Listeme

I'm not hiding!

2006-01-23T18:10:00.000-05:00

I've decided to finally merge the two mirrored blogs.

You can find Listeme here: Listeme

See you on the other side of the looking glass...

2006-01-13T15:54:00.000-05:00

This has been a very long week -- perhaps 16 or 17 days, at least.

I have been offered -- and accepted -- my younger sister’s finished basement for the next year and a half. This will be a major cost-saver for me and a big help for her (she has two toddlers and is expecting a baby in August.) So that was a humongous start to the week.

My other sister and her teenaged son have had to make some really hard decisions. She gave me permission to quote her:

“spent yesterday at the hospital with my son. about eleven hours. sitting here writing and rewriting this entry trying to find just the right words. how to explain-- he is not healthy. he is mentally ill. he is not safe at home. none of this really covers it. so here's one image from the day. we walk into the east wing at maine med escorted by security. the very nice guard LOOKS like a skinhead but actually has incredible kindness and compassion for my snarly boy. he tells us gently that he has to check ian for weapons and sharp objects then helps him take off his shoes and waves a wand over him. he gives him some pants and a robe and shows him a room where he can change and tells him exactly how the robe fastens and sends him into the room to change. we wait. for a really long time. the guard finally has to go check on him. when he comes out, he looks as small and skinny as i have ever seen him. the pants are slumped all the way past his feet in a big puddle all over the floor. the robe goes almost to his ankles. he is a mash of patterns and dingy cotton. he swims in this outfit. his messy flyaway dry hair and his eyes (dark, wary, scared, waiting, young) look completely wrong with the garments. they do not go together at all.”

I want to believe in superpowers and magic wands. I want my “cape” to be more than a silly blog prop.

2006-01-06T23:01:00.000-05:00

January 6.

I’m way behind. I have only ONE resolution for 2006 so far (no fast food), but I’ve reminded myself that resolving should be done more often than once a year. (I’ve also already refined the no fast food rule: soda through the drive-thru does not count, nor does Starbucks. I’m still undecided about Subway, but I’m leaning towards saying it’s okay.)

One of the stories I wrote at Odyssey was rejected on New Year’s Eve. I had a lot of hope in that story. Often rejections are something to file away, deal with, consider… and then I move on. This one was a real kick in the teeth. I’ve been really transparent about the writing and submission process with John. In the past I’ve been pathologically private about the whole process. So perhaps having him see it, see my flawed writing, see my vulnerability (he was beside me when I opened the email rejection letter) -- this was quite a stretching experience for me. And curiously, even though I felt quite raw at the time, talking it through with him continues to strengthen something really important in me. But the rejection still pains me, makes me doubt myself.

I gotta keep doing it. I have been doing a lot of soul-searching and agonizing and wondering about my goals. I write a lot of different kinds of things. I write privately by hand in a journal. That’s not for fame or fortune, obviously. I write in this blog. I still don’t know all the reasons I do this. I argue in forums. That is just for fun! I write weird little stories for money, very small amounts of money, barely enough for fast food.

Which… I am no longer allowed to have. It is the circle of life.

2005-12-11T23:08:00.000-05:00

Tonight, I went over to the house to share Chris’s birthday cake with the gang. When I arrived, Greg and Tina were decorating one of their Christmas trees. Due to some communication issues, the accumulated family ornaments had not been divided up yet… but there were Greg and Tina, trimming the tree.

What the heck was I supposed to do? It’s not that any one ornament was so dreadfully important that I had to make a stand and claim it. But I had none. They had all of the ones from the marriage and family.

Amazing how fast the adrenaline leaps when it comes to things like dividing up Christmas ornaments. Should I make a scene? Remember, the ornaments at this point are mostly already on the tree! Bah. So I said, kind of quietly, “I guess you didn’t get my voicemail about the ornaments?”

I guess they hadn’t.

So we did some very polite wrangling, me and my ex-husband and his brand-new wife, although she occasionally went into the other room. I would have given a whole lot to be able to do the same. Greg got a carton and started putting ornaments in. I believe I said at one point, “I’m not going to take ornaments off the tree!” But I was willing to let him take some off. I now have at least an assortment of ornaments to decorate a small tree with, including one very tacky one that might have once been a Happy Meal toy. It is a puffy stocking thingy that has a character from Fievel Goes West. I’ve tried for years to get rid of it.

It may now be my favorite ornament ever.

2005-12-01T16:52:00.000-05:00

Yes, we all survived Thanksgiving! Actually it was grand. I shall make a proper post, with pictures and everything.

Summary points:
The first aid kit was used, but not too much.
The yams were once mashed, twice burned, once scraped, and uncomplained.
The piano, flute, clarinets, and guitar were all used. Well. They were played.
The nearly complete OED was VERY useful.

2005-11-16T10:06:00.000-05:00

This is the third (or fourth or tenth) November in a row that I have wandered through in a fog. I pooh-pooh things like “seasonal affective disorder” but… it is definitely true that fall can be a challenge for me. Less sunlight = bad. The older I get, the more the cold affects me.

Sometime around now (the week before Thanksgiving), I start to perk up. “What is that I smell?” Autumn leaves and pumpkin pie, that’s what. And I do so very much love Thanksgiving. Thanksgiving is not about gifts or dressing up or impressing people. It is about sharing and loving. Oh, yeah, I’m definitely perking up. I’m getting downright sappy.

Of course, there IS an awful lot to do in the next week…

We’re renting a house/cottage/charming-sounding place in New York, approximately halfway between here and there, and our kids are ALL joining us. I think it will be great and noisy and chaotic and a little scary and great. I am starting the pies today.

2005-11-03T20:16:00.000-05:00

Today I hung out with my nieces, Julianna and Sophia. I have evidence.

One large glass vase full of “perfect” autumn leaves and four pinecones with “lots of sap! They need lots of sap!” I have no idea what made her think sap was a plus. I will be looking for tips in about a week; how does one best get sap off of glass?

Nine apples, each with exactly one bite out of them. Nine. One bite each.

Two index cards covered with glitter crayon portraits.

Lower drawers of my office furniture… rearranged.

A Dora the Explorer book and three others that I’m not sure I recognize. Cute ponies. Pastels.

Sort of a small bruise-type thing under my left eye. That Sophie doesn’t know her own strength.

What a great day!

2005-11-02T13:37:00.000-05:00

Cape Cod Scrabble Tournament, 2005.

Have I mentioned I love this game? I went 6-6 this tournament, and that says so very little about how the games actually went. Sometimes, just like in many other pursuits, I feel off or sluggish or just out of it. This weekend, I felt on. On on on. I felt fierce and smooth and sharp-edged. So take the six losses and feel that rush.

Things just keep falling into place. My ex-mother-in-law, a woman I have always admired and always will, asked me how I was doing yesterday, and I said immediately that I am coming to a place of equilibrium and peace. Pretty amazing to feel this way; to an outsider, it must look very different. I’m heading into my forties, newly divorced, rather job-free (ha ha), living too far away from John… but we have the beginnings of plans and a base so solid you wouldn’t believe it even if I rambled on for hours, so I won’t!

What is the next step? The question came from an unlikely source, but honestly, it is a great question and we are attacking it with vigor and eagerness. What is the next step?

2005-10-24T18:55:00.000-05:00

Sometimes life is exhausting. Even when it is good, it is exhausting.

Some new additions: a super-duper mega-great zoom lens for my camera. I’m thinking of taking photography classes. You know, in my spare time.

Sagan.

2005-10-17T20:23:00.000-05:00

So tomorrow is a special day. It is John’s birthday. It will be the first time I get to be with him on his birthday, the first of many.

It is probably no surprise that I think John is wonderful. He is very smart and funny and a tiny bit crazy -- crazy enough to think I’m great, for instance. He is a fellow magpie, pockets and shelves full of shiny finds. He plays with puns and poetry. He explains things better than anyone I have ever known.

He is fun to be with on a rainy day, on a hike up a mountain in too much sun, in a shopping mall, on a long car ride. He has great ideas.

Happy birthday, John. Thank you for sharing it with me.

2005-10-13T13:29:00.000-05:00

Greg is getting married on Saturday.

We are all still learning our roles in this new family situation. After some trial and error, Tina and I have discovered that talking through the blended children issues is best done by the two of us. We are both able to be direct, to put our vulnerabilities on the table, and just talk. We can do that. Mother to mother to stepmother.

My respect for her grows. Our parenting styles are nearly opposite, but she is willing to listen, to remember that my role is vital, that I may be different, but different isn’t wrong. And I’m willing to do the same.

