slipping on banana peels

                    This morning, I noticed a banana peel lying on the bathroom floor.  

                                              Did I just pick up the damn thing?

                                                                  No! 

I refused for the very compelling reason that I have just transferred the care and cleaning of that bathroom to my baby (twenty-something) V.  This transfer is so earth-shattering, that I am willing to look like an idiot by spending 5 times as much time as it would have taken to pick up the peel to write a note to everyone in the house about it.

Everyone knows it was my hubby who left the peel (fact confirmed by subsequent conversation with others in household).  Hubby, however, as first to see the note (only because I showed it to him), passionately denied that he had anything to do with the banana peel.  He also got very upset with me for my insinuations or for  wasting his time with such triviality.  In consequence, my bitchy side came out.  First I tormented hubby -- only for 32.2 seconds -- by repeating an innocuous, but annoying, phrase after he had given me his own bitchy signal that he would NOT discuss the banana peel.   I kept repeating, "I just wanted you to know..." Each time I said it, H muttered under his breath - getting progressively louder, "Puta."

        Blessed be the saint of bananas, we stopped the escalation after the brief 32 seconds, but the bad taste was already there in my mouth.
        I prepared his coffee for him, but then ruined the conciliatory gesture by letting go of it (in a sneery kind of way) as soon as his hand touched the cup.
       "You practically threw it at me!"
       "You would have done worse," i respond brilliantly.

Poor L was in for it...

He had a project due, plus he had to get to school early.  He needed me to print the work, but hadn't warned me and it was getting late.  I say, "Why didn't you tell me earlier?" and he says "Could you just print it and take it to school later?"  and I say, "No, I have class today."  (a bald-faced lie, but it's the principle of the thing - you know what I mean?  What am I, his secretary?) To his credit, after I inform him that there's no guarantee that I'll be home from class on time ("Probably, but..."),  L is calm and just asks me to resend the assignment to him, so he can try to print it at school.  So, I'm cooling down.

As I prepare his sack lunch, I'm calling out a few more unnecessary, "Hurry up! It's 6:48!"  "Brush your teeth!" "Put on your socks!" "Time to go!".  Finally, I managed to find time to get upstairs where I see that hubby, the sweetheart, had turned the computer on and connected the internet for me.  I opened my e-mail to find L's assignment.  The subject line reads, "wuuvvv yoooo." When I see it, I'm not mad at anybody anymore.

I take the homework downstairs and say, "It was only 3 pages.  I thought it was going to be a lot longer since you've been working on it so long."  He answers that the rest of the assignment was slides which he had e-mailed... More calm conversation ensues; he leaves the house and I tell him I love him as he goes out the door.

The letter of the law

So, we were headed out to dinner on the day after Thanksgiving.
Right before we left the house to walk to the restaurant which is only about 6 blocks away, my husband realized that our youngest didn't want to wear a jacket, just his sweater... But, the kid was wearing cotton shorts and a t-shirt and it's winter.  It wasn't a freezing winter day, but it wasn't warm by any means and it was getting dark.  So, hubby insisted that L wear his winter jacket.  It's not one of those huge puffy ones, so it wasn't such a burden.  L was about to put up a fight, but I looked at him and said, "Please, do it for your papa."
So, he took the jacket. 
As we walked to the restaurant, we separated when H and I crossed the street ahead of the rest - We walked in two groups for a little while.  L with his big brother and Jen on one side of the street, and mom (me) and dad on the other. 
That was when I noticed that, even though everyone else in the world was wearing a coat and long pants, L was CARRYING his jacket...  Yep, he was out in t-shirt and shorts. 

Being alone gives me low blood pressure?

Damn - H is in Florida because of our family tragedy, but I'm not going to write about that (you know why).  This is very selfish of me - but I'm going to whine about how my schedule is off because I'm alone...
         In a way it feels like I have extra time - and I took on some big projects to keep myself busy. 
At night, though, I postpone getting into bed.  For the past two nights, I've have the radio archives of This American Life on, and I sort old papers -  There's nobody to tell me to come to bed.  Since I'm alone, when I finally get to bed I do two things designed to perturb my sleep even more:
(1) I let our two cats get in bed with me.  They have fleas right now, and I'm allergic to a lot of things.  I know it's bad and I keep them out of our room (door closed) till I'm ready for bed - still I don't want to sleep alone : ( 
(2) Then I put something on the "tv" (streaming netflix) and I fall asleep even later than I would have.

       Of course, the inevitable.  This morning, I realized it was 7:22 am and I jumped out of bed, ran downstairs to wake L, opened his door, threw him a shirt and said, "Get up.  It's 7:20!"  I closed his door quickly, but still added loudly, "L--, are you getting up?"  (My stern voice... which no longer has much of an effect).   Right away, I also threw some pizza bits in the toaster over to pack his lunch.
        That's when it happened.  A wave of  -  -  -  it.  I know the feeling, but I can't describe it.
I remember it from my surgery... hmmm... Was it my C-section?  Probably, because I was awake.  After I got the anesthesia, my blood pressure went down.  It's like you feel nausea from every part of your body, almost pins and needles, but not quite. 
        Anyway, not pleasant.
        That's what I felt about 2 minutes after JUMPING out of bed and running downstairs.
        Yuck.
Here's the good part, from my perspective.   I shut up; it nipped in the bud any potential harping at L.  He knew what I had said at 7:20, and my reminders would probably just darken his mood.  So, here's the funny part: I'm kind of grateful.  I want these constant lessons/reminders.
       

crossing your heart in a secular society

I was reading Cecillia Manguerra Brainard, When the Rainbow Goddess Wept, and noticed a reference to the idea of "crossing one's heart" that made me stop and think.

Say "Cross your heart" to me, and I think PLAYTEX BRAS tm television commercials from the seventies or early eighties. Before women were trained to lift and smoosh together (the better to see you, my dear), we were told it was best to lift and separate. Hence that all-important "cross" between our breasts, or on our heart, was the shape of an "X".

Of course crossing your heart has always meant making a promise, but it's only now, in 2010, that it occurs to me that maybe the "cross" isn't an x  ...


P.S.  A thumbs up for the book, but not a very enthusiastic one; it seemed a bit contrived.

  The principal character was a girl who had a kind of spiritual connection to the Philippine 

creation/religious myths - in general, I liked her but didn't find her very convincing as a person.  The narrative
on the war and the Philippine ambivalence (often hatred) regarding  the U.S. was interesting for me and 
that's why the thumbs up.

Ghosts (reviews) *****

I went with my daughter V. and it was really great. So, even though it'll be too late for all of you - I thought I'd paste some of the reviews here so you can enjoy it vicariously.

Actually, it runs through this Sunday; you might be able to see it. Reserve your tickets on line first, though, because it has sold out a number of times.

http://www.theasy.com/Reviews/ghosts.php

Ghosts.

By Henrik Ibsen; Adapted by Nemonie Craven; Directed by Sophie Hunter
Off-Off-Broadway, Play   Extant Arts Company
Runs through 11.21.10    Access Theater, 380 Broadway

by Joseph Samuel Wright on 11.9.10

BOTTOM LINE: Extant Arts Company presents an abstract, experimental, multimedia adaptation of Ibsen’s Ghosts on a set of nylon thread.

Henrik Ibsen’s Ghosts tells the story of a mother (Mrs. Alving), the girl she raised (Regina), her son (Oswald), and their pastor on a night when a lifetime of secrets are revealed and worlds unravel.

In this new production helmed by Sophie Hunter and adapted by Nemonie Craven, the set becomes the main character.

Walking into the downtown theatre space, the set is a vast presence. Thin nylon threads hang from the ceiling and form a box — a room. At the back of the room are plants attached to IV drips forming a line. Behind them is plastic sheeting where images and video are projected. The stage has only two chairs and three television monitors, but a canopy of light bulbs hang from the ceiling. The entire space becomes an exercise in transparency and illumination, thickly stylized.

