mental chatter

Kids these days

2011-07-10T16:05:00.000-07:00

Recently, I was sitting outside in the sun with a bag of fudgesicles and a bag of popsicles to share with a group of children for a celebration. I was waiting a few minutes before passing out the goodies because I wanted the children to have a chance to finish their lunch, gather around, etc.

While sitting there enjoying the scenery and basking in the sun, I hear a precocious 8-year-old girl say very loudly while boring her eyes into me, "If anyone was smart, they would know that popsicles melt in the sun." She emphasized the "smart", as if to say that I was not.

I turned my head a little so I could look at her straight-on. She had this "Nellie Oleson" look on her face as she attempted to stare me down, but I won that one. Should I respond, should I not? I was so dumb-founded (Yeah, I said dumb. No pun intended) that an 8-year-old would speak to anyone that way, especially an adult. Isn't the whole Mean Girl thing more fitting for junior high?

After I stared her down, I had to bite my tongue over and over again so that I would not say, "Well, little girl, if anyone were smart they would know that the sentence, 'If anyone was smart they would know that popsicles melt in the sun.', is incorrect English grammar. The subjunctive mood should be used, and the correct way to say that sentence is, 'If anyone were smart, they would know that popsicles melt in the sun.'.

Grrr...kids these days.

I'm sorry

2011-05-29T21:32:00.000-07:00

My dad is back in the hospital. Ugh. What a nightmare this has been. Even so, I feel like I have no right to complain too much. At least today, right now, I still have my dad. Life is so very precious. Such a cliche, but it is the truth.

Years ago I made a promise to myself that I would make amends to people whom I had hurt in one way or another, whether intentional or not. There were also people that I didn't necessarily hurt, but just wanted to touch base with and clear up possible misunderstandings or unfinished business.

At the time of making this promise to myself many of the people to whom I needed to apologize were no longer a part of my life and I had no way of knowing whether or not they were even alive. Obviously, this was waaayyy before Facebook and Google search. I "put it out to the Universe" that if it were meant to be for me to make an amends to these people, let them fall into my path somehow. Until I found them, I would make a living amends to them.

Interestingly enough, I can think of 5 people off the top of my head that did fall into my path. A couple of these people landed in my life and I was able to make an amends or clear up some things, then they moved on, never to be seen or heard from again. With most, however, our friendship has been renewed and made stronger than before. I consider myself very lucky to have been granted this opportunity to ask for forgiveness, to be forgiven, to offer up forgiveness - not only to these individuals, but also to myself.

What power the words "I'm sorry" hold. There is a stupid line from "Love Story" that says, "Love is never having to say you're sorry." What a load of crap. Love is having to say you are sorry over and over again.

My father's serious injuries from the motorcycle accident and the ensuing critical medical problems have brought this "amends-making" promise to the forefront of my mind. Our time is short. The "I'm sorry"s and the "I love you"s can't wait until the deathbed. Sometimes there isn't a "deathbed" with time to say goodbye. Sometimes the Big Sleep begins in a ditch, or in an ambulance hooked up to machinery, or at the bottom of a lake, or during a nap while dreaming of a cow jumping of the moon, or...

Although a love song, whenever I hear this song I am reminded to be in the present and to forgive as well as ask to be forgiven:

Well open up your mind and see like me.
Open up your plans and damn you're free.
Look into your heart and you'll find love, love, love, love.

Listen to the music of the moment, people.
Dance and sing.
We're just one big family,
And it's our God-forsaken right to be loved, loved, loved, loved, loved.

So I won't hesitate no more, no more.
It cannot wait, I'm sure
There's no need to complicate, our time is short,
This is our fate.

Now, go out and forgive someone. Harder still, ask someone to forgive you. I double-dog-dare you.

Full-on complete double rainbow across the sky

2011-03-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

I hate all things "rainbow".

Rainbows are so...1980s. Don't get me wrong; I still kind of reek of the 80s, as those were my coming-of-age years. However, the rainbow ephemera I can do without. I really didn't like them much in the 80s, now that I think about it. Although, I must confess, I did own a plethora of items that sported rainbows.

They were the "in thing" and what 13-year-old 7th-grader doesn't want the latest "in thing", even if it really isn't "their thing"?

I had rainbow socks with a spot for each toe:

rainbow hair ribbons, rainbow shoelaces:

a rainbow pendant necklace, except mine did not say "Laura" or "Kim". That would be a little weird:rainbow earrings, a shirt with an iron-on transfer rainbow on it, rainbow stickers, packages of underwear that came in an assortment of rainbow colors,

a glass candy jar with Snoopy sitting by a rainbow:

a pin-on rainbow button, rainbow stationary that was used to correspond with my pen pals (all of whom I found via the show Big Blue Marble, btw). Of course, those lengthy letters were written with pens that contained ink of the different rainbow colors. You know, I *think* that I might have even had a white ski jacket with a rainbow on it. Maybe not. I'll have to look back at old photo albums.

My very first sewing project in Home Ec was one of those stuffed, puffy white satin clouds with ribbons in the colors of the rainbow hanging down from it:

It was supposed to be a mobile, which I did hang in my room for awhile; but my sister, in a fit of anger, tore it off of my bedroom ceiling, separating the cloud from the fishing-line string. The string was still firmly attached to the ceiling with a - you got it - rainbow colored thumbtack, but the cloud came tumbling down to my bed with a mere plop. I could have easily reattached the pillow to the string, but it wasn't worth it to me at the time. I hated sewing. Besides, I rather liked have a cute little throw pillow with which I could snuggle-up.

Luckily, my rainbow phase did not last long; probably just a few months. My true colors (no pun intended) came out and I slowly started to march to the beat of my own drummer, picking and choosing in which fads I wanted to participate, shunning others that didn't feel right for me.

Nowadays, rainbow-themed items just make my left eye twitch. They make me think of Mork's (from Ork) suspenders (shudder), and Skittles. Is there anything more irksome than Mork's voice? And Skittles...are they the quintessential 1980s candy, or what? In high school I used to eat those happy, colorful balls of hard sugar for lunch. Yes, for lunch. Ugh. Can you say "diabetic coma"?

So, with all that said, I saw the most amazing rainbow the other day. A complete arc of brilliant, shimmery colors, juxtaposed with the heavy, black clouds looming behind. Those kinds of rainbows I do so enjoy.

Then, the day after my rainbow appeared a friend mentioned on Facebook that she was having dreams about rainbows. "What did it all mean?", she asked. Ah, is that not the question we all ponder in hearts throughout our lives, my beauty?

I don't have the answers, but I have a feeling that Paul "Yosemite Bear" Vasquez just might.

Whenever I watch this I laugh until I can't breathe. Yet, at the same time, a part of me feels awful for finding amusement in this man's very personal, spiritual experience. I SO get his experience. However, I clearly do not feel that awful about it because every now and then I go back for more and laugh just as hard.

If you get a chance, check out some of the Double Rainbow videos on You Tube that people have made using Auto Tune, or other programs of their ilk. Of course, they are all making fun of Yosemite Bear and are absolutely hilarious. As well, watch some clips of interviews with Yosemite Bear done by Jimmy Kimmel, et al. What a good-natured, gentle, guy who takes it all in stride.

I doubt he would ever be caught anywhere near those wretched rainbows that I detest; he's too cool for that.

Paul "Yosemite Bear" Vasquez, you are my latest hero and you rock the real rainbows, dude.

so much friendly, womanly, beachly goodness. so little time.

2011-03-02T17:42:00.000-08:00

Why, I thought I had posted this weeks ago! Well, no matter. And now, for your reading pleasure...:

Discussion with a gentleman across the deck. blueberries. smoking them. like in a smokehouse?, i ask. as in endo -- like Snoop Dogg, he says. oh, as in, "rollin' down the street smokin' endo, sippin' on gin and juice, laid back, with my mind on my money and my money on my mind."?, i inquire. you know what i'm talkin' 'bout, he says, with a wink, and a nod, and a smile.

Discussions with a pagan, a pentecostal, and everything in between. zionists. abortion. seeing ghosts. dead loved ones visiting in dreams. prophecies. weddings. sex. politics. food. ciudad juarez. maquilladoras. dogtooth. human centipede. really? so much to talk about. so little time.

Food. homemade humus. lemon rice. vegetarian enchiladas. beans with a ham bone that looked like...well, nevermind. cheetos. lots of cheetos. more food. so much food. so little time.

Elicit Elixirs. red. white. absolut whipped cream vodka. dreamsicles. creamsicles. root beer floats. repeat. just enough liquor. so little time.

Breath of fresh air. marlboros. american spirits. more than enough smokes. more than enough time.

The Dance. some with furniture. others without. damn, jessica's moves! hawaiian. belly. lady gaga. poison. weezer. pink. 50 cent. gorillaz. so much good music. so little time.

A wonderful time to be had by all. an amazing group of strong, hilarious, smart, lovely women. ahhhh...ready for another beachy get-away with friends old and new.

Alright...if you think evil is cute...

2011-02-10T23:13:00.001-08:00

Just food for thought. Been running through my mind and need to put it down. No, it won't be well thought out. It will be disjointed and confusing. I'm ok with that.

This evening I was watching The Daily Show, an episode where John Stewart was interviewing T. Boone Pickens. I immediately took a liking to the guy. Mr. Pickens, that is. Something about him was so...je ne sais quois...cute.

There is something about smart, old men who aren't afraid to let their hair down (if they have any) and get silly. He has the makings of a stuffy, pompous, rich codger, but he isn't that at all, surprisingly. C'mon, anyone who devises a plan to use/create domestic energy alternatives and coins it "The Pickens Plan" has gotta be cute.

"I really like this guy. He's cute.", I say to Devarshi. "Even though he's a Republican?", he responds. Ugh. Did he really have to burst my bubble and mention the "R" word? Of course, I knew deep-down that he was...heh hem...Republican, I just wasn't ready to say it out loud. "Yes, even though he is a Republican.", I retort. Then he tosses back at me: "And, even though he throws gazillions of dollars toward the GOP?" "Yep.", was my final answer. "Alright...if you think evil is cute...ok."

Funny he should say this. Just last night I watched a National Geographic documentary titled The Science of Evil. Can evil be cute?

It was fascinating to see brain images of "normal" people and how their brains react when given scenarios that required moral judgment, then asked "What would you do?" As predicted, most brains reacted in the same way and the test subjects responded uniformly. But there are those whose brains do react quite differently. Why is this? Is it a genetic mishap, i.e. "Nature", or is it because this brain was molded to be this way, i.e. "Nurture"?

I am reminded of a passage from the New Testament: Mat 7:17: "Even so every good tree bringeth forth good fruit; but a corrupt tree bringeth forth evil fruit." So, if the tree (parent) is corrupt, the fruit (children) will be evil? If this is true, is this because of genetics or because of the nurturing, or lack there of, that the fruit/kids receive?

Juxtapose that with the First Principle of the Unitarian Universalist's "Principles & Purposes": "We affirm and promote the inherent worth and dignity of every person." Does everyone have inherent worth, even the evil fruit? Luckily, that First Principle does not say that we have to believe this, just that we affirm and promote this; act "as if". Ok. But, what about the Jeffrey Dahmers and the Ward Weavers of the world? Really, them too? Or are they really evil at all? Maybe they are so malformed (whether in the womb or outside of it) that they cannot be truly evil because they do not contain any sense of right or wrong, no moral judgment. Maybe, in an odd way, they aren't fully human. They are defective in a bad, bad way, but not truly evil. Not that this could ever excuse or explain their actions. There is no excuse or explanation. Maybe to be truly evil one must be fully human, to be able to discern right from wrong, to weigh the consequences, and yet, still move forward in wicked ways.

Just what exactly IS evil, anyway? A few definitions from various dictionaries:
-morally wrong or bad; immoral; wicked
-harmful; injurious
-the wicked or immoral part of someone or something
-the force in nature that governs and gives rise to wickedness and sin.
-offensive or unpleasant

We all have the potential to be evil, yet most people are not. So, back to my original question: Can evil be cute? Of course it can! It can be cute, beautiful, smart, articulate, unattractive, delayed, and so on. That's the tricky thing about evil. Quite cunning, indeed. It can take any form and you can't pin it down until it is all said and done.

This definition of "evil" comes from a dictionary of computer terms. This one makes complete sense to me:

-Evil: implies that some system, program, person, or institution is sufficiently maldesigned as to be not worth the bother of dealing with. Unlike the adjectives in the cretinous, losing, brain-damaged series, "evil" does not imply incompetence or bad design, but rather a set of goals or design criteria fatally incompatible with the speaker's.

I kinda like that. More tangible (for me at least) and concrete than all the hoo-ha about morals and wickedness, which just brings up more questions.

So, T. Boone Pickens, I'm going to follow that First Principle and "act as if" you are not evil, even though you support and evil team. ;) Besides, you are just too cute. Don't let me down, Pickens! Don't let me down!

Super Bowl Sunday again. Really?

2011-02-06T12:30:00.000-08:00

January and February are just one big fat, long, ugly month. In my mind I tend to lump the two together. They are both long (although technically February is short). And dark. And cold. And wet. Just 8 or so weeks of blah. Maybe I'll create my own little calendar and rename the first 59 days the year "Jabruary". Or maybe I'll call it "Blahbruary". No, "Jabruary" is a little more user-friendly, don't you think?

On one of the Sundays in Jabruary falls the Super Bowl. Although it occurs on a different date each year, for me it marks the anniversary of the beginning of a very difficult time in my life. 18 or so years later I am still plagued by the sorrow. Of course, the intensity has lessened. It no longer digs its sharp claws into my flesh from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep at night, and even then pursuing me in my dreams. No, it doesn't follow me day in, day out. Yet it is still there all the same. You know, one of those indelible scars that we all have; one that just becomes a part of you. From time to time, when that scar is bumped in just the right way the nerves resting below the surface are ignited and are as raw as if it all happened just yesterday.Such is life. Superbowl Sunday: Blech.

So, who wants to focus on all of the crap that is doled out to us in life? Indeed, Not I! I shout out the lyrics of "Funiculí, Funiculá":
Some think the world is made for fun and frolic,
And so do I! And so do I!
Some think it well to be all melancholic,
To pine and sigh; to pine and sigh;
But I, I love to spend my time in singing,
Some joyous song, some joyous song,
To set the air with music bravely ringing
Is far from wrong! Is far from wrong!
Listen, listen, echoes sound afar!
Listen, listen, echoes sound afar!
Funiculì, funiculà, funiculì, funiculà!
Echoes sound afar, funiculì, funiculà!

Ah me! 'tis strange that some should take to sighing,
And like it well! And like it well!
For me, I have not thought it worth the trying,
So cannot tell! So cannot tell!
With laugh, with dance and song the day soon passes
Full soon is gone, full soon is gone,
For mirth was made for joyous lads and lasses
To call their own! To call their own!
Listen, listen, hark the soft guitar!
Listen, listen, hark the soft guitar!
Funiculì, funiculà, funiculì, funiculà!
Hark the soft guitar, funiculì, funiculà!

See, Jabruary can't be all bad, right? Many reasons to be happy and to celebrate: I have survived another year. Groundhog's Day. Valentine's Day. 2 or more 3 day weekends. Sometimes there is snow. Even better, the rare balmy, sunny days. The sounds and sights of spring coming 'round the bend. Birthdays of those near and dear: My brother-in-law, Carmela, Megan, Adam...just a few off the top of my head. I am glad you were all born and are a part of this world. Yes, many reasons to rejoice and shout out the song that resides in my heart.

