Not the play, the Solstice. Gather herbs tonight.
Deja vu, a rerun of last year, when I visited my mother after her hip replacement surgery. The surgery was redone (dang) back in February, and here I am again. My mother's house is still immaculate, and her penmanship still puts mine to shame.
Prescott, Arizona is a nice change from Alexandria, Virginia. Out of the dense green sauna, into the dry, low mountains of central Arizona. I enjoy the local wildlife. Quail are abundant here, as are geckos --my mother calls them Geicos, a triumph of advertising.
This afternoon we'll rent Marley and Me, the first but not the last dog movie we'll watch while I'm here. I saw it myself recently, but I'll enjoy watching it again because Marley could be my dog. Saint looks just like him: a 100lb field lab, exact same color, same face. And although my dog has outgrown some of the bad behavior--as a puppy he chewed furniture, rugs, shoes, and the woodwork--he still has Marley's energy level. Saint is a graduate of Olde Towne School for Dogs, but he's still a handful, and only real dog lovers can be called upon to feed him when I'm away.
I'm sitting in the airport in Salt Lake City, of all places, my flight to Idaho Falls delayed by two hours. I'm sitting in a bar called Finnigan's, and I can't help but wonder how many bars there are called Finnigan's.
On the flight here from San Francisco I read this poem by S.P. Somtow, in "Armorica", the 2nd book in the Riverrun Trilogy. I offer it to my son.
At the End of the Forest
And so, at last, I left the darkling wood.
I came to the cave where I had left my mother,
The hearth I loved, the bed in which I'd dreamed
Of these adventures.
I came upon my kinfolk
As they supped, telling old tales to warm their nights.
I said, "Mother, I have returned, with gifts
And stories, conquests, jewels, and a bride;
I have slain man and dragon; I have ravished
Maiden and crone; I have lived dangerously,
Stooped, beastlike to drink water from the stream,
And quaffed celestial manna from gold goblets."
My mother said, "My son, take out the trash."
"But, but," I said, "what of my lurid tales,
My battles and my witty conversations
With saucy knights, my exploits the bedroom?"
"Yes, yes, my dear, but first, go wash your hands,
Or you may not sit down to sup with company."
Only that night, when I lay down to sleep,
Did she consent to hear my tales of woe,
Of joy, of passion, courage, and survival;
And then she wept full sore, because the son
She loved had been through so much suffering.
Then she did kiss me gently on the cheek
And say, "The places you have been, the conflicts,
The fierce encounters, and the nights of passion,
These places all are marked upon a map;
The map is called The Human Journey.
"So,
Although, my son, you have traversed the world,
And conquered love and death, and grown from child
To man, there is another thing to learn:
Your journey is the journey all men make,
An exploration of the human soul;
And I am still your mother.
"Let me kiss you,
And tomorrow I will bake you a fresh loaf
Give you a new condom and clean clothes,
And you shall venture forth again.
"The journey
Is forever."
The weather has been so beautiful this weekend that despite exhausting myself with ivy pulling yesterday -- yes, I did buy the Cherry Garcia -- I couldn't resist picking up some herbs and seeds and doing some planting today. I needed new work gloves, and broke my vow never to buy women's work gloves again. Village Hardware never has men's gloves in size small, and the work seems so much harder if the gloves are too big. I looked again for a strong pair of women's gloves. They did have one style in heavy leather, but they only had size large. The best pair they had in my size was made out of white leather. White. White work gloves. Is this a joke? What kind of work do they think women do in leather work gloves? Prune the roses? I bought them anyway.
So, I planted some herbs in a couple of large pots outside my front door, and I planted some winter squash seeds alongside the house. Now I have things I must remember to water, but I'm better in the garden than I am in the kitchen -- I have a houseplant that I've had for 17 years -- so I'm optimistic that I'll have herbs right outside the door all summer, and a nice crop of butternut squash at summer's end.
If the universe rewards hard work, I'm going to kick back with my glass of wine and wait for the goods to roll in on freight cars. If no freight cars arrive by tomorrow morning I'll go to Safeway and buy myself a large container of Cherry Garcia. I pulled, raked, and bagged ivy for six hours today. I'm exhausted. I wore out a brand new pair of work gloves--the first and last time I'll ever buy women's work gloves--bah. It hurts to make a fist. The rest of me feels okay since the Advil kicked in. If you knew my place, you would actually notice the change. I didn't finish what I started, but I made good progress.