With this set, it becomes no surprise that the lighting is also complex and deeply shadowed, which makes it all the more disappointing when in certain scenes only the bulbs are used. Still, when the lighting is designed and the theatrical units are utilized, the effect is as intricate and textural as the space itself.
Unfortunately, this visual brilliance hinders the action and staging more than it complements it. For most of the play, the audience is looking through the nylon front “wall” of the string room. And in general this artistic installation-style setting often makes more of a statement than the actors' words and actions do.
Also, the Access Theatre doesn't have an elevated stage, yet two of the three monitors are on the floor, and several important scenes take place sitting on the floor. In a space like this, moments are blocked from sight by the rows of audience before them. I sometimes couldn’t see what was being shown on the television monitors, or what characters were doing down on the ground.

And it’s a shame to not be able to see, because several performances are well worth watching. LeeAnne Hutchison plays Mrs. Alving with great nuance and clarity. The final scene between Mrs. Alving, Regina (Justine Salata), and Oswald (Paulo Quiros) is a gripping success of staging and performance, a true testament to the potential in the ambitious artistry behind this piece. 

Ghosts is an enterprising, experimental presentation of Ibsen's classic. If you like abstraction, expressionistic theatre, or are familiar with the play and interested to see a new spin on the script, take a trip down to the Access Theatre.


___________________          __________________          __________________       ____________________
http://offoffonline.com/reviews.php?id=1862           by Maura Kelley   Nov. 5, 2010

Ghosts, by Henrik Ibsen, produced by the Extant Arts Company  
and adapted by Nemonie Craven, is both creepy and entertaining. The play is directed by Sophie Hunter, who is not at all timid when it comes to mixing multi-media with classic plays. Thank goodness that you can view the ultra-cool set by Flammetta Horvat before the show starts, or you might find yourself distracted by its very unique and disturbing elements: different length wires with working light bulbs attached dangle from the ceiling, hospital I.V. bags hang over numerous potted plants spanning the back of the stage, a transparent cage created out of fish wire maps out the main playing area and three television screens separate the stage in thirds, showing a flurry of images that echo the actors' interior feelings.

The play opens with Jacob Engstrand (Chris Haag), a poor working man urging his daughter Regina (Justine Salata), a ward of the Alvings, to come live with him. Things pick up steam when Pastor Manders (Anthony Holds) and Helene (Mrs.) Alving (LeeAnn Hutchinson), two very skilled actors, take the stage. The judgmental Pastor soon learns the err of his ways as horrifying truths about Mrs Alving, Engstrand and her son Oswald's past get revealed. Oswald Alving, expertly played by Paulo Quiros, is home visiting his mother for a mysterious, “indefinite amount of time.” As Oswald comes into the picture later in the play, more shattering secrets get disclosed and “ghosts” seem to be the cause for many people’s torment.

All of the characters in the play have dynamic revealing monologues that are pivotal to the story and possess extreme suspenseful elements. Unusual and identifiable sounds (Asa Wember), TV footage and non-naturalistic staging are used to enhance the suspense and subtext of characters in moments and scenes. But pay attention, because I found myself at times overwhelmed by visual and audio stimulation and missed key plot points. One in particular is a sexually driven scene between Mrs. Alving and the Pastor which is staged with Mrs. Alving slow dancing with the Pastor with video screens playing the couple in pre-filmed romantic embraces. All this is done while Mrs. Alving unveils the truth of her gruesome marriage.

Sometimes tension, sexual or not, is more interesting without explanation. I would have been happy for simpler staging to just allow these talented actors to act. Quiros, as Oswald, does just that and the results are excellent as he expertly plays torment, sexual desire, rage and ill health. The final moment, beautifully played between Mrs. Alving and Oswald, allows the play to end with a “wow!”

Ghosts is a dynamic adaptation, but the multi-media elements at times overpower the actors. Sometimes, less is more.
_________________          ___________________           ___________________        __________________
nytheatre.com review                 by Lynn Berg • November 7, 2010

There is something in Henrik Ibsen's Ghosts that makes it one of his most powerful scripts, in my opinion. The relationships and situation, the story—when performed clearly, honestly, and passionately—overcome its melodramatics and soap-opera-like devices despite the now-known medical fallacy the plot hinges on. It must be more than the play's universal theme of sins of the father being visited upon the children, a subject of tragedy from at least ancient Greek and Biblical times. And it's more than just the relationship of a mother to her son, an elemental component of many ancient myths. Ibsen's play seems itself haunted by its themes and ideas. Whatever it is that makes Ghosts work, Extant Arts Company's production captures it with tormenting fire.

Ghosts takes place on the 10th anniversary of respected benefactor and patriarch John Alving's death. His estranged profligate son, Oswald, returns home to his mother who has long guarded the family secrets. Haunted by those secrets, Mrs. Alving thinks she's protecting her family from those same ghosts. The family executor, Pastor Manders, also believes he keeps those spirits at bay. Even the family servant, Regina, and her father haunt and are haunted by the Alving family legacy. And those malevolent spirits will not easily be kept hidden. Nemonie Craven's script of Ibsen's tightly woven tale is a moving adaptation commissioned for this production. Sophie Hunter's compelling direction of the action and the fine, intense performances by the ensemble give this classic immediacy.

The multimedia production of the play emphasizes elements of fluids and fire. The initiating and recurrent video image by Gary Breslin and luckydave is of dripping rain playing in onstage video monitors and projected onto clear plastic curtains in the back of the set. The enveloping sound design by Asa Wember is lush. And Fiammetta Horvat's set integrates the monitors and cleverly uses wire and IV bags to represent the cold transparent walls of the Alving house.

The multimedia elements of Extant Arts' Ghosts render exciting spectacle that's not normally seen in the play such as interpreting the panic of a raging fire. At other times the concept and design of the production seem to take the task of making the hidden seen and heard almost too literally. In this Ghosts there is always interesting spectacle but sometimes instead of enhancing the action or illuminating the story they become obstacles for the performers to overcome. For the most part, the performers ably do so and even when the production seems lost in its own concepts it seems to be trying to capture the play's essence.

The cast of this Ghosts is excellent and gives fierce, haunted performances. Paulo Quiros avoids Oswald's maudlin trap with devilish charm, at once lovable, dangerous, and damned. Justine Salata and Chris Haag are pitifully human as Regina and Jacob Engstrand trying to twist free from their fates. Anthony Holds is complex as Pastor Manders, wrestling with his demons. And LeeAnne Hutchison gives graceful gravity to Helene Alving's struggle, raising the drama to tragic heights.

Ghosts can seem perplexing in its simplicity. But it's more than the sum of its parts, as if the play itself is possessed by unseen forces. Whatever it is that makes Ibsen's haunted tale work, Craven's incisive adaptation captures it and this ensemble's powerful performances let it loose to possess its audience.
__________________          __________________          ___________________       ___________________
http://www.smarttix.com/show.aspx?EID=&showCode=GHO7&BundleCode=&GUID=
Extant Arts Company presents GHOSTS
Friday, November 05, 2010 through Sunday, November 21, 2010

A New Vision of Ibsen's Classic.

Extant Arts presents GHOSTS, a re-imagining of the Henrik Ibsen's groundbreaking drama. Director Sophie Hunter leads a dynamic cast and international, award-winning creative team from the worlds of opera, Broadway, film, and installation art in transforming this 19th century Norwegian classic into a timeless and searing piece of theatre. Performances begin November 5th at the Access Theatre, located at 380 Broadway.

Enron's Sophie Hunter returns to New York to direct GHOSTS, after touring Europe with Mozart's Cosi Fan Tutte. She explains the visceral grip of Ibsen's classic, "GHOSTS is a series of violent encounters between characters ultimately concerned with survival: their own, and that of the faded ideals that haunt them.”

Innovative but true to the spirit of the father of modern theater, this is a GHOSTS for our present moment, as shocking and provocative as ever.