She loves my children. She doesn’t always understand them. Well, neither do I.

So the future is hard to make out, but it seems as though we are on the right path.

Congrats, Greg and Tina. I wish you much joy and fun and love in your life together.

2005-10-05T16:29:00.000-05:00

Daniel is living alone for the first time in his life. So I’m compiling some advice to him.

Take care of yourself. This means more than just pampering yourself. Make sure you eat healthily. Buy fresh vegetables. Eat them.

Clean sometimes. This is not for your guests, although they will appreciate it. This is for you. You deserve a nice environment.

Cook a nice dinner for yourself once in a while. Eat it not in front of the computer. Pretend you are trying to impress someone. Make it tasty and beautiful.

Don’t forget multivitamins.

Enjoy time by yourself, but don’t forget other people -- for their sake and your own. Even hermits need human contact.

Fresh air. Fresh air. Fresh air.

Do something you love every day.

Keep up with world events. Read a newspaper or check cnn every day. Seriously. I’m not sure if the Daily Show counts, but I won’t quibble.

Hm. These are pretty good. I should make sure I’m following them all myself.

2005-09-28T10:11:00.000-05:00

So I can finally talk about this without shuddering… much.

There I was, innocently minding my own business, reading “Freakonomics” in the bathroom, and out of the corner of my eye I saw something run by. Curie and Sagan were both napping, so I was immediately alarmed. I thought maybe it was a mouse. (This should give you an idea of the size of the thing.)

It was not a mouse. It was a centipede. It dashed into the laundry nook.

“Aahh!” I said and looked around for help. No help was in sight.

I believe in being prepared. I also believe in keeping an eye on my enemy. This presented a dilemma. I had to go find weapons without taking my eye off the creature. So I would run out of the bathroom, look around for something, anything -- where is a bazooka when I need one? -- and then race back in to see if he was still there. I did this several times.

Finally, armed with a long piece of, well, bamboo (to poke with, of course), a bottle of bathroom cleaner, and a big cup, I advanced on the laundry nook. First I took a little breather on the edge of the tub, just to get my strength up.

I poked and banged with the bamboo stick, the centipede peeked out, and I sprayed it vigorously. The first try wasn’t effective enough, and it scurried back out of reach. So I poked some more and said some baddish words and it again came out, and I was able to finish the job. I sprayed and sprayed and then swooped the cup over the carcass. I left the cup there for a while to make sure he wasn’t just faking. Then, with much shuddering, I disposed of the body.

2005-09-23T10:19:00.000-05:00

Back in the old days, when Chris was learning to talk, I was still figuring out how to be a parent. I was really young, for one thing, and he was my third baby in 3 years. I suppose it is natural that at first I didn’t notice that he wasn’t talking much. Not much English, anyway.

When the next baby came along, Chris was two years old. He spoke two English words, Mama and hi. By this point, I was quite aware that something was … different. This was a kid who was obviously bright. He could make complicated lego structures, inventions of his own and duplicates of ones he saw. He could take anything apart.

But he didn’t speak our language. He did speak! It just wasn’t English or any other human language.

He started small. He named the guys (his brothers and dad) variations of the word Ganh. It was pronounced in the back of his throat and sounded kind of primitive. Aaron was Green Ganh. Daniel was Brown Ganh. (Now, he didn’t use the color words at all when asked “what color is this lego?”) But his brothers apparently had colors. He had several hundred of these weird constructions, which all of us understood perfectly.

Once we saw one of his “words” born. By this time, he was two years, nine months. Daniel had just started kindergarten, and I had yet to figure out a good morning routine with the kindergarten boy and his three baby siblings. So we were late getting out the door, and I was trying to hurry them to the bus stop. Up ahead I could see the bus nearly there, and we were not nearly there. So I said, “Run!”

Just as I said this, Daniel stepped hard on a manhole cover and it clanged loudly. We all laughed. (Okay, maybe it doesn’t sound funny to you, but it was early in the morning and none of us had had coffee yet.) Chris said, “Run Ganh!” and laughed, again. And runganh became … funny. Cartoons were runganh. Silly faces were runganh.

His language had a decent primitive grammar. He understood us but answered in his own language. I suppose some parents would have refused to answer unless he used the “correct” words. I’m not some parents. He was and is always his own person. I’ve since learned that his language was similar in some ways to twin languages.

Eventually, he started speaking English. He wouldn’t always have eager sibling interpreters at his side, and people out in the world didn’t understand how a thing could be “runganh”. So now he says “funny” or “humorous” or any of the synonyms he chooses.

2005-09-11T18:50:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, Greg asked the kids three questions over dinner:

Do you believe in God?
Do you believe Jesus Christ was more than a man?
Have you had an experience at any time in your life that made you realize God was real?

So there they all were. Greg and Tina and the five ‘his and hers’ kids. Greg and Tina believe. At least one of Tina’s boys believes. My three are at various stages of figuring out what they believe -- but they know that Greg wants them to believe. They knew that after Greg gave his answers in the affirmative, after hearing Tina and Christopher give their answers in the affirmative, that Greg would be hoping that they would say yes, as well. They did not want to disappoint him.

After a few minutes of silence -- a rather awkward silence, I’ve been told -- they answered truthfully. No.

I’m proud of them -- not because of their answers, but because they told the truth even though they feared their dad’s reaction. And Greg was probably disappointed, but he didn’t react with anger or frustration. They went on to talk about being kind to each other, respecting one another’s property, stuff like that. They are finding out that blending two families of teenagers is not a sitcom.

Now Em tells me this week that she thinks about faith sometimes and wonders where our souls come from. I told her I have those questions, too.

They are not model children, cut from Christian or atheist or Brady Bunch dough. They seek truth, and knowledge, and wisdom.

I am proud of them.

2005-09-09T13:58:00.000-05:00

What should I pack in my evacuation kit? Assuming a disaster would allow me to pack my car, I have room for the animals.

A duffle bag could hold:

First aid kit (I keep a pretty decent one in the car anyway)
Water
Cash (paper and coin)
Power bars and other concentrated food
Animal food (check on concentrated forms)
Cell phone and charger
Knife
Maps
Change of clothes

I’m trying to keep the above bag carryable. Not sure if that is feasible when dealing with animals. I will think about the animal plan. I generally keep a 24 pack of liters of water in the back of the car, which is not very carryable, either.

With a little more time and space:
Photo album
Laptop (with manuscripts)
(Actually this should just be a backup on CD, I guess)

I like to be prepared.

2005-09-07T22:34:00.000-05:00

Last night was the first meeting of the writing group. It is a quirky group. The other Odyssey grad seems like a good contact to have. He told me about a group led by Ted White near here. I’m thinking about looking into that one, too. I suppose I can’t be gone every evening.

Anyway, this group (the one from last night) will force me to produce at least two pieces a month. That alone is worth the price of admission. Well, the price of gasoline, anyway.

2005-08-23T16:13:00.000-05:00

This summer feels like a whirlwind even on days like today when I have not much more to do than recover from root canals and watch Scrabble nationals coverage online. (Yes, I said root canalS. I’m looking for sympathy! I am a major scaredy-cat when it comes to going to the dentist.)

I’m getting ready to work hard in September. I’ve joined a new writing group, with at least one other Odyssey graduate, which I will begin on September 6. I have a lot of optimism. (I know, I keep saying I’m optimistic. Well, I am.)

2005-08-15T12:17:00.000-05:00

What I Did On My Summer Vacation

Picked berries.

Went to a birthday party on a boat.

Attended a nature conservation dedication.

Tried to identify the birds of prey seen from the top of Mt. Lookout. (We think they were red-tailed hawks. Their scream was marvelous. I can still hear it.)

Played clarinet duets!

Picked berries.

Snuck into Canada a couple of times.
(This is a fairly verbatim transcript:
Border official/guard/booth person: Where are you from?
Us: Massachusetts, Virginia
Border official/guard/booth person: Do you have anything like guns?
Us: No.
Border official/guard/booth person: Have a nice visit!)

Ate. A. Ton.

Waded to a little higher than my knees in that icy lake. Next visit I’ll go deeper.

Came in second in the official sunset rock skipping competition.

Took goofy pictures from the moving car.

Picked berries.

I had a wonderful time.

2005-07-26T21:44:00.000-05:00

Heading to Michigan!

Back on or around August 8.

2005-07-18T15:10:00.000-05:00

Confessions of various inadequacies:

I’m afraid of bees. (Afraid enough that I always vaguely worried about driving the convertible; would I panic if one “attacked” me while I drove and swerve off the road?)

I’ve never parallel parked, not the correct, official way. The driving test did not require it.