Jabruary be damned! I have so much for which to be grateful and to be happy. Life is good.

I still hate Super Bowl Sunday.

Where there's life, there's hope?

2010-05-26T00:20:00.000-07:00

It has been a long time, my friend. A very long time. I have been unfaithful and have not kept up my end of the bargain here. I have been putting my pen to paper elsewhere, so to speak. Ah, such is life.

Such is life, indeed. I'm usually a really good judge of character. Almost always spot-on. I knew right from the get-go what I was dealing with. Yeah, I ended that sentence with a preposition. Mark my paper in red and give me the "F", already.

Back on track...

I knew what I was dealing with, and yet I didn't care. I have had several versions of "This" in my life, so I was accustomed to dealing with "This" and the crazy-ass antics. Usually their crap just rolls off my back while I roll my eyes behind theirs. If someone is worth it I will call them on their shit. Whether or not they hear it is another matter. "This" hears what they want to hear and disregards the rest.

I'm not a screamer or a hounder or a badgerer (are those even words?). I won't yell and say, "Jesus, Mary and Joseph! You are so messed up and wrong, just wrong!" Having spent years working in one social service field or another I'm more of the, "Yeah, I understand you really feel that way and you believe that is what happened. Sounds like that really hurt. No one likes to be told to "go to hell" then have the phone slammed shut on them. By the way, when you told him that his kids were a passel of ugly snot-nosed brats and that you wished they would get run over by a Mack truck, is it even remotely possible that he could have been hurt and upset by those comments, that's why he told you to go to hell then hung up?" Then I wait for the response. If the response is, "Are you kidding me? After all I did for him and his kids? His kids ARE ugly and they would be better off dead! He hung up on me! HUNG UP ON ME!" Then I do as I was taught: smile, back away, and move on. If the response is, "Damn. I didn't even think of that. I'm still really pissed, though.", then I know there might be some hope.

Most cases turn out to be hopeful. Most.

So-Lame, a.k.a. Salem

2008-10-01T14:16:00.000-07:00

As I was driving through Salem today, I was thinking about how much I really dislike this wretched town. It is eerie that we have been living here for over 4 years and very little has changed or has been added to Salem. It is such a depressing and dreary little city. It feels as if everyone is just existing, instead of thriving. There is no life behind anything. Dead, or just waiting to die.

Salem is about 10 years behind Portland, which says a lot because Portland is about 5-10 years behind major cities in the U.S. So, a lot of things in Salem are like deja vu for me. Didn't I already do this? Wasn't this already the latest cool thing to do? When I visit Portland I am made aware of how "left behind" I am. With each passing mile along I-5 north, I feel the pulse strengthen and the breath deepen as I get closer to home. I worry about my sons living and growing up in this town. I guess the one saving grace is that we make it to the Portland area several times a month.

So, back to my driving through Salem today and my thoughts about how much I dislike this town; I did the usual self-talk that I am so good at doing - "Oh, c'mon, it isn't so bad! blah, blah, blah." Alright. Maybe it isn't so bad. I decided to make a mental list of all of the things that I like about Salem.

Here is my list. Hope you have a lot of time to read it:

1) Devarshi has a short commute to work, therefore can spend more time with the boys.

2) We live about 5 miles from a great little organic u-pick farm that has rock-bottom prices.

3) Having come from Portland we were able to buy a decent house in a safe neighborhood (Safe is all relative. We have the meth users down the street, the alcoholics, the drunk drivers that hit parked cars, mail theft, the guy who is so clearly grooming the little girls for his personal pleasure, etc. The usual suspects. Still, it beats Felony Flats.)

4) Nikash was born here.

5) It is closer to Eugene than Portland is.

That's my list. It is time to go home.

Mr. Walken

2008-09-26T23:54:00.000-07:00

Call me crazy, but I have had a crush on Christopher Walken for a couple of decades now. Not a Johnny Depp kind of crush; something a little different. Nonetheless, a crush. I've been watching the "Sarah, Plain and Tall" movies on the Hallmark Channel, late at night when no one is around. Christopher Walken plays the role of patriarch Jacob Witting. Such an odd choice to play that role, in my opinion. Who sat around thinking "Hmmm.....who should we ask to play the role of Jacob Witting, the strong, awkward widower farmer who turns out to be a subtly romantic man in need of a good plain woman? Oh yes, Christopher Walken would be perfect for that role!" As odd as it seems, he really is perfect for the role. Ok, ok, so this is not his shining moment in acting, not his greatest role ever. This is:

Just give me five minutes alone with him, it would be so much fun! No, no, no - get your minds out of the gutter! Dance, dance.....I want to dance with him!

Questions to your Answers

2008-09-16T12:57:00.000-07:00

No, the posts aren't about YOU. Or, if they are, I already talked to you about it before I posted a blog. That is how I like to work my friendships.

I didn't mean to close the blog. I'm starting another blog about strictly parenting hoo-ha. I meant to have that one closed until I can start posting there. Apparently, I closed both.

For all of you that inquired, quit worrying........it isn't about you. Depending on what is going on in your life, it might strike a chord with you, however.

It isn't about you......it is all about me, don't you know? ;)

Hola Papacito

2008-08-31T10:02:00.000-07:00

Our future VP?

Telemundo all the way, baby!

I come across little snippets in books, blog entries, conversations, etc. that strike me as profound or funny or just really stupid. I read this one today at www.VPilf.com (yes, that is VPilf, like MILF, referring to the sexy Mrs. Sarah Palin):

"Is it just me or is she crazy hot. I heard Mccain is goint to hire Hugh Hefners girlfriends to be the Joint chiefs of staff and his whole cabinent is going to be made up of female Telemundo Journalists. And every time he enters a room they have to say "Hola Poppy" in-sync. I'm really starting to like Mccain." (all spelling and grammatical errors are courtesy of the original author, btw)

It struck me as hilarious, but I guess it is only funny if you ever watch Latin American t.v.

Crocs

2008-08-05T14:16:00.000-07:00

One of the worst fashion faux pas in recent history is the Croc, or any of the knock-off brand look-a-likes. Seeing children in Crocs isn't too painful; in fact I don't really give it much thought. However, seeing grown men in this fashion blunder called Crocs is excruciating.

At my last visit to the beach grown man after grown man walked past me wearing these obnoxiously hideous shoes, or carried them in their hand while their other hand caressed their honey. I wondered if their girlfriends were embarrassed and asked them to remove the shoes, or if they really thought that it was ok to be seen in public like this. And the colors that these men chose, my God. Black, white and navy blue Crocs are bad enough, but day-glow green, bright orange, sunshine yellow,and, and, and, HOT PINK? We all know I am not some uber-cool fashion hipster chick who only wears cutting-edge clothes straight off of the Paris runway, but c'mon, man, what is wrong with you? Common sense should tell you that Crocs are just plain WRONG.

I want to say that this fashion trend is so,...... je ne sais quois.......so, gay. But even the gayest of my gay friends would not be caught dead in hot pink Crocs. Ew.

Please, gentlemen, do us all a favor and end this ridiculous debacle right here, right now.

For Megan and Ivy

2008-08-04T12:00:00.000-07:00

May you be blessed with an easy transition
from mother of two to mother of three.
May you be changed
in all the ways you hope to be changed.

May your body open easily
and then heal.
May the messengers who surround you
guide you through what's coming.
May you know joy
in bringing another soul to the world.

May every first in your new life
and your new daughter's life
shine as brightly as this candle does today.

We love you, Megan, and we are all sending lots of love and light your way. The candles burn strong to help give you strength. I can't wait to meet your beautiful baby girl!

(If swearing offends you, don't read.) Dear Eliana......

2008-07-31T22:54:00.000-07:00

Dear Eliana,

I am supposed to be composing a mature, well thought-out letter to you and your boss about our phone conversation today. But, instead, I am writing THIS because this is really what I want to say to you:

What the fuck were you thinking, you stupid bitch!?! And, who the fuck do you think I am!?! I am not paying your fucking $114 bill. After I specifically told your scheduler, your receptionist, the nurse, the doctor and the nurse again that I did not want those services, that I just wanted the god-damned shot, you went ahead and billed my insurance company anyway for those said services that I refused. The insurance company won't pay for this (like I already told all of the other dip-shits at your office) and this is the second time I am telling you that I am not going to pay.

I told you and your henchmen that if you could not accommodate me, no big deal. I'll just go to the county clinic and pay $40 for the shot and be done with it. You all said, "No problem, Mrs. Bajpai. Come on in....blah, fucking blah, blah, blah." So, when I reminded you, Eliana, of this today you said, "You should have gone to the health clinic. But I am telling you, your children would have nightmares into their adulthood by going there. I was a single mom with no insurance and had to take my son their when he was a boy. To this day he is traumatized and shakes his fist at the county health building whenever he drives by. If you want to do that to your children, go ahead." Whoa. Had she and her son been teleported to a government-run health hovel somewhere in Africa?

Then you go on to tell me that you have worked at this same clinic for 10 years and that never, ever in your work experience have you had to explain to a parent that all of these other services were necessary and that billing for those services has never been a problem. You said that all other parents 'got' the necessity of those services. Your tone implied that I was functioning at the level of someone with a low IQ (possibly lower than yours), and in fact you had never met someone quite as retarded as myself. Maybe, Eliana, you just haven't yet met a parent who actually questions the services that their children receive? Welcome to the New Millennium, madame. We will not be bullied or coerced by you or anyone else who deems themselves to be in authority.

When I explained that once-upon-a-time in Portland (mistake), our pediatrician up there was able to provide the same exact service I requested without doing all of these other exams, you said, and I quote, "Well, Ma'am, you aren't in Portland anymore. I don't know how they do things up in Portland but what they did was illegal. In Salem we don't do things like that. We follow the law. And in Salem we care about folks, not like up in Portland." Do you have any idea how small-minded, ignorant and utterly bucolic you sound? YOU, Eliana, sum up why I so dreaded the move to Salem. Have you ever been out of Salem, even for a day?

Eliana, I have to tell you, I called my insurance company again (because I have so much free time with not much to do because I am so retarded) to chat about the bill, which they think looks "fishy" by the way. When I told the insurance company lady about your statement of "them-thar folks up on Portland doin' them illegal activities", she said, "WHAT!?! That is standard protocol and not illegal at all! The way [Eliana's Company] is doing things is not the norm." So, take that, you litigious bitch.

A few years back we were having a lot of problems with a particular phone company that I will call "Mobili-T". We had so many problems with their poor customer service, in fact, that for a couple of months every time ANYTHING pissed me off I would call their customer service line just to bitch about whatever. For example, let's say I was having a bad day and the straw that broke the camel's back was a driver that nearly side-swiped me. I would pick up my phone, dial 611 and wait for customer service to answer. When they would ask how I was doing I would say, "I'm doing awful. This stupid-ass driver almost hit me and my son and I really hate your piece-of-shit phone and your shitty service and I'm pissed that I am stuck in a contract with you. Blah, blah, blah." They would just listen, then apologize and give me 10 free minutes a month. This is what I want to do with you, Eliana. Every time I have a crappy day I think I will call YOUR direct line and tell you about what a crappy day it is and that I'm still pissed about your crappy service.

These are only snippets of our conversation today. Snippets, I tell you. I could go on and on about the all of the other disparaging and belittling comments you made. However, quite frankly, I'm getting tired and don't want to waste another ounce of energy on you.

Oh, Eliana, how am I going to be able to compose and succinct and mature letter tomorrow, one that airs my grievances towards you? It would have been so much easier for everyone if you would have just said, "Yeah, I feel your pain sister. $114 is a week's worth of groceries, I know. Let me see if we can find another way to bill this again."

Thank you, dear reader, for lending an 'ear'. Now I can go to bed and catch some sleep so that I look radiant tomorrow night when I see all of the really cool, important people with big minds who live in Salem.

"What is Modern Dance?", you ask..........

2008-07-20T18:48:00.000-07:00

Since my last post I have had many people ask me, "So, what exactly is Modern dance?" Ok, so maybe it hasn't been "many" people, more like 5 or 6. Considering I didn't realize that that many people read my blog, it seems like a lot.

Yes, what is Modern dance? A very good question. Basically, at the end of the 19th Century dancers in Europe and the U.S. started to rebel against Classical Ballet. It was deemed too constraining, too rigid, etc. These rogue dancers shed their pointe shoes and tutus and began a whole new movement of dance, with its own set of rules and techniques. Modern dance, at the time, was described as more of a free-style, expressionist type of dance and was greatly inspired by the ancient classical dances of India.

A few names you may (or may not) recognize are Martha Graham, Isadora Duncan, Ruth St. Denis, Ted Shawn, Merce Cunningham, Charles Weidman....... - Oh my goodness, I am getting way to giddy typing this list of pioneers of Modern and Post-Modern Dance - must...stop...now.

This is just a brief history of the very beginnings of Modern Dance. Today there are many different techniques that have inadvertently become just as rigid and as constraining as Classical Ballet.

Most community Modern Dance classes today are a hodgepodge of the different techniques and styles. Here is a short clip of the kind of stuff that we do in the class that I am taking:

The Dance

2008-07-16T17:03:00.000-07:00

I am going to ramble and be disjointed and disorganized in my writing. Please forgive me.

Dance. Ah, sweet dance. One of the great constants of my life. I didn't actually start taking ballet until I was 12 years old, pretty late for an aspiring ballerina to start dancing. At my first class, however, I was bit by the bug and have been hooked ever since.

I have been blessed to study under some very talented dancers, some of whom were great teachers and some of whom were not. Regardless, being in their presence and knowing what they had accomplished as dancers greatly inspired me.

I was strictly a ballet dancer all through junior high and high school. I was never a great dancer, but good enough. I did, however, have incredible arches in my feet and teachers loved them while other dancers were green with envy. One of my teachers nicknamed my feet The Golden Arches.

My freshman year of college I received a scholarship and did an apprenticeship with Ballet Oregon (which later merged with Portland Ballet and became what is now the Oregon Ballet Theatre). That was also the same year that I took my first Modern dance class.

I think that the Modern dance class threw me into some kind of an identity crisis (for lack of a better term) with regards to my thoughts on dance and the dance world. I was so consumed with ballet for so many years that the modern classes tripped me up and spun me around on my head, literally and figuratively.

By spring term that year I had quit my formal ballet training and just took dance classes at the college. Who knows where I might be today if I would have stayed at Ballet Oregon and continued with my apprenticeship at the professional level.

"Just taking dance classes at the college" opened up some doors for me and gave me some experiences that I might not have otherwise had. I got paid $25/hour for several photo shoots modeling ballet garb. That was a lot of money to a poor college kid back in the late 80s. I was introduced to "liturgical dance" and performed with a troupe that recreated religious and folk dances from the Middle Ages. We performed all around town during Easter. We filmed the whole performance at Cable Access in Portland and to this day it can sometimes be seen on t.v. during Easter. Dance of the Angels; look for it. There were several other projects/performances that I got to be a part of that ended up being on t.v. and received write-ups in the paper. I even dabbled in jazz and folk dance.

When I transferred to the University of Oregon I immediately enrolled in ballet and modern classes. I received a minor in dance so I not only took dance classes, but also dance history, theory, staging and lighting, etc. I have so many fond memories of my dance experiences there.

So, fast forward 15 years, 2 kids and 40 pounds. I've been missing dance like crazy the past few years. I keep putting it off because 'I am too fat', 'I am too old', 'It is too expensive', 'I don't have consistent child care', or insert whatever other excuse you can come up with. However, I bit the bullet and signed up for a modern dance class at the YMCA. It is just a 4 week summer session class, so it is a good way for me to get my feet wet and see if I still have it in me. I have discovered that I definitely still have it in me.

