I suppose I should have chosen something more festive for a title, but frankly, it came down between this and, "F***ing Snow, F***ing Heathrow, Merry F***ing Chirstmas!" I thought the chosen title was a bit less belligerent. Why all the hostility? Because due to a relatively minor snowfall, Heathrow fell apart, and I'm stuck in London, alone, for Christmas. The truly upsetting thing is that it didn't have to happen. The snow fell on Saturday. It wasn't much. But, Tuesday, they were still canceling flights left and right because they hadn't cleared the 2nd runway. In light of heavy criticism, the response from the powers that be is, "Other countries are used to snow, but we don't normally have weather like this." Hmm, well, this is the 3rd winter in row, so maybe it's time to stop wringing your hands and start admitting that now you do have weather like this! And invest in some snowplows and salt. Geez. I thought Yonkers was bad with snow removal, but at least it's not a major international city with one of the busiest airports in the world!
I was on hold with Virgin for three hours before I finally got through, and the best they could do was a Boxing Day flight. We tried every airport on the East Coast, figuring I could then drive to NY. But there was nothing. At one point, I even told the woman (Michaela was her name - very nice woman) that I would take a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer, but apparently that was booked too (peak time!). So, I'm stuck here. The first Christmas without both Mom and Dad, and Keith and I are separated by 3000 miles, and an entire ocean. Not to mention that Keith and Angela are going through so much right now because of her illness. We really needed to be together. For many people, these issues are an inconvenience. For me, it's a tragedy.
I am trying to make the best of it, and my boss here, Gaynor, has been very kind and invited me to spend the holidays with her family. At least I won't be all alone. Cali and Brooke have been at the sitter since Monday, so I haven't had them around either. But at least I know they're doing fine. I'll be getting the train to Gaynor's a little later, and then going from her house to the airport Sunday. At least (all things being equal), I should get som time at home, but I lost five days and, as philosophical as I'm trying to be, it still is very upsetting.
Well, on a brighter note - special thanks to family and friends who have patiently listened to me vent my frustration (with special note to Erika's idea to airlift snowplows and salt from the US and Canada!), and to Michaela at Virgin for trying to get me home in time, and to Gaynor for sharing her Christmas with me. At least the Christmas Spirit is alive and well.
Merry Christmas!
Friday, December 24, 2010
Friday, December 3, 2010
Snowbound in London
OK, we'll ignore the fact that it's about a month and a half since I've written anything (I like to ignore inconvenient truths - seriously, how do people blog every day?). Let's focus instead on the fact that it's Friday, December 3, and I haven't been in school since midday on Tuesday, November 30. The entire United Kingdom has been paralyzed by early season snow. Three and a half snow days?!?! Before Christmas?!?! If I'd wanted snow like this, I would have applied to teach in Switzerland! Cali and Brooke haven't been too thrilled to have to wear their sweaters (or jumpers, as the case may be).
On the plus side, since I'm in Central London, which has not been hit as hard as the outskirts, I haven't been trapped in the flat. Definitely makes me glad I chose to live where I do. I've been able to go out every day - see Christmas lights, do my Christmas shopping. I even got to my favorite pizza place - Delfino's near Grosvenor Square. If I had been livig closer to school, it would have been just me and the dogs, with some blankets and DVDs. Which would have been fine fora day or so, but now we don' go back to school until Monday, and I would have gone stir crazy by now if I hadn't been able to get out and about.
I've also been able to put up my Christmas decorations. They look nice, and I like having them up, but I kind of feel like a fraud - everything is all festive, and I'm listening to the music, but every time I try to watch a Christmas movie or show, I start crying. And, I suspect it will just get worse whenI get back to New York. These are the last major holidays to get through in the first year, and I'm worried. I'll go to Ann and Bill's for Christmas Day, but what about Christmas Eve? That's always been such a big night, and I don't know if anyone in Mommy's family will host it this year. After all, Mommy's the one who kept everyone together after Mama and Papa died. Now who's going to do it? I'd consider it, but my new apartment is too full of boxes to host a dinner party. Then there's the fact of seeing the house empty for Christmas - with no decorations. I remember what it felt like seeing Gilbert Place empty for the first time on Christmas Eve, and this will be a lot worse. Anyway, I don't want to think about it now. I'm trying to force myself to enjoy the season because I know Mom and Dad wouldn't want me moping around, but it's not easy. Sometimes it seems OK, then suddenly it all goes very dark.
Well, tomorrow I'll hit another Christmas fair, sort the presents I bought, and put up my remaining decorations and lights. And, maybe, I'll manage to write about what I did for Thanksgiving, or as it's known here, Thursday, 25 November. I took the anti-holiday approach this year. Until next time . . .
On the plus side, since I'm in Central London, which has not been hit as hard as the outskirts, I haven't been trapped in the flat. Definitely makes me glad I chose to live where I do. I've been able to go out every day - see Christmas lights, do my Christmas shopping. I even got to my favorite pizza place - Delfino's near Grosvenor Square. If I had been livig closer to school, it would have been just me and the dogs, with some blankets and DVDs. Which would have been fine fora day or so, but now we don' go back to school until Monday, and I would have gone stir crazy by now if I hadn't been able to get out and about.
I've also been able to put up my Christmas decorations. They look nice, and I like having them up, but I kind of feel like a fraud - everything is all festive, and I'm listening to the music, but every time I try to watch a Christmas movie or show, I start crying. And, I suspect it will just get worse whenI get back to New York. These are the last major holidays to get through in the first year, and I'm worried. I'll go to Ann and Bill's for Christmas Day, but what about Christmas Eve? That's always been such a big night, and I don't know if anyone in Mommy's family will host it this year. After all, Mommy's the one who kept everyone together after Mama and Papa died. Now who's going to do it? I'd consider it, but my new apartment is too full of boxes to host a dinner party. Then there's the fact of seeing the house empty for Christmas - with no decorations. I remember what it felt like seeing Gilbert Place empty for the first time on Christmas Eve, and this will be a lot worse. Anyway, I don't want to think about it now. I'm trying to force myself to enjoy the season because I know Mom and Dad wouldn't want me moping around, but it's not easy. Sometimes it seems OK, then suddenly it all goes very dark.
Well, tomorrow I'll hit another Christmas fair, sort the presents I bought, and put up my remaining decorations and lights. And, maybe, I'll manage to write about what I did for Thanksgiving, or as it's known here, Thursday, 25 November. I took the anti-holiday approach this year. Until next time . . .