The cast of GHOSTS features Anthony Holds*, LeeAnne Hutchison*, Chris Haag, Paulo Quiros, and Justine Salata. The creative team includes: set designer Fiammetta Horvat, lighting designer Melissa Mizell, video designer Gary Breslin, costume designer Hunter Kaczorowki, sound designer Asa Wember, assistant director Sarah Outhwaite, design assistant Danica Pantic, and stage manager Julia Singer. The production is an Equity Showcase.

Longitude + pedagogy

This, I guarantee it, will be boring.  Just skip it.  It's a note for myself because I'm taking a class in pedagogy.
It's not that this is a new concept for me, but we hear a lot about how one learns - The key is that the new knowledge should be meaningful to the learner.  Try "learning" this: Zer tuga mon yugo.  Herdsl thiz soditgh cotlld.
Ha ha.
     So, what is meaning?  It grows from anything that, for whatever reason, seems relevant to the learner.  Maybe it was something that produced an epiphany - or maybe it was boring, but at least it followed a pattern that you understand (as in learning a new regular verb in French).  Behind this "meaning," in other words, is a learner who is able to connect that knowledge to something.
Once in awhile I'll read a book that answers a question I didn't even know that I had - and then it seems so vital to me to learn it.
     For example (and I'm wondering if other people find this incredibly boring) - I couldn't get enough of a book by Dava Sobel, Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Problem of his Time.  It's very simple: before about 1760 sailors didn't have any feasible way to figure out their longitude at sea - so they had to travel by latitude... Hence the phrase "sea lane" which refers to the safe latitudes at which ships traveled.
     When I read that, I understood more about WHY the Spanish were so vulnerable to pirate attacks at sea on their journeys to America.  Sobel doesn't even talk about this... But, the light bulb lit up for me; Spanish captains couldn't take advantage of the vastness of the ocean to avoid attack.  The Brits could sit and wait for them.  Actually, much of piracy meant attacks on land - British, French or others attacked Spanish colonial cities which were accessible by sea - so - maybe my new "understanding" needs more research.
     Still, this idea of sailing without longitude, led me to colonial trade policies.
     In general, greed, bureaucracy, even cultural norms regarding labor or land or honor or wealth all partly explain the rigidity of the Spanish trade laws, but another part was the fear of losses caused by pirates.  In the end, one begins to understand that this hyper-regulated trade system was a reflection not just of a Spanish mind-set, but also of a technological limitation.  (Without claiming it was a direct result of the advance in navigation across the sea, the second half of the XVIII century ushered in a gradual opening up of trade for the Spanish colonies by the new royal family of Spain).
     So, the book about English policy and the history of science didn't transform my vision of the Spanish colonial period in America before the mid 1700s but it enriched it.  And I will remember much of what I read in Sobel's book.
If  I could find this sort of "AHA" book or moment for all my students. . .

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .NOTE: Why couldn't they measure longitude at sea?. . . . . . . . .

Lines of longitude are arbitrary or imaginary.  Latitude, think about it, is about a specific distance from equator and the poles, right?  The position of the stars or the sun at noon tell us a lot regarding our position relative to the equator (and sailors had charts that helped them translate that info. to latitude). Let's see if I can clarify.  At noon the sun will be directly above one, but it's course across the sky won't go directly through the middle of one's sky.  So, to see latitude we measure it's position relative to the middle of the sky (or to the position it would take on the equator).
In longitude, I need to know that same difference - where the sun is for ME at a certain time relative to where it is in Greenwich, England (see what I mean about arbitrary).  It gets complicated because when the sun is at a certain point it is noon, but that point is reached seconds or minutes apart depending on where you are on this rotating earth.  (Before time was standardized it might be noon in New York City but 11:56 in Pittsburgh.) To calculate longitude, you need to know the DIFFERENCE between your local noon and noon in Greenwich.  As amazing as it seems now, it was as simple as a reliable time piece, one that could work in the rocking humidity of a ship.
Okay - I'm going to add an impressive anecdote from the book some day (whenever I find my copy).  --> Finally! (March 2011) found some old notes I wrote after reading the book: 
p. 27 March 7, 1741, a British ship leaves patagonia w/ holds already stinking of scruvy.  Anson sailed the Centurion through the straits Le Mare, from Atlantic to Pacific Ocean.  As he rounded tip of Cape Horn, a storm blew up from west - 48 days.  Anson holds his latitude until he figures he's gone 200 miles westward. So finally Anson sails north and hits Tierra del Fuego. 
Primary competition for using clocks to figure out longitude is using night skies.  Position of moon in relation to stars at what time.  A lot of progress in this line of work.  Moon's position is tracked faithfully for years (Minimum would be 18 years).  This works -->quadrant --> sextant --are instruments that use celestial bodies.  But it's HARD to do these measurements, errors. 
p. 26 This research also leads to being able to see speed of light (nobody had ever been able to see it because no measurements have involved light far enough away).  The time was going to be calculated by looking at eclipses of Jupiter's moons.  They have very regular eclipses.  If you know the time they are happening one place... (Galilleo - died 1642). When Jupiter is closest and when Jupiter is farther - the eclipses would differ by at leat 4 minutes.
1714 NAVIGATION ACT prize $$ is never officially collected.

Urban birds in Golfito (7/2010)

Inspired by someone else's blog. (You know who you are.)  So, no snub intended of Golfito.  I've seen a flock on buzzards near Princeton too.  Besides, I happen to like these birds.  By the way, I don't remember who actually snapped this shot, me or D.   For me - with my anemic artistic sensibility - it's not about creativity or composition.  It's just urban life and being lucky enough to see it here and there (and not just here). 

What I listened to when I cleaned the kitchen...

I was just cleaning the kitchen and I brought along music that I "wanted" to listen to.  How sad.  The only time I really listen to music now is when I clean the kitchen and, even then, I often just flip on NPR, and I'm basically hoping to hear news/talk. Today was an NPR fund raiser, so, knowing I'd be slaving away for 40 minutes, I made a point of choosing some CDs.

Speaking of NPR, a guest once said that, in terms of music, after 30ish, we get stuck in our ways.  Most people stop feeling the desire to listen to new sounds.  For me, it's true, and that is a great thing about having children who like music.  Both son and daughter get me music for Christmas or give me things to listen to.  (My youngest, on the other hand, seems to prefer that I NOT like his music too much).

Here's the problem; I find it much much harder to listen to new music.  When I was younger, it was normal to try out anything - even on a lousy cassette player.  Now, I have decent sound, but sometimes music feels ... too noisy - somehow it's "cluttered" to me and there are moments when I must switch it off.  It, literally, can feel like a chore to have music on to listen to.

So, that stereotypical parent yelling at her (his) kid to turn down the music... it has a biological basis.  I never yell about the noise or judge my kids' music, but, who knows?  Maybe I've been saved from that fate just because I've seen the negative images of closed-minded parents and I've thought about what is happening in my brain.

To get to like new music, I guess usually I need to be exposed to it enough so that my brain feels the patterns.  I have expanded my repertoire in the last couple of years, but in part it's through conscious effort. I've also found that hearing my son sing a song means there is a stronger chance that I'll really like to listen to it in the artists' recording....   Just the other day, a CD that P. recommended finally "clicked" for me, and I've listened to it a lot since then (Neutral Milk Hotel, In the Aeroplane Over the Sea).  Hearing my brother-in-law sing his songs, with just the acoustic guitar, worked the same way.  

And yet... yet... OFTEN I've chosen music for others because I heard it once on NPR. What's up with that?  I'll hear something and I'll LIKE it right away, and it's incredibly gratifying when I make a good choice for someone (I'm mainly talking about my kids - because the exercise is fun because it works with an emotional connection between giver and receiver).  I guess there is a different way of listening to something once and wanting it as a soundtrack to your life.  Come to think of it, these music epiphanies (too strong a word, but I wanted to express a kind of instant revelation) may be happening mainly when I'm driving.

