into the washer. It should be known that I hate doing laundry, though I love having clean clothes. Hate it. I find it tedious and annoying, and it never ends. It certainly never ends when you have 10 loads plus sheets and towels, and you've already had a really long day. As I opened the dryer door on the aqua/blue load, I see something strange in the back of the dryer. In fact, the strange thing I see is actually a collection of things, and then, to my horror, THE THING in the back. I load up my arms full of clothes silently gasping at their appearance, grab The Thing out of the dryer and say, "Um, honey?" Still blissfully ignorant Tara says, "Yes, honey?" and I walk into the living room and hand it to her. It. Her lovely, $9.99 ball point Dr. Grip pen, which has now exploded in the dryer, spraying ink all over the clothes, and staining the enamel on the inside of the drying unit. I drop the clothes in front of her and set to work at getting any of the ink off I can while the ink is still wet. I'm scrubbing and scrubbing, but the inside drum of the dryer looks like the outside of a dalmation, and the ink is not budging. I hear Tara say, "FUCK!" a few times, then the familiar sound of the stain remover spray bottle. The clothes are only half dry, so Tara was still holding out hope.
And so there we were, scrubbing then spraying. Spraying and scrubbing. After ten minutes, I had gotten most if not all of the wet ink off of the dryer when I heard the spray bottle stop, and a deep sigh from the living room. When I pulled my head out of the dryer, Tara was standing there, and when I looked at her she wailed, "I'M SOOOOORRRRRRRYYYYY!" and started to cry. I hugged her, then we went into the living room to assess the damage. It wasn't good. Not only did the dryer look a dalmation, we now had seven or eight blue skinned dalmations lying on the living room floor.
We spent the next hour or so spraying, rubbing, scrubbing, and finally, looking on the internet to find some miracle solution. Let it be known here and now: ink does not come out. Dry or wet, it does not come out. Tonight we're going to try rubbing alcohol, and they also suggest pure acetone. PURE ACETONE. And then what, put it in the dryer?! Blue skinned dalmations is one thing. Exploding blue skinned dalmations is something entirely different.
If I'm feeling particularly cruel or humorous, I'll post a picture of the carnage later.
Tuesday, March 28, 2006
I'm finding myself in a bit of a Pickler
I am learning patience. I am -- I swear, despite what I am about to type.
Here it is, broken down into two parts:
Part 1: You are applying to graduate school. You may want to pick up a book on American idioms and sayings. It is 'intents and purposes' not 'intensive purposes.' It never was. It never will be. Oh, and it doesn't even make sense.
Part 2: You are IN graduate school. When you are in graduate school and you are discussing fine academic topics at a leading national research university, you should try to sound like you are discussing fine academic topics at a leading national research university. Therefore, I will argue that at no point should you ever use the word 'guesstimate.' In fact, guesstimate is not a word. Guess is a word. Estimate is a word. When you combine the two you are making it up, and you sound silly, and I tune out and can't hear anything else that you say.
PS. What's a ballsy?
Here it is, broken down into two parts:
Part 1: You are applying to graduate school. You may want to pick up a book on American idioms and sayings. It is 'intents and purposes' not 'intensive purposes.' It never was. It never will be. Oh, and it doesn't even make sense.
Part 2: You are IN graduate school. When you are in graduate school and you are discussing fine academic topics at a leading national research university, you should try to sound like you are discussing fine academic topics at a leading national research university. Therefore, I will argue that at no point should you ever use the word 'guesstimate.' In fact, guesstimate is not a word. Guess is a word. Estimate is a word. When you combine the two you are making it up, and you sound silly, and I tune out and can't hear anything else that you say.
PS. What's a ballsy?
Monday, March 06, 2006
Now that it's over and Brokeback has lost all but two nominations, is it fair to say they were shafted?
At first I started a blog entry here that began:
It must be said: I am disappointed that Brokeback Mountain lost all but two of the nominations for Oscars last night. . .
But as I poorly crafted some sappy sentiments about my brokeback love I decided that really, this post was about the title.
So I'll leave you with that.
;)
It must be said: I am disappointed that Brokeback Mountain lost all but two of the nominations for Oscars last night. . .
But as I poorly crafted some sappy sentiments about my brokeback love I decided that really, this post was about the title.
So I'll leave you with that.
;)
Thursday, February 23, 2006
Oy!
Damn you, Cohen, for crushing the dreams of all of America!
The Kwanny who I live with is very upset with you for not bringing home the gold.
No Keebler treats for you, elfie.
The Kwanny who I live with is very upset with you for not bringing home the gold.