Sunday, October 17, 2010
The Therapeutic Qualities of Doctor Who
So, last weekend, in an effort to keep my cultural experiences broad, I attended the “Doctor Who Live” show at Wembley Arena. It was fun – a bit cheesy, and definitely kid-oriented, but even I got a little thrill when the Cybermen and Judoon came stomping past me! Actually, Keith and Angela gave me the ticket for my birthday, and to understand why, we need to rewind about 9 ½ months.
I’m actually one of those rare Americans who has been aware of “Doctor Who” for quite some time. When I was a kid, it aired on PBS in New York. But, I have to admit, I never watched it because (I’m about to insult an entire nation here) it looked like something a sci-fi geek filmed in his mother’s basement, using a Betamax. The grainy video and low-rent effects just did not appeal to me at all. When the rebooted series came to the States, I was living in Mexico and then, when I returned, it was airing on BBC America which Cablevision, in its “wisdom,” doesn’t carry. So, I was blissfully ignorant of the new “Doctor Who” series, until I came to England last New Year’s with Mom.
On this trip, we spent a fair amount of time relaxing in our room because Mom’s strength was failing (it turned out to be only about a month before she died). At Lainston House, in Hampshire, I watched a lot of “Best of the Noughties” shows that talked about the TV shows, celebrities, etc. that were popular over the last decade. At this time, too, the BBC was in the midst of its all-David Tennant blitz. Now, at the risk of being insulting again, I didn’t actually know who David Tennant was – except for this reaction upon seeing him on one of the many shows he appeared on that week: “Hey, that’s Barty Crouch, Jr!” Yes, the "Harry Potter" fan in me registered the face, but that was about it.
Of course, over the next few days, I couldn’t escape the stories on TV and in the papers, and so I became intrigued by this big finale episode of “Doctor Who” that everyone was talking about. It was so hyped that I actually considered watching it when we arrived in London on New Year’s Day, but it didn’t really make sense to watch the last episode without having seen any of the others! So, I watched Miss Marple instead (They Do it With Mirrors). When I got back to New York, I ordered the Series One DVD Box Set, with the plan to watch it over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, the next few weeks were the worst of my life, as has already been well-documented, so I never got around to watching that DVD set.
It’s funny what you’ll latch onto in moments of trauma; the strangest things become life rafts and get you safely through the rough waters. After the funeral, I lost myself for a bit in watching the Olympics. It was a little difficult because that was something Mom and I would have watched together, but it kept me distracted. Once the Olympics were over, though, I found myself in an odd place. I suddenly realized that I couldn’t bring myself to watch the regular prime-time shows that I had been watching with Mom just a couple of weeks before. It was our routine that we would watch TV together, as we enjoyed a lot of the same shows. She’d be in the recliner, with Cali next to her and Brooke on her lap, and I’d be on the bed. Sometimes we’d switch, if the dogs made her too uncomfortable. Now, the bed was gone, but the recliner was there, and Cali, Brooke and I would sit there to watch TV, and to try to feel closer to Mom. But, what would we watch?
That’s when I turned to the unopened DVD box set sitting on the shelf. It was something different, I reasoned, and something I had never seen with Mom, so maybe it would provide the distraction I needed. I started watching and was immediately drawn in. I’ll admit, with my pre-conceived notions about the old “Doctor Who,” I wasn’t expecting much, but I realized pretty quickly that the production values on this show were light years ahead of its predecessor. And I have to admit to some surprise (sorry!) at the depth of the show and the quality of the acting. It was a true drama that just happened to be Science Fiction. I liked it well enough to buy the Second Series Box Set by the time I was halfway through the first, and the remaining sets shortly thereafter. The second series was the first one with David Tennant, so I would now get some sense of what he had done that merited the media blitz and sense of national mourning I had seen when I was in London.
I was captivated. I already had a high opinion of the show, and they managed to raise the bar with the new series. The wit and charm that David Tennant brought to the role drew me in even more. I had my perfect escape. While watching the show, I could forget for a little while the otherwise unrelenting sadness. I could sit in the recliner in Mom’s room, Cali next to me and Brooke on my lap, and just enjoy something. I didn’t actually think I would ever enjoy anything again in those early days, but how could you not enjoy the adventure and humor, and drama of “Doctor Who”? Over the next few weeks, I spent my days dealing with the realities of the house and estate, and spent my evenings escaping into time and space. Even now, if I start feeling down, and start thinking too much about all the loss over the past few years, I can just pop in a favorite episode and escape for a while. It inevitably restores my good mood. Actually, if I really need a quick pick-me-up, all I need to watch is the 15-minute video clip of David Tennant and Julie Gardner getting a police escort to Blackpool. The unfeigned, child-like glee they express throughout makes me laugh every time!
It’s funny. If anyone had asked me how I thought I’d get through Mom’s death, I would have probably denied that it was even possible. I would certainly never have thought a British Science Fiction show would help me through the darkest hours. Now, I’m not turning all sci-fi geek. I mean, I’ve always liked sci-fi, and anyone who’s known me long enough knows how obsessed I was with “V” when I was a kid, but I’m not about to start attending conventions, wearing costumes, or buying sonic screwdrivers on Ebay. And, while I have continued to watch the show, it’s more a matter of habit now. Especially now that I’m living in the UK, where it’s still quite popular. But, for me, “Doctor Who” is a moment in time, something I discovered by chance, at the right time, and that filled a temporary need. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
I’m actually one of those rare Americans who has been aware of “Doctor Who” for quite some time. When I was a kid, it aired on PBS in New York. But, I have to admit, I never watched it because (I’m about to insult an entire nation here) it looked like something a sci-fi geek filmed in his mother’s basement, using a Betamax. The grainy video and low-rent effects just did not appeal to me at all. When the rebooted series came to the States, I was living in Mexico and then, when I returned, it was airing on BBC America which Cablevision, in its “wisdom,” doesn’t carry. So, I was blissfully ignorant of the new “Doctor Who” series, until I came to England last New Year’s with Mom.
On this trip, we spent a fair amount of time relaxing in our room because Mom’s strength was failing (it turned out to be only about a month before she died). At Lainston House, in Hampshire, I watched a lot of “Best of the Noughties” shows that talked about the TV shows, celebrities, etc. that were popular over the last decade. At this time, too, the BBC was in the midst of its all-David Tennant blitz. Now, at the risk of being insulting again, I didn’t actually know who David Tennant was – except for this reaction upon seeing him on one of the many shows he appeared on that week: “Hey, that’s Barty Crouch, Jr!” Yes, the "Harry Potter" fan in me registered the face, but that was about it.