You know, my hubby doesn't like listening to music or radio when he's trying to fall asleep which, now that I think about it, has probably had an impact on me.  What I do differently now, at 50, than I did at 15 is not stop.  Stop.  Listen.  It's the type of listening you do when you want your mind to let go of the day. 

So, what did I listen to when I cleaned the kitchen?  I gave up on expanding my horizons and put on a compilation disk my son and I put together maybe 5 years ago with some of his favorites and some of mine.  It has a song which he spent months recording himself (he layered his voice over and over, singing every part).  I sometimes repeat just that track three, four, or who knows how many times in a row.

The kitchen's clean(ish) and I'm feeling a bit nostalgic.

"My" life

I'm so tired that I couldn't think of the word "vicarious" when I wrote the title - and I'm so busy, that I'm not going to edit at all.  I just want to remember this time.

L. just dove into high school life, and I'm incredibly proud of him.  I love his enthusiasm.  He belongs (even though he's never been an "in" kid).  This week is spirit week, and every day of the week he's gone all out with a costume - (on mismatch day, he even took about 7 miscellaneous bits of clothes to school so that any classmate who wasn't "mismatched" could get a point for the class).   Today was famous person day (or superhero day).  We didn't dedicate a lot of time to his "costume", but I did manage to scrounge up black pants, a green "tank top" - or at least a green t-shirt with the sleeves and neck cut off - boots - and a headband with a bit of black smudges on his face.  He was a barely recognizable "rambo."

But, the point of this isn't to talk about spirit week.  It's all about WHAT this week has been like in general... a week which culminated in a kind-of meltdown this morning at 6 a.m.

Yesterday he had after-school "soccer practice", but at 8 pm he hadn't gotten back home and I began to call around to look for him.  Reached one of his good friend's mother on her cell, but she wasn't even in town.  Ended up being a complicated chain of calls between her, her ex-husband, another mother, and I.  The JV soccer team had gone to the varsity soccer game (on the bus) and then had come home to BEGIN practice at 7 p.m.

Friend's dad offered to bring L home; it was around 8:40 at this time. - -Instead of coming home though, L called (friend's phone, since he doesn't have a cell phone) a few minutes later to say that he was going to CHOIR practice. This is a choir that he didn't even KNOW that he was in until YESTERDAY during school.  He auditioned for it on Monday.  So... finally around 9:50 pm, he's walking in the door to have dinner.


He showered, then I feed him two burritos (LARGE).   I'm trying to get an idea of what sort of homework he has during dinner, and whether there is any way I can help him get through it.  They had had a lockdown during school that day after a suspicious backpack was found, and he had missed two classes, which made his homework situation a bit less clear.  But, apparently only history and biology had to be done.

The bio homework was a big deal because it involved a pre-assignment for a test to be taken and he did poorly on the first test.  He had to fill a page with notes, to turn in on Thursday and which the teacher would give back to him to use during Friday's test.  I encouraged him to work at the kitchen table (don't lie down... in other words) but he migrated in steps to the inevitable laptop on the bed.  Sigh... He just got a very old laptop that was left over from a project at dad's work - and it is so slow to work with, plus printing is a huge hassle (since it won't connect directly to the printer blah blah).  In short, I knew that I was going to have to be up later than him or before him to help him get this on paper.

So, between about 10:15 and midnight I let him work - although at first I tried to give him advice and I warned him that I was going to shut him down around midnight.  The test wasn't the next day, but the day after that - so, an all nighter could easily end up turning into two all-nighters.  No, he just can't do that.  He's still a minor, and I put my foot down. 

It's a little bit of a digression, but, part of how exhausted I am is my interaction with L, where I "give advice" which I know could help him, but which he won't listen to.  I struggle mightily to not let it become a power struggle or a fight.  It's stressful to watch him ignore me.  Sigh... if I were working, he would just have to figure it out by himself - and he would survive.  Double sigh... The advice I gave him boiled down to very concrete things about how to prepare this exam "cheat sheet." 1) Sit at a desk rather than lie on your bed (ha ha); 2) Don't use a tiny font to fit millions of words on the page.  3) Put enough on the page to remind yourself of what you know.

A few minutes after midnight he had filled a half page with one solid paragraph of information typed from his text book (I think he'd covered about 1/4 of the textbook pages in question).  He still had a page and a half to go (if he continued in this vein).  I managed to get the laptop from him, said I'd get it printed out - He did NOT want to go to bed, but said he'd set his alarm for 4 a.m. to finish it.  I said ok, figuring that if he was really exhausted, he wouldn't hear the alarm anyway. (As it was, he wasn't in bed until close to 1 a.m., I think).

At 6 a.m. this morning I woke him up.  This was when the real melt down happened.  Although to be fair, he never LOST it.  He needed maybe 15 minutes to pull himself together enough to just do it (I hate that nike stole my phrase).  During that 15 minutes, though, I got a lot of "disaster" type talk and some tears.  Naturally, there was some blaming M E partly because I insisted that he go to bed at midnight but also for other things.  For ex. I had typed his half page into the desktop - from which I can print directly.  I'd cleaned it up - took out some repetition and some unnecessary words (no info.) and used larger fonts and highlighting so it would be easier to find the info.  This was really awful according to L.

All this is why I know I need to try to let him figure these things out in general.  At the moment, however, the most I could do was leave the room for a little while and TRY not to answer so he could focus on the task.  He got going.  I brought him hot chocolate (made him dictate to me for the 5 minutes while he drunk it).  I left him again, but (how pathetic is this?) fifteen minutes later, I fed him a banana with peanut butter as he worked (no time for breakfast).  
Bottom line, however, was that by 7:25, when he had to get ready for school.  he was almost done.  There were about 10 empty lines to fill on his "cheat sheet."  He asked me if I would do it, and I said I'd wrap it up, print it, and drop it off at his school for him to pick up at lunch.  I agreed to help him with the last few things if he promised to sit down with me to think about what could have been done better (I don't want him to plan his school days around the expectation that he'll be pulling all nighters.)

He got his rambo clothes on - and was in a better mood again.  As he brushed his teeth, he asked me, "Would you be upset if I got a couple of Bs in the first term."  I TRY so hard to answer in a way that doesn't BLESS this Plan B, so to speak, but that accepts that he is learning a lot and that life is more than those grades. He doesn't bother to ask for rides to school - I think he realizes that walking to school helps him get mentally ready.  Plus, we're so close...(At the beginning of the year he was asking, and I put my foot down).

Wait, today he has whatever homework is still hanging over his head, after school he'll go to a meeting for "Model UN" THEN I have to meet him at school to drive him (and his friend) to the soccer game.

Tomorrow, he'll finish the week with this important bio test (he did badly on the first test of the year which is why it became more important than it had to be), go to soccer practice and then go to a dance at 7:30.  Apparently he asked a girl but this is TOP secret.... So secret that I don't even have the official word - just rumors through the good old grapevine.  So, I'll wrap up with a shout out to my spies and minions.


Damn, gotto look up directions to the school where he'll have his soccer meet.

material guy

I never thought that I would do this, but last week I accepted it when my son refused to wear an almost new sweater which he had picked out toward the end of last winter.  He doesn't like it anymore.  I've always felt uneasy about how much modern parents (at least a lot of us) indulge our children.  Don't get me started ...
On the other hand, in this specific case of the "unwearable" sweater, it's not like this kid was asking me to buy an expensive new replacement.  He just decided not to wear any sweater until we could drag some boxes of winter clothes out.  So, later that week I bought him a $20 zip-up "hoodie", plain gray, period.  He wasn't with me and, luckily, he was very happy to receive it... In justice, he's grown a ton since last winter, and I was going to have to invest in new clothes for him anyway. So, what's the big deal - Why am I even writing this? He's no spoiled brat.