No Keebler treats for you, elfie.
Sunday, February 19, 2006
Monday, February 13, 2006
Friday, February 10, 2006
I finally got the federal government to recognize my marriage
Your National Parks Pass order was shipped on 02/09/2006
Your order id is 2####6.
Below are estimates for delivery, depending upon the shipping selected.
Regular USPS Mail: 3 - 7 business days. Estimated delivery by 2/21/2006.
FedEx 2Day: 1 - 3 business days. Estimated delivery by 2/14/2006.
International: Delivery may take up to 8 weeks. Estimated delivery by 4/7/2006.
Pass Type : Self + Spouse
Pass will be shipped to:
Valerie Hooper
## _____ St.
Northampton
MA 01060
United States
Card holders/spouse name(s) : Valerie N Hooper and Tara A Lindros
Your order id is 2####6.
Below are estimates for delivery, depending upon the shipping selected.
Regular USPS Mail: 3 - 7 business days. Estimated delivery by 2/21/2006.
FedEx 2Day: 1 - 3 business days. Estimated delivery by 2/14/2006.
International: Delivery may take up to 8 weeks. Estimated delivery by 4/7/2006.
Pass Type : Self + Spouse
Pass will be shipped to:
Valerie Hooper
## _____ St.
Northampton
MA 01060
United States
Card holders/spouse name(s) : Valerie N Hooper and Tara A Lindros
Thursday, February 09, 2006
28 Years Later
Don't worry: that is not a scene from my birthday party.
Judging by the tone of some of the birthday cards I got yesterday I am supposed to feel horrible about my age -- lament the inevitable and complain every year about the newly sagging body part, laugh line, gray hair. The truth is, though, despite rapidly approaching thirty, I don't feel that way.
Yesterday was an absolute barrage of love and well-wishes, so much so that at one point the phone rang (again) and Tara quipped, "It's your hotline!" For my birthday I got a chunky handful of cards, some moola, several emails, two mixed cds, four dozen tulips, many phone calls and almost -- almost -- a message of human-imitating-dog-barking "Happy Birthday To You." Generator, I expect you to pull out all of the stops for 29. Just saying.
Tara and I went out for dinner for the second most expensive dinner we've ever had at Del Raye in Northampton. As appetizers we ate fresh mussels in garlic broth and argula salad with pears and broiled goat cheese and honey toasts. For supper Tara ate 16-spice grilled chicken with purple mashed potatoes while I enjoyed parsley crusted cod with leeks and lobster mashed potatoes. After finishing a bottle of wine, we ordered a berry-stuffed crepe with fresh whipped cream and pomagranates. Y. U. M. M. Y. If I was another woman, I might cry at tasting how good it was.
If I get all of this love and attention for my birthday, how could I possibly be angry at the new laugh line by my right eye? How could I really be angered by the stray gray hair I found a few weeks ago.
The truth is I feel overwhelmingly, wholeheartedly, and fatastically blessed and loved. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
I'm sorry. Blink. Blink Blink. What?
Few things make me want to die upon reading them, but just knowing that these things even exist in the world MAKES ME WANT TO DIE.
O. M. G.
O. M. G.
Sunday, January 15, 2006
When Hope Unborn Had Died
Today in church a woman shared during community response time a story about being in Memphis, TN on April 4, 1968 when Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated. It was the first time, she said, that she was really in touch with the rage and fear that existed in the US at the time around issues of race and racism. She cried as she told the story, her body shaking from the intensity of her tale.
In honor of Dr. King, we talked about insidious racism and other -isms that exist and are rampant today. We talked about the courage needed to stand up and fight against those things, even if they have an ever-changing face, even if the circumstances are frightening, intimidating, or overwhelming.
Dr. King was a visionary beyond his years, and perhaps even beyond any visionary alive today. He worked endlessly for peace and justice, with an eye and a heart towards the most vulnerable in our midst. Hold his vision in your heart -- let it guide you and never lose sight of it.
We will miss you, our brother. We are changed because of you.
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
- MLK Jr.
In honor of Dr. King, we talked about insidious racism and other -isms that exist and are rampant today. We talked about the courage needed to stand up and fight against those things, even if they have an ever-changing face, even if the circumstances are frightening, intimidating, or overwhelming.
Dr. King was a visionary beyond his years, and perhaps even beyond any visionary alive today. He worked endlessly for peace and justice, with an eye and a heart towards the most vulnerable in our midst. Hold his vision in your heart -- let it guide you and never lose sight of it.
We will miss you, our brother. We are changed because of you.
Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter.
- MLK Jr.
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