I cooked for myself tonight, which is something I frequently feel inspired to do and usually regret. I made an Indian dish--Aloo Ghobi. I've made this dish maybe a dozen times, and I've burned it every single time. When it comes to cooking I have attention deficit disorder: if I think I can wait five minutes before stirring something again I sit down with the laptop and twenty minutes later (if I'm lucky) I remember I have something on the stove. I can reliably make pasta and soup and that's about it. Oh, and toast--I can make toast, too. Which is apparently proof that I have sufficient skills to survive. My mother is still in the rest home following her second hip replacement surgery. She's getting occupational therapy, and recently had to demonstrate that she could make toast. If you knew my mother, you'd laugh as hard as I did. If, that is to say, you knew her history regarding toast. My mother has no more patience with cooking than I have.
Yesterday was the spring equinox, celebrated as Ostara, or Eostre. Yesterday was a day of balance; today light won out over darkness. It's all about fertility--color eggs and hide them.
Must. Post. I told a friend and reader that I'd post yesterday, after he emailed asking what was up with the blog. Then I didn't--sorry Lee! It's not that I don't have anything to say. It's just hard to get started again after neglecting it for so long. Here are a bunch of entries that I could have posted recently:
Hurray for Daylight Savings Time.
I love Daylight Savings; I love long evenings. Going on DST every year feels like coming out of a dark tunnel. I feel like I have a life when I come home from work and there are still hours of daylight left. I play outside with the dog every evening, I sit on the porch.
The Devil's Chore.
I spent a couple of hours pulling ivy yesterday. English ivy has metastasized in my yard--it's everywhere. Pulling it out is backbreaking work. Bend, pull, bend, pull, bend, pull, pull, pull so hard that when it gives way I stagger backward. Then bend, pull some more. I filled four large lawn bags and if you don't know where to look you wouldn't know I'd done anything.
Deja vu all over again
Those of you who have been reading this blog for at least a year will know that this time last year I was in Prescott, Arizona, staying with my mother, who had just had hip surgery. Sometime within the next few weeks I'll be going back out there for the same reason. Same surgery, same hip. The joint became infected. They had to go back in, take out the prosthetics, clean it out, and put in new prosthetics. Poor woman! I don't know when, exactly, I'll be going. My mother is in a "rest home" (a lower level of care than is provided in a "nursing home", apparently) getting physical therapy. I'll go out there when they send her home. So, I'll be spending another couple of weeks sitting with my laptop, watching DVDs of movies about brave dogs finding their way back home. The only cool thing about this whole episode? The place she's in right now, the therapy she's getting, they call it "rehab". I get a kick out of telling my son "Grandma's back in rehab."
Ugh--remodeling
I'm having some long-postponed work done on the house. I'm not talking about adding an addition or a gourmet kitchen or a marble bath here; I'm talking about pulling out 18-year-old carpet in the basement family room, and the vinyl tile under it, and the asbestos tile under that, sealing a drain in the floor (!?) properly, and putting in a "floating" engineered hardwood floor. The basement has never flooded, but before I had the backyard graded a couple of years ago the carpet became wet several times during heavy rains. And then we got a puppy, and, well, you get the picture. It was downright unhealthy. The basement is really more of a "downstairs" than a basement, since the house is on a slight hill and you walk out from the basement into the garage. The downstairs family room is where the TV and computer are, so it's where we spend most of our time.
Remodeling, cont.
And, at the same time, I'm finally getting the kitchen remodeled. The main portion of this house was built in 1950, when houses were divided into small rooms. This house had a small square kitchen and a small square dining room. At some point, probably in 1965 when an addition was built that added a new living room and dining area, the wall between the kitchen and the old dining room was taken out (mostly). The two rooms still had separate flooring (more 18-year-old carpet in the dining room), and in no way looked like one "big" kitchen. Now it will. It's not a major remodel--all the appliances will stay where they are, but the floor and cabinets will be new.
Formica makes some nice-looking laminate countertops
Let this forever be remembered as the Formica economy, as opposed to the granite economy of the past decade. Which brings me to...
Retirement? What's that?
*sigh* Back in March of 2000 it looked like I'd be able to retire by the time I was 60. Today, I have less than half the retirement savings I had then, not bothering to account for inflation, even, and I'm nine years closer to 60. Today, I can't foresee a time when I'll be able to retire. There are things I want to do: meditation retreats, volunteer tourism, riding camels in the desert, and so on. I decided this year that I'd have to find a way to do it all while I'm still employed, which means saving up the leave that I accrue at a rate of 24 days a year. The company I work for doesn't have sick leave or family leave or any of that--we get "comprehensive leave" which is supposed to cover it all. So 24 days may sound like a lot but it doesn't feel like much; I mostly use it up a day at a time for this and that. I made a New Year's resolution to save up leave until I had a month, then I'd go to Africa and volunteer at one of these places. Then my mother had hip surgery again. I have 11 days of leave accrued right now, and I'll spend 10 days of it with her. So it goes.