What makes this non-event even blog worthy is that it made me think about myself (me me me).  I worry.  It's so important  to avoid spoiling our kids - to prepare them for the "real world."  Bottom line: unwise/unnecessary spending is a trap.  Hmmm... how to explain?  Without stamping out their own "look" or being adamant about my opinion, I guide them toward the "don't want to waste my time and $$ worrying about this stuff"* camp...
Ha ha...you say, "You can only say that because you don't have a daughter."  Well, I admit it's probably easier.  But, I do have a daughter (my hubby's) and I love her dearly - and, yes, she's a clothes hog - but not a fashion snob.  Oh God, what would I have done with a fashion snob??? ... Aright already, I now remember... I confess.  When she first came to live with us - I struggled mightily with the contradiction between her picky taste** and my core suspicion of fashion, consumerism, and ... hair-gel.  Ha ha.

She'd offer to give L hairdos involving gel or spray, I'm sure I made panicked faces to her-- behind his back -- with my, oh so subtle, message: "Let's not get too carried away on this path..."  She had some fun with him, but she also humored me (thanks V).

Let me digress a little more from the "topic" of today's sermon.  Nowadays, I've learned how to choose clothes for V and she's started paying for most of her own anyway.  In fact, the funny (is it ironic?) part is that I like to buy her a treat because I CAN kind of predict what she'll like.  But, I've actually forced myself to stop, because she has so many clothes in so little space that she has little idea of where, what, when, or how.   She can leave a pile of dirty clothes in the basement for months... so I have to conclude that maybe she doesn't need any more clothes. sigh...

And that brings me to the point of, seriously, how much can a mother really determine? 

My older son rarely refused to wear anything.  I bought home clothes (often used) that I thought would fit.***   Anyway, this frugal fashion approach allowed me to feel smug in terms of how I compared to those who were shelling out big-time for children's clothes.  Now I see... the credit is his.

He and I have talked about it recently and he says that he was clueless about "social" things.  Specifically, his fashion sense also reflects the fact that he lived overseas for years and wore a school uniform and didn't belong to any "in" group.  When we first got back to the US (he was in 8th grade) he angrily told me one day, after he'd been teased on the school playground, that he wouldn't wear any more tightish (fitted) pants.  But that was probably as far as his fashion voice went for years.

He had better things to think about, although not his PE locker combination.  I found out later why he wore shorts practically all winter long one year. He couldn't open his gym locker, and shorts were mandatory for gym.

The first hint of strong fashion opinion was when he vetoed a shirt; he was 17.  This was a free shirt I'd found in the clothing bin in the parking lot of the grocery store (yes, I admit it - but I washed it all very carefully before anything else).  This epoch forming shirt was a short sleeved, button down, yellow and orange plaid.  And, if you're shaking your head in wonder that any mother would give such a shirt to her high schooler, back off - it was cotton. I'm almost 100% sure about that.  Anyway, while the shirt was eventually ousted, the truth is, I think P. wore it with no qualms until his first real girlfriend began to question my his fashion choices.

I really liked that plaid shirt (it was a brownish orange).
________________________________________________________________
FOOTNOTES
* And as I've gotten older, I think I'm more open-minded about this "camp."  I'm almost Darwinian about it.  But it doesn't change the fundamentals of what I'm saying: it still feels like a trap for the gullible or less aware.
** picky taste is not the same thing as being a fashion snob, but it does imply that things had to be "just so" and this often involved something that cost more... In spite of my obvious ambivalence, I want to say that I never begrudged her taste, or resented it if she didn't like something I chose.  I remember really really well one Christmas my little sister and I got coats as our main Christmas gift.  I was probably 15.  Well, I found mine to be hideous (reddish, with a brown fur-like thing on the hood).  When I didn't wear it, my own step mother said something disapproving about me and told me how expensive it had been!  So, that's the thing - I totally understand taste at that age.  It isn't about me being controlling or cheap  (not that I'm saying that I don't have these, and many other, bad qualities).  It really is about being able to understand and manage the cost of  our fashion choices - that's what I want to give my children. 
*** most embarrassing used clothing story for me, (I was really poor at the time).  I  would buy him used dark blue pants in the US (Goodwill, garage sales, etc.) for the Costa Rican school uniform.  One year I bought a pair with a very clear line of faded cloth down the front of each leg (where the crease ran).  They were in good shape, though, and so I thought I could disguise the fade-line.   I colored it in carefully with a pen... Subtle, I thought, until I saw him walking with his class in an independence day parade in the bright sunlight.  

More thoughts on paradise... Costa Rican development and tourism

     Anyway, back to the question of paradise.  In spite of all the problems of a third world nation, I was  impressed by the commitment to the environment that I saw in Costa Rica.  Being part of a small population must give one a sense that one's efforts can have a real impact - I heard someone in San Jose talk about how a gold mining company had been harassed and prevented from investing by those crazy environmentalists* (The comment was made by a Costa Rican who wanted more development).   But the truth is that gold mining, as I've heard it described, has some incredibly negative associations.  When you look at the environmental and economic legacy of industrial gold mining, things like contamination with mercury or cyanide spring to mind. I've also read that the tonnage of earth that has to be moved to find minuscule amounts of gold is ___ (hmm... I'll look it up and insert it later - but the ratio leads one to doubt the morality of gold as jewelry or even as currency).
      On the other hand, way back in the mid-80s, when I lived in Costa Rica, the government was struggling to keep small scale gold prospectors from destroying protected land in a national park near Golfito (Corcovado).  If I'm remembering correctly, the prospectors used water at high pressure to just denude the land... No need to romanticize artisan gold mining, it can be very damaging also.
      My point is that, rather than being a simple black and white issue of "keep all mining investment out", IF citizens are able to force a large company to play by fair rules, in the end, this may leave the country better off than a sort of wild-west gold rush event. The large international corporations are easier targets for the ire of locals.  Whatever their specific gripe (labor conditions, environmental damage, unfavorable concessions), nationalism allows alliances between sometimes unlikely partners.  While I'm no fan of unthinking nationalism, this type of protest can lead to positive reforms for labor or the environment; i.e. it's easier, in a democracy, to pressure and shame a large corporation to change than it is to stop abuses by local producers (especially when you're dealing with fragile economies).

     So, Costa Ricans are determined to design their own style of development, and I support that.  Tourism has been an incredible boon to the ability to just say NO to some international corporations, but tourism itself is, at best, a mixed blessing.  This reminds me of a phone conversation I overheard in the pulperia (small neighborhood shop) near the school where L studied English.  I thought the guy's prices were a tad high, and after this conversation I knew why (assuming he wasn't just charging us extra for being foreigners); he was about to invest in a friend's tourism venture (restaurant/hotel).  How do you keep the country's most beautiful areas from being over-developed, while still allowing the average Costa Rican to feel as though tourism can be a ticket to well-being?

    Anyway, from a purely personal perspective, the frustrating thing I found (as the type of tourist who hopes that her tourism dollars go to improve the lot of Costa Ricans, and allow the nation to continue to support a green agenda in general) was that so many of the souvenirs were "hecho en la China", even things that surely could have been made by Costa Ricans: coffee mugs, decks of playing cards, watch bands, textiles, jewelry, you name it.  I had to make a special effort to find local products.  And this was true even in the airport stores selling relatively expensive knick knacks to tourists; a saw an employee holding up a nice piece of textile with a coastal/beach motif.  He was holding it up for someone else, and like a spoil-sport I asked if it was made in Costa Rica.  He said, "Yes," but I looked for the tag which said ... either Indonesia or the Philippines, I can't remember.  The worst case, though, (not that I did much shopping or touring) was the very expensive gift store at the site of the teleferico tour near the national park Braulio Carrillo; at least half of the items for sale were from China, and it just seems more galling because this is a private company that touts it's commitment to the country's ecology. 


* During this (2010) conversation about environmentalists' opposition, I remembered reading about a similar case in an old textbook which, miraculously, I was able to find when I got home.  In 2002, Costa Ricans successfully organized to stop Harken Energy (Texas) from off-shore drilling. That year the new president said that Costa Rica could not be "an oil enclave or land of open-pit mining." (Global Studies: Latin America, 11th ed. McGraw Hill, 2004, p. 198;  It was originally from an article by Mark Engler & Nadia Martinez  in New Internationalist, October 2003).