It does kick my ass, though. What happened? Never before did I drip sweat or get winded in a dance class. Nor did my thighs jiggle. I am like a beginner on so many levels, which is humbling, yet at the same time I am relishing it. I am not there to compete with anyone or try to impress anyone. I am there because of my love of dance and because it is amazing exercise.

I am so looking forward to the fall when there are more classes available. I can't wait to touch a ballet barre again and continue to caress the floor with my Golden Arches, which I still have, by the way, and, thank you very much, it was one of the first things that the 20-something-year-old teacher noticed about me.

I caught wind of an Eastern European folk dance class in Salem that is supposedly free. Anyone know anything about it? Anyone want to take it with me?

Running with scissors

2008-07-07T23:44:00.000-07:00

Just a couple of things running with scissors through my mind tonight......

1) I keep thinking about 4th of July. I went to a low-key, family-friendly gathering at a very dear friend's house. I knew, or at least had previously met, everyone there. Except for one - K. Sweetest young man, a very doting husband and father, a vet who has done a couple of rounds in Iraq. "Where's K.?", we asked, whilst watching the downtown fireworks from my friends' balcony. My heart was broken and sickened with the response. "He is in the bathroom hiding out. The explosion of the fireworks sound just like I.E.D.s", answers his sister.

2) I HATE drugs (as in heroin, cocaine, meth, etc.).

There really is a lot more to say, but enough for now. My brain feels heavy and I need to sleep.

Anyone want my alligator meat?

2008-06-11T08:24:00.000-07:00

One of the things that I love about traveling, whether it be domestic or abroad, is trying new food. Or, trying old food (not old in the dried up or moldy sense, but old as in familiar) with a different twist. Some of the things I have tried I love and others I could never even see again and be ok with it. I'm not fond of alligator, turtle or most goat cheeses, nor do I like beef or sausage at any locale across the Big Pond.

However, here are a few of my favorites:

*Cheese - any kind of cheese (except most goat)
*Chocolate croissants from Le Panier at Pike Place Market
*Turkey po' boy sandwich at The Gumbo Shop in New Orleans
*Cornish game hen from La Lousienne in New Orleans
*Iced coffee and beignets from Cafe du Monde, New Orleans
*Hot dog from street vendor in New York City
*Fresh bagels from small cafe run by Jewish family just outside of Harlem in New York City
*Salad with ham and gruyere cheese at an outdoor cafe in Paris,France
*Roasted chicken at small inn near Glendalough, Ireland
*Chicken Cashel Bleu at classy restaurant across the way from the Rock of Cashel in Cashel, Ireland
*Toasted cheese sandwich at that pub on the highway near Waterford, Ireland
*Fried egg sandwich with bacon and cheese at cafe run by Italians near Buckingham Palace, London, England
*Coppa Nostra at Italian joint near Bedford Square in London, England
*Fish enchiladas at La Sirena Gordita in Zihuatenejo, Mexico
*Chicken tamales and cheese quesadillas from Cafe Tacuba in Mexico City, Mexico
*Tomato, avocado, onion salad from Los Arcos cafe in Cuernavaca, Mexico

As I make this list, I wonder if it was really the food that was so damn good and memorable, or was is the ambiance of the place, the people, the smells, etc.? Like the toasted cheese sandwich near Waterford, Ireland. I mean, c'mon, it is cheese and mayo and bread! However, I was the only woman in the pub and from the looks that I got I think I was the ONLY woman who had ever crossed the threshold of the pub. There were drunk Irishmen wearing knit caps and tweed coats who had arrived on their bicycles, pounding down pints and singing old Irish ballads. It was like stepping onto the set of "The Quiet Man".

Nonetheless, I am now starving and I am going to make some scrambled eggs, whole wheat toast with jam and an iced latte!

The Farmer's Field

2008-06-07T19:37:00.000-07:00

Earlier today I was looking down into the kitchen sink as I was washing the dishes. I thought to myself, "Something is out in the farmer's field." Looking up, I scanned the field. Nothing there except for the rhubarb that is not being tended. This is the last summer that we will have this beautiful field behind our house. They will begin to build 34 new homes back there this fall. Yuck. Devarshi's voice jerked me back into the present as he called to the boys from upstairs. "Boys, come quickly! Look, there is a deer in the farmer's field eating the rhubarb."

Oh, Lucy!

2008-06-07T19:32:00.000-07:00

I dreamed that I was pregnant and gave birth to a baby girl. I named her Lucia, because she was to be the bearer of light, and called her Luci for short.

Hi, I'm Karen.

2008-06-05T10:46:00.001-07:00

I hit up an Al-Anon meeting last night and ironically the topic of discussion was 'blame'. Ironic because just a couple of days ago I posted about who, in my past, I blamed for my sister's battle with drugs.

I came away holding onto the reminder that in conflict sometimes no one is to blame. Sometimes the conflict is what it is and no one is right and no one is wrong, no one to blame. Just a difference of opinion. I have been too eager to take the blame for a lot of things in my life, when really there is no one to blame. This is a definite character defect of mine. It is easier to say "Oh, I'm sorry. That is my fault." just to avoid someone else feeling uncomfortable. Why can't I just let it be? For so long I had done such a good job of not doing this any more, but unfortunately, I have gotten back into this bad habit.

I love gentle reminders that kindly kick my ass, put me in my place and set me on the right track again.

Yeats

2008-06-05T10:35:00.000-07:00

Have I mentioned how much I love W.B. Yeats? My love affair with him and his writing all began in the mid-90s when I first visited Thoor Ballylee, Yeats' home where he lived and wrote from 1919 to 1929. It wasn't until my second visit to the home in 2000 that I realized that the home was actually built in the 16th century by the de Burgo (later Burke) family, which are my maternal ancestors. Standing on top of that Norman tower and taking in all 360 degrees of the view, I felt so connected to the land, to the home, to the writer. "This", (she says with a grand sweeping gesture), "is what inspired a lot of his work." Ah, sweet William. Sweet Ireland. I miss you so.

So, who is to blame?

2008-06-03T10:37:00.001-07:00

So, who did I blame for my sister's heroin addiction anyway? I finally - f-i-n-a-l-l-y - got over thinking that I had cursed her or was somehow responsible for her actions. If you remember, I had said that to whom and how I directed that blame was one of the most shameful parts of my own history (worse, in my mind, than stealing the communion wine from church to get drunk for the first time). Although it is a part of my past that I am not proud of, it is also a defining period that completely altered my self-concept and how I look at the world.

We all remember writing that stupid essay in high school or as we applied for a college or scholarship. You know which one I am talking about, I know you do. The one about "Who was the one person who has influenced your life the most?", or any other combination of words that forms basically the same question. If you were never lucky enough to write an essay based on this mundane and over-used question, then perhaps you heard a Miss America contestant answer it.

Answering this question in high school felt so contrived. I always defaulted to Jesus Christ (hell, I got drunk for the first time off His Holy Blood, didn't I?) or my great-aunt Jocelyn, or Tia, as we called her. Although there were lots of people who had impacted my life, whether they have realized it or not, I didn't really want my writing to be manipulated by answering this question, nor did I want to put much thought into it all.

At the time I did not know that sometimes it isn't the big things that change and transform people, but the little snippets of conversation, the simple acts of kindness (or not so kind-ness) that have the most impact. It really would not have been too difficult to pick out any one person and their small yet profound impact on my life about which I could write tomes.

Ironically, as I approach my 40s (my God, did I really say that?) there is definitely one person who stands out, who had a huge impact on how I look at the world, at myself, at family, at......well, at just about everything.

Shortly after finding out about my sister's heroin addiction I began the shift the blame from myself to who I felt at the time was really responsible for her actions.
This is when my hatred of Latinos, Mexicans in particular, took hold of my heart and soul. You see, the boyfriend - the dark-haired man - who first shot her up with heroin was Mexican-American. And now, all of her drug dealers were Mexican.

Being a heroin addict isn't just about shooting heroin into your arm. There is a whole lifestyle and mindset that goes along with it. Generally, heroin addicts aren't violent. They are nodding out in their bathrooms and don't have the wherewithal to lash out at someone. However, they do steal, return stolen items to stores to get cash refunds, sell drugs, trade sex for drugs or money to buy drugs, etc. Learning about the lifestyle around the drug use was on some level more disturbing to me than the actual addiction itself. To think of these "pinche" Mexicans getting my sister to steal for them, to do dishonest returns to stores, to sell drugs for them, to use her body in heinous ways just to give her drugs to get her high and beg for more, oh how I loathed them. I hated Mexicans with every fiber of my being. Everywhere I turned there was another dirty black-haired, brown-skinned villain snarling, foaming at the mouth, just dying to pounce on its next victim. To me, every Latino in Portland was here illegally and they were all pimps and drug dealers. Certainly they were all filthy dirty people. The men beat and cheated on their wives, as well they all molested and beat their kids. All were gang-bangers and thugs. Also, they were illiterate, ignorant and just plain stupid. Hell, they couldn't even speak proper English. If I were driving down the street and saw a Latino on the sidewalk I would glare at them. More than once I called a Latino "Spic" to their face. I was rude to them and impatient with them in grocery stores, the mall, DMV.

Oddly enough, in 1996 I was working in the admissions department at an alcohol and drug treatment center in Portland. Often, we got phone calls from people wanting services for Spanish-speakers. The agency didn't offer these services and there wasn't anyone in the department who could speak enough Spanish to refer a caller on to another agency. I decided I needed to learn a bit of Spanish. If nothing else, at least I could learn to swear in Spanish at the Mexicans working at Burger King.

At this same time the agency was hiring a new maintenance worker. I was making photocopies of some papers when out of the interview room walks the head maintenance guy with a young Latino. I remember looking at him thinking "Oh my God, I hope he doesn't get the job because then I'll be forced to be pleasant because he will be working here." He was tall, nicely dressed, had a very gentle demeanor, which surprised me because all Mexicans dressed in rags and were shorter than me, weren't they?

Well, yeah, you know where this is going, huh? Yep, Pablo got the job and started working right away. He spoke pretty much no English, but still tried to be friendly and engage in some sort of conversation with everyone. I glared at him and was very curt towards him. He kept coming around and tried to win me over. I started taking that Spanish class and found myself a little curious about this guy. Maybe I could use some of my newly-learned phrases on him? I was actually really afraid of him. Surely he was a gang-banger and a drug dealer. Would he offer me heroin or cocaine? Was he married and if so, did he beat his wife and his kids? I was sure that he lived in a filthy, cluttered hovel with at least 10 other people.

After several months of my Spanish classes, his being friendly to me and me giving him the icy cold-shoulder, I broke down and tried to ask in Spanish, "What are you doing this weekend?" However, I mixed up some Spanish and French words and he was lost. His English-speaking skills had far exceeded my Spanish, so he asked me in broken English if I would like to meet for coffee sometime. We could practice our newly-learned languages with each other, he suggested. Como no? Why not?, I thought. I had recently separated from my husband and was looking for things to keep me busy. As long as we met in a public place where there were lots of people, I would feel safe being around this Mexican.

We met at a cafe in the The Galleria. I was very nervous and wary. I kept waiting for him to offer me drugs or make sexual passes. He paid for my coffee, corrected my Spanish, then insisted on walking me to my car to make sure I was safe. He even opened my car door for me. Boy, he was really putting on a good show, wasn't he?

We met again, and again, and he was the same every time. More respectful and more gentlemanly than any American man I had ever met. He also had a great sense of humor and, although didn't have a lot of education, had a brilliant mind. He was enamored of life and wanted to take it all in. Oh, and humble and unpretentious too. A friendship was quickly ensuing, even though I tried to remain aloof and continued to keep my guard up.

One day he invited me to a gathering at his house and I found myself agreeing to go. What in the hell was I thinking? Going to the den alone with the rabid wolves? God only knew what these Mexicans would do to a white female alone in their lair. It was dangerous and risky, I knew. But I felt compelled to go. I had it all planned out in my head about how I wouldn't eat anything because I doubted they washed their hands before cooking. And I for sure wouldn't drink anything because it was probably laced with some kind of drug. I made sure I had lots of quarters on me so that I could use the pay phone to call for help in case I had to escape their clutches.

Nervously, I arrived at the apartment. It looked 'clean' from the outside. I knocked on the door and entered a pristine two bedroom apartment that was tastefully decorated. There were 3 men and 2 women there already. All of them (men and women) were chatting together in rapid Spanish, drinking bottled beer, helping each other make authentic Mexican food. Everyone was so gregarious and graciously invited me into the home. I was on guard for awhile and my eyes darted around the apartment looking for the drug paraphernalia, filth, roaches, etc. None of which I ever found in this tidy abode. I soon discovered who all lived in this two-bedroom apartment: Pablo had one bedroom, his sister and brother-in-law had the other. That was it. As the evening wore on a few more people arrived. I took the plunge and tried the food. Some of the best I have ever eaten. I did have a bottle of beer. I figured it was safe since I was the one who used the bottle opener to take the cap off, hence no one had a chance to slip something into it. Then the dancing began and I fell in love with Cumbia and Salsa music and dancing. I tripped over my feet, but all of the men there were patient and kind and gentle teachers. A couple of them walked me to my car at the end of evening and I arrived back at my apartment safe and sound and sober.

My mind was reeling. No one could keep up this act forever. Surely by now a person's true colors would begin to show. Maybe not all Mexicans were dirty, drug-dealing thugs. In fact, I had now met more Mexicans who DID NOT deal/use drugs than DID deal/use drugs. Hmmmm........

I not only developed a friendship with Pablo, but also with his sister and his brother-in-law. All of them helped to restore my faith in humanity and my zest for life. Long philosophical discussions on culture, religion, relationships, politics while sipping brandy or a cerveza. Lots of picnics, biking, swimming, playing basketball, soccer and pool. They turned my whole world upside-down and shook it out. In a good way. I spent as much time with all of them as I could. I went to so many parties and gatherings with Mexicans (and Costa Ricans and Hondurans and Guatemalans and Salvadorans and Ecuadorans and well, you get the picture) that I began to actually feel more comfortable in the presence of Latinos than with "Americans".

I learned to salsa dance really well. I learned to make authentic Mexican food. My Spanish got really good and my new-found friends encouraged me to go to Mexico to study. So I did. They gave me the name and number of one of their brothers living in Mexico City. They told me to call him if I had any trouble of any kind. Never needed to call. Arriving in Cuernavaca was in a way like arriving home. I felt so comfortable in my own skin and have never felt more respected or honored as a woman.

I fell in love with the Spanish language and went on to earn a second bachelor's degree in it. I did it without even trying. I just kept taking classes and ended up having so many credits that it just made sense to get the degree.

And, yes, Pablo and I did try to have a romantic relationship. Too many issues got in the way, however, so it didn't work out. We tried to remain friends, but it was hard for him when I started dating Devarshi.

It amazes me at how once upon a time I so deeply loathed Latinos. It is like a bad nightmare. In fact, when I tell my Latino friends of my past hatred for their race they are astonished. More than once Latinos have commented on how "Latina" I am. I get their jokes, their culture, their idiomatic expressions, etc. They view me as 'one of them'. They often don't believe that I ever had this horrible prejudice.

