Gratitude
I got another job offer. It's a great job, and I'm incredibly proud of myself for landing two opportunities within two months of getting laid off during the worst recession my generation (hopefully) has ever seen. Plus, I didn't crack during this downtime, which is another reason I'm so proud. I work very hard to maintain a glass half full outlook; I've practically made a study out of identifying what sets me downward and managing how to keep me optimistic. Only My Beloved was aware of my waning enthusiasm for the whole "funemployment" gig. For someone like me who enjoys crafting a career, the lack of an office and corporate ladder to climb can get depressing. I'm grateful for the company that downsized me so I wa able to get this new, exciting job.
We're on our way home from a week of fishing in Andros Islands, courtesy of my incredibly generous parents. Mom stayed home, so I got a lot of Daddy-n-Me time. It's been a while since we've hung out just us and he's so much fun! Once when I was discussing the difference in relationships between Moms and daughters and Dads and daughters, my mom commented that all little girls love their Daddys (as in "Dad can do no wrong.") Mom and I have spent a lot of time together as "adults", but not so much me and Dad. I'm very thankful for these last five days.
I've a week of downtime before I start with the new team. To celebrate and reward myself, I'm off to the west coast to spend it soaking up more family, who I will not see this Xmas. As I write this on the plane home, I'm fantasizing about the fun things to do with my sisters. I'm the really girly one of the bunch, and I think they like that about me. Manis, pedis, haircuts, and clothes shopping for an evening out with their husbands while I babysit the chillin and teach them how to bake, read them scary stories, and help the youngest learn to say my name. It will be a rushed two days in Portland and another two in Bend but, really, two months would be too short and I'm grateful for what I can get.
And I'm especially grateful for the man in the seat beside me slumped over his tray table. Not only handsome and kind, but he's the most supportive partner I could ever hope to find. What I might be most proud of is being able to provide for my family. Not that he needs it -he's perfectly capable of providing for himself- but I can keep him flush with homemade pizza, lazy Sunday afternoons, and all the home-repair supplies a man could ever want. Left to his own devices, he'd make do with iceberg lettuce sandwiches and NPR on the radio while living in a studio apartment. He likes his life better with me in it, for richer or poorer, and for that I am truly thankful.
Nov 27, 2009
Nov 21, 2009
PAUSE FOR STATION IDENTIFICATION
Alas, this may be the last post of NaBloPoMo. I am headed to where there is unreliable cell phone and data transmission for four glorious days of sunshine, family, and fishing. Well, that and I'm not coughing up the Benjamins to pay for roaming ;) I better make this count...
VOMIT
When we vacationed with family this summer, one night we stayed up super late by the bonfire with my BIL and Dinosaur Niece (DN). DN was way overtired, but too keyed up to fall asleep. (Why do kids do that? Babies, even, just *fight* going to bed. I swear that's what my insomnia has been about. Why do we do that?) DN was talking to herself rambling, incessant prattling about dinosaurs - her favorite subject. There was no diverting or soothing her and no logic to her stream of consciousness. BIL said she talked all the way back to the house in his arms and all the way up to bed. The same thing happened to me the night of New Moon: as I drove through the rainy 3:30am hour, I made a verbal purge of every thought in my head. My passengers must have thought I was having a manic episode. There was no processing or editing for social graciousness; just pure, smelly mental vomit. The difference between that and overindulging at a party is that I can recall every inappropriate thing I said. Thus, reinforcing maxim #2 of Joiedevivre: bad things happen when I'm overtired.
VOMIT
When we vacationed with family this summer, one night we stayed up super late by the bonfire with my BIL and Dinosaur Niece (DN). DN was way overtired, but too keyed up to fall asleep. (Why do kids do that? Babies, even, just *fight* going to bed. I swear that's what my insomnia has been about. Why do we do that?) DN was talking to herself rambling, incessant prattling about dinosaurs - her favorite subject. There was no diverting or soothing her and no logic to her stream of consciousness. BIL said she talked all the way back to the house in his arms and all the way up to bed. The same thing happened to me the night of New Moon: as I drove through the rainy 3:30am hour, I made a verbal purge of every thought in my head. My passengers must have thought I was having a manic episode. There was no processing or editing for social graciousness; just pure, smelly mental vomit. The difference between that and overindulging at a party is that I can recall every inappropriate thing I said. Thus, reinforcing maxim #2 of Joiedevivre: bad things happen when I'm overtired.
Nov 19, 2009
THE PEN IS MIGHTIER
I'm sitting in a theater in New Jersey (gag) at 11pm. This theater is packed with giddy silly 12-13 yo girls all waiting to see Edward Cullen and Jacob Black spring to life on the screen. It's insane! All started by a book. Yeah, I'm here like the rest of them for the vicarious experience. But we're all here because of reading. And that's cool, ya know? Like literally! For real? It's like totally cool!
Nov 18, 2009
AT THE TONE, THE TIME WILL BE TOO LATE
I was invited to come in for a "conversation" regarding a job I'd applied to with a local company. The HR team and I had been going around and around about a date; it's tough to fit everything in before the holidays, but, of course, everyone (including me!) wants to put as much business to bed as possible going into vacation.
When I was first contacted, it was requested that I bring in some writing samples. I went into the attic to retrieve the remains of my previous careers and see if there was anything apropos. However, the last email from HR sounded like the meeting was not going to happen until after December, so I merrily went back to surfing the internet for the just-right bathroom fixtures My Beloved needs so he can tear into home repairs next week.
You know what is coming next, don't you? In fact, I even said to myself yesterday that I should work on the writing samples now when I'm relaxed and clear-headed rather than waiting until Deember. Well, I got an email this morning at 11am asking if I could be on-site tomorrow at 1pm. Yikes!
When I was first contacted, it was requested that I bring in some writing samples. I went into the attic to retrieve the remains of my previous careers and see if there was anything apropos. However, the last email from HR sounded like the meeting was not going to happen until after December, so I merrily went back to surfing the internet for the just-right bathroom fixtures My Beloved needs so he can tear into home repairs next week.
You know what is coming next, don't you? In fact, I even said to myself yesterday that I should work on the writing samples now when I'm relaxed and clear-headed rather than waiting until Deember. Well, I got an email this morning at 11am asking if I could be on-site tomorrow at 1pm. Yikes!
Nov 17, 2009
SOUTHERN BELLES
The Beloveds are moving to RTP!