Of course, over the next few days, I couldn’t escape the stories on TV and in the papers, and so I became intrigued by this big finale episode of “Doctor Who” that everyone was talking about. It was so hyped that I actually considered watching it when we arrived in London on New Year’s Day, but it didn’t really make sense to watch the last episode without having seen any of the others! So, I watched Miss Marple instead (They Do it With Mirrors). When I got back to New York, I ordered the Series One DVD Box Set, with the plan to watch it over the next few weeks. Unfortunately, the next few weeks were the worst of my life, as has already been well-documented, so I never got around to watching that DVD set.
It’s funny what you’ll latch onto in moments of trauma; the strangest things become life rafts and get you safely through the rough waters. After the funeral, I lost myself for a bit in watching the Olympics. It was a little difficult because that was something Mom and I would have watched together, but it kept me distracted. Once the Olympics were over, though, I found myself in an odd place. I suddenly realized that I couldn’t bring myself to watch the regular prime-time shows that I had been watching with Mom just a couple of weeks before. It was our routine that we would watch TV together, as we enjoyed a lot of the same shows. She’d be in the recliner, with Cali next to her and Brooke on her lap, and I’d be on the bed. Sometimes we’d switch, if the dogs made her too uncomfortable. Now, the bed was gone, but the recliner was there, and Cali, Brooke and I would sit there to watch TV, and to try to feel closer to Mom. But, what would we watch?
That’s when I turned to the unopened DVD box set sitting on the shelf. It was something different, I reasoned, and something I had never seen with Mom, so maybe it would provide the distraction I needed. I started watching and was immediately drawn in. I’ll admit, with my pre-conceived notions about the old “Doctor Who,” I wasn’t expecting much, but I realized pretty quickly that the production values on this show were light years ahead of its predecessor. And I have to admit to some surprise (sorry!) at the depth of the show and the quality of the acting. It was a true drama that just happened to be Science Fiction. I liked it well enough to buy the Second Series Box Set by the time I was halfway through the first, and the remaining sets shortly thereafter. The second series was the first one with David Tennant, so I would now get some sense of what he had done that merited the media blitz and sense of national mourning I had seen when I was in London.
I was captivated. I already had a high opinion of the show, and they managed to raise the bar with the new series. The wit and charm that David Tennant brought to the role drew me in even more. I had my perfect escape. While watching the show, I could forget for a little while the otherwise unrelenting sadness. I could sit in the recliner in Mom’s room, Cali next to me and Brooke on my lap, and just enjoy something. I didn’t actually think I would ever enjoy anything again in those early days, but how could you not enjoy the adventure and humor, and drama of “Doctor Who”? Over the next few weeks, I spent my days dealing with the realities of the house and estate, and spent my evenings escaping into time and space. Even now, if I start feeling down, and start thinking too much about all the loss over the past few years, I can just pop in a favorite episode and escape for a while. It inevitably restores my good mood. Actually, if I really need a quick pick-me-up, all I need to watch is the 15-minute video clip of David Tennant and Julie Gardner getting a police escort to Blackpool. The unfeigned, child-like glee they express throughout makes me laugh every time!
It’s funny. If anyone had asked me how I thought I’d get through Mom’s death, I would have probably denied that it was even possible. I would certainly never have thought a British Science Fiction show would help me through the darkest hours. Now, I’m not turning all sci-fi geek. I mean, I’ve always liked sci-fi, and anyone who’s known me long enough knows how obsessed I was with “V” when I was a kid, but I’m not about to start attending conventions, wearing costumes, or buying sonic screwdrivers on Ebay. And, while I have continued to watch the show, it’s more a matter of habit now. Especially now that I’m living in the UK, where it’s still quite popular. But, for me, “Doctor Who” is a moment in time, something I discovered by chance, at the right time, and that filled a temporary need. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
Embassy Dos, Park Don’ts and Trains . . . Don’t Make Eye Contact
OK, before I get started, I have a confession to make. I lied. I didn’t mean to lie, but I lied and now I need to come clean. When I said that it’s weird for me to obsess over film or TV locations, that wasn’t totally accurate. It’s actually true for film and TV, but I conveniently forgot my pathetic obsession with book locations. A visit to Grosvenor Square before the Embassy party reminded me that I have spent many hours wandering London over the years, looking for places like Hatchard’s Bookshop, White’s Club, or the site of Almack’s Assembly Rooms just because they were in a book I read. So, sorry, but I really am a pathetic fan – just usually for books written by people who have been dead for a couple of hundred years!
Anyway, to business. Many things to discuss. First, the Embassy party. Other than the fact that they wouldn’t let us in when we got there, it went well. Apparently we were small potatoes for the Ambassador, so no appearance by that August personage. But, that didn’t really surprise me. When I was a newly-minted Junior Officer in Monterrey, I was the one who, as Acting Public Affairs Officer, welcomed in all the American Fulbright teachers. I’m sure they would have been quite put-out to find out that the American Diplomat who was greeting them had barely a year under her belt! I’m pretty sure the Cultural Attaché who greeted us had a few more years under hers! On a side note, it made me think of the time Mom tried the door at the Embassy (back when you could get to the door) and a disembodied voice said, “Can I help you? The Embassy is closed.” After all these years, I finally got in those doors! Anyway, it was a good evening and if you want any real dirt, sorry, public forum!
So from Embassy dos, we get to Park don’ts. Really, the only don’t we need to address here is – don’t take my two lunatic dogs to the park. My stress levels continue to climb every time I take them out. And Cali continues to be the primary offender. I really am at my wits’ end. At the park the other day, Cali went totally crazy on a jogger, who jumped about 3 feet in the air. I yelled at her so badly, she was trembling. Of course, yelling at her is the worst thing I can do, but I get so frustrated. I dread our walks. I keep hoping she’ll adjust, but she hasn’t so far. People are starting to view her as a vicious dog, and anyone who knows her knows how far from the truth that is. I’m certain it’s her fear that’s doing it, but I don’t know how to help her. Sometimes I really do wonder if it was a mistake to bring them here.