Bookstores are sucking creatures that settle on my neck and shoulder and draw out my blood and money.

I like the Dairy Queen strawberry shortcake blizzard. Sorry.

My dog gets away with stuff she shouldn’t because I think she’s adorable. “Now, Curie, you shouldn’t eat someone’s shoe… but, awww, sweetie, come here. You want that shoe? They won’t mind giving it to such a cute little girl!” Okay, that’s an exaggeration, but not much of one.

I prefer the sheets untucked at the foot of the bed. If they’re tucked, I untuck them before getting in. Feet should be able to move in the night. You know, so you can run away from dream monsters.

I write down my middle-of-the-night musings and consider them somewhat profound.

Jeans and tee-shirts are my preferred life uniform.

2005-07-17T19:21:00.000-05:00

Golly. Busy days.

Greg is engaged. He seems very happy. I am happy for him, for them. The kids are all learning how to interact with one another and with Greg and Tina. They’re doing great*.

As part of the divorce agreement, I gave up ownership of the house (in exchange for cash, of course.) This was relatively hard for me. That house was the first house I owned. I moved a lot as a kid, and I had a lot of emotional energy poured into that house. Home.

I am working pretty hard.

My Scrabble rating is now 1783.

Daniel moved in with me. His girlfriend Christina from Scotland also is staying with me. They are wonderful to have around. Christina is great (and her accent is, okay, just absolutely adorable.) Curie is thrilled to have them here, too. She yodels at them.

My writing fever is still not as consistent as I would like, but I have some plans.

*Great = griping and complaining. But in a cooperative way!

2005-07-06T09:02:00.000-05:00

Things I think versus things I say:

I’m somewhat less confrontational than most people. (I can hear the guffaws from my family and friends from here. Less confrontational? She thinks she’s less confrontational? She’s a wuss. She rolls over and plays dead.) Okay, whatever.

It’s just a matter of translating.

Owner of UgliestPuppyEverBorn: Wow, look at that; all the hair on your dog’s back is standing up!

Me: (nervous chuckle) Yeah, look at that!

Translation: Yes, you cretin, that’s because your dog is being very aggressive and leaping on MY legs and barking profanities in my dog’s face. Why don’t you and your inebriated “date” take your dog to obedience classes?

Also: And don’t turn your back on me when I’m trying to fend off your dog. It is dangerous and rude.

Even later: And, by the way, your dog is the ugliest thing I’ve ever seen. What the HECK is that breed? How can it breathe with that squashed nose?

Even later: Hmph.

2005-06-24T10:25:00.000-05:00

Tuesday afternoon at 2:30, I watched my son Aaron march out of high school and into the world. What will he do? Who will he be?

He is a man already. He drives. He works. He decides. There are few people as honest as he is, whether the question is “did you spill this soda on the carpet?” or “does this dress look good on me?” He says what he really thinks, even if it is not a popular opinion. He commits. He keeps his word. He looks out for his family and friends. Okay, so sometimes he doesn’t notice things. (We all still tease him about the fact that he didn’t notice that his aunt was going to have a baby even when she was 9 months along and wider than she was tall.) He focuses on other things.

When he was younger, cousins and family friends and even sometimes his siblings would bicker over who got to sit next to him. I can see why.

2005-06-16T12:09:00.000-05:00

Stamford tomorrow. My rating going in is 1713, near the middle of my field. The last two tournaments in Stamford have not been my best efforts. I hope to play at least reasonably well. I want to make sure I sleep enough and eat healthy food. Modest goals, but those two factors are more than half the battle.

My study recently has been haphazard at best: flashcards in the bathroom, at red lights, in odd minutes waiting in lines. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever get back to a regular study schedule.

I like the way my life is going, though. So I’ll accept the random flashcard study for now.

2005-06-10T14:39:00.000-05:00

At the end of Back to the Future, Marty wakes to find that life has changed. His dad isn’t bent over and scared of the world. His mom is, well, cute and happy. His brother is wearing a suit instead of a fast food uniform. His sister is less… slutty.

His dream car is in the garage. Good old Biff is outside waxing George’s car instead of thwapping George on the head.

In the theater, we are all thinking, “yeah!” Life has returned to the path it was originally on, before Marty’s parents were brought together by mistakes and guilt and cowardice. This is the way life was supposed to be.

But that, of course, assumes that there is a plan. That the universe wants us to have a better life, that our mistakes and evil deeds and, yes, teetering on a branch with binoculars outside the pretty girl’s house - that all these things interfere with what the universe intends for us. That there is a right path.

Apparently the universe also wants us to drive cool four-wheel-drive trucks.

2005-05-30T13:46:00.000-05:00

I’ve felt at loose ends most of this weekend. Aaron had his wisdom teeth out on Saturday (all FIVE of them), and I neither drove him nor sat by his side nor did any of the things “Moms” do. (I did, however, drive his siblings pretty much crazy all day Saturday by asking them to look in on him about every 20-30 minutes. “Is he breathing?” “No, should he be?”)

Memorial Day weekends have been traditionally family weekends for the past 20 years. Wedding anniversary, Greg’s birthday, picnics with in-laws.

So it has been weird.

I struggle with perceptions. People think it’s unnatural for a woman to voluntarily live apart from her kids. There is an flash of “those poor abandoned kids” sometimes in people’s eyes. Or at least I imagine so.

My reasons are good and right and my children know them. Importantly, they don’t feel abandoned. They know that I want them to thrive, to feel strong in their home, in their schools, with their friends and, yes, with their dad. They are getting to build a relationship with him that is important and necessary, for them and for him. They know all that. I know all that. Outsiders don’t know all that. It shouldn’t be important to me what other people think, but who am I kidding? I’m a human. Humans do care what people think.

2005-05-26T09:17:00.000-05:00

So I went to see the new Star Wars movie. It was an action-packed night.

First, I met everyone at the house. Daniel and Christopher both grabbed seats in my car, which left Emily and Chris trying to figure out who would ride with us and who had to ride alone with Dad and Tina. (Tina is Dad’s girlfriend. She’s a very nice person. Long ago, we used to go on vacations with her and her boys.) But none of the kids want to be alone with them, which is pretty funny. Neither did anyone want to sit in the middle of my backseat. Nor did they want to ride together in the other car, which seemed like a logical solution, at least to Daniel and me. So there was a standoff in the driveway.

(Aaron was smart and took off with his carload early.)

Eventually Chris got exasperated and slammed out of my car to ride with Greg and Tina. We all decided that he would get shotgun on the way back.

Then we headed to the theater. Lines were already forming, but we had time to eat. Some people wanted to eat at one restaurant, some at another, which again made things easy. I took the Pot Bellies crowd, and I must say we were definitely the fun group.

After that, we stood in line, all thirteen of us. Me, my kids, their dad, his girlfriend, her kids, his brother, several assorted school friends. Some of us were placeholders while others went and got snacks. The line was not really a line; it was a clump of jostling people. Light sabers and vader heads bobbed everywhere. I paid Daniel in candy to go get my soda and Reese’s Pieces.

The movie was pretty good.

2005-05-16T13:21:00.000-05:00

Gloria and I played a million variations of the same game. “Let’s be Pixie and Dixie.”

Dixie was a marginally better name. It sounded cute, which was part of the point, but it didn’t sound too shallow. You got the sense that Dixie was a bit more competent than Pixie.

Sometimes Pixie and Dixie were superheroines, with terrific animal sidekicks. It was implied that they were very glamorous, with various skimpy (yet tasteful) outfits. They had a lot of magic. They could speak and understand Animal. They could heal. I don’t remember them ever flying.

They were twins, of course.

Well, except for the times they were triplets with the invisible but powerful Trixie. Trixie was cool even before we read the Trixie Belden series. Then she was cool and could solve mysteries.

Trixie could do a lot of things that I couldn’t do. She could talk to strangers without stammering. She could beat up bullies. She was very fashionable. She was funny. She got Pixie and Dixie out of many a jam.

You would have really liked Trixie, I think.

2005-05-13T15:01:00.000-05:00

I miss singing.

When I was a kid, my parents always sang in the car with us. Church songs, songs from Fiddler on the Roof, folk songs. Christmas carols. When my dad had rheumatic fever, he taught himself to play the guitar and then we would have family singalongs.

I didn’t do that with my kids so much. For one thing, their dad is a bit tone-deaf and that discouraged me. But I should have anyway.

It’s not like I gave up a career in music or anything. My singing voice is, well, adequate. I can carry a tune. I can harmonize. I am not a soloist, unless one counts shower-bellowing.