UPDATE: We are not, in fact, moving to North Carolina. I posted this b/c I thought it incredible that a pharmaceutical company was HIRING and not FIRING. Didn't know that could happen anymore :) For the record, "never say never" and all that but...I went to NC State my freshman year and hated it. I sweat continuously from September to May, got called a Yankee one too many times, and discovered I have "Please talk to me about your religion!" stamped across my forehead. That and almost every woman I knew had an eating disorder. Two of the 8 women in my quad were sent home by their parents after the first term because they were so anorexic. One girl's brother was on campus, too, and he would come over to weigh her and report back home on her progress. It was horrid. Not that that experience among a very specific demographic in a very specific location constitutes North Carolina as a whole, but it was enough that when I suggest we move down South I'm making a joke.
UPDATE: We are not, in fact, moving to North Carolina. I posted this b/c I thought it incredible that a pharmaceutical company was HIRING and not FIRING. Didn't know that could happen anymore :) For the record, "never say never" and all that but...I went to NC State my freshman year and hated it. I sweat continuously from September to May, got called a Yankee one too many times, and discovered I have "Please talk to me about your religion!" stamped across my forehead. That and almost every woman I knew had an eating disorder. Two of the 8 women in my quad were sent home by their parents after the first term because they were so anorexic. One girl's brother was on campus, too, and he would come over to weigh her and report back home on her progress. It was horrid. Not that that experience among a very specific demographic in a very specific location constitutes North Carolina as a whole, but it was enough that when I suggest we move down South I'm making a joke.
HIRED!
First day at new job is Nov 30th. Not saying more than that right now until the ink dries, but celebrations have commenced if you know what I'm saying and I think that you do. (That's right, we bought a pizza last night. What were you thinking?)
HAPPINESS UPDATE
My marriage works so much better when I'm happy. (Go figure, right?) My Beloved has basically re-built this house that I love from the inside out saving us thousands of dollars in labor, kept us flush with heat and electricity, and maintained the health and wellness for an increasingly high-maintenance dog. What have I contributed to the family pot? I have bitched about the two times I had to rake the leaves (in my defense, it was a LOT of leaves!) and learned how to make kick-ass homemade pizza dough. Clearly, there's some inequity. While I'll never pick up a spirit level or paintbrush again (see "Recipe for Marital Strife"), I can contribute to the family by making it a priority for me to be happy.
You should not imagine that I am unhappy often or that when I am unhappy or upset I beat the dog or walk around the house like one of those women in an SSRI ad. But, after so many years together, My Beloved and I enjoy very strong marriage-ESP and can intuit a whole conversation of understanding in the smallest gesture. So, while the rest of the world may think I'm perfectly content, My Beloved always knows - sometimes before I am even aware - that there is a pebble in my shoe.
As part of my job search, I've been doing a number of self-assessments. These can be as concrete as listing the types of work, work environment, etc. that I enjoy. Or, they can be more open-ended as in identifying what I want out of life. A workshop I attended on Saturday instructed on the latter type and recommended an exercise to do at least 2x a year. To do the exercise, make 5 lists (friends/family, self, workplace, community, affiliations) and under each heading itemize what you give and what you get from each category. For example, under SELF, I listed "time"; I give myself time to be indulgent. Under friends/family, I wrote "distraction"; dinner/movies/bowling with my girlfriends is a way to distract myself from myself. If I'm feeling out of balance, a review of the list should help figure out why: Have I been giving myself time? Have I been hanging with Da Girlz? I'm putting together my objectives for Q4 '09 and for 2010 and will list “happiness” under SELF. For each category, I’ll list some concrete things to do for that objective and review this list every quarter to make sure I’m living with intent and true to my priorities.
One concrete activity is to list 5 to 6 positive things about the day before. So, here's my list for November 16:
- Went to a Chopin concert with My Beloved
- Accepted a new job
- Indulged myself by eating out
- Took care to get a full 8hrs of sleep
- Went to be before 2am.
- Scheduled a dinner date with friends
LATE NIGHT THOUGHTS ON THE TESLA AND CHLOROPHYLL
My Beloved likes to regale people with his esoteric and ucannily diverse knowledge. That is why I know that the Tesla electric car has no acceleration*: it's at 100% torque all the time. The sensation is described as being slammed into your seat, unable to move. What fun is that? It's cool on an academic level, but the acceleration is where the adrenaline and excitement come from. Can you recall that feeling right now? The bottom-dropping-out-of-your-stomach sensation? Falling in love is like that, or almost. Something somewhere, just behind my belly button, clenches and twists and my eyes close involuntarily. (No wonder people liken it to riding a roller coaster.) The attraction, the anxiety, the excitement of risking getting comfortable and letting go of the ohmigod handle, come what may...
Why is it that you feel that feeling of love in the pit of your stomach? [GEEK ALERT! GEEK ALERT!] I've read that during embryogenesis the muscle that forms the left arm drops, and a portion turns into the heart. That's why, during a heart attack, the pain can manifest as a weakness in the arm. I wonder if that's why you feel love in your belly? Maybe it originates from the ribs (as in, from where God took Adam's rib to make Woman)?
I chuckle at myself for that last comment. I don't believe in God. I'm barely even spiritual. But we were just at a wedding last weekend, and the story of the creation of Woman was a reading selection so the tale is fresh in my mind. And this afternoon, sitting at the park during sunset, the fading light made a red-leafed maple glow electric crimson. I commented aloud that it was so beautiful, it made me wonder if the show wasn't planned deliberately for man's enjoyment. Why else would retreating chlorophyll make such beauty? Which, of course, got me thinking why I thought it was beautiful in the first place. Was my enjoyment of the display part of some design or part of an evolutionary selection to make me contemplate higher powers? Or what biochemistry was there in my eyes and brain to make me so responsive to this [perceived] color?
Someone recently commented to me that after experiencing the awesome power and terror of a thunderstorm in the Grand Canyon, she had new appreciation for why Native Americans worship natural gods. When I experience the toe-curling jolt down my spine when My Beloved kisses my neck or the autumn fireworks, I know what she means.
photo by SKIPSHEPARD
* True to form, My Beloved pointed out the Tesla does, in fact, accelerate. The point I am making about origination of the gut-wrench of True Love is still valid. Thank you, Jacques Cousteau.
Why is it that you feel that feeling of love in the pit of your stomach? [GEEK ALERT! GEEK ALERT!] I've read that during embryogenesis the muscle that forms the left arm drops, and a portion turns into the heart. That's why, during a heart attack, the pain can manifest as a weakness in the arm. I wonder if that's why you feel love in your belly? Maybe it originates from the ribs (as in, from where God took Adam's rib to make Woman)?