I wasn't exaggerating about calling Mexicans 'spics' or being impatient and rude towards them. Now I go out of my way to help Spanish-speakers if I see them struggling at a store or at the DMV. Having been to Mexico, real Mexico, not just the tourist spots that cater to Americans, as well as having intimately known legal and illegal aliens, I understand the plight of the immigrant and what they are leaving behind. I have such mixed feelings about the illegals. I know that they need to get in line to enter our country legally, just like everyone else. But my heart goes out to them. I have seen firsthand the poverty, the political corruption, the suffering. "Give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, the wretched refuse of your teeming shore. Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me. I lift my lamp beside the golden door!" However, immigration issues are for another post, so enough of that.

Before Pablo, it never occurred to me, at least not consciously, that the "pinche" Mexicans didn't get my sister addicted to heroin, they didn't make her participate in illegal and immoral behavior. With my healed heart I was able to clearly see that my sister got herself addicted to heroin (ok, being born into a family of alcoholics and addicts didn't help). My sister, impaired by the heroin, made her own choices to participate in the activities that she did. It was irrational to blame myself and too painful to blame my sister. I needed someone to blame, so, the Mexicans took the brunt of my pain.

Thanks to Pablo and his family and friends, my heart was forever changed. I have also learned to have patience for people who do harbor resentments or hatred towards a particular race or culture. Maybe someday they will meet their own personal Pablo and have their eyes opened to a whole new reality of the way the world is.

Character Defects

2008-06-01T14:30:00.001-07:00

For those of you that have known me for more than a couple of years are well aware of my participation in a Twelve Step program - Al-Anon. Upon moving to the Salem area a lot of my former self went by the wayside, Al-Anon included. I've attended about 1 meeting a year since moving here and my life has suffered because of it. I still try to live my life according to many of the principles that I learned. However, that lack of fellowship, working intimately with a sponsor, weekly contact with other members/friends who 'got' my issues, etc. has really taken its toll on my day to day life. Some of my old character defects that fell away just from working the Steps have crept back into my life. I am so blessed on so many levels, but my thinking gets me into trouble.
I will have to say that my own self-assuredness (is that a word?) and, unfortunately, my marriage are the two areas that have suffered the most. I want so badly to get back what I had. It isn't lost, necessarily, just misplaced. Stored in the back of the filing cabinet under a wrong label, so to speak.
I don't have enough time right now to put into words the character defects that I need to turn around and make assets. Just know that they are there (of course you know! Everyone knows!) and I may be doing some Step work here, just to keep myself accountable to 'someone' until I can get back into meetings and find a sponsor.

I desperately need to make a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. Just had to put this out there to the Universe.

I am grateful for....

2008-05-04T21:40:00.001-07:00

Jatin and Nikash
Devarshi
ALL of my female friends (you really are my lifeline)
Sipping iced lattes on sunny mornings
A semi-clean kitchen
Sunshine
Having such kind, generous parents
Pale pink tulips
My desire to try new, hard things
A good Maeve Binchy novel
Sleep

Emotional Vampires

2008-05-04T21:17:00.001-07:00

Sometimes I run across people who sap me of my energy. After spending a little bit of time with them I feel drained. Fortunately, most people in my life buoy me and lift me up. And, luckily I have gotten pretty good at weeding out those that suck the life-blood out of me. There are a few, however, that for of a myriad of reasons I am obliged to not cut those ties. Not only can I not cut those ties, but I must play "nice". This is so exhausting. For hours, sometimes days, after spending time around these vampires I feel lethargic, angry, continuously playing out in my mind all of the biting, mean things I should have said right back to them.

Really, the problem is mine. I cannot change these people. So, I have to change how I think about them or how I think about the encounters that I have with them. Yeah, yeah, easier said than done. I have talked to friends, my husband, therapists, sponsors - you name it - about these people. I've tried all sorts of tricks and remedies, but none seem to really stick and fix the problem for me. Is this just how it is going to be? Am I just doomed to feel like shit for a few days after being exposed to The Germs?

Anyone have any pearls of wisdom falling from their lips for me to snatch up and carry around in my Emergency Kit as an antidote to emotional vampires?

Caitlin

2008-04-30T21:01:00.000-07:00

Being that I am a very proud Irish lass, I just have to get it out there about my being irked by the name 'Caitlin'. Caitlin is the Irish-Gaelic version of Catherine. It is pronounced 'Kat-Leen', NOT Kate-Lyn. If you want to name your daughters the name which sounds like 'Kate-Lyn', then do so with any spelling other than Caitlin. Thank you.

Mini Resentments

2008-04-11T23:26:00.001-07:00

I'm still pissed at Oprah for the way she treated James Frey, author of A Million Little Pieces. She is such a spoiled brat.

I'm also still really angry with the U.S. government for lying to all of the children in the 70s and 80s about the Russians, what they were and how they all lived. You are no better than any of the others. You are a P.O.S. I can only imagine the propaganda that is going around in the schools today about Middle Easterners. Can I buy my own private island and move my family there to live in peace? Please? I just want to be done with it all.

Another disjointed, rambling, vague post by Yours Truly

2008-04-07T09:24:00.001-07:00

I think that I am just now beginning to really grasp how painfully ignorant a lot of people are. Ignorance is not the same as stupidity, albeit many ignorant people are just plain stupid. As well, ignorance is not the same as lacking in education or being unlettered. I know PhDs, MDs, and so on where 'ignorant' is a generous description. On the flip-side, I know people with education no higher than 3rd grade who are clever, understanding and aware.

I am aghast every time a pinhead claims that homosexuality and abortion and alcoholism and so on are modern inventions created by 'them liberals' or by the Evil One (which are one in the same to them, really.) I have heard this many times and I always assumed that this was spoken hyperbolically. I am just now aware that these dunderheads are serious. No hyperbole, just plain old historical fact for them. Are you kidding me? ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?! Metaphorically and literally, please try to see the world beyond your front door.

The tone of this post is terribly self-righteous, I know. Good for me. I try view others' opinions and beliefs from all angles. I really do want to understand on a cellular level why people think and feel what they do, no matter how foreign it is to me. Without even thinking about it I try to find the common ground between myself and others. The negative side of this 'attribute' is that I often forget to really speak my mind on topics such a politics, education, social issues, spirituality and religion(which are two completely different things, by the way).

It isn't that I am afraid that someone won't like me if I have different views or experiences from them. It isn't that I want to avoid argument. It isn't that I am private or vulnerable. It is that I genuinely want to see life from where they stand. It is as if I am so concentrated on the inhale aspect of 'taking it all in', that I forget to exhale and let others see my point of view. I don't even do this consciously, I just do it. Maybe it is the anthropoligist in me? To live one needs to inhale as well as exhale.

So, I have a lot of exhaling to do. Hopefully I won't exhale so forcefully that I
throw up or poop all over the place. I hope that over the next several months I am able to smugly put down all of my vainglorious, self-righteous, know-it-all, stuck-up thoughts and opinions right here at Mental Chatter. I'm sick of pussy-footing around the subject of 'life'. So often I'll stifle my thoughts as soon as they pop into my head because they 'aren't nice'. Screw that!

Sit down, buckle up, hold on and be prepared to be offended.

Early morning, April 4, Shot rings out in the Memphis sky.....

2008-04-04T08:42:00.000-07:00

This is for you, Mr. King:

I will never get tired of you.

2008-04-03T23:42:00.000-07:00

I still get giddy when I think about the Brandi Carlile concert (funny, blogspot says that "Carlile" is spelled wrong. "Brandi" too, for that matter....just kidding on the Brandi.)

I still get goosebumps and all teary-eyed when I unexpectedly hear one of her songs on the radio. Just yesterday afternoon I was putting up a new curtain rod in our bedroom, feeling the warm sun kissing my arms as it streamed through the open window. Nikash was not feeling well and lying on the bed looking like a baby slug, even though he was wearing his fluffy lion costume from Halloween. "What Can I Say" came on the radio. Nikash's little lion-suited head popped up and he was wearing a big grin. I guess he knows what I like. Who could resist that smile AND Brandi? I dropped the drill and the hammer and cranked up the volume on the radio. I scooped up Nikash in my arms and danced around the bedroom with him. He rested his head on my shoulder and let his little boy body melt into mine. We were both content after Brandi sang to us over the airwaves.

At her concert last October at the Crystal Ballroom she sang "How These Days Grow Long", acapella with The Twins. She sings it at every show, I know, but at this particular concert she was singing to me. Yes, to me. She keeps forgetting the I am married and I'm really not interested in getting together with a chick. I'll let her have her little fantasy. As long as she lets me have mine. God, how I love you, Brandi!

2008-04-03T08:26:00.000-07:00

Oh my God! I had a girl's-worst-nightmare kind of nightmare last night. I have wide hips and I have actually grown to appreciate them. They helped me to have super-easy, super-quick labors and deliveries (oh, and if you didn't already know, a 'super-easy labor and delivery' is an oxymoron.) However, in my nightmare last night my hind end had grown to this huge, I mean HUGE, size. It was as if I were the blueberry girl in Willy Wonka, but only my bottom got super-duper huge, not my whole body. Or, I was Pinocchio and instead of my nose growing with ever lie I told, my ass grew with every breath I took. In my nightmare my waist and legs were normal Karen-sized, but my butt looked like I had stuffed two exercise balls into the back of my pants.

I am pretty sure I know where this dream came from. I have been eating copious amounts of junk the last few days. I have been craving carbohydrates of all kinds. I want to drink lots of Coca-Cola and eat tons of sugary breads. At ten of the clock last night I made a chocolate cake. Devarshi and I had eaten half of it by midnight. Okay, Devarshi had a piece and I had the rest. This is not like me! Yeah, I'm packing around an extra 30 or 40 pounds, but most of it is from lack of activity, not from daily crazy eating.

At this rate, in a matter of weeks I really will have the yoga ball butt (and not the good kind).

White Power/Black Sheep!

2008-03-29T00:20:00.000-07:00

Is it a problem if my boys march around the bathroom naked screaming "White Power! White Power! We ARE the evil white men!"? Will the neighbors, or worse, my brown husband, think I am training my brown-haired, brown-eyed, olive skinned babies to be the next boy version of Prussian Blue or that I am heading up a Hitler's Youth rally in my home? I'm not really one to care what the neighbors think, but damn, I don't want to scare anyone.

Oh, just so you know, while taking a shower with me the boys covered their arms, legs and bellies with shaving cream and were pretending they were some sort of superheros called "The White Men". Not sure why they referred to themselves as "The evil white men"......

A side note about skin color........Last year while singing "Baa Baa Black Sheep" with Jatin he frantically stopped me in mid-song. "Wait!", he hollered, tugging at my sleeve. "Baba isn't a black sheep! He is a brown man!" Baba is what he calls his grandfather (Devarshi's dad).

Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus!!!

2008-03-28T23:41:00.001-07:00

I had a lovely dinner with my good friend W. tonight. She is pregnant with her first child and has a lot of the anxieties, questions, fears, etc. that we all do when we are about to bring a new life into this insane world. Since I have two children of my own, who are like nephews to W., I have all sorts of answers and horror stories of my own to share with her.

Tonight she had a horror story for me. On Christmas Day they received several gifts from friends and family for "The Baby". One gift tag read "To Baby, From Baby Jesus". How sweet and fitting is that for an unborn baby to receive a gift from Baby Jesus on the celebration of Jesus' birth! The gift tag was attached to a colorful gift bag that was neatly stuffed with even more colorful tissue paper. When W. read out loud from whom the gift was, her husband resounded with a "Huh!?!?!" while his eyes nearly popped out of his head. W. was excited to see what the gift could possible be. She yanked the tissue paper out of the bag with all of the glee, anticipation and sugar-plum filled images of any small girl on Christmas Day. From the bag W. withdrew a coffee mug, an unsharpened pencil and a brochure. The mug and pencil bore exquisite emblems of the church in which her husband was raised. The brochure was informational propaganda from said church. W. looked to her husband with a "Help me! How do I respond to gift like this" look, then said, "Look at this, V.", not quite sure what do to with the items. Just then V.'s mother lifted one eyebrow, stared hard at W., then smugly stated, "I do hope you will be raising the child in The Church."

Oh, Sweet Baby Jesus! Welcome to the world of parenting in a messed-up melting pot, W.! I had no good answers for her as I am still trying to figure out how to handle rude people who think they know what is best for me and my children. Luckily for W., she defines herself as 'aggressive' and I know she will have no problem putting these self-absorbed, self-righteous nincompoops in their place. I have no doubt that I will be learning a thing or two from this brand new mom-to-be.

While I am on the topic of Baby Jesus, on Easter Sunday (I hate that term because Easter is ALWAYS on a Sunday!) Nikash kept asking, "Is today the day Baby Jesus got stabbed?" More than once Jatin said, "I wish Jesus would get nailed to a cross and stabbed in the belly with a spear and be made to drink vinegar and then go fight with the devil everyday." "So do I.", muttered my heathen husband. "Why?", I asked Jatin. "So that I could get an Easter basket with candy everyday.", he answered.

**sigh**

I hate you, Jeffrey Eugenides!

2008-03-27T00:30:00.000-07:00

Oh, and one more thing before my orgy (see previous post)..........thank you Jeffrey Eugenides for forever ruining mushrooms and crocuses for me. I say this facetiously. I can no longer eat mushrooms without thinking about Lefty's stinky underwear. And I can no longer enjoy looking at budding crocuses - the first signs of spring that once upon a time filled me with hope and joy - without looking at them as if they are really small penises or very large clitorises, or should I say 'penes' and 'clitorides', which is the proper Greek plural of penis and clitoris.

Oh my God, and what is this?????......

Penile fracture can occur if the erect penis is bent excessively. A popping or cracking sound and pain is normally associated with this event. Emergency medical assistance should be obtained. Prompt medical attention lowers likelihood of permanent penile curvature.

I hate you Mr. Eugenides! See what you made me do! I just HAD to double-check the plural of 'penis' and happed upon the above Wikipedia entry. I am really going to bed now. Any chance of a dream about an orgy with the fruits and vegetables has loooonnnng been dismissed now. Only nightmares about popping and cracking penes. Thanks. Thanks a lot, Jeffrey.

Take a whiff of this........

2008-03-26T23:36:00.001-07:00

Just when I least expect it, I'll get a whiff of something or hear a song in a department store and I am immediately transported back in time, right to the very most middle part of a past experience or an era.

Chicago's "If you Leave Me Now", Berlin's "Take My Breath Away", Foo Fighters' acoustic version of "Everlong" are GUARANTEED to make me cry. It is not fair to be caught off-guard like this. I'll be walking though Rite-Aid, trying to entertain the boys while I look for Tylenol, or whatever, and then *SLAM!*, on comes the Muzak version of "Take My Breath Away". I'll start to cry, all the while trying to brush away the tears without anyone noticing. Of course, Jatin will nervously laugh at me and loudly say "Why are you crying, Mommy?", drawing attention my way. And poor Nikash will just stare at me, knitting his brows with worry.

When I go to Ross (Dress-For-Less) or TJ Maxx, which is a couple of times a year, I will seek out the colognes. I am guaranteed to find Grey Flannel, Giorgio and Drakkar Noir. Great scents from the 80s. I will gingerly open each bottle, close my eyes, then take a long, deep inhale and wait to be transported. Grey Flannel - the summer I was 17-years-old and fell in love - real love - for the first time. Giorgio and Drakkar Noir- 15/16-years-old and hanging out at Pioneer Square, clubbing at Skoochies. I, my sister and our friends would drench ourselves in Giorgio cologne and Aqua Net before going out clubbing. All the teenage boys were wearing Drakkar Noir, unless they were the cool punks, then they just smelled like shit. My sister and I still reminisce about hesitating to wash our hair after a night of clubbing. We so enjoyed the Giorgio-Aqua Net-Clove cigarette smell that was carried on the steam, wafting around the shower stall right before we actually touched the our heads to the warm water.