Music writes itself into our brains. I can hear the first notes of an old hymn that I haven’t heard in decades, and my brain calls up all the verses. I find myself whistling commercial ditties and camp meeting choruses. Maybe those songs helped form a framework in my mind. Maybe it is a positive thing that I can’t get the Gilligan’s Island theme song out of my head. Or the kajillion verses of “The Cat Came Back.” Or even the hymn numbers to those old hymns. That hymnbook isn’t even published any more. But somehow I’m pleased and comforted that I still know that Amazing Grace was number 212 in the red hymnbook.

2005-05-02T11:29:00.000-05:00

Anybody want to know what divorce mediation is all about? This is the language from the draft mediation agreement, but it sums up my motivations for going into the process pretty well:

“We agree to treat each other with respect, to speak respectfully to and of each other in the presence of our children as well as in their absence, and to require all others, including friends and family, to do the same. We agree not to do or say anything that would undermine our children’s affection and respect for the other parent. We agree that each of our children needs each of us as much as the other and that neither of us is more important than the other in the life of our children. It is with our children in mind, that we enter into this Agreement.”

So today I sign this agreement. I don’t feel sad or upset. It is a necessary thing. It is not on some master checklist on my calendar: get oil changed, sign mediation papers, pick up margarine. It is bigger than that. Of course.

2005-04-29T11:33:00.000-05:00

I planned to write about the tournament as soon as I got home, but the kids stayed over Monday night, then I worked and had mediation meetings and more kid time and then worked some more… very good and busy week, really.

So here I am, finally. The tournament was great. My record (8-7) doesn’t sound great. I did make some boneheaded errors. In fact, it looks like -- as much as I can’t believe it and hate to confess it publicly -- I probably missed the word BASENJIS. For a kajillion points. I have gone back over my score sheet with disbelief and creative rack leave analysis, and I am pretty sure that’s the rack I had. So that was indeed a terrible miss. But in that same game, I also made one of the better strategic plays I’ve made in my scrabble “career” and was rewarded by being able to play out with ESTUARIaL from the ES and win the game. From low to high in one short game. I’ll resist making comments about metaphors for life.

I had a lot of good luck and a lot of bad luck. I so often draw well that in the past I’ve not dealt well emotionally with a run of bad luck, and I feel like, in this event at least, I kept my wits (and humor) about me. And the bad luck didn’t last long, just a few games. Honestly, I feel like my biggest triumph was emotional. I rode it out.

John and I gave some of the young punks of Scrabble a ride to the train station. Such wonderfully quirky, brilliant, nerdy young men. The high point MIGHT have been when one of the young men told us all that he thinks he has a parasite.

Meanwhile, back at the Big E expo center in Springfield, Massachusetts (one of the worst places to get lost in America, maybe in the world), Curie was not winning her shows. Apparently I’ve kept her a little on the thin side, which means the judges think she’s “long”. She was thrilled to hang out with her brother Pippin, however. Curie and Pippin think they are Meant To Be Together. They’d establish an Egyptian dynasty if we’d approve. Or if we’d look the other way.

So. All that news is really to say: I’m doing okay. I feel my nerve endings again. My paralysis is not entirely gone, but I am looking at things with something like my old chirpy Pollyanna ways. “A futon, an iron, and a welcome mat and this apartment is DONE!”

2005-04-18T11:46:00.000-05:00

The Boston Area Tournament is coming up this weekend.

I feel very unprepared.

I guess that’s understandable. The other things going on in my life are pretty overwhelming. I’m trying to decide what to do when I grow up. I’m trying to find work to do while pursuing those life goals. I’m in the middle of divorce mediation. These things are pretty big. If I could look at my life from outside it, like a best friend or a sister, I would tell myself that I’m doing okay, that I should take more baths, that I should enjoy spring walks, that I should have a glass of wine or an ice cream cone. If I’m to be responsible for all the grownup things, I should also take care of myself.

Right?

So I’m armed with flashcards and optimism. It is a tough division. The games will be hard and require concentration and intelligence.

2005-04-12T15:10:00.000-05:00

From the warnings in the back of the Life textbook:

If one sleeps over at one’s old house to take care of one’s own kids while their dad is on a business trip, and if one is pleased with how calmly and smoothly everything is going and has gone and seems to be likely to go in the future, one should not be surprised when one’s silly dog decides to have -- oh, what should we call it? diarrhea? -- in the master bedroom on the white carpet. One should be careful not to say anything too terribly vile to the dog while scrubbing away at germy spattery spots with old white gym towels. Note: one should be especially alert to the smirking meanness of the universe. The universe has been known to send along vicious wasps to sting one on the ring finger of the left hand, causing one to nearly faint from anxiety.

2005-04-06T12:53:00.000-05:00

Do people really mean it when they say they just want what's best for everyone?

2005-04-01T15:12:00.000-05:00

I feel a little disloyal to my genre roots, but I’m increasingly drawn to so-called literary fiction. Some of my stories for Odyssey barely qualified as science fiction and probably could pass for mainstream or literary. Whether or not they are GOOD is another matter. I guess I will keep doing what I have been doing: writing the stories that I must write. I can figure out how to categorize the stories later.

Pretty rocks for my Scrabble slingshot:
Umbellet, brunizem, whimbrel, bigeminy.

2005-03-31T13:46:00.000-05:00

Cue soundtrack from Sound of Music…

These are a few of my favorite things this week:

Half-price Easter candy on Monday.

Sunshine-y walks with Curie around the “lake” (it’s a man-made pond/puddle, but it is big enough for geese and ducks, which are very entertaining for Curie.)

Finding my favorite pair of socks which I’d thought were lost. They were tucked into the last duffel bag from Odyssey. This was not the best find in the duffel bag, but it was a nice surprise.

Discovering the notes I’d taken during Odyssey are not as full of drivel as I’d feared.

Avocados.

Playing half-decently at club on Tuesday.

Finding a bunch of stories that Daniel wrote in first and second grade. (The first was called Apple Story, and it is riveting.)

Raindrops on roses…

2005-03-25T13:59:00.000-05:00

This will be my first “major” holiday alone. Ever. I’m watching it approach like I’d watch a bouncing doorknob coming down the highway toward my windshield, with a mix of “hunh, would you look at that?” and “I wonder if that will cause a big dent?” Mostly I’m wondering if the northern Virginia Scrabble club meets on Easter.

Of course, I’m remembering past Easters. (That’s the whole point of holidays, neh?) I never have decorated eggs. Eggs weren’t a part of the tradition of my childhood. One year about ten years ago I bought one of those cheapo kits at Rite-Aid or someplace like that, but somehow I forgot to use it. I think the dyes ended up being used for one of Em’s great works of art. I like cooking the Easter dinner, although often we ended up going elsewhere for this holiday. I like the chocolate.

The music. That is my favorite part. For several years, the family took part in the huge musical celebrations that our (then) church put on. Even when I wasn’t a part, I really enjoyed that part of Easter. Flowers and dressing up and music to fill my ears and mind and soul. And chocolate.

2005-03-22T14:20:00.000-05:00

At club on Thursday, I played two phoneys. This makes me very happy. I have felt for a while that I worry so much about playing phoneys that I forego perfectly good words. “Take more risks,” I have jotted on more than one scoresheet. Neither word was obviously bad. Neither was on the list of “phamous phoneys”. Neither word was challenged off. Take more risks, indeed.

Okay, so I’m never really going to be a hang glider. I hope that doesn’t disappoint anyone. (For one thing, it takes a lot of hand-holding to get me up in the air in the first place; it’s hard to hang glide with one hand.) I can fly kites, which is almost as nifty! But I digress.

These days I’m doing a lot of scary things, a lot of stepping out on faith. Maybe other people wouldn’t find them as scary as I do. But the important thing here is that I find them scary -- and that I’m doing them anyway. So what if it isn’t usually considered brave to argue with utility companies? It is brave of me.

2005-03-16T14:25:00.000-05:00

I have to confess something. I enjoy reading Anne Lamott. Okay, okay, I know that makes me more touchy-feely than I usually admit. She is very lovey. She talks about mystical things. She freely admits to praying (although she uses the F-word frequently in her books about “faith”. I like this in a person.) She talks about breathing.

She is very real, and I admire this. She talks about her parents and her son with a mix of love and frustration and grumpiness. She admits, in public, in her writing, to sometimes being angry, sometimes disliking her loved ones, to having to work very hard to forgive them.