I chuckle at myself for that last comment. I don't believe in God. I'm barely even spiritual. But we were just at a wedding last weekend, and the story of the creation of Woman was a reading selection so the tale is fresh in my mind. And this afternoon, sitting at the park during sunset, the fading light made a red-leafed maple glow electric crimson. I commented aloud that it was so beautiful, it made me wonder if the show wasn't planned deliberately for man's enjoyment. Why else would retreating chlorophyll make such beauty? Which, of course, got me thinking why I thought it was beautiful in the first place. Was my enjoyment of the display part of some design or part of an evolutionary selection to make me contemplate higher powers? Or what biochemistry was there in my eyes and brain to make me so responsive to this [perceived] color?
Someone recently commented to me that after experiencing the awesome power and terror of a thunderstorm in the Grand Canyon, she had new appreciation for why Native Americans worship natural gods. When I experience the toe-curling jolt down my spine when My Beloved kisses my neck or the autumn fireworks, I know what she means.
photo by SKIPSHEPARD
* True to form, My Beloved pointed out the Tesla does, in fact, accelerate. The point I am making about origination of the gut-wrench of True Love is still valid. Thank you, Jacques Cousteau.
Nov 16, 2009
Nov 14, 2009
I HEART PATRICK STONER
Saturday nights are movie nights on WHYY, our local public television station. Patrick Stoner is the movie critic and each night he introduces the film and provides some context and hints at a spoiler that he reveals at the end of the flick. He's the one who turned me onto Hitchcock and Mrs. Minivier. Tonight's movie, which I'm watching as I write this, is some Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers concoction. Now, I am not a fan of Fred Astaire -- too scrawny -- but you can't knock the guys talent. He and Ginger just danced this duet and I swear to g*d Ms. Rogers is wearing an entire ostrich on her dress, the downy fragile under feathers. I expect the feathers to rip off with every turn. I can't believe costume picked this material! She deserves an Oscar just for carrying the dress off. The plot is too stupid for words. It's basically an episode of Three's Company ("Jack is....gay?!"). Ginger meets a man she mistakes for her friend's husband - who she's never met - ...oh, blurg, I can't summarize it well it's so dumb. Let me see if I can find an IMDB summary.
Couldn't find a summary but found this instead about the dress!
Skip to 3:20 to watch the feathers fly!
Couldn't find a summary but found this instead about the dress!
For the "Cheek to Cheek" number, Ginger Rogers wanted to wear an elaborate blue dress heavily decked out with ostrich feathers. When director Mark Sandrich and Fred Astaire saw the dress, they knew it would be impractical for the dance. Sandrich suggested that Rogers wear the white gown she had worn performing "Night and Day" in The Gay Divorcee (1934). Rogers walked off the set, finally returning when Sandrich agreed to let her wear the offending blue dress. As there was no time for rehearsals, Ginger Rogers wore the blue feathered dress for the first time during filming, and as Astaire and Sandrich had feared, feathers started coming off the dress. Astaire later claimed it was like "a chicken being attacked by a coyote". In the final film, some stray feathers can be seen drifting off it. To patch up the rift between them, Astaire presented Rogers with a locket of a gold feather. This was the origin of Rogers' nickname "Feathers". The shedding feathers episode was recreated to hilarious results in a scene from Easter Parade (1948) in which Fred Astaire danced with a clumsy, comical dancer played by Judy Garland.
Skip to 3:20 to watch the feathers fly!
Nov 13, 2009
MERCURY RISING
I'm not feelin' it anymore. The first three weeks of unemployment I don't think my smile dropped once. Now? I'm ready to be back to work. When I was a bench scientist, my family took a two week vacation and I was never so happy to get back to work. So, naturally I really thought I'd be climbing the walls after three days of unemployment, but I was able to fill those first few weeks with so much that there wasn't time to sit around the house. Lately, that's what I've been doing a lot of. There's something in the works, so I've been sort of taking it easy waiting to see how it plays out -- ok, really easy. And, yes, after three days, I am absolutely climbing the walls.
I've been reflecting on what this means for my retirement. Is this how it'll be? Will I read all day, crochet, cook. I'm not one of those people who needs to be working until they day I drop, but I clearly need an excuse to get out of the house. I have enough self-awareness to know that I'm not someone who is [predominantly] internally motivated, so I need excuses: clubs, friends, events scheduled weeks in advance that I'll forget about until it's too late to cancel. It's tough sometimes to accept that I can't "just" make myself do things. But, you know what's worse? Kidding myself that I'll "just do it" on my own instead of taking steps to find the external motivation. Why pay for a gym membership when I have the whole wide world? Why wait for a looming interview date to put together some writing samples instead of chipping away at it a little every day? Don't get me wrong, I can do it. I've been the morning runner, lost the weight on my own, planned and studied for the exam.
I'm a better performer in tandem than solo.
I've been reflecting on what this means for my retirement. Is this how it'll be? Will I read all day, crochet, cook. I'm not one of those people who needs to be working until they day I drop, but I clearly need an excuse to get out of the house. I have enough self-awareness to know that I'm not someone who is [predominantly] internally motivated, so I need excuses: clubs, friends, events scheduled weeks in advance that I'll forget about until it's too late to cancel. It's tough sometimes to accept that I can't "just" make myself do things. But, you know what's worse? Kidding myself that I'll "just do it" on my own instead of taking steps to find the external motivation. Why pay for a gym membership when I have the whole wide world? Why wait for a looming interview date to put together some writing samples instead of chipping away at it a little every day? Don't get me wrong, I can do it. I've been the morning runner, lost the weight on my own, planned and studied for the exam.
I'm a better performer in tandem than solo.
Nov 12, 2009
ADVICE FOR JOB SEEKERS
1. Put together a spreadsheet of your contacts outside of your department, company, and area of expertise. Then, contact these people once a quarter or at least twice a year. An easy excuse to contact a contact is to forward an article that is relevant to your common interest. Google Alerts works brilliantly for this.
2. Performance reviews are an excellent resource for your 60-second sell and resume. Also, psychologically, it's easier to craft a laundry list of accomplishments when you're doing it using someone else's words.
ADVICE FOR JOB-HOLDERS
1. See #1 above
2. For the love of Ted, put together a portfolio of your work. Forward the document to yourself at home or print a copy and take it home, but just do it. If it was something you submitted as part of an objective, that means it's important enough to add the the folio.
1. Put together a spreadsheet of your contacts outside of your department, company, and area of expertise. Then, contact these people once a quarter or at least twice a year. An easy excuse to contact a contact is to forward an article that is relevant to your common interest. Google Alerts works brilliantly for this.