I am so on top of things this year. I mailed packages in time for them to arrive by Christmas. I've finished my Christmas shopping and wrapping. And I sent out Christmas cards a full four days before Christmas. I even wrote a short Christmas letter again this year, and printed it on Christmas stationery.
I despised Christmas letters until I started writing them myself a few years after my husband died. I was prompted by the thought that there were a few people, my husband's former colleagues, who might be interested in knowing that Michael and I are doing okay. I realized last year that I was sending cards to some of them long before receiving cards from them. I was getting cards in mid-January, which can mean that they hadn't planned to keep me on their list, but felt obligated to respond after hearing from me.
Assuming they were genuinely concerned right after my husband died (three weeks before Christmas, 1999), enough years have gone by for my son to have graduated from high school, then college, so there is no longer any need for concern; no need to keep the memory of the whole tragic episode alive. And yet... any widow can probably tell you that at the funeral, there's this sort of reception line, like a wedding but not. Everyone comes and hugs you and says "If there's anything I can do, let me know."
It's just words. I mean seriously, do you think I could have called one of my husband's colleagues and said hey, I need someone to mow my lawn, how about it? If you do ask someone for help or advice, the answer boils down to "Pay for it." A dozen people told me to hire an attorney (including the friend who is an attorney, who wouldn't answer my tax-related questions himself), which I eventually did. But having said it, having said "If there's anything I can do..." placed a burden on the conscience, I suppose, that they will carry until I lift it.
So I cut back the list this year. I sent a whopping ten cards: six to relatives, three to friends, and one to the only colleague of my husband's whose card, and letter, arrive well before Christmas every year. The rest of them--the ones I dropped off the list--may well feel a tiny weight lifted from their shoulders when they realize they haven't heard from me this year.
Holly, bayberries, mistletoe, evergreens, wreaths, yule logs, these are just a few of the symbols of Yule, also known as Feill Fionnain. The colors of Yule are red and green, for fire and rebirth. Tonight is the longest night; light many candles. The days begin to grow longer tomorrow, huzzah.
Atrios mentioned this map on the New York Times website. Click on "voting shifts" to see which counties voted more democratic and which more republican compared to past elections. The most interesting comparison is with 2004, and I'm sure Atrios was looking at this map when he said "the geographic concentration is pretty fascinating." Almost the entire country is blue (disregard McCain's own state of Arizona) with the exception of what Atrios called the "conservative belt". I doubt if conservative economic or foreign policy has anything to do with it: it's mostly Appalacia and the Ozarks. It's puzzling, though, that so many Gulf Coast counties were redder this time around. Did Katrina drive the democratic population out, leaving the republicans who lived on higher ground behind?
We shall overcome.
This is the Celtic New Year. The time of darkness begins tonight. (Daylight savings time ends this weekend--how appropriate.) This marks the last harvest; carve pumpkins, bob for apples, and drink mulled wine. The veil separating the worlds of the living and the dead is thinnest tonight. Your departed loved ones may visit you and join in your celebration.
So Sunday I went out again to knock on doors for Barack Obama. (This is way outside my comfort zone, by the way. The fact that I'm doing it is a testimonial to my desperation.) The canvassing is very narrowly focused now-- it's pure GOTV from now until election day. We visit only those houses where the inhabitants 1) have been identified as potential Obama supporters, and 2) have a spotty record of showing up at the polls.
This time the packet I was handed was for the most difficult turf to canvass: a neighborhood between the George Washington Parkway and the Potomac River-- the richest enclave in my economically diverse precinct. It's mixed in a way: the houses vary from "funky crumbling grandeur" to pretentious new "estates". The neighborhood is oppressively overgrown with vegetation this time of year, giving it a distinctly southern feel here in "fake" Virginia. The greatest difficulty I had was in locating the houses: the whole enclave is like a Möbius strip of residential roads. The narrow streets loop and branch and curve around continuously. The logic of the numbering system escaped me. Some houses share private drives and some have their own--not their own driveway mind you, but their own private drive with a name like "Bluebird Lane". The streets are so narrow that at one point I had to back into a driveway to allow an approaching car to go by. I had a detailed map but still had to rely on the navigation system in my car to keep track of where I was.