As for not making eye contact on trains, I’m usually pretty good at that. But there was this guy the other day who stank like a distillery. He asked what station we were at and when I told him, he heard the accent and I was sunk. He didn’t leave me alone (except for one point when he focused on some teens with musical instruments and told them to “play some f***in’ Led Zepplin!”). He went on and on about God knows what – although I do remember him telling me that the US was God’s country. I had to measure my response because if I agreed he would have said that Britain was. I kept trying to return to my grading, but he wouldn’t let up. And, if I ignored him, he got mildly hostile. I finally was able to bolt when we got to Victoria, but it was an excruciating 40 minutes. Damn that accent! From now on, I use my British or Irish accent!
So, in the meantime, I’ve also had some theatre experiences. I saw "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, the Musical," a few weeks ago, then last week, I saw two shows at the National Theatre - we took the 6th form girls (year 12-13) to see "Blood and Gifts," which is about the Russian occupation of Afghanistan. Then, on Thursday, I saw, "Or You Could Kiss Me." It's a fascinating but bizarre play about two men, at the end of their lives, reliving how they met and fell in love, It's very experimental, using puppets and actors. The puppets are by the same people who did War Horse. It was remarkable because you really felt like the puppets were the men. Unfortunately, it hit a little too close to home as one of the men is terminally ill, and much of the play focuses on that. I had a front row seat, though, which was great. I got the tickets through the Young Patrons of the National Theatre, which I joined, and they had a little drinks reception beforehand. I’m looking forward to more events.
Sunday, I went to see the Les Miserables 25th Anniversary Concert at the O2, which was amazing. Such an array of talent. There were stars from around the world, including Lea Salonga, who played Fantine, as she's too old for Eponine (which she originated in London in 1985 and Broadway in 1987). Nick Jonas of the Jonas Brothers played Marius, and his voice paled in comparison with the stage veterans (although he handled his solo well). There was a funny moment when the girl in front of me got quite upset that Cosette was blonde and Eponine brunette because that's not how she's used to them. She was really beside herself about it. I felt like asking, "So, the fact that Javert is black, Fantine is Asian, and Enjolras is Iranian doesn't bother you? Just the hair?" After the show, I was chatting with the older couple next to me while we waited for the crowd of 20,000 to thin. A worker came up to us and asked if we could handle exiting the long way (I guess because the couple were in their 70s). They offered to escort us out through the VIP section (they just assumed we were together!). We ended up exiting through the VIP lounge where we stopped and ordered drinks and had a lovely time chatting for the next hour. Turned out really nice, actually.
So, highs and lows continue. Overall, this is turning out to be a good experience, even if I do have some days where I just wish I were home and things were like they used to be. But, things can’t be like they used to be, and I still think this is the right place for me at the right time. There’s lots of potential in this coming year – I just need to manage my stress levels (Cali – that means you!!). Cheers!
Anyway, to business. Many things to discuss. First, the Embassy party. Other than the fact that they wouldn’t let us in when we got there, it went well. Apparently we were small potatoes for the Ambassador, so no appearance by that August personage. But, that didn’t really surprise me. When I was a newly-minted Junior Officer in Monterrey, I was the one who, as Acting Public Affairs Officer, welcomed in all the American Fulbright teachers. I’m sure they would have been quite put-out to find out that the American Diplomat who was greeting them had barely a year under her belt! I’m pretty sure the Cultural Attaché who greeted us had a few more years under hers! On a side note, it made me think of the time Mom tried the door at the Embassy (back when you could get to the door) and a disembodied voice said, “Can I help you? The Embassy is closed.” After all these years, I finally got in those doors! Anyway, it was a good evening and if you want any real dirt, sorry, public forum!
So from Embassy dos, we get to Park don’ts. Really, the only don’t we need to address here is – don’t take my two lunatic dogs to the park. My stress levels continue to climb every time I take them out. And Cali continues to be the primary offender. I really am at my wits’ end. At the park the other day, Cali went totally crazy on a jogger, who jumped about 3 feet in the air. I yelled at her so badly, she was trembling. Of course, yelling at her is the worst thing I can do, but I get so frustrated. I dread our walks. I keep hoping she’ll adjust, but she hasn’t so far. People are starting to view her as a vicious dog, and anyone who knows her knows how far from the truth that is. I’m certain it’s her fear that’s doing it, but I don’t know how to help her. Sometimes I really do wonder if it was a mistake to bring them here.
As for not making eye contact on trains, I’m usually pretty good at that. But there was this guy the other day who stank like a distillery. He asked what station we were at and when I told him, he heard the accent and I was sunk. He didn’t leave me alone (except for one point when he focused on some teens with musical instruments and told them to “play some f***in’ Led Zepplin!”). He went on and on about God knows what – although I do remember him telling me that the US was God’s country. I had to measure my response because if I agreed he would have said that Britain was. I kept trying to return to my grading, but he wouldn’t let up. And, if I ignored him, he got mildly hostile. I finally was able to bolt when we got to Victoria, but it was an excruciating 40 minutes. Damn that accent! From now on, I use my British or Irish accent!
So, in the meantime, I’ve also had some theatre experiences. I saw "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert, the Musical," a few weeks ago, then last week, I saw two shows at the National Theatre - we took the 6th form girls (year 12-13) to see "Blood and Gifts," which is about the Russian occupation of Afghanistan. Then, on Thursday, I saw, "Or You Could Kiss Me." It's a fascinating but bizarre play about two men, at the end of their lives, reliving how they met and fell in love, It's very experimental, using puppets and actors. The puppets are by the same people who did War Horse. It was remarkable because you really felt like the puppets were the men. Unfortunately, it hit a little too close to home as one of the men is terminally ill, and much of the play focuses on that. I had a front row seat, though, which was great. I got the tickets through the Young Patrons of the National Theatre, which I joined, and they had a little drinks reception beforehand. I’m looking forward to more events.
Sunday, I went to see the Les Miserables 25th Anniversary Concert at the O2, which was amazing. Such an array of talent. There were stars from around the world, including Lea Salonga, who played Fantine, as she's too old for Eponine (which she originated in London in 1985 and Broadway in 1987). Nick Jonas of the Jonas Brothers played Marius, and his voice paled in comparison with the stage veterans (although he handled his solo well). There was a funny moment when the girl in front of me got quite upset that Cosette was blonde and Eponine brunette because that's not how she's used to them. She was really beside herself about it. I felt like asking, "So, the fact that Javert is black, Fantine is Asian, and Enjolras is Iranian doesn't bother you? Just the hair?" After the show, I was chatting with the older couple next to me while we waited for the crowd of 20,000 to thin. A worker came up to us and asked if we could handle exiting the long way (I guess because the couple were in their 70s). They offered to escort us out through the VIP section (they just assumed we were together!). We ended up exiting through the VIP lounge where we stopped and ordered drinks and had a lovely time chatting for the next hour. Turned out really nice, actually.