2. Performance reviews are an excellent resource for your 60-second sell and resume. Also, psychologically, it's easier to craft a laundry list of accomplishments when you're doing it using someone else's words.
ADVICE FOR JOB-HOLDERS
1. See #1 above
2. For the love of Ted, put together a portfolio of your work. Forward the document to yourself at home or print a copy and take it home, but just do it. If it was something you submitted as part of an objective, that means it's important enough to add the the folio.
LATE NIGHT THOUGHTS ON THE TESLA AND CHLOROPHYLL
My Beloved likes to regale people with his esoteric and ucannily diverse knowledge. That is why I know that the Tesla electric car has no acceleration: it's at 100% torque all the time. The sensation is described as being slammed into your seat, unable to move. What fun is that? It's cool on an academic level, but the acceleration is where the adrenaline and excitement come from. Can you recall that feeling right now? The bottom-dropping-out-of-your-stomach sensation? Falling in love is like that, or almost. Something somewhere, just behind my belly button, clenches and twists and my eyes close involuntarily. (No wonder people liken it to riding a roller coaster.) The attraction, the anxiety, the excitement of risking getting comfortable and letting go of the ohmigod handle, come what may...
Why is it that you feel that feeling of love in the pit of your stomach? [GEEK ALERT! GEEK ALERT!] I've read that during embryogenesis the muscle that forms the left arm drops, and a portion turns into the heart. That's why, during a heart attack, the pain can manifest as a weakness in the arm. I wonder if that's why you feel love in your belly? Maybe it originates from the ribs (as in, from where God took Adam's rib to make Woman)?
I chuckle at myself for that last comment. I don't believe in God. I'm barely even spiritual. But we were just at a wedding last weekend, and the story of the creation of Woman was a reading selection so the tale is fresh in my mind. And this afternoon, sitting at the park during sunset, the fading light made a red-leafed maple glow electric crimson. I commented aloud that it was so beautiful, it made me wonder if the show wasn't planned deliberately for man's enjoyment. Why else would retreating chlorophyll make such beauty? Which, of course, got me thinking why I thought it was beautiful in the first place. Was my enjoyment of the display part of some design or part of an evolutionary selection to make me contemplate higher powers? Or what biochemistry was there in my eyes and brain to make me so responsive to this [perceived] color?
Someone recently commented to me that after experiencing the awesome power and terror of a thunderstorm in the Grand Canyon, she had new appreciation for why Native Americans worship natural gods. When I experience the toe-curling jolt down my spine when My Beloved kisses my neck or the autumn fireworks, I know what she means.
photo by SKIPSHEPARD
My Beloved likes to regale people with his esoteric and ucannily diverse knowledge. That is why I know that the Tesla electric car has no acceleration: it's at 100% torque all the time. The sensation is described as being slammed into your seat, unable to move. What fun is that? It's cool on an academic level, but the acceleration is where the adrenaline and excitement come from. Can you recall that feeling right now? The bottom-dropping-out-of-your-stomach sensation? Falling in love is like that, or almost. Something somewhere, just behind my belly button, clenches and twists and my eyes close involuntarily. (No wonder people liken it to riding a roller coaster.) The attraction, the anxiety, the excitement of risking getting comfortable and letting go of the ohmigod handle, come what may...
Why is it that you feel that feeling of love in the pit of your stomach? [GEEK ALERT! GEEK ALERT!] I've read that during embryogenesis the muscle that forms the left arm drops, and a portion turns into the heart. That's why, during a heart attack, the pain can manifest as a weakness in the arm. I wonder if that's why you feel love in your belly? Maybe it originates from the ribs (as in, from where God took Adam's rib to make Woman)?
I chuckle at myself for that last comment. I don't believe in God. I'm barely even spiritual. But we were just at a wedding last weekend, and the story of the creation of Woman was a reading selection so the tale is fresh in my mind. And this afternoon, sitting at the park during sunset, the fading light made a red-leafed maple glow electric crimson. I commented aloud that it was so beautiful, it made me wonder if the show wasn't planned deliberately for man's enjoyment. Why else would retreating chlorophyll make such beauty? Which, of course, got me thinking why I thought it was beautiful in the first place. Was my enjoyment of the display part of some design or part of an evolutionary selection to make me contemplate higher powers? Or what biochemistry was there in my eyes and brain to make me so responsive to this [perceived] color?
Someone recently commented to me that after experiencing the awesome power and terror of a thunderstorm in the Grand Canyon, she had new appreciation for why Native Americans worship natural gods. When I experience the toe-curling jolt down my spine when My Beloved kisses my neck or the autumn fireworks, I know what she means.
photo by SKIPSHEPARD
LONG DISTANCE MIND-MELD or YOU MIGHT BE A VULCAN IF...
You know that phenomenon when you hear about something new and then suddenly you hear/see that same thing over and over in different places? (I'm sure there's a sniglet for this. Anyone remember sniglets?) I love when that happens b/c it makes the great divide that sometimes seems to separate us all feel really, really small.
Still, the confluence of coincidence can be astonishing. Take, for example, the unbelievable same-wavelength, separated-at-birth, gotta-be-psychic blogposts that my friend Downsizing and I wrote yesterday. Now, I had never heard this poem. I saw a clip of the reading on PBS last night and went to the internet to see the full performance. It moved me, and so I started to write about it. I have a few blog posts in the wings but, later in the evening, I selected that one as the one to finish and post. Reed had heard the poem before but chose last night to write about it, too. Doesn't it just reaffirm that warm and fuzzy feeling about a friendship to serendipitously find yourselves on the same page? And across such a great distance?
That's why I think it's so important to follow-up when you suddenly think about something or someone you haven't thought of in a while. Whatever it is that triggered the recall in your brain might have had the same effect on him/her. You never know who might be thinking about you!
You know that phenomenon when you hear about something new and then suddenly you hear/see that same thing over and over in different places? (I'm sure there's a sniglet for this. Anyone remember sniglets?) I love when that happens b/c it makes the great divide that sometimes seems to separate us all feel really, really small.
Still, the confluence of coincidence can be astonishing. Take, for example, the unbelievable same-wavelength, separated-at-birth, gotta-be-psychic blogposts that my friend Downsizing and I wrote yesterday. Now, I had never heard this poem. I saw a clip of the reading on PBS last night and went to the internet to see the full performance. It moved me, and so I started to write about it. I have a few blog posts in the wings but, later in the evening, I selected that one as the one to finish and post. Reed had heard the poem before but chose last night to write about it, too. Doesn't it just reaffirm that warm and fuzzy feeling about a friendship to serendipitously find yourselves on the same page? And across such a great distance?