Paradise?

From our recent trip to Costa Rica.

This is on land that OQ and his wife own near Golfito.   Their plan is to preserve it as a wildlife refuge, and they were hoping to buy more land nearby to put together some sort of ecologically viable wildlife corridor/refuge.  Apparently, they wrote up a proposal and got some sort of grant from an international organization but, as O explained it to me, they figured out their idea was unfeasible after finding out how much $$ people were asking for local land.  In the end, they turned the grant down. Sad, no?  Apparently the real estate frenzy is affecting paradises far and wide.

But, no parking lots on this paradise, anyway -  We had to hike to this spot!

True, it was only about 12 minutes from where O parked his vehicle on a dirt road; still, it was a challenge to the mothers and at least one of the boys.  On the way back, as I recall, some of us took an adventurous route up the mountain side, while others took a longer tamer route... There may have been a rescue involved.  It's all a blur now.  In this vein, I simply can't resist... I have to post one more picture; here's our good friend who braved this adventure with us (below). Because he's not my son, I've blocked out his face (pretty bizarre effect, huh?).  I just love the pose... for some reason it's making me remember how my sisters and I used to perform "Tiptoe through the tulips." I've named the photo "Mud meets flip flops" or "El Barro contra Las Chanclas."

 PS - Many thanks go to wildlife photographer "D" who risked life, limb and scorn to get these shots.  Check out the fantastic detail in the mud.

nuke your brain

About a month ago I went to a movie with L and a friend.  Before the film there was a preview of a movie about a girl who pretends to have sex with high school boys who need help to fit in.  We got to see this preview two days in a row because we were at the movie theater two days in a row (no, not normal for us either).
I mention that last fact because it helps explain why L was prepared to respond so succinctly to this preview. 
In one scene the girl and her mother are having a heart-to-heart.  The mother says she also had a bad reputation in high school. 
Daughter asks, "Why?"
Mom replies that she "slept with a lot of people, mostly guys." 
Daughter, "Mo-om!" She sounds a bit shocked, but it's not really the right response...
So, I felt a bit nauseous after seeing this "funny" scene the first day.  But I guess I wasn't the only one; the second day, L said in a loud voice to his friend, "If my mom said that to me, I'd nuke my brain."  He actually got a laugh from someone behind us in the theater.  

Laughing

     I don't always laugh easily.  At one point I saw this as evidence of my "discerning" sense of humor.  I'm pulling an image, from my pathetically small reserve of childhood memories, of myself in a dance class (me in a dance class is the only funny part of this story because I was as stiff as Pinocchio).
     Anyway, I was sitting there with my classmates and the teacher said something to us by way of helping us improve... "If you do it this way, you look like elephants..." and she did some sort of exaggerated voice and body gestures to emphasize her points.  Who knows?  Anyway, the other girls laughed, and I remember thinking, "It wasn't funny.Why are they laughing? "
     Now, I don't want to take this point farther than it could possibly go in terms of proving anything about my nature.  Still, what I'm saying is that for DECADES (and after finding that I didn't laugh in other moments or as much as others) - for decades I took this as proof of some intellectual superiority.  But now, I begin to wonder if instead it's a sign that I was missing something.
     Maybe I've always been out of the loop in terms of human connections.  Others laugh not because they don't know that something isn't funny in any objective sense. Could it be that people are laughing because they are participating in a moment of group bonding that I don't get? 
    Just the other day in the NYT there was a cool article about imitation among conversation partners: how we unconsciously imitate those we spend time with or even those we simply talk to.  They did experiments, and apparently "normal" people feel unsettled after a conversation in which their partner does NOT mimic them in some ways. (I can't think of the exact day this article appeared - but I hope I run across it again so I can include a link here.)
     I'm in awe of how many kinds of social connections are taking place on levels way beyond conscious thinking.  Or ARE they? ... (way beyond conscious thinking, that is).   Are there people out there who understand all of this and use it fluently every day like a language which they speak concurrently with English or French or Russian?
--artificial stopping point imposed because I have work to do -- still this is worth some thought.

back seat driver

So, the other day I was driving my hubby to pick up his car when we had a little altercation.  He tried to tell me what route to take and I resented his manners - His route wasn't even better than mine (seriously).  I rarely rarely drive when H is with me - and I must confess that it is very easy for me to let him drive.  I get to relax (unless we're lost and I'm on map reading/direction-asking duty) and it seems to be the only time I remember to file my nails.
But this little altercation made me think that I need to assert my rights and help H learn to be patient as a passenger.  Wait, did I say patient?  I meant QUIET.  Argh.  If I constantly told him where to turn (even when we're blocks from our house) as well as when to brake - we'd... We probably. . . it doesn't bear thinking about.  
My brilliant solution was to say that "From now on, when we take my car, I'll drive."  I have driven a few times since, although not every time, and it has already caused some conflict.

Conflict #1
We were heading to some friends' house for dinner, and I guess I said "I'll drive" in a way that H found insulting or unpleasant - plus he was practically sitting in the driver's seat already.  So, he got out, fuming - and sat in the back seat.  Yes, you heard me correctly.  Then, to show him how I was not bothered, I sang as I drove.  He had to show me that he knew why I had demanded to drive by telling me that it was because I wanted to show that I was not being controlled... No need to go into that.  I did point out, however, that no matter how upset I might have been at any point in any one of our numerous car trips, I had never sat in the back because of it. Always nice to have one irrefutable fact in one's arsenal.  But, no fears, there was no heavy bombardment between back and front seats; we had a nice dinner. 

Conflict #2
We were driving somewhere with an unfamiliar route and H was driving slowly and making the man behind us impatient.  That driver was a jerk about it, yelling at H for slowing down to look for our turn (this is on a street with a 25 mph speed limit, so it's not like we were holding up highway traffic).  Anyway, H got upset and then didn't turn when he should have (on purpose?  to bother the guy?).  H was kind of arguing back with the guy with hand symbols... It was nothing rude, but it bothered me that he couldn't ignore this person and that he let it affect him and his driving.  So, on the way back I did apply my rule; we were in my car, and I drove.  H was livid but I stated my case pretty clearly, and - I think he (secretly) admitted that I had a point.  Before we got home (5 minute drive) we had already forgiven and forgotten.

Sigh...

P.S.  I admit that, in general, H is a better driver. But, I think that the rule shall still be imposed about 50% of the time.

P.P.S.  Amazing Almost Invisible woman can predict the future... We will use H's car more often for family errands.

Gotcha

Almost invisible woman admits she has some "control-freak" tendencies but I'm trying to ease up a bit as son gets older  and as he clearly values his independence.   When L. was young, the rule was: 1 hour per day maximum on nintendo or tv (not one hour each) and "no screen time until the chores are done."  This summer, I stuck with the chore rule, and I tried to set a turn-off time (9 pm) but I was much more laid back about time limits.
Still, a few weeks ago I saw evidence that he had played nintendo in secret.  What "evidence"?  The tv volume was off, and it was no longer set to play DVDs.  Today this happened again, and I racked my brain and couldn't think of when he could have played.  Hmmm...  last night after we went to bed??? (Now I remember that we ran out to do a half-hour errand this a.m.)