So, highs and lows continue. Overall, this is turning out to be a good experience, even if I do have some days where I just wish I were home and things were like they used to be. But, things can’t be like they used to be, and I still think this is the right place for me at the right time. There’s lots of potential in this coming year – I just need to manage my stress levels (Cali – that means you!!). Cheers!
Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Viva Blackpool (or, possibly, Death to Blackpool)
So, I took a visit to the north of England last weekend, to Backpool. For the Americans among us, it's sort of like a cross between Atantic City and Seaside Heights,with a dash of Coney Island thrown in. I first found out about it a few months ago from the BBC mini-series "Blackpool," which was a really entertaining musical drama. Surprisingly good, in fact (sequel sucked, but they often do). It actually inspired the crap US show, "Viva Laughlin, with Hugh Jackman -didn't last. Not really the thing for mainstream US audiences ("Cop Rock" anyone?).
But I digress. I went to Blackpool to get a little time away and see the "world-famous" illuminations. Well, what I could see of them through the monsoon that blew through all weekend was nice. But, what a weekend - I've never been so wet in my life (walked for 5-6 hours a day in the torrential rain). It took days for my clothes and shoes to dry out. I went to the top of the Blackpool Tower (modeled on the Eiffel Tower) and felt like I was going to be blown off. I did buy the cheesy picture and a keychain, though. They actually stopped letting people up to the top as the weather got worse, so at least I got to go. Nice moment at the Tower Ballroom, where loads of people were dancing, and I sat with some hot chocolate and a scone (couldn't do tea) and watched as the Wurlitzer spun out the tunes. It was funny, though, it wa all very staid. Then they announced a salsa. OK, well, Rican girl that I am, I thought, "Great, now we'll see some exciting dancing." And then, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" started echoing around the room, and the dancers quite staidly performed their "salsa." I kept trying not to laugh, and then thought to myself, "What next, a merengue to 'When You Wish Upon a Star?'" I kid you not, less than a minute later, "When You Wish Upon a Star" started playing. There was nothing to do then but laugh out loud, which got a couple of looks. But, I mean, c'mon! How is that salsa?!?
Despite the loose interpretation of some of the dances (never saw a more perfectly executed and more boring tango), I actually did enjoy spending time at the ballroom - and, hey, it was dry. As was the cheesy arcade where I won 10 pounds (used it to by a stuffed meerkat as a belated birthday gift for Cali). My tiny room ha a view of the sea (and the whipping winds and surf!), nad I enjoyed especially the quiet North Pier - at least I did until I slipped on some wet seagull guano and went down in a heap. I heard a thud that was not a body part and immediately thought I had broken my video camera (it seems to be OK). I picked myself up - I was already soaked through, so it didn't matter that I fell into about an inch of water - and I kept going. Got my sand, changed back at the hotel, and began the train journey home (I hate not having a car). By the end, the bruises had shown up, my back hurt like hell, and I just wanted to cry. So - a memorable weekend from which I'm still feeling the effects (and not the way most people feel the effects of a weekend in Blackpool!).
Truthfully, I did enjoy most of it, and didn't even mind the rain so much (although it would definitely have been better without it). I have to admit, I actually really enjoyed seeing the sites from the mini-series, which was weird, because I'm not usually like that. I mean, I wouldn't take the Harry Potter tour in London, or the Sex and the City or Seinfeld tours in New York (not that I really liked either of those shows). But, for some reason, I actually liked doing my personal little magical mystery tour of film locations. Weird, but then, I am weird! Always have been.
I am also not coping so well here. The stress levels are very high, and probably mostly self-imposed. I'm just so worried about screwing up, looking like a bad teacher, failing the kids. Objectively, I know I'm a good teacher, but being the insecure girl I am, I don't always feel it. It's funny, all the stuff I've been through, and all the ways I think I've changed, and I'm still the insecure kid who went into every situation thinking no one would like her and she'd be a failure. What does that say about me? Does it say anything? Or is it just a truth universally acknowledged that people don't really change (sorry for the plagiarism, Miss Austen). I don't know. Today was a weird day. I woke up feeling very down and felt that way all day. I'm usually good at faking it, but not today. Everyone at work knew something was up. I tried to chalk it up to the stress of the day (no frees, no lunch period, meeting after school), but it was more.
I've been thinking about Mom and Dad a lot lately, and I've been feeling quite lonely. I feel like everyone back home is thinking I'm living this amazing life here, but the truth is, I get up at an ungodly hour, in the dark, go to school, feel more lost than I believe I should, come home exhausted, walk the dogs, which ratchets up the blood pressure (thanks, Cali!) and feel like doing nothing but laying on the couch watching TV. Not exactly living the high life! When I do go out, it's on my own. Elizabeth's friends have been very nice getting in touch, and I've had a good time meeting them, but I'm really not good at meeting people on my own. I've always been good at keeping friends once I made them, but really bad at making them. Always have been - again, don't know why I thought I'd suddenly be different. People always think that, don't they? New place - new you. But, that's not really true. You take the old you with you. And all anyone needs to do is look at the last paragraph to know the old me. I did join the National Theatre, and the first show I'm going to is next week, so maybe I can find a bit of confidence to meet and greet at the pre-show cocktails. And there is the Embassy Cocktail Party this Friday - I'm actually OK at cocktail parties. I'm good at inconsequential chatter. Bah, making friends is like dating, and I don't think I need to get into how bad I am at that!
Well, there's still ironing to do and a shower to take, and I have to be up in just over 7 hours, so I'd better get on with the glamorous life! The dogs have had their bedtime walk already - which the entire neighborhood is aware of thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a chihuahua that was simply minding her own business until my two lunatics saw her. I don't honestly know why they can e so good at home, and such a disaster on walks (especially Cali, who is the menace of the neighborhood). At any rate, I'm off. I'll check back in afer the Embassy party.