That's why I think it's so important to follow-up when you suddenly think about something or someone you haven't thought of in a while. Whatever it is that triggered the recall in your brain might have had the same effect on him/her. You never know who might be thinking about you!
Nov 11, 2009
DEBT ISN'T ALWAYS A FOUR-LETTER WORD
While I never gave my mother a lanyard, I did fashion a picture frame for my 1st grade school picture from bottle caps and scraps of wallpaper and felt it a full and equitable compensation. It's a debt, to both my parents, for which I am truly grateful.
MY MOVIE WILL BE BETTER
I love that movies at our library are only $1 to rent, but some should be free. Take, for example, the Jennifer Aniston/Vince Vaughn movie "The Break-Up". It was a good movie in that it accurately portrayed the bitterness and vitriol associated with the dissolution of a relationship. But, sheez folks, who wants to pay money to see that?! This was not a comedy. It was a drama. And the only drama it captured was the pain of a break-up; no pathos of the "moving on" or the "getting closure" just the raw hurt and betrayal of your love not being enough and the sick cycle of wanting more what you can't have. If I was a movie critic, I wouldn't know how to rate this. As a comedy it failed completely. As a drama, some of the fights were almost like a documentary. I swear they used the Jerry Springer show for research material or that other despicable program where couples on the edge move into a therapy house together. Not to be cruel, of course; movie stars are people, too, and could have been acting from their own experiences. A million dollars doesn't assuage the pain of rejection. Chocolate, however...
While I never gave my mother a lanyard, I did fashion a picture frame for my 1st grade school picture from bottle caps and scraps of wallpaper and felt it a full and equitable compensation. It's a debt, to both my parents, for which I am truly grateful.
MY MOVIE WILL BE BETTER
I love that movies at our library are only $1 to rent, but some should be free. Take, for example, the Jennifer Aniston/Vince Vaughn movie "The Break-Up". It was a good movie in that it accurately portrayed the bitterness and vitriol associated with the dissolution of a relationship. But, sheez folks, who wants to pay money to see that?! This was not a comedy. It was a drama. And the only drama it captured was the pain of a break-up; no pathos of the "moving on" or the "getting closure" just the raw hurt and betrayal of your love not being enough and the sick cycle of wanting more what you can't have. If I was a movie critic, I wouldn't know how to rate this. As a comedy it failed completely. As a drama, some of the fights were almost like a documentary. I swear they used the Jerry Springer show for research material or that other despicable program where couples on the edge move into a therapy house together. Not to be cruel, of course; movie stars are people, too, and could have been acting from their own experiences. A million dollars doesn't assuage the pain of rejection. Chocolate, however...
Nov 10, 2009
WRITING MY OWN TICKET
By now, my faithful friends are familiar with my starry-eyed gushing over My Beloved. And those who know him well recognize that I am right to be so smitten and grateful. He’s been an absolute brick through my job search; rather than renting himself out for fabrication, he should really consider professional coaching. You never met a man so full of faith in your talent that even the most jaded, cynical SOB would be convinced that there’s something special about her.
While the past month has not been a complete peaceable kingdom, almost all of our disagreements have stemmed from each of us wanting to sacrifice more than the other. (I know, sick, right?) After our last discussion, I realized I’m not going to win this argument. If he’s going to sacrifice his entire freelance career so he can sleep at night knowing we won’t lose the house, the least I can do is make that sacrifice worth something; namely, me landing a dream job. Sure, I need to find something that will pay the bills so my next job may not be the Right one but the one for Right Now. But I’m putting together a list of my dream job criteria and including those in my search terms. My Beloved encouraged me from the beginning to apply to at least one pie-in-the-sky opportunity a week, and I think I’m getting to the point where I know what that looks like.
Here’s what I have so far:
• HIV/AIDS or other infectious disease
• Non-lab based
• Public speaking/presentations
• Requires a deep understanding of some concept (scientific or technical); I like to be an expert
• Travel
• Tuition reimbursement
When I think about what I’ve enjoyed most in my past positions, my favorite moments are when I learn/discover something new on my own and when I can share what I know with others. The next step is to figure out some job titles that describe this kind of challenge. Suggestions? jm964@drexel.edu
While the past month has not been a complete peaceable kingdom, almost all of our disagreements have stemmed from each of us wanting to sacrifice more than the other. (I know, sick, right?) After our last discussion, I realized I’m not going to win this argument. If he’s going to sacrifice his entire freelance career so he can sleep at night knowing we won’t lose the house, the least I can do is make that sacrifice worth something; namely, me landing a dream job. Sure, I need to find something that will pay the bills so my next job may not be the Right one but the one for Right Now. But I’m putting together a list of my dream job criteria and including those in my search terms. My Beloved encouraged me from the beginning to apply to at least one pie-in-the-sky opportunity a week, and I think I’m getting to the point where I know what that looks like.
Here’s what I have so far:
• HIV/AIDS or other infectious disease
• Non-lab based
• Public speaking/presentations
• Requires a deep understanding of some concept (scientific or technical); I like to be an expert
• Travel
• Tuition reimbursement
When I think about what I’ve enjoyed most in my past positions, my favorite moments are when I learn/discover something new on my own and when I can share what I know with others. The next step is to figure out some job titles that describe this kind of challenge. Suggestions? jm964@drexel.edu
Nov 9, 2009
TRANSITIONING
The friends from junior/high school with whom I've recently connected have older kids; one is even in double digits! We were reminiscing about the dumb *ss things we did in high school which led many to comment on how much more paranoid they are as parents then even their parents were. Rocky terrain? Ixnay! Little league football? Not this year! Happy Meal toys? No lead poisoning for you, buddyboy! When their children were first born, they all swore to be better parents than they had. They would be more lenient, understanding, supportive. But as I listened to this discussion I realized the transition into Becoming Our Parents is complete. All it took was the kids getting to the age when those risky behaviours were no longer distant possibilities but a conversation that will happen within the next year or two. I'm sure our parents promised themselves the same things, only to move the boundaries once that cherubic 5yo turned into an eyeliner-wearing-Circle Jerks-listening preteen.
A lot of things have reminded me lately of how old I am [getting]: seeing these old friends and realizing the last time we spoke was not 5 years ago (the way it feels) but closer to 19; celebrating the wedding of My Beloved's cousin who, when I first met her, was an exception to the "no kids" rule at our own wedding; applying for jobs and being advised to "dumb down" my resume to make me more competitive with the 20-somethings; going gaga for Edward Cullen and realizing that that's a little creepy at my age. When I hit my 30s, I felt like I had come home. This was the age I was meant to be. Thirty fit me well and I relished in the freedom. Apparently, there's a big difference between 30 and 30+. The physical changes alone are staggering! If I'm this aged now, and (hopefully) less than halfway to the grave, what gruesome spectacle will I be at the end?!