So, on both these occasions I confronted him in a relaxed way (a little teasing in the tone).
FIRST TIME:
Me: "My sources tell me you played nintendo!"
L:  "Who told you?"
Ha ha - Well, I told him I wasn't going to give him that information, but I assured him that it hadn't been his sister since I didn't want to get her in trouble... I think eventually I told him that it was something to do with evidence, rather than tattling.  Eventually he said, "Oh, I know what it was.  The wii was connected."  Ha ha!  I didn't say anything, but actually I hadn't noticed that part (my son has two gaming systems these days).  L assured me that he had connected it just for a second - and he really didn't even know why he did it.
I told him that I "chose to believe him." 
SECOND TIME:  (today)  I told him what my evidence was and he accepted that he had indeed played.  But he swore that it hadn't been the night before AFTER we went to bed.
Anyway, I didn't want to make this a huge issue -his summer is almost over, and as I've said, I'm trying to be more laid back and L has been pretty responsible over the summer. Also, one of his best friends does this act (sneak gaming time early in the morning) and we've just laughed about it.  His mom is more controlling than I (in my opinion) yet this habit in her son is something she has decided not to fight.  It seemed like a very minor transgression.
After my talk with L tonight, hubby and I watched a movie*; L came out of his room several times during the movie ("how long is this going to last?").  When it was over and I had turned off the lights, I sat in the dark living room for a few minutes pondering... I was thinking that I wished that I had talked to L about this a bit more seriously.  I did want to make it clear that it would NOT be okay once the school year started.  Mainly, it really worries me that he would lose sleep because he was waiting for an opportunity to play. (Aren't we mothers bombarded nowadays with NPR stories on the huge impact that sleep deprivation is having on the typical teenager?)
Me (thinking to myself):  "wouldn't it be an opportune time for him to come out here to the abandoned living room?" I didn't plan on waiting to ambush him, but my son made it too easy for me.  About three minutes after beginning my stake out, he came out of his room.  I heard him turn on the light in the kitchen and I sat still.
Tick tock - thirty seconds pass and I see his head peak into the living room and then POP out of view.
I called him to sit down, and I got it off my chest.  It was great.  No anger - very reasonable actually on both our parts.  We talked about his best friend - we talked about sleep - etc (and, yes, he actually participated - It wasn't just me yadda yadda yaddaing at him.  (Wait, is there a right way to spell "yaddaing"?)
The delicate part is HOW do I respond when he swears that he didn't do X or Y or Z?  I am sooo glad that I didn't angrily say he was lying because, sincerely, it was only when I started writing this that I realized that he probably DID play today (during that errand), rather than last night.  This was a no-no because he was supposed to be working on his summer reading project - but he had already admitted to me that he had played.  He was very likely telling the truth when he swore that he hadn't stayed up to play at night. 
Wow - when you think about these moments of teen-mother interaction, so many things can go wrong.  Entirely different issues than with my older children (everyone is different).  I don't remember the intense feeling of walking on eggshells with the others.... or is that just the effect of time?  But, anyway, I'm so grateful for the relatively good communication we still have (not that he's communicating everything to me).

P.S. Once last year when I got home from work late, I was sure L had been playing video games even though his homework wasn't done, and I tricked him into confessing.
Me: "You really didn't play?"
L: "No, I did not.  Absolutely not."
Me:  "So, if I go check, the hair that I put there will still be in place???"
 Wow - can you believe he fell for that?  But I'm too honest - and after he owned up, I confessed my trickery.  It was really funny.


* What was the name of that movie???

Jack Vance

     The NYT magazine had an article on the science fiction writer Jack Vance a few years ago and, ever since, I've looked for his books in used book stores.  I've turned up a couple of things, but I wasn't awed by what I read.
     One of the characteristics of Vance's writing that the NYT article pointed to was his use of obscure words.  I'm a supporter of rich and challenging language, but at times it seemed too "forced" in Vance.  Are words just lakin? (I'm simply asking).

But, this week, I read something by JV that I found truly awesome, and I'll copy it and mail it to any of my regular reader (ha ha - singular noun.  Get it?) who want to see it.  I owe a debt of gratitude to H. a loyal symmachy if there ever was one, for recommending the story. 
      If you want to find the story for yourself, it's called "The Moon Moth" and it was originally published in 1961.  I found it in:  The Science Fiction Hall of Fame, Volume Two B, Edited by Ben Bova (1973) (p. 493-526).   

ADDED to this post later:  I'm currently reading Vance's "Dying Earth" novels, and I now think maybe I was unfair to him.  The second of the series, The Eyes of the Overworld, really grew on me, and I'm about 60 pages into the third novel, Cugel's Saga. I feel like I'm reading a cross between The Odyssey and Don Quixote; a fairly unlovable hero endures insane adventures which he brings upon himself.  (And, yes, the author uses obscure words here - but they flow naturally from the story and the character of these books.) You'll laugh, you'll ... Well, you'll start thinking what the heck it is about this book that is pulling you in.   

Leave a message

I found this in my 2008 agenda.  Back then I wrote that L had left this phone message on our answering machine around April 1, 2008.  I wrote down what he said:
"Hi.  You have reached  (pause) the number... The number doesn't really matter.  There are numbers everywhere.  You find the number you want if you don't look.  It's a good number for you.  We're not answering, but call another number.  Maybe you'll have an answer.  There are answers everywhere.  You just have to stop (inaudible) open your heart.
We might return your call.  There are returns everywhere... on Venus on Pluto.  We might return it.  Oh, and by the way, the number you have reached might be ________________." 

I found it hilarious, but anyone trying to reach us might have had a different view.  There are views everywhere...

Care and training of the adolescent...

I walked into the living room and Joon and another guy were standing on our porch talking with L. The screen door was closed. It has a metal bottom and so it is rather a barrier – plus L is talking to them from BEHIND the front door of our house. In other words it’s like this:

I invited the guys in, but it was awkward because L didn’t repeat the invitation (the silence was deafening, as they say). Everyone ended up staying put. L gave them information about the practice schedule, and they left.
Right away I turn on L, "That was rude." He told me to stop, went into his room and closed the door. This is where I maybe should have thought things through... "That didn't work. I need to think of a better way to approach this."  But, no, I call to L --through his door-- that I’d like to speak but that he can "set the timer for one minute."

He came out, set the timer for one minute and I took just 20 seconds. I said that it seemed to me that he was embarrassed about his poison ivy rash and that all he had to do was say something so that they wouldn’t take this behavior personally (As I recall, I also gave him a fairly stupid example of what he might have said...).  In retrospect, maybe he was only hiding because he was in shorts without a shirt... in which case, I wish I had said that he should have asked them to hold on while he put on a shirt.

Anyway, after this incredibly ineffectual 20 seconds, L replied, “You really don’t understand me or my friends.” and walked off. I desperately wanted to say more, “TELL ME, then.” Instead I kind of muttered, “I’m sorry you don’t think I understand you.” But I left it at that. Sigh...

Duh...  all I needed to do was to ASK my son why he had hidden behind the door to talk to these guys.

It is so hard to see L so uncomfortable with himself (from my admittedly limited perspective, he seems to  project insecurity and work too hard to cover it). But that is not nearly as hard as realizing that I can’t do much about it; my  “help” is not welcome now. So, I try to just let go. He’ll learn these things without me – and he’ll be okay in the meantime. Sigh...
...........................................................................................................
Here’s another potential power-struggle with L that so far has stayed mellow. I asked him to invite some kids over to play Risk (or do something else like that).  My motivation is pretty obvious: a) I’d  like to see him invite kids over to do something besides sit in front of the tv/nintendo; b) I need for him to organize gatherings at our house once in a while, because he can't just accept invitations all the time without reciprocating. Let me say that, while there was an element of manipulation here that I am not proud of, it stops short of "control-freak."  I did try to emphasize that he could decide WHO to invite and how many people – he could also decide WHEN they should come and I’d get some pizzas if that was what Lucas wanted etc.  I also confess that I tried to tip the balance in my favor by adding that I would treat him to the movies . (I don't mean a movie day with good-old mom.  I was talking about a movie he went to already with friends; the question was: would that ticket come from his allowance or not?)  Some people might call this bribery, but that's only because they don't understand the nuances of ...(okay, yeah. It's bribery).

Seriously, though, the movie ticket thing was not gratuitous.  My son kept accepting movie invitations and just assuming that we’d pay for his movies, at a certain point (after 4 movies) I "put my foot down." I know that he can have trouble with the whole social life thing, so I don't actually want to say "no." But, enough already, he needed to ask, and either he’d pay for his movie or he’d start negotiating these outings...