But I digress. I went to Blackpool to get a little time away and see the "world-famous" illuminations. Well, what I could see of them through the monsoon that blew through all weekend was nice. But, what a weekend - I've never been so wet in my life (walked for 5-6 hours a day in the torrential rain). It took days for my clothes and shoes to dry out. I went to the top of the Blackpool Tower (modeled on the Eiffel Tower) and felt like I was going to be blown off. I did buy the cheesy picture and a keychain, though. They actually stopped letting people up to the top as the weather got worse, so at least I got to go. Nice moment at the Tower Ballroom, where loads of people were dancing, and I sat with some hot chocolate and a scone (couldn't do tea) and watched as the Wurlitzer spun out the tunes. It was funny, though, it wa all very staid. Then they announced a salsa. OK, well, Rican girl that I am, I thought, "Great, now we'll see some exciting dancing." And then, "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" started echoing around the room, and the dancers quite staidly performed their "salsa." I kept trying not to laugh, and then thought to myself, "What next, a merengue to 'When You Wish Upon a Star?'" I kid you not, less than a minute later, "When You Wish Upon a Star" started playing. There was nothing to do then but laugh out loud, which got a couple of looks. But, I mean, c'mon! How is that salsa?!?
Despite the loose interpretation of some of the dances (never saw a more perfectly executed and more boring tango), I actually did enjoy spending time at the ballroom - and, hey, it was dry. As was the cheesy arcade where I won 10 pounds (used it to by a stuffed meerkat as a belated birthday gift for Cali). My tiny room ha a view of the sea (and the whipping winds and surf!), nad I enjoyed especially the quiet North Pier - at least I did until I slipped on some wet seagull guano and went down in a heap. I heard a thud that was not a body part and immediately thought I had broken my video camera (it seems to be OK). I picked myself up - I was already soaked through, so it didn't matter that I fell into about an inch of water - and I kept going. Got my sand, changed back at the hotel, and began the train journey home (I hate not having a car). By the end, the bruises had shown up, my back hurt like hell, and I just wanted to cry. So - a memorable weekend from which I'm still feeling the effects (and not the way most people feel the effects of a weekend in Blackpool!).
Truthfully, I did enjoy most of it, and didn't even mind the rain so much (although it would definitely have been better without it). I have to admit, I actually really enjoyed seeing the sites from the mini-series, which was weird, because I'm not usually like that. I mean, I wouldn't take the Harry Potter tour in London, or the Sex and the City or Seinfeld tours in New York (not that I really liked either of those shows). But, for some reason, I actually liked doing my personal little magical mystery tour of film locations. Weird, but then, I am weird! Always have been.
I am also not coping so well here. The stress levels are very high, and probably mostly self-imposed. I'm just so worried about screwing up, looking like a bad teacher, failing the kids. Objectively, I know I'm a good teacher, but being the insecure girl I am, I don't always feel it. It's funny, all the stuff I've been through, and all the ways I think I've changed, and I'm still the insecure kid who went into every situation thinking no one would like her and she'd be a failure. What does that say about me? Does it say anything? Or is it just a truth universally acknowledged that people don't really change (sorry for the plagiarism, Miss Austen). I don't know. Today was a weird day. I woke up feeling very down and felt that way all day. I'm usually good at faking it, but not today. Everyone at work knew something was up. I tried to chalk it up to the stress of the day (no frees, no lunch period, meeting after school), but it was more.
I've been thinking about Mom and Dad a lot lately, and I've been feeling quite lonely. I feel like everyone back home is thinking I'm living this amazing life here, but the truth is, I get up at an ungodly hour, in the dark, go to school, feel more lost than I believe I should, come home exhausted, walk the dogs, which ratchets up the blood pressure (thanks, Cali!) and feel like doing nothing but laying on the couch watching TV. Not exactly living the high life! When I do go out, it's on my own. Elizabeth's friends have been very nice getting in touch, and I've had a good time meeting them, but I'm really not good at meeting people on my own. I've always been good at keeping friends once I made them, but really bad at making them. Always have been - again, don't know why I thought I'd suddenly be different. People always think that, don't they? New place - new you. But, that's not really true. You take the old you with you. And all anyone needs to do is look at the last paragraph to know the old me. I did join the National Theatre, and the first show I'm going to is next week, so maybe I can find a bit of confidence to meet and greet at the pre-show cocktails. And there is the Embassy Cocktail Party this Friday - I'm actually OK at cocktail parties. I'm good at inconsequential chatter. Bah, making friends is like dating, and I don't think I need to get into how bad I am at that!
Well, there's still ironing to do and a shower to take, and I have to be up in just over 7 hours, so I'd better get on with the glamorous life! The dogs have had their bedtime walk already - which the entire neighborhood is aware of thanks to an unfortunate encounter with a chihuahua that was simply minding her own business until my two lunatics saw her. I don't honestly know why they can e so good at home, and such a disaster on walks (especially Cali, who is the menace of the neighborhood). At any rate, I'm off. I'll check back in afer the Embassy party.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
First Weeks, Hellhounds and Bad Meatballs
OK, a few points of clarification. First, the hellhounds referenced are not my students (although . . . ) and I'm not sure it was really the meatballs that knocked me for a loop this morning. Either way, I started off the second week of school with an absence today because I was unbelievably sick this morning. I actually think it was the pasta sauce, which had been sitting in the fridge for over a week. I had my suspicions about it, but I wasn't sure when it had originally been opened, so I decided to take a chance - clearly a big mistake. I've never liked being absent because I always feel so guilty. Which, of course, means I don't really get the rest I need. Then, I feel so conspicuous going back to work. Double the awkwardness in a new job. Ah well, it couldn't be helped. If I had tried to go to work, I probably would have ended up passed out in a train station bathroom.
Ploy, the dog walker, took them out, but Cali didn't want to leave without me. It was funny. Ploy said they kept pulling to com back to the flat - probably because they knew I was there. My little hellhounds have had trouble adjusting. I've had to leave the radio on, and put anti-bark collars on both of them. I feel bad about it, but I can't have them barking all day. They'll get us evicted. Walks are a bitch (no pun intended) - Cali barks at everything and Brooke is in her own world. It's my own fault, really, because I never got them used to taking walks. I keep reminding myselgf that they've only been here a couple of weeks, so they'll get used to it. But Cali is looking like the menace of the neighborhood because she has that damned loud bark. No one knows that she's just a big wuss. They really loved the park the other day, so there's a glimmer of hope. Hopefully, by the time we leave London, they'll be ready for life in the other big city.