The friends from junior/high school with whom I've recently connected have older kids; one is even in double digits! We were reminiscing about the dumb *ss things we did in high school which led many to comment on how much more paranoid they are as parents then even their parents were. Rocky terrain? Ixnay! Little league football? Not this year! Happy Meal toys? No lead poisoning for you, buddyboy! When their children were first born, they all swore to be better parents than they had. They would be more lenient, understanding, supportive. But as I listened to this discussion I realized the transition into Becoming Our Parents is complete. All it took was the kids getting to the age when those risky behaviours were no longer distant possibilities but a conversation that will happen within the next year or two. I'm sure our parents promised themselves the same things, only to move the boundaries once that cherubic 5yo turned into an eyeliner-wearing-Circle Jerks-listening preteen.
A lot of things have reminded me lately of how old I am [getting]: seeing these old friends and realizing the last time we spoke was not 5 years ago (the way it feels) but closer to 19; celebrating the wedding of My Beloved's cousin who, when I first met her, was an exception to the "no kids" rule at our own wedding; applying for jobs and being advised to "dumb down" my resume to make me more competitive with the 20-somethings; going gaga for Edward Cullen and realizing that that's a little creepy at my age. When I hit my 30s, I felt like I had come home. This was the age I was meant to be. Thirty fit me well and I relished in the freedom. Apparently, there's a big difference between 30 and 30+. The physical changes alone are staggering! If I'm this aged now, and (hopefully) less than halfway to the grave, what gruesome spectacle will I be at the end?!
I'M NOT BARBARA STREISAND
Memories can be very unwelcome things. I've reconnected with some friends from junior/high school lately through the wonder/terror that is Facebook. Although I'm still not sure why, a few years ago I would have eschewed all contact but now I'm fine with it. Still, I enjoy being in control of the waves of memory these reconnections invariably set off. I can "switch off" to a book or distract myself from my reverie in some other way if it gets too much. One of these friends with whom I've reconnected (Hi LT!) relocated to the old town a few years ago. That must be hard. There's no distracting yourself from every sign post, diner, or corn field that you pass on a daily basis. I'd be afraid to leave the house! Plus, it must be so disorienting to be there with new people (i.e. her kids and husband). As someone who has moved around a lot, it's difficult for me to identify familiar faces b/c I could know them from any PLACE not only from any TIME. To be in a past memory but with "present" memory people must be, well like I said, disorienting. I guess its the break in time that makes it hard, not that it's a memory. The fact that so much of life has passed and changed in the interim and I haven't been thinking about these people or places during any of that time, it's difficult to reorient. It's still up for debate whether I'll attend the reunion next year!
YOU SAY "CARAMEL", I SAY "MOM LOVES ME BETTER"
My folks were not in town when my birthday passed, so we visited them this evening for dinner and to watch the Eagles (specifically McNabb) make me wish I'd been born a boy so I, too, could earn millions of dollars for minimal athletic talent. My Beloved had a recipe for flourless chocolate torte that he made every year for my birthday. It was a labor of love, not the least b/c he hated the cake. Unfortunately, this year the recipe was lost (READ: he got tired of making it and fed the recipe card to the dog). My mother learned of this tragedy and, just for tonight and just for me, made a flourless chocolate torte that could bend light and is the reason I'm still awake at almost 1am! *And* she made the caramel sauce that the recipe recommended as an accompaniment. You know how you make caramel sauce? You put sugar in a pan and stir it forever. You cannot leave the pan, even for a second, or it will burn. It must be attended at all times, which is why no one ever makes it. Except for my mother. The recipe calls for it? She'll make it, even if it means...anything, really, she's that selfless.
So, yeah, eat your heart out sisters! I got to take the left over jar of sauce home and will heap it upon everything in the refrigerator by the week's end. Toast & caramel, tea with caramel sauce, walnut spinach salad with caramel dressing...nom nom nom.
LEAVE A COMMENT
I sexed up my blog page with a free template (see info at the bottom) but it isn't playing nice and I don't know enough HTML to fix it. If you'd like to leave a comment, please email instead. Sorry!
Memories can be very unwelcome things. I've reconnected with some friends from junior/high school lately through the wonder/terror that is Facebook. Although I'm still not sure why, a few years ago I would have eschewed all contact but now I'm fine with it. Still, I enjoy being in control of the waves of memory these reconnections invariably set off. I can "switch off" to a book or distract myself from my reverie in some other way if it gets too much. One of these friends with whom I've reconnected (Hi LT!) relocated to the old town a few years ago. That must be hard. There's no distracting yourself from every sign post, diner, or corn field that you pass on a daily basis. I'd be afraid to leave the house! Plus, it must be so disorienting to be there with new people (i.e. her kids and husband). As someone who has moved around a lot, it's difficult for me to identify familiar faces b/c I could know them from any PLACE not only from any TIME. To be in a past memory but with "present" memory people must be, well like I said, disorienting. I guess its the break in time that makes it hard, not that it's a memory. The fact that so much of life has passed and changed in the interim and I haven't been thinking about these people or places during any of that time, it's difficult to reorient. It's still up for debate whether I'll attend the reunion next year!
YOU SAY "CARAMEL", I SAY "MOM LOVES ME BETTER"
My folks were not in town when my birthday passed, so we visited them this evening for dinner and to watch the Eagles (specifically McNabb) make me wish I'd been born a boy so I, too, could earn millions of dollars for minimal athletic talent. My Beloved had a recipe for flourless chocolate torte that he made every year for my birthday. It was a labor of love, not the least b/c he hated the cake. Unfortunately, this year the recipe was lost (READ: he got tired of making it and fed the recipe card to the dog). My mother learned of this tragedy and, just for tonight and just for me, made a flourless chocolate torte that could bend light and is the reason I'm still awake at almost 1am! *And* she made the caramel sauce that the recipe recommended as an accompaniment. You know how you make caramel sauce? You put sugar in a pan and stir it forever. You cannot leave the pan, even for a second, or it will burn. It must be attended at all times, which is why no one ever makes it. Except for my mother. The recipe calls for it? She'll make it, even if it means...anything, really, she's that selfless.