Within the last few months Devarshi finally bought some Kiton cologne. I had been begging him to buy it again for years. This is the cologne that he wore when we first started dating. He didn't want to buy it because it was "too '90s", he said. He finally broke down and bought a bottle and I could not be happier. I get to smell it almost every morning now, feeling frisky and grabbing at him as he leaves the house for work. If we were smart we would have a plan where he would come home every day with a triple-shot latte to 'wake me up' and THEN squirt the Kiton on his pulse points (do guys do that?). We would also arrange for a babysitter to take the boys to the park. ;)

Food doesn't really do the same for me. One would beg to differ, I know, considering my girth. However, I must say that the avocado-tomato-onion salad I mentioned in my last blog "does it" for me. When I eat it I close my eyes and, for real, I am sitting outside at Los Arcos restaurant in Cuernavaca, Mexico. I can feel the sun on my skin, I can hear the birds, hear the lilting Spanish falling off of the tongues of those beautiful people all around me, I can see the way the light dances on the sidewalk as the sun is filtered through the trees. It is like this amazing sexual experience of which I cannot get enough. Maybe that is why I have no desire to have sex with a woman (long story, that really does make sense, just too tired to go into it right now). I have had the best - avocado-tomato-onion salad - so why would I want to mess with a good thing? Kind of like, 'once you go black you never go back'. Or, my personal favorite, 'once you go brown, you never turn around.' As usual, I digress. Back to our regularly scheduled program: I made it (the salad) last week for dinner and was moaning and saying 'mmmm! mmmm! MMMMMM! you gotta try this Devarshi! Come on! You gotta try this!" I stabbed a few chunks of avocado, tomato and onion with my fork and forced him to eat it. "Uh, yeah. It is pretty good.", he says. I, however, was in H-E-A-V-E-N.

Ok, I'm really tired and I am now rambling. So, if you want to make me cry spray Grey Flannel and play "Take My Breath Away" or spray Love's Baby Soft and play "If You Leave Me Now". If you want to make me laugh spray Elizabeth Taylor's Passion cologne and play "Centerfield" by John Fogerty. I'm off to dream about a salty, lime-drizzled orgy with an avocado, a tomato and an onion.

Life is a banquet

2008-03-12T19:13:00.000-07:00

The other day I had a chat with a very dear friend. She was ranting about the whole stem cell research debate. It's not that she was upset about the moral and ethical questions of the issue. Rather, she was upset about the fact that with more research and advances in medicine, the average person could potentially live to be "a very old age". "A very old age", meaning 100+ years old. My friend doesn't want to live to be "a very old age". 85 years, maximum, is the limit for her. Mind you, she isn't even 40 years old yet.

For me, at 85-years-old I plan to be just getting started. 85 years is not long enough. Really, I know that I don't have much choice in the matter. Of course, I have a choice as to how I treat my body, but ultimately it is up to my genes and other factors that I cannot control.

Mind you, I am not necessarily afraid of death. This is not what this is about. In fact, in some ways I am rather intrigued by it. What really happens when we die? What does it feel like? How will I die? I hope the answer to that last question is "peacefully, in your sleep, when you are very old and tired and ready to go, my dear one."

I have a couple of high school kids in my life who are disheartened with life (or is it 'disheartened by', Chey?). "What more is there to to do with life", they ask? Maybe graduate from college. Then, get married, have kids, work and more work. "Is that it?", I ask. The world is their fucking oyster, for Christ's Sake! For $500 you can hop on a plane and 12 hours later land in London. Ok, don't even go international. Stay in the U.S. Hell, stay in your own state. There are people to meet, classes to take, sights to see. The further you get from your hometown, the more you will find out about 'you'.

At least that was the case for me. My first trip away without my parents, just friends, was when I was 19 years old. Lisa, Jeannie and I headed up to Seattle during Spring Break. Each of us had about $50 on us. We were able to pool our money together and rent a hotel room with 2 twin beds for three nights. That money also paid for meals and entertainment. We pushed together the twin beds to make one large bed in which all three of us slept. Each night we switched up our stations on the bed so that no one person was forced to sleep every night in the valley where the two beds met. After our first night I rolled over in bed and looked out of the rickety old window at the early morning Seattle skyline. It was an orangy-pinky-cotton candy color; the color of baby aspirin. I inhaled deeply and grinned broadly. This is exactly what I had been waiting for and didn't even know it.

I was in a big city, away from my parents, my sisters, my boyfriend, school. For three full days I could reinvent myself, keeping the parts of me that I liked and shuffling off that which wasn't working for me. I wasn't bound by any of the constraints I "endured" back at home. I realized then and there that the world was very big and I wanted to experience all of it. I wanted and accepted the challenge to taste every last morsel of it.

It has been 20 years since that Spring Break and clearly I have tasted more than every last morsel. This is proven by the extra 30 pounds I have been lugging around since the babies came. Seriously though, like the life of any given person there have been many zeniths and many valleys. Fortunately, I have the great gift for remembering with crystalline clarity the good. As for the bad, certain moments are embedded in my psyche forever, while others are mere dim shadows of reality. I must say that I have "tasted" much. Much more than most people and not as much as some.

Yet, it is not enough. My belly is not yet full. I have two college degrees, I have been on archaeological digs, I have traveled to Ireland and Mexico three times, England and Wales twice, France once, and numerous locations in the U.S. I have studied abroad. I have been mugged in New York and in Mexico. I have been to New Orleans pre- and post-Katrina. Been married by a Catholic priest, divorced, then married again years later by a Hindu priest, then months later a Multnomah County judge. I have visited family in jail and in drug treatment. I have felt each and every pain of childbirth, from the first twinge of a contraction to the final burning ring of fire. I have lost loved ones to death, and more painful, lost loved ones who are still alive but no longer a part of my day-to-day life. I have lost myself and found myself, then did the whole process all over again.

I am like a crack addict. Call me a 'life experiences junkie'. Will my life so far ever be enough? Maybe this is why the quotidian minutia doesn't seem so unbearable. Since I have had some amazing experiences, especially abroad, I know that it is possible; I know that the next great experience is just around the corner. When the boys are just a bit older, when we have more money, I will be able to get my next fix.

This is why I want - no, need - to live to be a very old age. I have done a lot, but it is not enough. What about India and Africa and all of the other European and Latin American countries to which I have yet to travel? What about the foods I haven't tried, the historical sites I haven't visited, the spiritual pilgrimages I haven't journeyed?

And, it isn't the monumental journeys that are so appealing. I never get tired of watching a sunset or seeing a sunrise. I never get bored looking at clouds or taking a drive in the country. I could watch the waves of the ocean for hours every single day and never grow weary of it. Spending time on the Upper Clackamas brings me solace like no other. Oh, and the books! So many books to read. And the studies! So many religions and cultures and languages to study and learn about. Don't even get me started on watching my children grow and change. And what about friends - being with the ones I already have and finding the ones that I have yet to meet?

Am I selfish for wanting so much and not accepting that I have done enough? Probably. Do I care? No. Not at all.

If today I were told that I only had 6 months to live, and I would be perfectly healthy for the entire 6 months until the moment I died, what would I do? I would pack up my boys, my husband, and everyone else who is near and dear to me. Then, I would...

Walk part of the Appalachian Trail
Visit Yellowstone and the Grand Canyon
Visit Mont Saint Michel
Spend some time in Italy, Spain, Greece, Israel. Maybe Eastern Europe if I had time.
Live on a farm in Ireland. Make sure to eat that chicken dinner at that small inn near Glendalough
Spend time with Irish herbalists, learning all I could, passing the lore on to the boys.
Spend my last days in Mexico, studying with curanderos and herbalists. Hopefully I will find the magic cure to extend my life another 60 years, or so.
If not, I will lie in the sun drinking Corona with salt and lime not bothering to cover up my cottage cheese thighs or use sunscreen. I will eat avocado-tomato-onion salad sprinkled with lime and salt and wash it down with a bottle of Coca-Cola every day. I will go out salsa dancing every night and shamelessy wear low-cut red blouses that enhance the already deep valley of the Double Ds. I will read every book I have never had time to read. Most importantly, I will sing and dance and hug and kiss and play with my children. This is something I already do every day and I'm not willing to give it up. As I lounge on the beach with all of my dear ones, I will express the undying gratitude and love I have for all.

So, this is my short 'to-do' list. If I am lucky enough to be the recipient of all of the benefits of the controversial stem cell research and live to be a very old age.....oh boy, watch out world. Life is a banquet and most poor suckers are starving to death!

Muppets

2008-03-09T11:26:00.000-07:00

I mean no disrespect to the late Jim Henson (may he rest in peace). He was an amazing artist who, through his medium, magically inspired millions of children. With that said, I HATE THE MUPPETS. There. I said it. Now you know the truth about what kind of a person I am.

I liked Sesame Street when I was like 3 years old. But I quickly outgrew it. As you can see, I was very mature. In fact, when I watched Sesame Street I really only liked the parts when there were real adults acting. My favorite was when they did the number 10 with the Falling Baker. He would come out carrying different desserts, 2 chocolate cream pies, 3 birthday cakes, and so on, culminating in "10 Chocolate Layer Cakes!" After he brought out each dessert he would slip and fall down a flight of stairs with the desserts landing on him. Oh, how my sister and I would howl with laughter, especially after the 10 chocolate layer cakes smothered him. Which, by the way, is such a waste of chocolate! A travesty, I tell you.

Before school let out one day in second grade, Mrs. Johnson reminded all of us that "The Muppets" would be airing that night for the first time and we should all watch it. All of the kids let out a 'hurrah'. Whatever. I would watch it and check it out, but it was going to be really hard to impress this girl. I watched it and I thought it was the stupidest waste of time.

The next day at school everyone was talking about it and how wonderful it was. Even Mrs. Johnson enjoyed it. What was she thinking? I idolized Mrs. Johnson but she had now fallen down a few notches with her admission of actually liking That Show. Afraid of being shunned or chased out of town, I gave a half-hearted, "Yeah, yeah. That was really cool.", all the while saying to myself, "What the f*** is wrong with these people?" By the way, when I was in second grade I thought the "F" word was "Fart", just so you know how the above sentence really reads.

Fast forward, what, 30-some-odd years later and Devarshi rents "The Muppet Movie" for the boys to watch. I really did try to watch it with an open mind. No, really, I really did. It wasn't happening. I STILL HATE THE MUPPETS! I would catch myself sitting there with this grimace on face, curling my lip in disgust as I tried to watch the movie. It was so painful. I couldn't help but make nasty comments about the characters, which really interfered with everyone else's enjoyment of the show. So, I quit watching and played Scramble on the computer.

Why don't I like the Muppets? I don't know. I just don't. Their voices are like nails on a chalkboard to me. They are ugly, not cute, ugly. Don't even get me started on Beeker or Miss Piggy or The Swedish Chef. I shudder just picturing them in my mind's eye.

Devarshi says I am a Communist for not liking The Muppet Show. He says it is un-American of me. So, call me an un-American Communist. I've been called worse. Just don't ever call me a Muppet Lover. Thems is fightin' words.

Did she say "selling your kid"?

2008-03-08T22:05:00.000-08:00

Technically, I am a mandatory reporter when it comes to child abuse and neglect. But that is beside the point. Every private citizen has a public duty, especially to children. So, in my mind, every adult is a mandatory reporter.

I recently had a neighbor "jokingly" (?) make a comment about feeling the need to be careful what they tell me about their family since they found out that I am a mandatory reporter. I was quite taken aback because nothing this person has ever told me, nothing that I have ever seen would ever make me suspect that there would be any kind of abuse going on in this house.

Actually, I would probably be less likely to call protective services about a family than your average citizen. I guess because I have had training and know what is abuse and what is not. Just because I don't parent like you do or don't like how you do things doesn't mean that you are abusing your child.

Most kids are not growing up in abusive homes, although the media might portray otherwise. Having worked in social services, particularly child abuse prevention, for a good chunk of my adult years I get worked up when I occasionally watch the news or read a newspaper article about a child abuse case that misconstrues DHS policy (that would be Department of Human Services, not Department of Homeland Security) and the laws around it. One would believe that children are taken out of their homes for the smallest of offenses and that parents have lost all control over how they raise their children. To make matters worse, parents talk amongst themselves, relaying stories and information. The rumor mill goes crazy and out of fear myths are perpetuated and twisted. It becomes a case of "I knew a woman whose husband's brother's mother-in-law's neighbor's sister had her children removed because she slapped her toddler's hand."

I have never had to call protective services for a family that I knew personally, only professionally. Even then, I had talked to the family thoroughly to find out all of the facts about the situation. I even let the family know that I would have to make the call. It wasn't like some big secret, it was all stuff that the families knew they needed help with. Best case scenario, with my help the parents would make the call themselves. I have had a couple of friends approach me about their concern about their treatment of their children. Luckily, I was able to give them resources, feedback and support. Mostly just be a friend like anyone else.

There are some petty people out there who call DHS whenever they get pissed off at a neighbor or a friend, hoping to somehow "punish" that person. If you are one of these people, please don't waste your time or "The System's" time. There are too many real cases of abuse out there that deserve attention. DHS workers are overloaded as it is. I can guarantee that DHS is not going to come out to your house and do an inspection unless they have some good solid evidence of abuse. The good news/bad news is that they have to receive several phone calls about a particular family before anything is done. In 2006 Oregon DHS received approximately 61,000 calls of suspected abuse/neglect. Abuse/neglect was found in approximately 8,000 of those reports. If you feel that a child is in imminent danger of being abused, call 911.

Listed here are a few examples of abuse/neglect that I have witnessed in families with whom I have worked. Fortunately, I got to work with the families after the abuse occurred and all perps were removed from the situation. It is bad enough hearing about this stuff, but having to discover and report it would be awful.

So, any of the following on the list (but not limited to) MIGHT be grounds to have your kids removed:

Are you.......
Tattooing gang symbols on your 3-year-old?
Hitting your child with your hand or an object so that bruises, cuts, etc. are left on their body?
Manufacturing methamphetamine around your children?
Using any sort of controlled substance in the presence of your children?
Performing any sort of act of sex with your kid (or having them perform it on you)?
Passing your kid around to be used sexually in order for you to get money, drugs, food, shelter, status?
Making your kids ingest poisonous substances (drugs, hot peppers, chemicals, etc)?
Leaving your kids unsupervised for hours or days?
Encouraging your child to steal, sell drugs, perform acts of violence?
Assaulting someone in front of your child?
Chaining your child to their bed?
Living in a filthy home with dead animals, feces, blood, urine, rotten food, exposed chemicals?
Withholding food as punishment (not just sending them to bed without supper)?
Filming or letting someone else film your child performing sex acts?
Smearing your 2-year-old's poop on his face when he soils his training pants?
Murdering or raping someone in front of your kids?
Trying to sell your child?

Ok, I have yet to meet someone who has tried to sell their kid. However, I added it to the list because I know that every single parent has thought "I wonder how much I could get for this tantruming brat on E-Bay. She's really cute when she isn't throwing a fit." Just so you know, don't try it. It is illegal, and just plain wrong.

If you do feel that you may need some help with parenting, talk to someone, anyone. There are some great support groups and parenting classes out their if you feel you cannot talk to a friend or family member. You can even call DHS. They are there to help. Really they are. They would so rather help you now before serious abuse happens than to have you on their case load 6 months from now. They have enough work to do, don't make it harder for them.