As I said, the canvassing is narrowly focused now. Although I wandered around the neighborhood for more than an hour, I knocked on only ten doors. One house was inaccessible because the gated entrance was locked. Another house was deemed inaccessible by me because it was on a private road with "Private Drive; Turn Around; No Soliciting" signs posted on either side. Some of the houses had heavy iron knockers on imposing doors, others had intercom systems; I didn't realize until I came across the third of these that I had to press the "call" button to ring the doorbell. Some of the houses had security cameras above the front doors and I suspect the residents didn't bother to answer when they saw my clipboard and Obama sticker. Some probably didn't answer simply because the Redskins game was on. Of the ten doors on which I knocked, only one was answered. The woman who answered claimed she wouldn't decide whom to vote for until she walked into the voting booth. I didn't believe her, but I smiled and asked if she'd like a Warner/Obama flyer. She took it politely. I left flyers tucked in the doors of seven houses; there were already Warner/Obama flyers tucked in the doors of the other two.
2nd update: I'm heartbroken. I sobbed. The tree has been saved, but at what cost? (Well, $4k, but what I meant was...) Early this morning the tree guy came back with his crew and five trucks. This was going to be a major undertaking:
Before I left for work I took one last picture of my beautiful tree:
The smaller trees in front of it are dogwoods, which turn red earlier than the oak. I came back at noon to this:
The angle isn't quite the same; the tree is now significantly shorter than it was. Having enjoyed this tree since we bought the house in 1991, it looked decimated to me:
and I cried. Although, even before they put two cables high in the tree, the split began to close up once the crown was lighter, and it does look less scary now:
Bob tells me the crown will come in much fuller in the spring, and after a few years I won't be able to see through it again. I can only hope so.
Update: Bob Blakely, owner of Northern Woods Tree Services, just left. (Note: it's after 8pm.) He climbed up into the tree and put a rope in it to stabilize it for the night. (He recommended I sleep in the far end of the house tonight.) He's coming back in the morning with a crew. They'll put bolts and cables in the tree and do a crown reduction that will reduce the weight of the crown by about a third. It'll cost about $4k. Could be worse: at least the tree will survive. He said it's a very healthy tree--the problem is just structural. It's a white oak by the way; probably more than 100 years old.
This is my house. There are two beautiful oak trees in my front yard. One of them is directly in front of the house:
Uh-oh:
It looks even scarier from the other side:
I've thrown a few things into a suitcase, put it in the trunk of my car, and parked down on the street. I'm waiting for a call from one or the other of a couple of tree guys on whose phones panic-stricken messages have been left. If half of this tree falls on my house, as seems imminent, it will demolish it.
Five more minutes. I'm having problems with Movable Type, so I don't know whether I'll really be able to blog this or not. We'll see.
Well McCain made eye contact with Obama, I think, for a microsecond there.
McCain is just promising everything it seems. But he's a bit inarticulate.
Movable Type keeps kicking me out. I won't try to say much tonight. McCain says wanting to "spread the wealth around" is class warfare.
The budget deficit: are they both ignoring reality? Good question. I don't think Obama really answered it. McCain's not answering it either. Nice try, moderator.
They're repeating a lot of things that have been said in earlier debates. I'm going to give up--Moveable Type keeps kicking me out.
Twelve minutes to go. This oughta be interesting, one way or the other. Mike's here; he had a job interview in DC today, and he has another one tomorrow. He's going through this hugely important career-determining process: interview--call-back--interview; it's incredibly stressful. It's a good thing this happens to the young; it'd kill the rest of us.
So, 9 minutes to go. I don't expect Palin to actually answer any questions. I suspect she has a suitable number of short speeches memorized, which she'll immediately segue into each time she's asked a question. I expect Biden to be smart but long-winded.
Mike wants to watch on CNN; he likes the graphics on the screen that show the audience response. I hate that crap; I'd rather watch on PBS. I caved in and tuned to CNN; I'll try to ignore the graphics.
One minute to go...
Here we go. I like Gwen Ifill's jacket. Nice color.
Palin is hyper--very eager.
First question: the bailout bill. This is an easy one for Biden; he knew this would be one of the questions.
Palin. She's got a prepared speech too. She's speaking a bit fast; she's nervous.
Another economic question. Who's fault? Palin: predatory lenders. She's super-rehearsed; she's giving prepared speeches, as I expected.
Biden scores by nailing McCain on deregulation.
Biden scores again in his rebuttal to her speech.
Ifill: tax question. Biden gives a good job. What's up with Palin? Why is she being so confrontational?
Biden is winning on points. Palin is too rehearsed and too confrontational.
HAHAHA the ultimate bridge to nowhere! SCORE
Question: what will you give up? Biden gives a good answer. He's on his game.
Palin's giving another rehearsed speech rather than answering the question. She took on the oil companies in Alaska? Who knew?