So, yeah, eat your heart out sisters! I got to take the left over jar of sauce home and will heap it upon everything in the refrigerator by the week's end. Toast & caramel, tea with caramel sauce, walnut spinach salad with caramel dressing...nom nom nom.
LEAVE A COMMENT
I sexed up my blog page with a free template (see info at the bottom) but it isn't playing nice and I don't know enough HTML to fix it. If you'd like to leave a comment, please email instead. Sorry!
Nov 5, 2009
NaBloMoDoSoReMeLa
This is that thing that bloggers do every November where they threaten to post something inane every day of the month (as opposed to only when their Beloved is watching Parks and Recreation). Count me in! Or, rather, count me a few days behind. I thought it was the thing every November where bloggers threaten to write 50K words, which I was still deciding if I wanted to do or not. But Jules corrected me, so here goes....
A LITTLE LESS INFORMATION A LITTLE MORE ACTION
I rented the Sound of Music the other night from our library, [Side bar: did you know you can rent movies from our library for $1? Awe. Some.] and I made an "informed" observation.
An "informed observation" (trademark JoieDeVivre 2009!) is what I call something you start noticing now that you know something (more) about it. Since returning to school and taking a few Public Relations courses, I am more informed about advertising, press release strategies, campaign finance rules, etc. I am so rotten with new book smarts that even those Mac Ads I love so much have lost a little of their shine when watched with my newly educated eyes.
Our library used to have this worn out clear plastic teddy bear piggy bank on the checkout counter where patrons could donate spare change, bills, etc. Well, somebody up and stole that piggy bank. Truly, it was one of the saddest days in our community b/c 1) it was such a pathetic excuse of a bank, 2) there could not have been more than $20 in the thing, and 3) it meant someone in our community was hurting that badly that s/he would stoop to such pathetic measures. The bear was recently replaced with a new teddy bear bank and has a sign beside it advising patrons to note the new anti-theft device: a ring of jingle bells attached to its neck. Beside the new bear and the new anti-theft sign is a “volunteer on duty” sign which is never right or is left blank altogether. Beside the VOD sign are sundry flyers for past events, expired coupons, etc. The point of all this is to illustrate the amount of non-informative, out-of-date crap that sits on the checkout desk. There's hardly room to lay your books! Certainly not enough room to advertise something truly important, say, a New Moon release party?!
While I was checking out my movies, I noticed a sign literally tucked into a corner between the stairs and the copy machine with a picture of Edward Cullen and Jacob Black (which my faithful readers will recognize as something I was drawn to like a moth to a flame. Or a lion to a lamb? Ugh....) It was a sign advertising a release party for the New Moon movie on November 19th and invited patrons to come to the library to share their thoughts on the Twilight series and dress up in their favorite characters. (No, I did NOT sign up!) Is that cool or what? Why, oh why, is that sign not front and center on the checkout counter?!
When you first walk into the library, you are assailed by an angry sign and dozens of leaflets exclaiming the library's budget shortfall for this fiscal year and the projected reduction for 2010. Postcards to the local officials are provided and patrons are urgently requested to send one off to protest on the library's behalf. (It works. I sent one.)
Now, here's my "informed observation" (you knew I'd get to it sooner or later! this post is as rambling as Alice's Restaurant! "Remember Alice?"): to get more money, the library needs more patrons to protest; to get more patrons to protest, the library needs to get more patrons invested in the library and so it hosts cool events like the Twilight party; however, to get people to come to the Twilight party, it needs to advertise. Prominently. Not tucked into a corner.
First rule in a communication campaign: identify your message. (“New Moon party!”)
Second rule: identify your target audience. (13yo and 30+yo freaks, and parents of 13yo freaks)
Third rule: identify the media to reach your audience. (A sign in a high traffic zone frequented by aforementioned target)
Now tell me this doesn't capture YOUR attention....
This is that thing that bloggers do every November where they threaten to post something inane every day of the month (as opposed to only when their Beloved is watching Parks and Recreation). Count me in! Or, rather, count me a few days behind. I thought it was the thing every November where bloggers threaten to write 50K words, which I was still deciding if I wanted to do or not. But Jules corrected me, so here goes....
A LITTLE LESS INFORMATION A LITTLE MORE ACTION
I rented the Sound of Music the other night from our library, [Side bar: did you know you can rent movies from our library for $1? Awe. Some.] and I made an "informed" observation.
An "informed observation" (trademark JoieDeVivre 2009!) is what I call something you start noticing now that you know something (more) about it. Since returning to school and taking a few Public Relations courses, I am more informed about advertising, press release strategies, campaign finance rules, etc. I am so rotten with new book smarts that even those Mac Ads I love so much have lost a little of their shine when watched with my newly educated eyes.
Our library used to have this worn out clear plastic teddy bear piggy bank on the checkout counter where patrons could donate spare change, bills, etc. Well, somebody up and stole that piggy bank. Truly, it was one of the saddest days in our community b/c 1) it was such a pathetic excuse of a bank, 2) there could not have been more than $20 in the thing, and 3) it meant someone in our community was hurting that badly that s/he would stoop to such pathetic measures. The bear was recently replaced with a new teddy bear bank and has a sign beside it advising patrons to note the new anti-theft device: a ring of jingle bells attached to its neck. Beside the new bear and the new anti-theft sign is a “volunteer on duty” sign which is never right or is left blank altogether. Beside the VOD sign are sundry flyers for past events, expired coupons, etc. The point of all this is to illustrate the amount of non-informative, out-of-date crap that sits on the checkout desk. There's hardly room to lay your books! Certainly not enough room to advertise something truly important, say, a New Moon release party?!
While I was checking out my movies, I noticed a sign literally tucked into a corner between the stairs and the copy machine with a picture of Edward Cullen and Jacob Black (which my faithful readers will recognize as something I was drawn to like a moth to a flame. Or a lion to a lamb? Ugh....) It was a sign advertising a release party for the New Moon movie on November 19th and invited patrons to come to the library to share their thoughts on the Twilight series and dress up in their favorite characters. (No, I did NOT sign up!) Is that cool or what? Why, oh why, is that sign not front and center on the checkout counter?!
When you first walk into the library, you are assailed by an angry sign and dozens of leaflets exclaiming the library's budget shortfall for this fiscal year and the projected reduction for 2010. Postcards to the local officials are provided and patrons are urgently requested to send one off to protest on the library's behalf. (It works. I sent one.)
Now, here's my "informed observation" (you knew I'd get to it sooner or later! this post is as rambling as Alice's Restaurant! "Remember Alice?"): to get more money, the library needs more patrons to protest; to get more patrons to protest, the library needs to get more patrons invested in the library and so it hosts cool events like the Twilight party; however, to get people to come to the Twilight party, it needs to advertise. Prominently. Not tucked into a corner.