I like to think I’m like her in a lot of ways, but I don’t share this ability. I can’t easily look at someone I love, look them in the eyes, and say “I’m really angry with you.” “I am mad.” “That was a bad thing you did. To me.” Instead, I’m the sort that says, “Oh, gosh, I’m sure you didn’t mean to run over my dog. It’s okay. I was meaning to get rid of that old thing soon anyway.”

I minimize. I deflect. I say, “I’m fine.” Fine is my F-word.

But I am lying. It is not Fine to run over my dog. I loved that dog. Sometimes I forget that it happened, but other times I remember the dog, I miss the dog, and I want to cry and rage and say “I hate you!” But I don’t do that. I am Fine.

And in doing so, I wrong not only myself (and believe me, I do wrong myself), but I wrong those that I love. They don’t understand why I pull back and stop engaging. They don’t know I’m angry. They don’t ask for forgiveness, because they don’t know there is anything to forgive.

2005-03-08T13:53:00.000-05:00

I figured out something. When life is busy and interesting, there is no time to write about it!

Here are some of the things I’m doing these days:
I’m still unpacking. I’m not sure if I will ever finish.
Thank goodness, I have a lot of work. A lot. It is boring, but it pays the bills.
My writing is starting to jell again.
I’m working on long-range planning. It feels great.

I feel great.

2005-02-21T19:04:00.000-05:00

So there are two drawers in the kitchen. One is for silverware and measuring spoons, very well organized. The other is a thing drawer. I’ve been here nine days and already have a thing drawer. It holds the rest of the stuff. The things. Batteries, measuring tape, undefinable implements. Is this just the way my brain works? Must I have a miscellaneous file?

Of course, at the moment I have a spare room, too. The rest of the apartment is spotless, well-organized, peaceful. But beware the spare room. Open it at your own risk.

Is the little place of disorganization necessary to the rest of my life going neatly and purposefully? I am fine with that.

2005-02-17T14:11:00.000-05:00

I’m starting to get my act together here. The pile of boxes slowly retreats under my fierce gaze (although I’m still adding boxes to the pile, which doesn’t help. I think the poor pile is getting mixed messages. “Does she want us to shrink or NOT?”)

It is weird to live alone.

Five days into this, so far everyone is surviving. One missed bus. A few miscommunications. The calendar is nowhere near functional yet. But we are all okay. The kids think the apartment is cool.

I suspect that the novelty will wear off soon. Some snarling and grumpiness will happen.

2005-02-09T16:00:00.000-05:00

Last night at Scrabble club, all my years of preparation finally paid off. People have scoffed at me. But no more!

When S. arrived at the club, I was odd man out, so I immediately offered/begged for a game. He had his arms full of stuff, bags and the like, and I began to set up my board, rummaging through my (disorganized) bag for racks and tiles. And gum. And a cough drop. And a pen.

Meanwhile, S. was rummaging less successfully in his bags. He’d located a salad but was muttering under his breath. I found the other wooden rack and slapped it on the table.

“You wouldn’t happen to have a FORK in there, would you?” he asked sarcastically.

He obviously doesn’t know me very well. “Why -- yes I do!” I opened the outside pocket of the bag, pulled out a stainless steel fork, and handed it to him.

He took it without further comment and ate his salad.

2005-02-04T10:21:00.000-05:00

Two address changes to note:

After sifting through all the wise advice people gave me regarding the livejournal quandary and so forth (and ponies and kittens), I have decided to just mirror this blog at livejournal. When I feel the need to delve into more scrabble details, I will do this only at the livejournal blog. This will be the only difference between the two.

The community features at livejournal make this worthwhile, in my opinion. (Community features include friends lists, groups, communities.) I’ll back-post starting January 1, probably.

The other address change is less trivial. I am doing something today which I’ve never done before: writing a rent check. Yep, I’m moving down the road about a mile. The cats are staying at the house; the dog is moving to the apartment with me. The kids will continue to base their operations at the house but will be free to come and go at either place. All are doing well.

2005-01-31T14:01:00.000-05:00

It’s January 31. I’m sure you all know what that means! Yes, it’s time to give Marsh some advice.

Here’s my little dilemma. I like the way this blog is going. (I know, some of you think it needs a bit more spice, excitement. To quote one reader: “what you need is more scrabble porn.”) But I also want to take advantage of some of the features of livejournal, particularly the community features. So I was thinking about (and actually made) a more scrabble-oriented version at livejournal. Maybe I will take some of my general scrabble posts here and expand upon them over there. I don’t know. I don’t really want to just have two identical blogs. Honestly, though, I don’t want to only post about scrabble over there, either.

So. Advise me!

2005-01-28T23:27:00.000-05:00

This was in the mail:

Life’s Too Short To Clean Your Own House.

A lovely brochure, featuring a lovely couple, with two lovely blond children, sitting in a lovely family room. The dad is reading a book with one of the daughters. The mom is laughing over a laptop with the other daughter. A pretty picture.

Short answer portion of the quiz:
1. Why did the advertising folks choose to put two girls in the picture instead of a girl and a boy?
2. Why did they choose to have the mom pose with the laptop?
3. Who cleans the housecleaners’ houses?

Bonus question: are the perky college students pictured on the inside of the brochure real housecleaners or just models?

2005-01-27T11:01:00.000-05:00

I don’t need another puppy. I don’t need another puppy.

2005-01-24T14:41:00.000-05:00

Guess what this is.

Here’s a hint.

2005-01-21T13:34:00.000-05:00

Eighth grade mall dilemma.

Say Ashley and Nicole have been best friends since kindergarten, but now, because of a suspicious incident at last week’s dance, Ashley has decided that Nicole is out to Steal Her Boyfriend. So she doesn’t want to hang out with Nicole, of course. Nicole is furious that Ashley has accused her of such a thing. Ashley’s boyfriend isn’t even that cute!

So, Nicole doesn’t want to hang out anywhere – I mean ANYWHERE – that Ashley might be. Unfortunately, the mall is still the best place to hang out, and she is not going to stop hanging out there, for god’s sake, not because of that horrible Ashley certainly. But clearly it wouldn’t hurt to try to show up there when she knows Ashley won’t be there, like during Ashley’s bassoon lesson on Thursday night or Sunday morning when Ashley’s family is at church. But there is a problem. If she only goes to the mall at those times, then Ashley will hear about it and know that Nicole is only going during times when she knows Ashley won’t be there. So obviously she has to take some riskier actions. An even bigger problem is that she doesn’t know if Ashley is also trying to avoid her. Maybe Ashley wants to “accidentally” run into her at the mall so that they can make up. If that is so, maybe Nicole would consider doing so as well. So should Nicole cleverly try to accidentally run into Ashley? And how can she figure out what Ashley wants?

This is a very hard problem for Nicole to figure out.

Obviously this is somewhat similar to the prisoner’s dilemma, but there are intriguing differences.

2005-01-20T13:19:00.000-05:00

“Like generations
before us, we have a calling from beyond the stars to stand for freedom ...”

Maybe George Bush was talking about God here, although I kind of thought the God crowd thought about God as a bit closer than, say, Andromeda. But I’m very happy to think of Bush sitting out on a rock by a lake, squinting and grimacing, trying to pick up what his imaginary friends from other galaxies are telling him. Maybe my imaginary alien friends and his imaginary alien friends party together once in a while. I mean, if you’re going to imagine stuff, you might as well aim high.

2005-01-17T16:34:00.000-05:00

Let the weeping and wailing begin.

It’s SOWPODS time.

(For those who don’t know what the heck SOWPODS is: SOWPODS is the dictionary the rest of the world uses. The U.S. uses its own dictionary, and that’s what is used at most of the tournaments I attend. But for now it’s SOWPODS time.)

2005-01-14T14:02:00.000-05:00

I like seeing how people live. What books do they keep next to their toilets? (And they better read in the bathroom!) Do they alphabetize their spices? Do they have phones in every room? What about lights? Do you see their house glowing from miles away? Is there a fire extinguisher in the kitchen? Flashlights? Magic marker happy faces on the wall, five-year old shoulder height?

It’s like archaeology. Our houses and schedules say so much about us, if we care to look.

Bonus question: is 8-foot chain link fence sufficient to contain a Basenji? What if it is a genius Basenji, like my little Curie? What if there is snow on the ground? Show all your work.

2005-01-10T20:32:00.000-05:00

I thought I was just being dumb. The trivial pursuit questions weren’t making any sense. “Huh??” I asked after every question. I couldn’t even figure out which nouns the questions were looking for. Perhaps it was the wine.

“What prolific novelist’s book jacket photo did the Devil Rays pepper with pushpins, after his visit preceded an 11-game losing streak, in 2002?” Read aloud.