School is good but stressful. I think most of the stress is self-imposed because I'm so worried about beign sure I fulfill the requirements of the National Curriculum. I kind of miss the familiar laid back world of Ursuline. That's only because it's all new - getting nostalgic about Ursuline is just yearning for the safety of he familiar. And, I wouldn't have done this if I wanted to play it safe - so I just have to suck it up. I did do three assemblies on 9/11 during the first week (I must be crazy). They seemed to go well, and people responded favorably to them. It was hard, though, because I had to condense my usual 40-minute class to a 10 minute highlight reel. It's done, though, and successfully, so that's a relief.
The kids are good - they're not really so different ftom the kids back home. Kids are kids after all. They all asked me to do a British accent, so I did (I figured I'd get it out of the way). They're full of questions about America and American schools - wanting to know if it's like they've seen in movies. A few asked me what American teens thought of British schools, and I had to admit, sheepishly, that I didn't think they thought much about it. If anything, Americans probably think British schools are like Harry Potter (or as someone said to me recently, Harry Potter meets Gossip Girl). Truth is, there's so much more American media here than there is British media in America, so we don't have as much frame of reference. Speaking of British media, the installation of my satellite dish has not diminished my obsession with panel shows, I'm afraid. Currently watching "Mock the Week."
Time to walk the demons (I mean, the darlings) and toddle off to bed, so I can be functional in the morning!
Ploy, the dog walker, took them out, but Cali didn't want to leave without me. It was funny. Ploy said they kept pulling to com back to the flat - probably because they knew I was there. My little hellhounds have had trouble adjusting. I've had to leave the radio on, and put anti-bark collars on both of them. I feel bad about it, but I can't have them barking all day. They'll get us evicted. Walks are a bitch (no pun intended) - Cali barks at everything and Brooke is in her own world. It's my own fault, really, because I never got them used to taking walks. I keep reminding myselgf that they've only been here a couple of weeks, so they'll get used to it. But Cali is looking like the menace of the neighborhood because she has that damned loud bark. No one knows that she's just a big wuss. They really loved the park the other day, so there's a glimmer of hope. Hopefully, by the time we leave London, they'll be ready for life in the other big city.
School is good but stressful. I think most of the stress is self-imposed because I'm so worried about beign sure I fulfill the requirements of the National Curriculum. I kind of miss the familiar laid back world of Ursuline. That's only because it's all new - getting nostalgic about Ursuline is just yearning for the safety of he familiar. And, I wouldn't have done this if I wanted to play it safe - so I just have to suck it up. I did do three assemblies on 9/11 during the first week (I must be crazy). They seemed to go well, and people responded favorably to them. It was hard, though, because I had to condense my usual 40-minute class to a 10 minute highlight reel. It's done, though, and successfully, so that's a relief.
The kids are good - they're not really so different ftom the kids back home. Kids are kids after all. They all asked me to do a British accent, so I did (I figured I'd get it out of the way). They're full of questions about America and American schools - wanting to know if it's like they've seen in movies. A few asked me what American teens thought of British schools, and I had to admit, sheepishly, that I didn't think they thought much about it. If anything, Americans probably think British schools are like Harry Potter (or as someone said to me recently, Harry Potter meets Gossip Girl). Truth is, there's so much more American media here than there is British media in America, so we don't have as much frame of reference. Speaking of British media, the installation of my satellite dish has not diminished my obsession with panel shows, I'm afraid. Currently watching "Mock the Week."
Time to walk the demons (I mean, the darlings) and toddle off to bed, so I can be functional in the morning!
Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Jailbreak from Her Majesty's Doggy Prison
So, the babies are sprung. They made it over the wall! Actually, they only had to spend one night in doggy prison. The vet that came decided he had enough documentation to issue Brooke's passport. So, now both of my world travelers have their very own EU passports - now, if only I could get my Irish Citizemship, andwe'd be all set. As it is right now, if I actually wanted to stay at the end of a year, I couldn't, but they could! Of course, we'd have to see how the feel at the end of a year. They may never want to leave, or they may be longing for the good old US of A. Sadly, they're not likely to ever see their favorite window seat again, assuming the house has sold by the time they go back to NY. I'm not going to dwell on that right now, though, it'll just make me sad. Right now I'm happy to have them here, and we are all slowly adjusting to havng to take walks, instead of having a nice backyard (as much of a hardship for me as them!). We're also dealing with the distractions on those walks - Brooke has developed a fascination with pigeons, and Cali will bark at anything with wheels (bikes, suitcases, scooters), along with joggers and small children. Ah, such a joy to take walks with them! Well, we'll all adjust. Now, I just have to adjust to the new job! Stay tuned . . .
Saturday, August 28, 2010
**** You, Lou Reed! Part Deux
I've decided that this is a handy catch-all phrase for when I'm really pissed at someone. I suppose it's not really fair to Lou Reed - I mean, other than sitting across from him on the plane one memorable night, I don't have anything to do with him (frankly, I can't even name a Lou Reed sing off the top of my head). But, the phrase has stuck with me, and so it comes into use again today. The target this time is a vet in Larchmont NY (who shall remain nameless, but whose name is the same as cheap wine). This moron completely f***ed up Cali and Brooke's paperwork, and now they are stuck in doggy prison at Heathrow Airport. When I got there, the DEFRA agent told me they couldn't leave with me, and even said Brooke might have to go to quarantine because the paperwork said her microchip was put in after rabies vaccine. To be clear, this asshole in Larchmont wrote that both dogs had been microchipped in October 2009. She completely made a date up - Cali was chipped in 2005 and Brooke in 2008. Now this woman may cause Brooke to have to go into quarantine.
Added to this is the fact that Virgin did not clearly state that the paperwork needed a raised seal - they said that as long as the vet was USDA certified, they could certify the paperwork - wrong! As a result, if the rest of the paperwork checks out tomorrow, they'll have to get EU pet passports. In the end, that might not be a bad thing, but still. I had to leave them there, and didn't even get to see them. When the DEFRA agent was telling me all this, he looked a bit concerned at one point - I think because I probably looked like I was going to pass out. There was point where the world seemed to recede and all I heard was static. I pulled it together, though - a my mother's daughter, I could do no less! But, then I declined the cab back to the main terminal, choosing to walk the 15 minutes instead. There was one easy reason for this - I knew I was about to start crying hysterically, and really didn't want to do that in the back of a cab. By the time I finished walking to the terminal, I was reasonably pulled together again.