I can guarantee that you will not have your kids taken away from you for having a messy, disorganized house, not vaccinating your kids, homeschooling your kids, spanking your kids,
yelling at your kids, grounding your kids, not getting their teeth cleaned at the dentist for a year and a half, feeding them ice cream for breakfast or giving them candy before noon. We have all spoken too harshly to our children. We have all had temper tantrums in front of our kids. We have all said things we wish we could take back. A PERFECT parent allows their imperfections to be seen by their children without doing serious harm. Then they say, "I'm sorry. Let's try that again."

Now, go read "The Good Enough Parent" or some other inspiring parenting book and give your kids lots of hugs. Don't forget to say "I love you."

Blue

2008-03-07T09:46:00.000-08:00

My heart is heavy today and I am feeling blue. I'm trying not to take on the crap that kinda got thrown at me, but it is hard. I really like and respect the person that threw the crap, so it makes it even more difficult to shake it off. What I really want to do is escape to the beach. A good long walk on the beach, picking up seashells, watching the waves crash against the shore, digging in the sand with my boys. The beach always renews me, body and spirit. Instead, I get to go to the salon and get my hair cut and colored. This, too, does the body and spirit good! I may be blue, but at least I will no longer be grey.

2008-03-03T09:29:00.000-08:00

Writing just to write. To get back into the habit and the swing of it. So much has gone by the wayside with having kids. No regrets, by any means. Just want to reclaim some of "me".

So, herbs and herbal medicine are my passion. Not just herbs, but healing physically and spiritually through food and through the connection to the earth. I have so much to learn and so far to go. I do something every day to inform and arm myself.

There are so many herbalists that I admire and respect. There is one in particular who is quite well-known. I was reading one of her books yesterday and whilst reading a voice said, "She is going to die of a stroke." Simple, yet loud and clear. Nothing in her book gave me the impression that she would die of a stroke, or anything else for that matter. In fact, I would expect that she would live to be at least 800 years old. I don't want to put her name down here because if she were to ever hap upon a blog with her name in it, it might just freak her out. I know that it would disturb me to find something like that. She is a long way off from dying of old age, but I will be interested to see of what she actually does die. Hopefully, it won't be for at least another 50 years or so. Maybe longer. I wouldn't be surprised if she out-lives me.

Swimsuit season

2006-04-10T16:56:00.000-07:00

I have to go buy a new swimsuit. Jatin started parent-tot swimming lessons last week and something terrible happened to my swimsuit between the time that I last wore it and Jatin's swim class. I guess the elastic rotted away or something. As I was putting the swimsuit on at home I noticed that I could see A LOT of light through it and it was looking pretty threadbare. Thank God it has this old lady floral print; if it were a solid color I am sure that you could easily see through it, straight to my skin. With the ugly flowers it makes it a little more difficult to tell if you are actually seeing what you are seeing. Know what I mean? Anyway, we get into the pool, which was a fiasco, but that is a whole other story. Jatin was clinging to me the entire time. At one point he let the swim instructor play "Motor Boat" with him, then she unexpectedly threw him at me and he landed face down in the water. When I caught him he was clawing at me and screaming and crying "I sunk! I sunk!". While he was clawing at me he apparently pulled down my now non-elastic, non-support swimsuit and my right breast was hanging out for all to see. I have no idea who all saw it. Luckily, when I realized I was exposing myself to all of the small children and their mothers and fathers, I used Jatin as a shield and adjusted myself. I was more concerned about embarrassing everyone else than embarrassing myself. Actually, if I had my druthers, I would swim naked all of the time. There is nothing more exhilirating than skinny dipping. When class was over and we climbed out of the pool my swimsuit was hanging on me, literally hanging. The part that should have been covering my tummy was drooping down almost like a very short skirt. I had to walk across the concrete floor, all of the way to the locker room in this ridiculous suit. I felt like I was having one of those awful dreams where I am naked in public. In the dream I tell myself that if I just walk around like nothing is wrong, maybe no one will notice that I am not wearing any clothes. Maybe if I walk to the locker room with my head held high, no one will realize that my swimsuit is see-through (like Elaine's shirt that she wore for her Christmas card photos - remember the Seinfeld episode with the nipple?) and that the suit is falling apart with every step that I take. To make matters worse, when I got to the locker room I realized that I had forgotten to bring undewear AND I noticed that there was a hole in the seat of my pants. I had two choices - wear the wet swimsuit under my clothes or go commando and tie my sweatshirt around my waist to cover up the hole. Oh wait, that wasn't an option either because I also forgot my bra and I was wearing a tank top in which I COULD NOT go braless. Again, 'being naked in public' dreams swam through my head. I ended up wearing the sweatshirt zipped up over my tank top. As for the bottom part, I went commando, but I had slung the gym bag over my shoulder and positioned it on my ass somehow to cover up the hole in my pants.
Although I HATE shopping for a swimsuit, I would say that I am well past due for a new one. Besides, I don't want to humiliate myself yet again this Thursday. Wish me luck!

2006-04-02T17:18:00.000-07:00

Do you ever have the feeling that you are about to embark on a journey called Crisis, but you aren't sure what it is all about or why?

2006-03-06T07:25:00.000-08:00

I need a hero. I so desperately need a hero.

2006-03-04T08:09:00.000-08:00

More new neighbors moving in - hopefully they will have little ones for Jatin to play with. Yesterday afternoon there was a knock at the door and this cute duo - bro and sis - were bored and looking for someone to play with. They said "Do you have any kids?" "Yes", I replied, "2 of 'em." "Well, can we play with them?" Me says "um, one is only a little baby and he is finally fast asleep and the other one is 2 years old and I'm trying to clean his poopy bottom right now." I knew they would get a kick out of that one - you know how kids are about bathroom stuff - poop, pee, farts are so funny! I told them about the new neighbors moving in next door and they were so excited and ran over there to see if there was someone to play with.

Okay fans, I thought I had better give y'all an update on my "depression". Remember awhile back I had an entry about this time of year and how depressed I get, blah, blah, blah? Well, here is the update: I can't believe that it is already March and we are sliding into spring. I haven't dreaded every day due to the weather. I have dreaded the continuous lack of sleep (4 or 5 hours a day, everyday, and not all in one stretch, for over 6 months isn't much. I don't care what "they" say) and the inconsolable baby. But the weather really hasn't gotten me down. It is so cold outside right now, but so unbelievably sunny and bright. I can handle this.

Oh yes, an update on my dewlap. If you are a guy, or even a chick, who is so sick of grown women complaining about their real-life bodies, then just skip over this section. I first heard the word 'dewlap' several years back when my cousin was showing me her rabbit (her furry pet, not her adult toy). She explained that the extra fatty, flappy skin hanging down on his belly like an apron was called a 'dewlap'. So, to this is what I liken my tummy. Okay, so it isn't flappy and hangy, just not as toned as I would like it be. I rejoined our fancy-schmancy health club and met with a trainer. I had put the boys in the childcare at the club. After about 45 minutes one of the childcare workers came running into the locker room saying "Your son is freaking out. You need to come." Oh, I thought, that's just Nikash. This is just what he does. When I walked into the childcare room Jatin was merrily playing and the club manager - the manager, mind you - had Nik wrapped up tightly in a fleece blanket, holding him while rocking him in the rocking chair. She was rocking so fast and furiously that it looked like the chair was either going to tip over or take off in flight. She was trying to force the pacifier into his mouth and 'hushing' him while he screamed his head off. Both had sweat on their noses. Apparently, the workers had passed Nik around from employee to employee trying to calm him down. He burned out all of the workers in that short time, so that is when they called in the club manager (who is not my favorite person). She looked so pissed when she saw me. I could almost see the words coming out of her mouth - "Do not bring this child back here." A part of me got great pleasure out of seeing her so frazzled. This nicely coiffed powerhouse of a woman with whom I have had firsthand experience of her snobbery was disheveled and at a loss - *evil laughter*. Well, I haven't taken the boys back since, therefore I haven't been back to work out.
Then, I went to a Weight Watchers meeting. I didn't realize people got there about 30 minutes before the meeting starts to weigh in, etc. I got there about 10 minutes before the meeting thinking I was doing pretty good - actually getting somewhere early, rather than 20 minutes late. I walk into this room and there are at least 100 women (yes, all women). It was a sea of grey heads with bad, tightly curled perms (think Napoleon Dynamite), black polyester pants with elastic waistbands and black, sturdy orthopedic shoes. I'll be the first to admit that I am not the hippest of the hip by a long shot, but I had nothing in common with these women. Well, we did have the fact that we are fat, but that is about it. Not enough to wed me to these mujeres. I tried a different meeting and I felt so much more comfortable - people of all ages, men and women, much smaller group, etc. That meeting was inspiring and I lost 5 lbs that week. I've lost my inspiration and haven't been back to a meeting in a couple of weeks. Gotta go back, it works if you work it.
So, my dewlap is still there. The 20 lbs. are still there. The gym and the WW meetings are waiting for me. I need a kick in the ass. I think I'll go upstairs and put on my ballet tights and leotard. I'll then set my camera up on the dresser, turn on the timer and take a picture of myself. HAHAHAHA - oh the thought of it! No, really, I'm gonna do it. THAT should motivate me. Maybe I'll even be so bold as to upload the picture here for y'all to see. No, that would be too humiliating. Besides, I wouldn't want to scare anyone.

2006-02-26T08:45:00.000-08:00

Al Franken! How could I have forgotten to mention that Devarshi and I went to see Al Franken last weekend?
I bought tickets last fall as a Christmas present to Devarshi. It was a gift to me too, since I assumed he would use his second ticket to take me. Which, luckily for him, he did!
Oh, I had some great chuckles at that show. Gotta love Al! Opening line: "So, um, how many of you have accidentally shot someone?" (This was post-Cheney quail hunting 'mishap').
My faith in American people was restored. Okay, so obviously one would not have bought tickets to the event if they weren't liberal. So, those in the audience were presumably on "my side" and it was not a fair representation of American denizens. But to be in a multi-tiered room (The Schnitz) packed with people and to hear laughter and see heads a-noddin' in agreement - oh, it was just so refreshing! I'm sure Fundie Reps feel this same way every Sunday. Fortunately, I'm not one of them so I don't get this consistent backing to strengthen my resolve. Can I get an 'amen'?
Thank you, Mr. Franken.

2006-02-23T17:17:00.000-08:00

Originally published Feb. 23rd, 2006

A couple of days a week I get to escape my home while sweet Jessica watches the boys for a few hours. Unfortunately, I don't get to have much "me" time. My escape is to work on the job that I get paid to do, which does nothing for me except help pay the bills. However, I am allowing myself a half-hour of "me" time during my time off from mommying to occasionally blog, but more to work on my based-on-fact novel. I really want to have a short story completed by April 11th so that I can present it to Mom on her birthday on April 12th. 30 minutes a couple of days a week isn't much. But, I'll take what I can get.
There is the most lecherous looking man in here. He is creeping me out. He is enjoying the straw to his frappucino WAY too much. After he pleasures his straw he leers over at me.
Back to the novel........if I ever get it finished, I will publish it here at my bloggy for people to peruse, critique, edit, etc.
Jennifer was over yesterday and she was breakin' my heart with her junior high antics. Nope, no way could you pay me enough money to go back to junior high. High school sucked too, but it was a little better than junior high. 12 years of age was a pivotal point in my life. My world was turned upside-down in so many ways. Puberty is hard enough without having to deal with family crap. Anyway, Jennifer's stories took me right back to that day in the locker room after gym class when Helene F. was looking in the mirror and crying over her hair cut. Tears streaming down her cheeks she said, "Look at my hair! I'm so ugly! I look like Karen Dudley now." I shared this story in a note to K.L. the other day when he mentioned how a little bit of success brought people out of the woodwork who would not have given him the time of day in the past. That's a whole other story, but the memory of Helene was fresh in my mind so I was able to easily tell Jennifer about it.
I had the craziest dream last night. I can't even put it into words because I saw and experienced things that I don't even know what they are called or even if they exist. I can say that Tony F.was in my dream. I think Jimmy D. was too, not sure. Maybe it was Jim P. Okay, how could I possibly confuse the two? I'm sure about Tony, though. Tony was as sweet as ever - I think in my dream he was working at some ski resort. Okay, off to my novel for a bit before I pack up and head back home to mis ninitos.

Love Spell

2006-02-21T11:47:00.000-08:00

Take the petals of roses (well dried), a pinch of catnip, half a handful of yarrow and a touch of mint, coltsfoot, strawberry leaves, orris root (well ground), tansy and a bit of vervain. Mix well on a Friday evening in the Moon's increase, and divide into three parts.

Take one of the parts, go outside naked (if you are brave), bend down on one knee and throw the herbs up to the Moon, asking that love be sent to you.

Now, go inside and scatter the second part around your bedroom.

Sew the last part up in a green or pink cloth and wear this on your body, and love will surely appear.

Here is a list of the most useful sachet herbs to use in sachets and love rituals. With this list you can make up your own charms, sachets and spells.

do not compose anything edible form this list. Feeding someone a love potion is not in keeping with the 'harm none' policy of magic. Some of these herbs are toxic:

Rose
Aster
Bachelor's Buttons
Mandrake
Marjoram
Meadowsweet

2006-02-15T22:46:00.000-08:00

Yesterday Tiny, Whiney and I were sitting in an idling car waiting for D-Dogg to bring me my Valentine's Cinnamon Dolce Latte from Bucky's. I was listening to Death Cab (of course) and Tiny says to me, "Mommy, I'll follow you into the dark." Oh my God! Not only did this 2 yr. old pick up on the lyrics, but he repeated them to me so eloquently and appropriately. So, now I'm a bit worried because he said something to me and Devarshi the other day about doing a 'sexy dance'. Where in the hell did he hear the word 'sexy'? Then my mind was flooded with all of the music I have played recently and sang out loud - Erotic City, Sex Crimes, etc.. Dear God, last summer we would always hear on the radio that Rod Stewart song - if you want my body, and you think i'm sexy, blah, blah, blah and we would dance to it. I can still see him doing this fancy, twirling dance move to it. I have probably so totally scarred my poor first born son for life!!!!