You be the judge. Wine? Or incredibly poorly written questions?

2005-01-05T21:07:00.000-05:00

Ideals are tested in the rain.

You know, like: park far away from the store. I say this all the time. It’s good for the heart. Let the little old ladies park close in. The pregnant women with little kids.

But, ugh, it’s really really cold and rainy and windy tonight. Besides being uncomfortable, that’s bad for my hair. I just have to hope I don’t see anyone I know.

2005-01-01T21:02:00.000-05:00

My scrabble rating as of today is 1695. It has been a little higher than that, but I’m marking an official line here: January 1, 2005, I’m at 1695. What will it be on January 1, 2006?

This week’s scrabble news/progress. Let’s see, I went 3-1, won 20 bucks.

The club situation was awkward, though. Right after I arrived, Bob arrived, and we paired up. He won the first game. Then the entire operation had to move to a member’s house, because the community center was closing early for holidays. When we got there, the other director said, a little hesitantly, “Bob, you want to play Marsh? You two are the two highest rated here.” Bob said yes. (He doesn’t enjoy playing lower rated players, I don’t think.) I said, kind of jovially, “good, I can win my money back!” But I had the sense that the other players thought that I didn’t want to play with them. Okay, it IS good for my game to play against players like Bob. Especially for money. But I don’t want to irritate other players, either.

(The club member who hosted the gathering spent the first 20 minutes or so in the family room haranguing her elderly mother. At one point, I swear, she said, “Do you hear me? I’m sick of this. I’m going to put you in a home.” We all kept our heads bowed over our boards. Next time I’m going to go in and sit with the old lady and let Bob play the crabby woman.)

The next few months will be a little busy here, but I have started reading through the old Medleys I got for Christmas and I’m continuing my study. My version of study is a little eccentric, but it works for me. So now I just have to coordinate time and money and decide upon the next tournament…

2004-12-31T21:59:00.000-05:00

I love fresh starts.

(That’s one of the things I miss about not being in school; I loved blank notebooks and teachers who didn’t know me. September used to be my favorite time of year.)

So New Year’s is a time of optimism. For that matter, so is Thanksgiving. Or June 13. Pick a date. I bet I could be optimistic about it.

Bad habits? A chance to get rid of them. Clean the closets, get rid of the cobwebs. 2005 is almost here!

2004-12-28T13:04:00.000-05:00

Let’s take stock of our year, shall we?

We managed to turn a high school kid into a college kid (and if you don’t think that’s a goal, you have not been paying attention.)

We pursued a big dream, a scary one, and spent six weeks in New Hampshire proving that we weren’t silly for dreaming this dream.

We lost weight!

We played division one at nationals, and managed to achieve our two primary goals: don’t embarrass ourselves and stay away from cameras.

We found music again. (And thanks, Santa, for the blues studies!)

We survived roller coasters and didn’t throw up or give up.

2004-12-27T14:52:00.000-05:00

2004-12-25T11:53:00.000-05:00

Merry Christmas, everyone.

The kids are happy and tired and playing with their new gadgets. I’m getting ready to chop up some butternut squash. Curie keeps hiding her new Christmas bone and then forgetting where. I have wacky music on in the background. And I’m full of leftover hot chocolate.

Up-to-the-minute reporting!

2004-12-23T17:30:00.000-05:00

Baking with toddlers.

My niece Julianna is a spy. We’ll be sitting around, chatting or having lunch, and she’ll say, out of the blue, very very meaningfully: “the monkey at the playplace is very scary.” And it is clear that she expects a specific response, although none of us know exactly what that response is. “The blue camel is falling down.”

The creche on my coffee table was quite interesting to her. “Look, baby Jesus lives in a castle. With a butterfly!” (The angel, of course.)

Nieces are great. I can let her just eat frosting if that’s what she wants. It’s not my job to worry about nutrition.

Okay, back to digging cookie crumbs out of the upholstery!

2004-12-22T18:36:00.000-05:00

Kick it! Roll it! Play with it! It’s a ball!

This was the advertising on a… yeah, on a rubber ball. Were the manufacturers concerned that the buyers wouldn’t know how to use a rubber ball? Were these supposed to be selling points?

I dunno. Maybe plain rubber balls don’t sell well these days.

2004-12-20T15:56:00.000-05:00

Once upon a time, there was this baby girl who chased after bees and escaped into the yard more times than I could count, who followed her brothers into trouble and then told on them, who hated the word ‘cute’ and insisted on cutting her own bangs – off. Somewhere along the way, that baby girl turned into this young lady who still escapes when I’m not watching and wears the weirdest getups I have ever seen, who dyes her hair purple (or blue?), just a few streaks, and fiercely defends her opinions and her friends. She’s awesome.

Happy birthday, Em. The world may not be ready for you yet, but it sure needs you.

2004-12-20T09:39:00.000-05:00

Time to make a list. Check it. Twice.

Time to make some plans. Make some food. Make some memories.

Time to live our lives/life and be happy.

Check your watch.

2004-12-16T19:21:00.000-05:00

Nobody in this house plays with Legos anymore. They have gone the way of American Girl dolls and Chutes and Ladders and soap bubbles. (I’d add Beanie Babies, but some people in this house still like them. And I’m not talking about Curie.)

This would make me sad, but honestly, the kids are turning into such cool human beings with varied and startling interests. Some of them like the same books I like; some of them listen to music that I can’t stand. They know things I don’t know. When did this happen?? They argue about math and politics and religion. So I miss the Legos, but I really love the poetry and philosophy.

It used to be way easier to find Christmas presents for them, though.

2004-12-14T14:07:00.000-05:00

There have been suggestions that, despite my protests, I am indeed a grinch. This is actually helpful. I can cross a few names off my gift list.

2004-12-13T10:47:00.000-05:00

This would sound sacrilegious if I were, um, religious. I’m sure it will sound sacrilegious to my kids. Okay. Here we go. Christmas is not my favorite holiday. (Thanksgiving is.) Christmas is not even in my top ten favorite holidays.

I’m not a grinch. I enjoy a lot of the season. The food, the look of things. I have a soft spot for glittery soft gold anything. Those people who do blue and silver decorations, though, I have no idea what they’re doing. They are from the other Christmas planet. Anyway. I love candy canes and Handel and snow.

What I don’t love is the pressure. There is so much to do. So many expectations, deadlines, lists. (Some of these could be alleviated by better organization on my part, I admit.) But so much of it is false, too. Many of these gifts are not heartfelt. How could they be? Gifts for the kids’ bus drivers? I can’t (maybe some people can) go down this list of people I don’t know and find just the right thing to show our love and appreciation and whatever else we’re trying to show. I don’t know their interests. I don’t know if they like peanut butter cookies or peppermint. So a whole lot of people get generic candles at this time of year.

Really, I’m not a grinch.

2004-12-12T13:19:00.000-05:00

And I unleash yet another 16-year-old on the world! Happy birthday, Chris. I hope you have a great year of philosophizing and inventing and playing and arguing. You are awesome.

(Where'd this kid get his camera shyness, huh? Boy, genetics are weird.)

2004-12-11T19:15:00.000-05:00

Some paths we take run parallel to other paths. We don’t have to sell a house to change jobs, necessarily. We don’t have to give up a dog to have a child. We don’t have to throw away one book just because we’re reading another. Other paths we take do narrow our choices. (Some broaden them.) Some paths require burning bridges behind us. Others don’t. (Lots of times the best paths do, though… a resolute commitment to go ahead and not look back.)

2004-12-09T15:19:00.000-05:00

My favorite cure for general gloominess:

Cleaning toilets. Most cleaning works fairly well, actually, but there is something about scouring a bathroom that just realigns things in my brain. Maybe it’s the smell of Comet. I’ve tried to pass this cure on to my children, but they just sense some kind of awful trick and turn away. They’ll realize I’m right some day.

Wine and walking work for some types of gloominess. (Gloria and I combined these last week, strolling around my neighborhood with glasses of wine in the afternoon like escapees from the community center 12-step program.)

Being with your best friend cures almost anything.

2004-12-08T11:37:00.000-05:00

Happy birthday, Daniel. I became a new person nineteen years ago: a mother. Thanks for turning out so well despite all my mistakes.

I’m back to posting (obviously). Feel free to keep poetizing!

2004-11-15T15:39:00.000-05:00

Life is a little tough these days. Taking a break. I will be back with more tales of grasshoppers and compost heaps and scrabble games soon.

2004-11-13T21:16:00.000-05:00

From a book called "poemcrazy" that I picked up on a whim today:

Years ago poet Michael McClure suggested we each create our own "personal universe deck" of words in their simplest form on index cards. McClure suggested we include words of each sense, words of movement, time, place, an animal, a plant, and at least one word that's an important abstraction, like truth.