First rule in a communication campaign: identify your message. (“New Moon party!”)
Second rule: identify your target audience. (13yo and 30+yo freaks, and parents of 13yo freaks)
Third rule: identify the media to reach your audience. (A sign in a high traffic zone frequented by aforementioned target)
Now tell me this doesn't capture YOUR attention....
Nov 3, 2009
KNIT ONE, PURL TWO
A great diversion I've re-discovered is crafts. There was a time in my life when I was a major craft hound: Sculpey, origami, painting, stuff like that. Crochet is a mindless activity that keeps my hands busy while listening to a book on tape (Hello again, Edward *sigh*) I'm a wiz with the crochet hook, but there aren't too many crochet patterns out there. Crochet tends to make the fabric stiff and not as pliable as knitting. For some reason, unfortunately, I've never been able to get the hang of knitting. I have a 13yo unfinished sweater and 4yo unfinished baby blanket in my closet as I type this. My mother, on the other hand, is a world-class knitter, but I find her perfection a little intimidating. To illustrate, she's working on a cross stitch Xmas stocking for our newest family member. It's an amazing mash-up of elements from the stockings she made for his parents. She was relating to me recently that she identified an error she made three days earlier in her work and RIPPED IT ALL OUT to fix it. Folks, she was off by 1 stitch - something that you or I would never notice - and she RIPPED OUT three days worth of labor to correct it. See what I mean? As a beginner, I find that kind of perfection too high an aspiration but I'm OCD enough that if it doesn't look great I don't want to do it.
My kid sister got a baby blanket at her shower that a woman had made by unraveling a sweater she bought on the clearance rack at the Gap. (How's THAT for recycling!) I checked out a bunch of easy knitting scarf patterns from the library (ratio of knitting to crochet books at my library? 35 to 1) and am all jazzed up about giving it another go. But yarn and needles can add up, so I'm considering taking a page from this woman's book and hitting the Goodwill store up the street to see if I can recycle some sweaters, or try my hand at felting. If it works out, you're all getting scarves for Christmas!
A BIRD IN THE HAND
Did you know there was a time when it was considered gauche to wear black to a wedding? To any affair, really. Black was reserved strictly for business and mourning. Enter the LBD (1926, I wiki'd it) and viola! a whole new line of women's clothing was born. We've a wedding to attend this weekend (Hi Molly & Johnny!) and whereas before I would pick up a new skirt/shoes/or top, one way I'm economizing during this time is to "shop my closet." (Don't you just hate that expression? So SAHMommy-ish!) It's a 2-o'clock affair with a full Catholic mass and reception to immediately follow. At this wedding, the spirit of our recently departed and most beloved Gram will be a heavy presence. The groom is an Irishman, Gram was Irish, Molly was her favorite granddaughter, etc. Her absence will be acutely palpable. So, it's important to me to be especially thoughtful of what Gram would have done. Gram was a Capital L lady and would NEVER have worn black to a wedding, much less a midday wedding. Yet, my closet is rotten with black: black skirts, dresses, sweaters. I didn't realize I owned so much black! How I miss the days of college when all my girlfriends would share clothing! This "shop your closet" thing worked much better when my "closet" included the selections of an entire sorority house.
RADIO! RADIO!
My sister and nephew were interviewed for Radiolab. You should listen to it here. I'd like to send the "think things through" message to all those ($#*&$ on Wall Street who thought bundling toxic assets was a good way to make money.
A great diversion I've re-discovered is crafts. There was a time in my life when I was a major craft hound: Sculpey, origami, painting, stuff like that. Crochet is a mindless activity that keeps my hands busy while listening to a book on tape (Hello again, Edward *sigh*) I'm a wiz with the crochet hook, but there aren't too many crochet patterns out there. Crochet tends to make the fabric stiff and not as pliable as knitting. For some reason, unfortunately, I've never been able to get the hang of knitting. I have a 13yo unfinished sweater and 4yo unfinished baby blanket in my closet as I type this. My mother, on the other hand, is a world-class knitter, but I find her perfection a little intimidating. To illustrate, she's working on a cross stitch Xmas stocking for our newest family member. It's an amazing mash-up of elements from the stockings she made for his parents. She was relating to me recently that she identified an error she made three days earlier in her work and RIPPED IT ALL OUT to fix it. Folks, she was off by 1 stitch - something that you or I would never notice - and she RIPPED OUT three days worth of labor to correct it. See what I mean? As a beginner, I find that kind of perfection too high an aspiration but I'm OCD enough that if it doesn't look great I don't want to do it.
My kid sister got a baby blanket at her shower that a woman had made by unraveling a sweater she bought on the clearance rack at the Gap. (How's THAT for recycling!) I checked out a bunch of easy knitting scarf patterns from the library (ratio of knitting to crochet books at my library? 35 to 1) and am all jazzed up about giving it another go. But yarn and needles can add up, so I'm considering taking a page from this woman's book and hitting the Goodwill store up the street to see if I can recycle some sweaters, or try my hand at felting. If it works out, you're all getting scarves for Christmas!
A BIRD IN THE HAND
Did you know there was a time when it was considered gauche to wear black to a wedding? To any affair, really. Black was reserved strictly for business and mourning. Enter the LBD (1926, I wiki'd it) and viola! a whole new line of women's clothing was born. We've a wedding to attend this weekend (Hi Molly & Johnny!) and whereas before I would pick up a new skirt/shoes/or top, one way I'm economizing during this time is to "shop my closet." (Don't you just hate that expression? So SAHMommy-ish!) It's a 2-o'clock affair with a full Catholic mass and reception to immediately follow. At this wedding, the spirit of our recently departed and most beloved Gram will be a heavy presence. The groom is an Irishman, Gram was Irish, Molly was her favorite granddaughter, etc. Her absence will be acutely palpable. So, it's important to me to be especially thoughtful of what Gram would have done. Gram was a Capital L lady and would NEVER have worn black to a wedding, much less a midday wedding. Yet, my closet is rotten with black: black skirts, dresses, sweaters. I didn't realize I owned so much black! How I miss the days of college when all my girlfriends would share clothing! This "shop your closet" thing worked much better when my "closet" included the selections of an entire sorority house.
RADIO! RADIO!
My sister and nephew were interviewed for Radiolab. You should listen to it here. I'd like to send the "think things through" message to all those ($#*&$ on Wall Street who thought bundling toxic assets was a good way to make money.
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