Bizarre Love Triangle

2006-02-15T15:27:00.000-08:00

One of my very most favorite memories of my stint at U of O was a spring evening when I, Thom H. and Hugh D. went to The Meeting Place on 13th to practice our French. The Meeting Place was a cool little cafe that catered to the 'internationals'. Once or twice a week the cafe held a conversational table in the evening where people would come in and chat in whatever language they spoke or were learning to speak. At every table there was pretty much a different language spoken. Walking in one heard a cacophony of utterances; it felt like the Tower of Babel had fallen right one top of this little cafe, scattering the peoples to not so random tables.
Since Thom, Hugh and I were all studying French we went to practice with the native French speakers. We tried our best, but I believe the Frenchies couldn't understand our horrific American accents and we somehow ended up sitting at a table by ourselves practicing our broken French with eachother. We ordered pitchers of beer - 3 to be exact, one for each of us, and proceeded to get very shitty. As night fell we made our way over to Guido's to go dancing. Most of the music was top 40, however they threw in some alternative stuff every now and then. We got there early enough in the evening that the three of us were the only ones on the dance floor. The dj was kind enough to play only alternative music for us. I guess he figured since we sported 'alternative' hairstyles and clothes that we would greatly appreciate his efforts. And did we! We had so much fun. I remember that Bizarre Love Triangle by New Order came on. As we were dancing I looked at Thom and Hugh and we all just seemed to connected; there was a 'shot right through with a bolt of blue' that ricocheted from one to the other. I had this feeling of complete happiness come over me. I'm sure that the beer had a lot to do with it! I'm pretty sure that we closed the bar down that night. I remember so clearly what we were wearing - I had on a black form- fitting, calf-length dress with the back cut out. My hair was some shade of burgundy; Thom was wearing his big black boots that sparked when he struck his heels just right, black jeans, black button-down shirt and a long black coat; Hugh was in black boots, blue jeans and a black leather jacket; his hair was long and blond.
I haven't seen Thom or Hugh since college. Last I heard, Thom was married and living in Seattle working as a graphics artist and teaching art at UW. Hugh was the owner of a major club in Portland, which has now closed down. Janet told me that he got married, had a kid, but is now divorced. Apparently he is looking to open another club in Portland.
Such a simple memory, but one that makes me feel so..........je ne sais quois.......so good.

wah, wah, wah

2006-02-10T14:30:00.000-08:00

I want to figure out how to upload an audio clip of whining. I don't know which is worse, the low-grade whining that goes on incessantly for hours, or the blood-curdling, nails-on-a-chalkboard screaming. At times I feel like such a horrible parent. Then I see how others react around my screaming baby and they can't even handle an hour alone with him. I wonder what sins I did in a past life to incur this penalty. Two absolutely adorable little babies who are fussier than hell. It goes beyond fussy. Do I really have any right to complain? Of course not. These are babies who cannot help it. Small creatures who know no better. I know that it could be so much worse. I could have a baby this is gravely ill or is seriously deformed or impaired in some way. However, my feelings are what they are. Usually I am filled with love beyond comprehension. Other times, after hours, days, weeks of listening to the same pitch over and over I implode and want to run far, far, far, far away. Like today. My patience is threadbare. It has become transparent, with gaping holes in some parts. So the screaming and whining continues. I do all that I know how to do to fix it. I cannot fix it. Just like the alcoholics and addicts in my life. I cannot fix it. I find it so incredibly distasteful and offensive when I hear "Oh boy, he is so spoiled!" What the fuck? He is not even 6 months old yet! To me "spoiled" means no limits, no discipline, the child rules the roost. Yeah, I suppose he does rule the roost in a sense. He cannot tell me what hurts, what annoys him, what he is feeling. So, he screams and cries. A 6 month old cannot be spoiled.

2006-02-08T23:42:00.000-08:00

Restless Legs be damned!!!!!

are you reading, my love?

2006-02-07T21:59:00.000-08:00

Flattery

What Does It Take To Seduce You? (Picture Results!)
brought to you by Quizilla

Dear Rachel..........

2006-02-07T21:17:00.000-08:00

Hey Rachel,
Thanks for the comment..........did you mean that in a good way or a bad way? Meaning, I don't give a damn about anybody but myself, or that I am secure enough in myself to express myself freely? Obviously, I really do care what people think of me - hah!!!
Thanks for the input - whoever you are!!!

2006-02-07T21:16:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I hear little pearls of wisdom that I want to remember. That make so much sense to be at the time. I often forget them, trying in vain to conjure up the words in my mind. Today I heard someone say that instead of telling their children that they are proud of them, they ask them first if they are proud of themselves. For example, after a soccer game the father would ask the child "Are you proud of yourself? Are you proud of the way you played?" This way the child seeks validation internally instead of externally. Another thing I heard was how toxic competition can be to a relationship. The person that competes with their child, their spouse is creating a toxic environment within the dynamic. Competition in games, level of education, weight, etc. etc. It is all the same. Also, a person should not have to feel like they have to earn the right to be a part of a family. Ideally, a person will just know that their spot in the family is guaranteed. The love from their family is guaranteed. They don't have to do anything special, nor do they owe their family anything. I never could understand why some parents feel that a child (of any age) "owes" them something - "After all I have done for you/given you/sacrificed for you........." Offspring are not required to be perfect, attend Harvard, make lots of money, be beautiful, be skinny, be popular, be athletic, be smart, in order to be loved, to be accepted, to be okay.

2006-02-07T17:01:00.000-08:00

So, I'm sitting at Steam Heat and working away on the queues so that I don't have to stay up until midnight today working my fingers to the bone. Damn, I really am the queen of long run-on sentences. Anyway, I'm having a hard time concentrating for several reasons. One is that there are so many people in here that I'm having too much fun people watching. Not as much fun as yesterday, however, when there was this dude in here who was so totally Devarshi 10 years ago. It blew me away. He had the long hair, the facial hair, the hiking boots, the jeans-t-shirt-flannel combo. Oh, and he was Indian (minor detail). I didn't think much of it until I caught a snippet of his conversation with an older woman. They were chit-chatting about AA, treatment, recovery, etc. At that point I couldn't stop myself from listening. I was obsessed with hearing this guy's story. A really sad one, actually. It never ceases to amaze me what people can go through as children and end up in one piece as adults. Maybe held together with scotch tape and paper clips, but at least they are in one piece.
Like my parents, my God, their stories break my heart. I was talking to my mom yesterday and she mentioned that she misses the house that she grew up in as a child. She hasn't lived there since her late teens and she thinks about that house at least once a week, missing it, longing for it. There is more information that I want to type about this, but I can't right now. I am starting to cry and don't want to embarrass myself in this cafe, so maybe I'll write about it later.
Okay, deep breaths - in, out, in, out. Okay, tears are receding.
I think I may have really hurt someone who I never intended to hurt. Sometimes I will say or write things that come out all wrong. I'll play a conversation in my head or re-read something I had written and I can't believe how horrible things sound. What is wrong with me? You think I would have learned in first grade that I need to think before I speak/write/type. I am aware that I can't be perfect ALL of the time (just most of the time). It just makes me sick when I unintentionally hurt people whom I love and care about deeply.

Disappointed

2006-01-27T02:23:00.000-08:00

Disappointed. That so better describes how I feel about things. Better describes than the word "depressed". Granted, there are things that I am depressed about. However, disappointed is such a great word. It makes me feel hopeful. Like I can move through it and be stronger once I get to the other side. Disappointed allows me to be able to work with the consequences of the choices that I have made in my life.
"O" magazine has some great articles on life and love that really speak to my heart. I'll have to read them more in depth.
I still go to the hardware store looking for bread. I know better. It really sucks when I go to the hardware store looking for a hammer, then I get hit over the head with it. Ouch!

2006-01-14T12:00:00.000-08:00

Oh Spring, where for art thou? Please hurry up and come. You cannot come quick enough. I long to see the daffodils poking their yellow heads out of the brown earth, searching for the ribbons of longed-for sunshine. All in due time, I know. It is just my hopeless time of year. Once upon a time, for several years, the advent of January meant nothing to me. January was just another month. I think my aversion to winter began around 5th grade. I remember sitting on the orange shag carpet in Mrs. Chambers' classroom during my reading group. Streaks of sunshine, filtered through the clouds, entered the classroom through the tightly closed window and found themselves upon that orange shag. I remember a surge of happiness - no - elation rush through me as I saw the rays appear. Then, almost as quickly as it came, the clouds crept their way in front of the sun and my lovely rays of sunshine disappeared. My elation plummeted and I felt that age-old despair, hopelessness, sorrow. I remember thinking "No! Please don't go yet! Not now!" The period of time when winter did not seem to be so horrible was during the time I was actively involved in Al-Anon. Hmmmmmmmmmm............maybe I should think about that, huh?

I'm looking down at my big ol' belly, the fat roll, my dewlap. I've been fat pretty much all of my 30s and I am sick of it. No, I'll never look like a 20-year-old, because I'm not 20 years old. Besides, I have had 2 kids. However, I don't need to carry around extra winter fat ALL YEAR LONG!!

I'm going to check out ediets.com, weight watchers and jenny craig. Wish me luck!

2006-01-05T16:00:00.000-08:00

Well, both boys are finally asleep for now. I tried to do some of my Nova work so that maybe I could get to bed earlier tonight, or even relax and enjoy a book or something. However, the database is not available. So, no work right now.

I'm trying to keep Nik asleep in his car seat by rocking it gently with my left foot as I type. We'll see.........

This is the time of year that I dread, that I hate, that is so dark and depressing and boring for me. I'm going to keep a log of my moods and feelings. When I start to feel depressed and hopeless I'm going to remind myself to live in the moment, focus on what I AM doing, instead of what I cannot do at this point in my life. I'm also going to try to take mini mind vacations where I visualize myself as slim and fit, in a bikini, on some tropical island, drink in hand, warm breeze in my hair, blue skies as far as the eye can see, the sound of waves breaking on the shore, the smell of salty skin and coconut-scented sunscreen on my skin.

Today I am feeling hopeful. I keep reminding myself that at this point in my life my job is to focus on my kids and getting through each day being the best mom that I can be to them. Screw the house, screw work. They will get taken care of. I'm also feeling tired, of course. I'm also feeling loved. Devarshi has been so incredibly kind and generous towards me. I feel like he is considering my needs too and really cares about me. What a feeling!

Christmas Eve

2005-12-24T09:42:00.000-08:00

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Christmas Eve! This is one of the first years in a long time when all of the presents are wrapped, cookies decorated, no stress about food tomorrow because I bought a frozen apple pie and a frozen lasagna. Sorry folks, I can't even find time to take a shower, so frozen food is what you'll get. Of course, I'll heat it up in the oven for you. Nothing homemade this year. In fact, we are eating Mexican take-out for dinner tonight. Mom and Dad came bearing gifts this evening. They brought a rocking horse for JJ. You know, one of those old school plastic horses with the springs and all. The look on his face when he saw it was priceless!
Janet made a tape for me of a bunch of really cool 80s music - the stuff that we used to listen to at Skoochie's and other clubs. The summer I was 16 was one of the most amazing of my life. It was kind of a 'coming-of-age', if you will. I was really quite confident and eager to explore life. A whole new world opened for me while hanging out downtown. My worldview was expanded double-fold, at least. A bit of a loss of innocence too. Drugs and alcohol everywhere, although I didn't touch either. Then there was D. J. is his real name, D. was his street name. 16 years old and involved in a murder. Sick and disgusting. I remember that hot summer night and watching the 11:00 news. When we heard about the kid being beaten to death with a baseball bat and the suspects were some skate punks, Janet and I just looked at each other but didn't say a word because mom was in the room. We knew, however. We knew that D. was involved because he hadn't been around in a couple of days. And, he had called me that day and told me that he was in trouble and was heading for Canada. Grappling with that knowledge created an inner turmoil beyond description. However, D. and the others turned themselves in. I believe the other two (K. and M. were their names, I think) got 20 years. D. did a year or two at McLaren. To be 16 and to have that kind of knowledge is too much. To be 18 and to be involved with a serious alcoholic/addict is too much.
Anyway, 16/17 was a great time in my life, besides dealing with murderers, drugs, alcohol, etc. etc. LOL! Very confident, the world was my oyster, I was on top of the world. The other time was when I was 30. God, that was good. I have never felt that close to God, that in control of my life, yet knowing that it was because of God. Again, so confident, fearless. What happened to all of that? Now I feel like a shell; a shadow of my former self. So out of touch with my spirituality, although I pray daily. So depressed, hopeless. Every day I look out the kitchen window and wonder if I can really take another rainy, dreary, gray winter in Oregon. I feel such dread in the depths of my soul when I think about the rain, the gray, the rain, the gray. Day after day. I try to remind myself that above those gray, dark clouds there is sunshine and blue sky. All I need to do is to hop on a plane I can be in Mexico by nightfall. Every year I deal with the depression of the dark winters, the gray skies, the wet, damp cold. I can't imagine living anywhere else. Oregon is home. But, my God, is it really worth it? Such depression that reaches down to the pit of my soul. I'm not sure that most people are even really aware that I battle depression. I have grown so accumstomed to covering it up, acting 'happy', not talking about it. But inside I am seething. Angry at what, about what, I'm not really sure. I worry about what kind of damage the depression will do to my kids. I feel like I am an unfit mother, but I know in my heart that I am a good mother. I have seen unfit mothers. Maybe I need to up my meds, huh?
Merry Christmas!

2005-12-14T14:36:00.000-08:00

This goes out to the piece of shit person who told their wife not to spend time with me after I left Brian because he feared I would be a bad influence on his wife and I was no longer 'Godly'. Fuck you.
Guess what I just found out about Brian.........he showed up at a friend's house with another woman while his wife, who was 8 months pregnant, was at home. That friend chewed him out and told him to never come around or call again. Can you imagine if I didn't have the "balls" to leave that sick relationship what I would be like? I shudder to think about it. Look how much better my life is now because I did leave. Do you really think that God would be smiling down on me for staying in a sick marriage? Would I have been more 'Godly' if I had stayed? Maybe in your eyes, but not in the eyes of my God. My God is a loving God who wants what is best for me. I pity you and your self-righteous ass. And when the day comes that you fall off of your high horse, I won't be laughing. I promise to be there to offer a word or two of support.

2005-12-11T18:12:00.000-08:00

Today is my 37th birthday. It actually ended up being a pretty nice day. I really didn't want to do much. I'm just so damn tired. Had lunch with the parents, Kathy, Erik, Uncle Dick, the in-laws. Good food. Good company. Nikash cried most of the lunch. I hate the question, "Why does he cry so much?" Hell if I know! If I knew I would fix it. I'm watching Rudolph right now. Victor and Wendi brought our tree down today. It is a beautiful tree and smells so yummy! I love Christmastime. I hate January. Happy Birthday to ME!

some of my favorite quotes

2005-12-10T23:55:00.000-08:00

Patriotism is supporting your country all the time, and your government when it deserves it" -Mark Twain

"In U.S. and A. they treat horses like we in Kazakhstan treat our women. They feed them two times a day. They have them sleep on straw in a small box. And for entertainment, they make them jump over fences while being whipped." - Borat (Sasha Baron Cohen character on "Da Ali G Show")

"I was ecstatic when they re-named 'French Fries' as 'Freedom Fries.' Grown men and women in positions of power in the U.S. government showing themselves as idiots." - Johnny Depp

A prayer for the wild at heart, kept in cages. - Tennessee Williams

"Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery." - Ralph Waldo Emerson

WARNING sensitive material, a pro-choice tirade, proceed with caution if you are anti-abortion - you might be offended.

2005-12-08T21:07:00.000-08:00

"An 18-year-old mother is accused of putting her 3-month-old son in a clothes dryer and turning the dryer on because the boy would not stop crying. The baby died.

Bogalusa police arrested Lakeisha Adams Monday night on first-degree murder charges.

Sgt. Darryl Darden said Adams called police to her home and told them she had found her baby not breathing. Officers said they found the 3-month-old on a couch and the baby had extensive burns.

Police said Adams later admitted putting the baby in the dryer."

Okay, so I'm really, really trying hard to understand why so many Fundies believe that abortion is contrary to God's Law? Why is it that in order to be considered a "true" Christian by these folks you must be, among other things, anti-abortion? Do these people even know the history of abortion, contraception, women's rights/women as property, etc., etc.? Do they even read the Bible on their own, dissect it and think about it?

Yes, abortion is ugly and horrible and distasteful and should never be used as a form of birth control. However, is it more humane to let a child be born, unwanted, unloved? To be born to a woman who does not want to be a mother? To be born to a woman who cannot be a mother?

Are Fundies aware that the female suicide rate has decreased by 33% since 1973 (year of Roe vs. Wade)?

And why is it that the anti-abortionists claim that women suffer for the rest of their lives after having an abortion, regretting their decision, having nightmares, not being able to function in relationships? I have a handful of female friends and relatives who have confided in me that they have had abortions. It isn't something that women run around bragging about or even feel safe discussing in private. Not a single one made this decision lightly. However, not a single one regrets their decision. All would make the same decision if they had to do things over again. Get this, some of these women were raised Christian, some were Born-Agains when they had the abortion, some are conservative, Fundies. Others are none-of-the-above.