See where your words take you.

2004-11-13T13:19:00.000-05:00

My favorite dream this week: Scrabble, of course. SPIRANT was on the board. I held AEINPRT. I could have played painter or various other boring words. Instead, I played…

ANTIPERSPIRANT.

Now, let’s see if I can see stuff like that with my eyes open!

Last night was just filled with nasty monster-filled nightmares, unfortunately.

2004-11-12T09:43:00.000-05:00

I forgot to mention that rainy days are also “difficult basenji” days. She will stand under the eaves, legs crossed resolutely, rather than go out into the yard and do her business. So of course, Marsh the Sap puts on rain gear, puts the leash on her, drags her into the yard, and stands there cursing in a very sweet voice until the basenji figures it’s best to just get it over with. “Come on, you little rat puppy…” Marsh coos.

My mother used to talk very sweetly to inconsiderate drivers on the road. “You buzzards,” she’d say in a kinder tone than she’d use, say, for thanking us for the Mother’s Day Macaroni Montage.

2004-11-11T19:56:00.000-05:00

Everybody should be able to babysit a four-month-old niece once in a while. It is good for the soul. (I have a fairly slobbery one, if anyone needs to borrow one.)

Question of the day on ISC (the Scrabble site I play on):
“When you intententionly and consistantly give people terrible letters… no wonder they shout and swear… so play fare and allow unpaying guests to rely on the software without your fingers in the pie… we can all play.”

There are so many things to love about this question. (The long-suffering helper answered something along the lines of “Supporting members get crummy tiles, too – believe me!”)

I love watching the questions and answers. I love watching the chat, too, but nobody else I know seems to enjoy it.

Tonight’s quote: “I’m gonna go now and get ready to go out to eat somewhere and drink some for the veteran befallen in my honor.” Then many chuckles and jokesters and prim and proper folk weigh in on the subject. (Unfortunately no one seems to care about the grammar.)

Who needs TV??

2004-11-10T21:00:00.000-05:00

The next couple of weeks are going to be a bit busy. Heh. To say the least. Gloria and her kids (and basenjis) are arriving Friday while I’m out of town at the tournament. So I’m scrubbing and stocking and calling her, oh, every two hours. They will stay through Thanksgiving, which will be terrifically chaotic. Eight children, three basenjis, one turkey……

Of course, being me, I choose to do all SORTS of things that complicate my preparations. The equivalent of deciding to put in a swimming pool before the guests arrive. (No, I’m not doing that. You think I’m a fool? It’s cold out there!)

Maybe a skating rink.

2004-11-09T15:20:00.000-05:00

I’m so weather-affected. Windy nights make me restless and anxious. Rainy mornings are a bona fide excuse to sleep in.

Today it is clear and blue and about 55. The leaves are past peak glory but are still breathtaking. They crunch under my feet, blow from my neighbor’s yard to mine and back, startle the dog. (She’s a wimpy dog.) I breathe in and feel my lungs. It is just cool enough to feel the intake but not so cold that it hurts.

And with everything that I have to worry about, the weather makes my brain think that life is glorious, good, wonderful. I don’t care if it’s just an instinctive response. I will enjoy it.

2004-11-08T14:41:00.000-05:00

Aaron and Devon and I, with our upcoming tournament looming over our heads, decided Sunday club was necessary. There were only a few others there, because several of the regulars were at a tournament in Philly. I figured that was okay, since really I was just looking for a nice mellow experience for the guys.

I don’t know how I feel about playing people who are a lot less experienced than I am. On the one hand, I know I benefited from my many sessions with tough players who were willing to give me a trouncing to help me learn. So I feel pretty good about doing the same. On the other hand, I wonder if some of the players are upset or demoralized; I would hate to be a detriment to their progress.

(I don’t think I’m all that good, really; I’m just a lot more experienced than most of the folks in the Sunday club.)

As far as the upcoming tournament, I’m approaching it with my New Attitude. I’m studying, but not frantically. I can only know what I know. I can only play as well as I can play. I will be better one day. I’m not terrible now.

A mantra of mediocrity! I’m happy with it.

2004-11-07T15:14:00.000-05:00

Who am I kidding? I can’t stick to a scrabble sabbatical. I love this game!

Next tournament, Stamford, Connecticut. Aaron and I are both playing up, which is always fun, and Devon (yay!) is playing, too – his first tournament.

Dust off the flashcards and print out the superduper secret weapon scoresheets!

2004-11-05T13:59:00.000-05:00

I can’t remember where I saw this question yesterday, but it is a good question and a good starting place.

How do we take back the vocabulary?

Let’s start with the word “moral”. How has morality come to be synonymous with bigotry? Let’s the use the word correctly. I found this at linkmeister.com/blog/. “How is it "moral" to spend the country into bankruptcy? How is it "moral" to invade a country which was no threat to us, based on lies deliberately trumped up to fit an agenda thought up by a think tank? How is it "moral" to sell out the nation's public lands to private industry? How is it "moral" to turn a blind eye to science, demanding ideological purity over empirical fact?”

2004-11-04T17:21:00.000-05:00

I’ve been doing a lot of random blogsurfing the last couple days. People have many theories on why the election went the way it did.

“It’s a mandate from God.”

“People would rather feel safe than be free.”

I’ve gotten tons of emails (most from my sister Gloria, who apparently is putting her frustration into searching the web for answers.) Some of these emails are scary, honestly. The country is veering into a frightening state that teeters on the edge of fascism, after all. We should all be wary.

I can’t waste time being depressed or even angry, though. Our side didn’t win this election, but our numbers aren’t small. We are smart and we do have a voice, a multitude of voices. We can keep talking. We can shout. We must.

My daughter yesterday said, “we should start a country called howthe***didbushwin!” My friend’s daughter said, “don’t mourn, fight.” We’re already raising the next generation of thinkers, sons and daughters who will fight ignorance and bigotry and evil. So that is step one.

2004-11-01T19:50:00.000-05:00

Some people – and I'm including animals – just make others around them feel good. Kind of like those Tribbles from the old Star Trek episode. They are welcoming, loving, peaceful. When we think of them, we smile. Of course, some of these Tribble-people that make me happy might not make other people happy, and vice versa. But I'm thinking of some of mine right now, and I'm smiling.

2004-10-31T20:02:00.000-05:00

I miss taking them out to trick-or-treat. That could just be the weather talking, though. It's pretty nice out there tonight. I certainly don't miss the cold years. And I'm not getting much traffic up here at this end of the neighborhood. I've started giving out handfuls instead of one or two pieces. (Which could explain a couple of the repeats I've seen.)

2004-10-30T21:12:00.000-05:00

When they were little, I could take them to the store – any store – and point out how cool it would be to go dressed as, say, Peter Pan. "Okay!" And off we'd go. Pouf the hair, spray some glitter around, toss them out the door with a grocery sack. Yeah, yeah, at least one adult went along. Then at the end of the evening, I would collect the parent tithe. Ten percent of all the candy. Plus extra Reeses peanut butter cups.

Now they want to be clever. Em is going as a "vs." sign. Her two friends are going as Bush and Kerry. Chris is going to a party as "the spirit of Halloween." I have no idea what that means. Apparently it requires: a janitor costume, long black fingernails, and a cane, and some other stuff I've forgotten.

Aaron is a very sophisticated vampire. He's wearing his tuxedo shirt. Ironed.

2004-10-29T16:33:00.000-05:00

Ahhhhh. I have a few days off. Of course, instead of doing all the things I've been telling myself I'll do "when I have time" – hahaha! – I'm goofing around. I've caught up on my forums for the past few days, done a little bit of housework, played with the wonderful Sophie (aged 3 months), and I'm thinking about taking a nice long walk. (There's a nearby national park with great trails.)

Recommended reading:
Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell, Susanna Clarke
From the back cover: I was fascinated by the mixture of historical realism and utterly fascinating events: I almost began to believe that there really was a tradition of 'English magic' that I had not heard about. It's an astonishing achievement. I can't think of anything that is remotely like it.

I can't say it any better than that.

Warning: There aren't many car chases or bombs or computers… it takes place in the 1800s, and it's written in omniscient voice (opinionated omniscient at that.) I love this book so far.

The Ancestor's Tale, Richard Dawkins
What can I say? He's great. The inside cover flap calls him a "renowned biologist and thinker."

Someday I would like to be referred to as a "thinker."