I’m trying to accommodate his desire for independence  without just giving up on parenting.  I  don’t believe in just forking over $$ - Getting him to “negotiate” movie tickets from me is supposed to be a workable opportunity for me to parent. On the other hand, why has it been so hard for me to just implement this system? (Wishy-washy? Me?)
Added this days later:
Inviting kids over to do something besides play nintendo is perhaps beyond L's current ability to arrange social gatherings.  He got this far: he MENTIONED the Risk game to one kid (who called to invite L to a poker party). On the phone the kid said that it sounded like a good idea and they’d talk later... That, apparently, is all that ever happened. 

This invite makes L. very uncomfortable. When he has friends over, he only wants to play video games and watch tv. Why? Does he not recognize that not everyone is as crazy about those activities as he is?
After all, I ask myself, was he not happy with the invite to play cards?  I answer myself, “Yes, almost invisible woman, he was clearly very psyched by this plan which involved friends getting together NOT to watch tv.”      Hmmm... Another thing is that my son can be a very aggressive video game player; when he and friends get together I have heard my son swearing and expressing “fun”-anger more loudly, emphatically and constantly that the others in the room. Now, part of that may be that the others are being polite because they are at someone else’s house. Perhaps L. is quieter in others’ homes. But, I can’t help worrying a bit that he might get a wee bit tiring for the others. I don’t think it’s a matter of intimidation, truly; they know him well. I think he takes the game more seriously than most of them (and the one friend who takes it just as seriously as he does, expresses that intensity by not.saying. one.word.when they play).

So, I’m just going to have to leave it at that; I think I’m fair when I continue to say to him, as I plan to, that he cannot accept invitations without reciprocating.
Just to wrap up (still later):
At a certain point L suggested an alternative activity, a long bike ride down the canal. This was a lot more work for me (toting bikes for them, waiting, picking them up at end of canal, coordinating with them and worrying about them). But, after a few hours, I recognized that it was an incredible idea. (The more I thought about it, the more I liked it).

As for whether the adolescent was ever "trained" during this process... hmmm....  It felt more like I did the whole boot camp in teenager interaction.

Oh, and that very night at soccer practice, (Irony or coincidence?). . . L's bike was stolen...
                                                                  
I can't describe how it affected me mainly because I don't want to go into the fact that this happened when my husband was in the hospital (just a few days and nothing serious) and we had a house guest who needed some help getting settled, and... well, I just said I didn't want to go into it, right? When L told me his bike had been stolen, I got this rock in my stomach that sat there for 24 hours and just weighed me down.

The summer ended with no invitation from L to his friends to do something different - Sigh... On the other hand, we're all still sane.

actually happened

Walk out of house with adolescent son right behind me.  I have bag in hand which I'm going to put in trash at side of house.  As I walk down the front stairs to sidewalk, three young girls say hi to me (or at least the eldest of the three does, because the other two are very young).  So, I say hi very pleasantly because I know the older sister of the one who said hi , G.;  she is in school with my son.
I take the trash and come out and see my son in this stiff - really uncomfortable looking - pose.  Somehow I know that it has something to do with the girls.  I say, "Did you say hi?"  He said, "No, I don't even know G.'s sister."
In other words, even though it was clear who these girls were (family resemblance if nothing else) and even though they had said hi first, he didn't feel as though he should say hi??? I can only conclude that it is adolescence which causes him to seem silly in his quest to avoid appearing silly.
Oh well, life is hard for those of us with poor social skills and enough insight to realize that they're poor.

La Confesion

Today H told me one of those anecdotes I love. 
This is Latin America over 4 decades ago. He was about 13 and his sister about a year older.

He's in church and, for some reason, maybe an unspoken dare, he decides to take communion without having confessed.  As I understand, nowadays one can take communion if one has done some sort of interior confession, contrition, reconciliation (correct me if I'm wrong).  Back then, though, communion could only be taken after a real confession with a priest.  Both Confession and Communion are sacraments, and these things have a proper order in the Catholic Church.

H was starting to question the rules after years of being subjected to the strict discipline of Catholic schools.  One of the things he has mentioned to me many times is that even Sundays - early early - he had to trudge across town to school to attend mandatory mass (and that, after a half day of school on Saturday).

So, this one time he gets up in church to take communion without having confessed, and he remembers his older sister asking him -maybe hissing at him loudly because she was sitting in another row, "Did you confess?  Did you confess?"  

Why do I find it so fascinating?  Is it the evidence of a kind of innocent Catholic faith combined with the whole sibling squabble... I can strongly relate to the latter but not the former.  I see H being maybe a little nervous about his decision.  Why else is the moment still clear for him? I can't put it into words.  OK - I'll just accept that very few people will find this interesting, but I tried.  

John Travolta or Elvis?

Those guys (and Baryshnikov for that matter) have nothing on this dancing machine.  He has a mullet now, but refuses to cut his hair because he can refuse.  He likes to say that if the mullet ever comes back in style, he's set and all the other poor fools will have to wait months before the hair grows out. (So, at least he's not taking this all too seriously).  

I was worried because, before the dance, he was actually letting me "teach him" how to dance salsa.  Well, after just three short lessons with me, he could pace back and forth muttering "one, two, three, rest" - and he did this with absolutely no grace,style or enthusiasm.  I can see that I should have just let him be, because it turns out that he dances a mean "jig." 

But, how could I let it be... It was the first time in MONTHS that he was willing to acknowledge that I might have something to teach him.  It felt sweet for those few minutes...

El Mundial

         En 2006, Francia e Italia se encontraron en el final...
         En 2010, se encontraron en el aeropuerto...


¿Es posible mirar el equipo de uno sin sentir que el árbitro está favoreciendo el otro lado?  ¿Qué tiene el futbol que alborota tanto el nacionalismo?   Hace unos días hablé con alguien que tiene nacionalidad mixta (EEUU y Costa Rica).  Lo que me pareció tan interesante es que, basado en un partido que vio hace 12 años, si no más, este amigo no quiere para nada el equipo de los EEUU (futbol)... Prefiere Holanda o Costa Rica.
Me da cierta ternura que la experiencia de haber visto este equipo estadounidense que jugó en Costa Rica y que después se portó muy mala nota antes de salir del país, haya afectado tanto a la persona.  Me acuerdo, que en esa época me contó, con bastante emoción, lo sucedido.  Estaba en Costa Rica y vio la reacción alrededor suyo, y la tomó a pecho tanto que todavía hoy, cuando ni el entrenador ni los jugadores son los mismos, no puede apoyar a uno de sus países en el futbol.


Estoy segura que no estaría de acuerdo con mi interpretación - que diría que es una cosa más lógica que tiene que ver únicamente con el estilo del equipo.  Pero, no importa; tampoco puedo jurar que tengo toda la información.  
         En pocas palabras, a mí lo que me importa es que nuestra conversación reciente me ha dado materia parapensar.


Para el planeta lo mejor sería que todo el mundo tuviera un poco de esa ambivalencia.  El nacionalismo es demasiado peligroso en su forma pura - ser "pro-Holanda" en el mundial y "pro-Mexico" en la comida y "pro-Canadá" en cuanto a su actitud hacia ... las armas, pues, nos protege.  Lo opuesto es más incómodo decirlo, pero podemos ser  "anti-Holanda", "anti-México," y "anti-Canadá" (y claro, anti-__________ <-- meta el nombre de su propio país) sin necesariamente sentir rencor u odio... A ver... los tres ejemplos en orden, serían algo así: anti-Holanda por la intolerancia cada vez más evidente entre musulmanes y cristianos, anti-México por la violencia y corrupción preocupante, y al pobre Canadá podemos reclamar la  divisón entre hablantes de francés e inglés.

Tengo una larga historia con el tema del nacionalismo.