I am so offended when I hear of the "American Holocaust", aka abortion in America, and how the unborn child is the biggest victim in the United States. No, the child that is born unwanted, drug addicted, abused, exploited is the biggest victim.

Do not diminish the pain of a child who sleeps chained in a closet, ribs cracked from her latest beating. Do not diminish the pain of a child who is being sodomized while their mother stuffs a pillow over her head so they don't have to hear the whimpers from the child. Do not diminish the pain of a child who lies dying of starvation and neglect, while their mother is shooting up in the next room. Do not diminish the pain of a newborn detoxing from heroin. Do not diminish the pain of the child who is abandoned on the street because their mother no longer wishes to care for them. Don't you dare to diminish the pain of any of these children by saying that the aborted baby is the biggest victim, bigger than these precious, living human beings.

Isn't the only requirement to be a Christian is to accept Jesus Christ as your personal Lord and Savior? I oftentimes wonder what Jesus Christ would say to us if he came back to Earth today. I think he would be ashamed and apalled by the majority of the people who call themselves Christian.

Reverend Howard Moody is a Baptist minister who created an extensive network of clergy members and abortion providers in the years prior to Roe v. Wade. He helped found the Clergy Consultation Service on Abortion in 1967, which eventually grew to approximately 1,400 ministers and rabbis throughout the country.

Here is an excerpt from an interview with him:
"Some of us decided that we were going to try to do something to help women. And the way we felt was the best way to do that was to help them find safe and secure abortions, because the situation at that time was just horrible. It was the most humiliating, frightening prospect for women that you can imagine.

We decided that the thing to do was to open up a counseling service. We called it the Clergy Consultation Service on Abortion. We could not be underground because then we would be in trouble with the law. It opened in May of '67 with a front-page story in The New York Times.

We had 26 clergy, rabbis and ministers. In order to find those doctors, my colleague, Arlene Carmen, she was the secretary of the church at the time, she would go out and pretend to be pregnant. She'd go into the doctor's office and observe the cleanliness, observe the people who were there. Then when she's up on the table and her legs were in the stirrups, she'd then tell him what she was about. That she represented a group of clergy who were referring women for abortions, and they will have been completely counseled, not only whatever moral and ethical questions the woman might have, but also to the physical procedure of the abortion itself. If she saw women mistreated in any way, even abusive language or whatever, that was it, no way, so we picked out the best. There weren't very many.

We talked to women who had been through it. What did they need? What would have been helpful to them? And of course, most important was a good doctor that was safe and secure.

If a woman decided that she couldn't do it we'd help her have the baby, give it up for adoption, whatever. There were people in the congregation who had been through this and the congregation, men and women, were absolutely supportive. I don't remember a single voice raised against what we were doing. I couldn't have done it without the church.

I think what we did was a real lesson in social change, and it's hard. It's very hard for people to change their minds about issues like this. I felt then and I feel now that the church has a certain obligation because those laws are on the books to do something about changing them. That's our penance, to change those laws which are so unfair and unreal. I've been swimming upstream a lot of my ministerial life. I wasn't interested in wasting my time debating about abortion as long as women didn't have the right to an abortion.

It was one of the most important ministries I did at Judson Church. And a lot of ministers have told me in retrospect that the most significant years of their ministry were the years when they were counseling these women. Because it led to women's freedom on reproductive choice. We set models for counseling and we set models for clinics that would rise up after the law changed. I wouldn't say that we had the most impact, but we did have an impact. I don't think any other group except religious institutions could have done this."

The pro-life (what the hell is that? anti-abortion is more appropriate) position is really a pro-fetus position, and the pro-choice position is really pro-woman. Those who take the pro-fetus position define the woman in relation to the fetus. They assert the rights of the fetus over the right of the woman to be a moral agent or decision maker with respect to her life, health, and family security. In the Bible, the woman's life has always taken precedence over the fetus. A couple of great examples are Exodus 21:22-25 and Numbers 5:11-31. Numbers 5:11-31 states that if a man suspects that his wife is pregnant by another man, the man must take the woman to a priest. The priest will then concoct a drink, which is an abortificant, for the woman and she will lose her baby if she drinks it. Either she can confess her sin, or drink the potion and lose her baby. This supposedly proves her unfaithfulness. Zero regard for the fetus.

There is an absence of condemnation of abortion in the Bible. Sure, committing murder is a sin. But murder is committed against a viable, living human being. In order to be a viable, living, human being, according to Genesis, one must be breathing. God created Adam and Eve out of the Earth, then he breathed life into them. Prior to that they weren't alive. The Hebrew word for human being or living person is 'nephesh', which is also the word for breathing. This concurs with modern, medical science. In 1989 167 distinguished physicians and scientests told the Supreme Court that "the most important determinant of viability is not achieved earlier than 24 weeks gestation because critical organs, particularly the kidneys and lungs, do not mature before that time."

There is nothing in the Bible that speaks specifically to abortions and whether or not they are immoral, sinful, murder. Now, if the Fundies choose to believe that everything in the Bible in infallible, 100% correct, blah, blah, blah, then why are they not following all of the other rules that are clearly stated in the Old and New Testaments? Like, for example, not judging others, not eating shellfish, not eating pork, not cutting your hair, not calling a person a fool, do unto others as you would have them do unto you, on and on and on.

So many people are raised on this religious crap without ever questioning it. They are told by someone in authority that this is the way that it is done, so they go their whole lives without ever exploring other opinions, questioning their authority. Don't question the church. Don't question the minister. Don't question the parents. We must question authority. If not, we get scary people in charge; people like Hitler, Stalin, Mussolini, Franco, Castro, Bush. Sociopathic charlatans who claim to be able to restore order and stabilize a country.

We are all entitled to our opinions. However, if you choose to be anti-choice, do not complain about welfare mamas being a burden on society. Do not condemn the women who work in the sex industry (prostitutes, escorts, lingerie models, strippers, etc.) to make some extra cash to put food on the table for their kids or to buy that much desired birthday present for their little one. Do not shun the female drug addict who gives birth to a baby that will need special services for the rest of its life.

Question authority. Question religion. Question belief systems. Pray, meditate, find your own answers. Find The Truth.

To all of my adoring fans.........Here I am

2005-12-04T23:51:00.000-08:00

Oh yes, my friends, it has been quite awhile since I have posted anything. It is late, late, late, but my adoring fans are waiting with bated breath. Therefore, I will sacrifice my much needed sleep to post something, anything, for the weary to read.

If I hear the words "prune juice" one more time I think I will puke. Actually, do you know what makes me wanna puke? The thought of those wretched eggs that I ate yesterday. Those were the foulest (no pun intended; get it "foulest"/fowlest"......they were chicken eggs; fowl. nevermind) things on God's green earth. I barfed so hard into the porcelain god that I peed all over the floor. Aren't you embarrassed for me? Not I. I just had to get those fishy tasting huevos out of my gut. All the while Jatin is saying "Why is mommy coughing" and my sweet husband says, "I don't know. Why don't you go ask her." SNICKER, SNICKER, SNICKER.

I love the energy that is in the air this time of year. It conjures up all sorts of good feelings from my childhood. The shows on t.v., the foods, the colors, the lights, the music, the hustle and bustle. On Tuesday I'm going to drag the boys to P-Town but it will be well worth it. You see, sweet Mariah is going to be playing her violin in a concert at CTC. Can't wait! Come hell or high water I'm also going to drag out the Christmas decorations and make the house come alive with the Christmas magic. And yes, Devarshi, I'm going to put lights at least on the front porch rail. Maybe I'll be really ballsy and put them on the eaves. Maybe I'll pay one of the teen boys next door to put them up for me. I might even go so far as to try to decorate the trees in the backyard again this year. Last year they look oh-so pathetic. I got some great tips, however, on the news the other evening about this very topic. I've got it all under control. I love seeing Jatin's eyes light up whenever he sees Santa or reindeer or snowmen. He loves to listen to Christmas music and look at the lights. It is all so sweet and magical.

This has been the season of reunions. First, I serendipitously "ran into" K.L. (old boyfriend from almost 20 years ago who should have only been a friend. I hate it when friendships go awry by adding romance! ). I talked to M.I. (another friend, who became a boyfriend, then just a friend after years of distance.) several weeks back. Then I got to see L.R. and R.R. - it has been well over 8 years. Janet and I were reminiscing about Skoochie days and the kids from back then. S.e D. (just a good friend) came up so I googled his name. Luckily, I knew his "new" last name and his wife's name, so his info. immediately popped up. It is almost scary how easy it is to find people these days if you really want to. I shot off an e-mail to him and he wrote back right away. He and Leah have been married for over 13 years now! He is all clean-cut looking (he sent a pic) and has twin daughters. Ironically enough, he works with troubled teen boys! Strikes me as so funny.......this is the homeless kid with a black mohawk who used to sleep on our front yard on hot summer nights. I was a bleeding-heart even back then......bring the homeless kids to our house, let them eat our food, use our shower, give them a sleeping bag to sleep in. Luckily my parents were good sports about it. It always was so humorous to see the neighbors faces (my mom's too!) when these boys with mohawks, ripped jeans, leather jackets, etc. stumbled from our front yard into our house at 9:00am looking for a cup of coffee.

Oh what an interesting life I have led! Maybe I should write my memoirs. Not sure anyone would read them. Maybe Janet, since we share so many stories and experiences. Of course Shari would read it. My mom too. When I grabbed a cup of coffee with K.L. the other afternoon I told him that he should write and publish his memoirs. Now he has some interesting fodder for a great novel. He told me he didn't want to, but that I had first dibs on writing it for him. Maybe I'll take him up on it. I'm sure we would both get very rich!

Can't wait to tell Janet about S.D., aka S.W. She will weep with joy!

Alright my fans, my eyes are burning and my vision is so blurry that I can no longer see the keyboard to type another paragraph. Tomorrow (or whenever I can) I must record some of my latest dreams. My dreams could create some amazing novels in and of themselves.

Good night, sweet prince. parting is such sweet sorrow!

I dedicate this song to Devarshi, my love

2005-11-21T13:00:00.000-08:00

I know that there are days when you want to run away from it all; days when you can't stand me; days when you wonder what you have gotten yourself into. It has been a long haul, but we will come out the other end. And, we'll be better and stronger because of it all. So read on.......this is for you:

"IT IS YOU I HAVE LOVED", from the movie Shrek

There is something that I see
In the way you look at me
There's a smile, there's a truth in your eyes

But an unexpected way
On this unexpected day
Could it mean this is where I belong
It is you I have loved all along

It's no more mystery
It is finally clear to me
You're the home my heart searched for so long
And it is you I have loved all along

There were times I ran to hide
Afraid to show the other side
Alone in the night without you

But now I know just who you are
And I know you hold my heart
Finally this is where I belong
It is you I have loved all along

It's no more mystery
It is finally clear to me
You're the home my heart searched for so long
And it is you I have loved all along

Over and over
I'm filled with emotion
Your love, it rushes through my veins

And I am filled
With the sweetest devotion
As I, I look into your perfect face

It's no more mystery
It is finally clear to me
You're the home my heart searched for so long
And it is you I have loved
It is you I have loved
It is you I have loved all along

My all-time favorite poem - life changing for me

2005-11-19T23:42:00.000-08:00

my boat struck something deep,
nothing happened.
sound, silence, waves,
nothing happened.
or perhaps,
everything happened,
and I am sitting in the middle of my new life.

Juan Ramon Jimenez

Hasn't Halloween come and gone?

2005-11-19T23:23:00.000-08:00

How did I become so morose and 'gothic'? When I die these are some things that I want incorporated into the celebration of my life; either written, spoken, sung or engraved on my tombstone.

"Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because dawn has come"

Green Day, "Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)"
Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road. Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go. So make the best of this test, and don't ask whyIt's not a question, but a lesson learned in time. It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.I hope you had the time of your life. So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind. Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time. Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial. For what it's worth it was worth all the while. It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right. I hope you had the time of your life.

2 separate quotes by T.S. Eliot - 1888 - 1965:

What we call the beginning is often the end, and to make an end is to make a beginning.

We shall never cease from exploration and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time.

The date

2005-11-19T08:00:00.000-08:00

So, Victor and Wendi came down last night and watched the boys while DH and I went on our date. We tried a new restaurant in town called Tre. Salem is lacking in decent restaurants, so I was excited to hear about this new joint. Oh my heavens, what a dinner! The french onion soup was the BEST I have ever had. The bruschetta melted in my mouth - the tomatoes were so ripe and fresh, the cheese was not overly smoked, the right amount of basil. For the entree I had squash ravioli in browned butter sauce with gorgonzola cheese and pine nuts - to die for! Extremely rich, so I couldn't finish it, but oh so worth every fat laden bite. Creme broulee for dessert - perfection. I comment on Tre with trepidation. You see, I haven't had a really, really good meal in quite a while. Living in Salem, there aren't many choices. Most of my meals during the last 3 months have been fast-food or instant meals. Am I just so deprived of good restaurants that I don't know what good is any more? This is the chick that used to go to the hippest restaurants on NW 23rd several times a week. Am I becoming one of the people who believes that Olive Garden is the classiest and tastiest restaurant around? God help me! And then I wonder how I became such a restaurant snob. Maybe if I weren't such a snob I could shed some of this excess fat.
Well, after din din we went to the Book Bin and browsed. I bought a used copy of Richard Heinlein's Job: A Comedy of Justice. We then went to The Governor's Cup for some coffee. More snobbery ahead::::::::::: creepy, small town people that look a little inbred mixed with WU students. Makes for interesting people-watching. What is wrong with me? Has being cooped up in the house made me bitter, judgmental?
All in all, it was a simple night, a simple date but just what we needed. I feel refreshed and a bit more alive. We didn't make it to Inspiration Point. Oh well. When we got home we discovered that both boys had pretty much slept the entire time that we were gone. Why can't they do that when I'm home alone with both of them.
GO DUCKS! Today is the Oregon vs. OSU civil war game. Dave entered me in a drawing and I won tickets to the game. Came with a night at the Valley River Inn and a spot at the tailgater. I would love to have gone. I have always wanted to go to a Civil War game. I just wouldn't feel right about leaving Nikash for that long with a babysitter. If he were feeling better it would be no big deal. So I'm giving the tickets to Victor and Wendi. This too shall pass and in another time life will be easier. By the way, we could have made TONS of money off of those tickets. Several people have been aghast that I didn't sell them. Once again, I'm not about money, folks!!!! Never have been, never will be. Money does make things easier, but it doesn't make things better. Besides, I didn't pay a dime for them, so I'm out nothing. I receive much more pleasure from GIVING the tickets to a couple of my closest friends who will enjoy the game so much more than I ever would. Come to think of it, maybe I should have charged them for the tickets. They are Beavers fans - booooooooooo!!
Now, if I can just figure out how I became such a snob!

I get to go on a date tomorrow!

2005-11-17T21:56:00.000-08:00

So, DH and I have only been out once since Nik was born in August. And, that time doesn't count because we just ran up to a Mexican restaurant to pick up some food. Tomorrow Victor and Wendi are coming over to watch the boys while DH and I go on a real date! Yippee! I don't care where we go or what we do, just some alone time will be awesome. Maybe I'll convince him to go hang out at "Inspiration Point" and see what kind of magic happens. Okay, maybe not. The last thing I need is another little boy growing in my belly! :)