Palin is all talking points now.
Biden answers the next question. Palin doesn't; she gives another unrelated speech on energy.
Ifill: what about climate change? Palin: starts to lose it on this question. Biden goes after McCain's record of voting against alternative energy. Good point.
Ooh--same sex benefits. Biden's all for it. Hurray for a no-nonsense answer. Can't wait to hear what Palin has to say. Says she's tolerant, but marriage is between one man and one woman. Biden: doesn't support redefining marriage. Palin ducks the comeback from Ifill.
Iraq. Palin gives a prepared speech. Biden says Obama's got a plan. Palin says it's a white flag of surrender. Dang she sounds angry. Biden has a good response: McCain was wrong about the war at the beginning.
Question about Pakistan, Iran.
Hahaha, Biden brings up McCain saying he wouldn't sit down with Spain.
Palin is well-rehearsed. She gives a speech on Israel. Biden follows up by actually answering the question.
Nuclear weapon use--what a question! Palin brushes it off and goes back to Afghanistan. Biden: facts matter. Back and forth. Biden wins on points again.
Palin gets sarcastic. She's been personally attacking Biden. He hasn't attacked her--he's just answering the questions with facts.
Palin gives another speech: McCain knows how to win a war.
Ifill asks how a Biden administration would differ from an Obama administration. It's an opportunity for Biden to give a speech.
Palin answers with yet another speech. groan.
Palin tries the "there you go again" line. It doesn't work for her the way it did for Reagan. She's on her high horse.
Somebody has explained to Palin what the vice president does every day. lol.
Palin gives a speech that is supposed to be heartwarming or inspirational, but she's so confrontational that it sounds more like she's arguing.
Boilerplate from here on out.
So far so good. Obama sounds decisive. Eighteen billion dollars in earmarks sounds like chump change tonight.
McCain sounds sincere, I'll give him that. But Obama's got the facts on his side.
Good points Barack, but don't get too far down in the weeds.
McCain's talking generalities. Fixed cost contracts? Hahaha I know what that is because I'm a contractor. That's NOT the problem.
Spending freeze? 45 new nuclear power plants? At least McCain isn't sporting his creepy smile.
McCain: cut spending cut spending cut spending.
Obama: calls McCain "Tom", then calls him "Jim". Barack, his name is JOHN.
OMG McCain refers to Palin. BAD IDEA.
Barack is good when he looks directly into the camera.
Obama SCORES on Iraq. McCain said we'd be welcomed as liberators.
McCain belittles Obama. Appeals to emotion.
Obama goes on and on about Afghanistan.
They're arguing now. This is deteriorating. Lehrer, ask a new question for god's sake.
Oh my god, Lehrer asks a new question and it's about Afghanistan.
Obama gets into the details; half the audience goes to the kitchen for popcorn.
McCain admits they blew it in Afghanistan.
McCain gets into strategy; I'm losing the thread.
McCain belittles Obama again, regarding Pakistan.
McCain touts his record. Evokes emotion again.
Ooo Barack has a bracelet too. Dueling bracelets.
McCain gets sarcastic. He travels!
Lehrer: what's the threat from Iran?
McCain: existential threat to Israel.
Obama agrees: can't tolerate a nuclear Iran.
McCain is riled up about Obama's willingness to negotiate with Iran.
THANK GOD Obama pronounces "nuclear" correctly. I'll vote for him on the basis alone.
McCain belittles Obama again.
New question, thank god. Russia.
I just noticed that it's raining hard here. Obama's lost me on Russia.
McCain gets sarcastic. Sees "K-G-B" in Putin's eyes.
By the way, McCain's $5000 make-up artist is worth every dime.
Neither of them is going to win this question--it's too complex and they're both getting into details. Obama gets into energy independence. Food fight! Obama want's to respond. No chance.
Final question. Thank god.
Obama gives a great final answer. McCain is still combative. Iraq, Iraq, Iraq. Obama follows up with another great answer.
McCain is pissed. Says he's got experience, Obama doesn't. Says Obama is stubborn. Obama is smiling. The surge! McCain claims the support of vets.
Obama makes a closing point: there's no other country on earth where you can make it if you try.
McCain's rejoinder: I was a POW!
I'm watching in PBS. David Brooks says he misses Reagan. Nobody made a values connection; didn't change the campaign. Mark Shields: this topic is McCain's "wheelhouse" (?); Obama held his own.
Mike, my son, sent me this instant message at 10pm last night. I didn't see it until I got home from work today:
"by the way, i have been glued to dailykos since you sent me the link
finally, news the way i want it haha"
Me