2004-10-28T17:30:00.000-05:00

Okay, I have so little time today, but I just have to say…

FINALLY! All my baseball ghosts can start to fade away.

2004-10-25T14:10:00.000-05:00

To do:

Sweep back porch of accumulated ugly leaves.

Pick out a turkey to kill.

Buy assorted candy to give out to neighborhood kids. Sort through the assorted candy and make sure the neighborhood kids get all the coconut ones. Eat the rest.

Call the furnace guy. Something smells funny.

Clean the ovens.

Buy a whole bunch of magazines with cool looking recipes that will not be used.

Organize freezer. That thing is a mess.

2004-10-23T12:18:00.000-05:00

Thank goodness the Batman episodes involving Marsha the Queen of Diamonds didn't air until November 1966. I'd seriously wonder about my naming, otherwise.

Batman: "I made a bargain with Penguin, and I never break my word."
Marsha: "Bargain? Why, half the men in the world would fight to be kissed by Marsha, Queen of Diamonds."
Batman: "They certainly wouldn't have to fight me."

Fabulous.

2004-10-21T17:36:00.000-05:00

In the fall of 1978, this little long-haired raggedy kid rode around the block over and over in a rage. No one else was outside. They were still in their living rooms, sitting before their televisions in disbelief. So she just rode her red white and blue Spirit Of '76 bike (with banana seat, of course) around and around.

She hated – hated hated hated – the Yankees.

Today, finally, she can let go of her hatred a little bit. Mostly to taunt them, but still. It is progress.

2004-10-19T09:15:00.000-05:00

Earlier in the year, I was thinking of going to the Baltimore tournament. I like that tournament. It's close to me, cozy, well-run. I know most of the people there. Even while on sabbatical, I considered going, just because it was so close. Eventually I decided against it.

For the last few weeks, I've thought about visiting on Saturday night, joining the after-hours session, but after Em's difficult afternoon there was no way I'd leave her alone.

Late Saturday night I was reading the newspaper online and came across an article about a stretch of highway near Baltimore that had to be closed for several hours because of multiple (I think the number was 92) car crashes during a few minutes of intense rain. I found myself thinking, "well, good thing I didn't try to go to the play session; I'd have been trapped in that traffic all night."

And now I read on my Scrabble list that the director of the tournament, one I particularly like, passed away on Sunday night, soon after the completion of the tournament. And I'm regretting that I couldn't be there. I will miss him.

I watch people play scrabble online sometimes, and there is this funny little meme that goes around, like a scrabble idea virus. It's something like this: The player makes a move, what they feel to be the correct play. They draw their replacement tiles. And then they say: "Oh, that must not have been the right move; look what happened." Maybe their opponent made a huge play that was only made possible by their last play. Or maybe they drew UUYY. But the truth is that sometimes the correct play doesn't lead to great things. Chance is always a part. The other player is always there. But the correct play is the correct play.

The choices I made were the correct choices, but they weren't correct because of the eventual outcome. The accidents and traffic didn't confirm that my choices were good, and the director's death didn't negate my choices. It was right for me to stay home with Em. That's all.

2004-10-16T16:13:00.000-05:00

Em called me this afternoon. (Yes, I answered the phone.) Some guy was bothering her while she was walking home from working on a project with some friends. I went and picked her up, adrenaline pouring through me from scalp to toes. She is okay. We're both shaken. Tonight we're going to buy a new phone for her, because the old phone has been acting up and it took her several tries to reach me.

2004-10-14T13:11:00.000-05:00

Counting the fax machine, there are 14 different phone numbers for this household. (I'm also counting Daniel's cell phone, despite the fact that he is in Maine, since I still pay that bill!) Fourteen. This is partly because the cable modem company offers something silly like eight. So even the kids have their own land lines. But they also each have a cell phone, which may seem like coddling the suburban kiddos but is really very convenient for me. The dog does not have her own phone line.

But I hate using the phone. I rarely answer the house line (any line, really). The kids don’t even seem to notice it ringing. Guests will look at us all as we ignore the shrilling – none of us even flinch. We just keep going about our business, talking, eating, whatever. Sometimes guests will even volunteer to answer it, a little uneasily, as if they're wondering if we are avoiding someone specific or whether maybe we all are just a little confused or hard of hearing. Many people are very uncomfortable around a ringing telephone.

So technologically it is very easy to reach me. But first you have to get through the barriers my personality raises.

2004-10-13T14:35:00.000-05:00

I lost $38.10 this week at Scrabble. (I wonder if this counts as hobby expense for tax purposes.)

Bob works with some of the school Scrabble kids to help prepare them for their tournaments. One of the kids, an 11-year-old girl named Laura, was playing at the table next to ours. She slapped down some phony bingo and then grabbed for the tile bag. "See that?" Bob whispered, "I taught her to do that."

I stared at him for a minute and then told him he was evil.

To recap for those who aren't paying attention, I've played twelve club games in the past week and a half and have won: Three. This sabbatical thing may be for the best.

2004-10-11T19:45:00.000-05:00

It didn't work. The debates were terribly depressing. One is not smart enough; the other can't leave his weasel side at home. The less smart one tried out a few more facial expressions this time, though, which was pretty entertaining. Chris and I watched two things together this week: Drew Carey's new show (can't remember the name) and the debates. We laughed a lot more at the debates.

Curie didn't win her show, and it was a really really easy show to win. She's a great dog and she has one of the best handlers around. So why didn't she win? I still say it's her three-legged dorky dance she does. "What's that?" thinks the judge. "Some kind of amphibian?" Comportment and style, Curie dear. Let's get it together.

2004-10-11T19:38:00.000-05:00

Happy Thanksgiving to you folks in Canada. Just because you celebrate it first doesn't mean you celebrate it correctly.

2004-10-08T19:19:00.000-05:00

I start studying again tonight. (I need something to do while I listen to the debates. Maybe if I am studying, I won't be quite so depressed by the debates.) The long list of eights without sevens is not quite finished, so I'm sure I'll start there.

End of a long long week. I survived it.

2004-10-07T20:02:00.000-05:00

Censorship update:

According to Em's civics assignment: "Inappropriate news topics will not be accepted. If you are unsure of what is considered appropriate, please consult your teacher or your parents." (The assignment sheet printed that sentence in bold type.)

Her entire summary:

Source: Washingtonpost.com
Headline: House Defeats Gay Marriage Amendment
Main Idea: Debating whether or not gay marriages should be banned
Summary: People in the House of Representatives debate about banning gay marriage, and it turns out they won't be. :) (Penciled smiley.)
Connection: This connects to civics because it has to do with making laws and debating which are big parts of the government.

Now, besides the fact that this is a danged sketchy summary and I'd like to throttle her for that, the only opinion she offers is the little smiley. She is brief and matter-of-fact. Practically boring! If anything, the article that she summarized is even more dry.

She did what she was told to do and checked with me regarding the appropriateness of the article.

Clearly, this job will require my cape and boots.

2004-10-06T13:08:00.000-05:00

I'm in a crusade kind of mood this week. I'm getting all bent out of shape about stuff like the dangers of fast food and the public education system and, ugh, the election… I read an article in this month's Wired Magazine about the newest (and sophisticated) assault on teaching kids evolution in our schools, and my heart just sinks.

Where do I begin?

Obviously one place to start is on those walks with the kids or in the drive-through lane or grocery store, over meals, under umbrellas. But of course I do this already. We talk about the silliness of the intelligent design movement – and the cleverness. We talk about a whole bunch of stuff.

But I'm more in the mood for action right now.

2004-10-05T12:42:00.000-05:00

Em is taking eighth grade civics. We all know what that means: weekly hunts through the newspaper for articles that have some kind of connection to civics/government. Every Friday the students are expected to turn in a brief summary of the article that they have chosen. It's a traditional way to try to get the students interested in the news. It doesn't work, of course.

Anyway, so last week Em chose an article in the Washington Post that reported on the Virginia legislature's vote against the gay marriage ban. She asked me if I thought the article was related to civics. I said, "of course!" Voting, politics, government – it seemed to be perfect.

The teacher didn't agree. She gave the summary back to Em on Monday with a large NC (no credit) written across the top. "Inappropriate. Please redo."

It is possible that the teacher gave out guidelines at the beginning of the year. I'm waiting to hear. Chris tells me that his eighth grade civics teacher did have topics that were off limits: abortion, gun control, gay marriage, a few others. "Those topics have been covered quite a bit; let's look at some other topics in this class." If this is the case with her class, I will probably just simmer in silence. But I haven't decided. However, if the class was not given guidelines regarding the topics, then I will have to do something. I'm not sure what that something is yet.