I'm trying to comfort myself with the fact that they survived the flight OK, and that it's a minor paperwork clitch, but I won't be at ease until they're here in the flat with me. Until then, I'm sending my favorite phrase across the pond to Larchmont, NY and hoping this woman's house gets invaded by all manner of pestilence in a freak biblical plague.
Added to this is the fact that Virgin did not clearly state that the paperwork needed a raised seal - they said that as long as the vet was USDA certified, they could certify the paperwork - wrong! As a result, if the rest of the paperwork checks out tomorrow, they'll have to get EU pet passports. In the end, that might not be a bad thing, but still. I had to leave them there, and didn't even get to see them. When the DEFRA agent was telling me all this, he looked a bit concerned at one point - I think because I probably looked like I was going to pass out. There was point where the world seemed to recede and all I heard was static. I pulled it together, though - a my mother's daughter, I could do no less! But, then I declined the cab back to the main terminal, choosing to walk the 15 minutes instead. There was one easy reason for this - I knew I was about to start crying hysterically, and really didn't want to do that in the back of a cab. By the time I finished walking to the terminal, I was reasonably pulled together again.
I'm trying to comfort myself with the fact that they survived the flight OK, and that it's a minor paperwork clitch, but I won't be at ease until they're here in the flat with me. Until then, I'm sending my favorite phrase across the pond to Larchmont, NY and hoping this woman's house gets invaded by all manner of pestilence in a freak biblical plague.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Running Away from Home
You always hear about people picking up and disappearing in the midst of trying times. I definitely have to be the only person I know who runs away from home with a carefully planned out grant application, and 20 boxes of stuff. Well, 9 boxes so far. Here’s hoping the Royal Mail turns up with the other 11.
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
I’ve been in London for a week now, and I’m starting to settle in – sort of. If I can get past dropping to the floor and crying over my TV (BT Vision – WTF is that? total scam), wandering from cellphone store to cellphone store, looking for someone willing to take my money (seriously, why is it always the phones?), and walking 15 minutes each way just to buy some groceries (most of which are unrecognizable), I might actually get used to the new digs.
In truth, I think the problem is that I didn’t anticipate any problems. Well, that’s not totally true. I knew there would be an adjustment, but I didn’t realize the things that would get to me, the first being actually living in a city – and without a car. In NY, Boston, DC and Monterrey, I basically lived in the ‘burbs. And, I always had a car. The one exception is when I was in Oxford – no car, a lot of walking. But, of course, I was 15 years younger then! And, I didn’t have to be quite so self sufficient. I hate that I have to make so many trips to the supermarket just to stock up on my necessary items because all I have is the one shopping cart (which is a bitch to lug up the two flights of stairs). For someone with a bad back and bad knees, this seems to have not been well thought-out.
I am also dying to have a real and true conversation that’s not with the postman, the clerk at (insert store name here), or the staff of a New Dehli call center. That should improve a bit once I start work next week – for which I remain in a state of terror that I will be unable to teach anything to anyone. At least then I’ll be talking all day, so I should get sick of myself.
Missing the doggies terribly, and hoping all goes well with their flight Friday, and their arrival on Saturday. At least when they come, I’ll have someone to talk to! Of course, if they start talking back, I’m in real trouble. I’m a little worried about them here in the apartment. Not in a big way, but there’s a lot of noise outside in the afternoons and evenings – people milling about. Its’ pretty loud, and they’ll bark. And that is going to be a problem. Brooke’s going to have to live in that anti-bark collar, and Cali’ll be dodging the jingly bark buster thing constantly. Hmm, maybe they’ll surprise me (not likely – Brooke remains dog most likely to cause an international incident).
Here’s a really weird thing. I have found in my first week that I am speaking to everyone like I’m in a library – very soft spoken. I noticed myself doing it, and couldn’t figure out why. Then I hit on it – I’m trying to hide my accent, like I don’t want people to know I’m American. It’s a completely irrational thing, but I feel like they’ll immediately peg me as a tourist, not as someone who lives here (although, after a week, I’m hardly a local). The funny thing is, in Mexico, I spoke Spanish with a good Spanish accent, and blended in fairly well. Not that I wasn’t known to be an American (you couldn’t work at the consulate and not be known by the locals), but I carried on well with the locals, in part because once I gained in confidence, I spoke Spanish more or less like a native. I was even complemented on my Spanish by people at the visa window. Yet, here, I’m speaking my native language (that said, there are A LOT of words that are different), and I would never put on an English accent (even though I do a pretty good one). And, there’s plenty of American ex-pats here. So, I don’t really know what my hang-up is. Now that I’m aware of it, I’m making a conscious effort to talk like a normal person, and not someone who’s afraid of spooking a sleeping cat (or dog).
In a surreal twist, I’m engaging right now in my latest addiction – British panel shows (I REALLY need my satellite tv!). Right this moment, on “QI,” the panelists (including Emma Thompson) are discussing English actors in Hollywood, and the fact that, if you have an English accent, you automatically become a villain. One of the panelists is doing a really spot-on Alan Rickman impression (love him, by the way!). The final quote, “If you’re an English actor, there’s a good living to be made being beaten up by American action stars.” Sums up us Yanks pretty well, actually.
Well, I think “Mock the Week” might be coming up next, so I’d better run off and get ready (it would help, though, if they showed episodes that are a little more recent. Last night they discussed the Bush shoe-throwing incident of 2007! Still funny, but really . . .). Maybe tomorrow I’ll go to the theatre, before I find myself in the midst of a 12-hour panel-show marathon, unable to pry myself off the sofa!
9 boxes down, 11 to go!
Saturday, August 14, 2010
**** You, Lou Reed!
So, I ran through a lot of titles for this post before settling on this one. The frontrunner was “World’s Worst Blogger” because, let’s face it, I suck at this. In my defense, I defy anyone who has had as much on my plate these last 6 months to find the time to write too! Maybe that’s a bit of a cop out, but after spending hours cleaning out the house in 90 degree weather, and no air conditioning, the last thing I need or want to do is sit and try to find witty things to say on a blog. Of course, if you don’t actually write anything, the blog doesn’t really work, does it? So, I am making the vow today to get my ass in gear and write more regularly.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
Now, as for the title, that’s just my favorite quote of recent months – it should not reflect at all on my opinion of Lou Reed and his music. And, it is actually connected to what has been going on in my life lately. A few months ago, I said something was going on that I didn’t want to talk about yet. That may have conveyed the idea of a relationship of some sort, but it was actually something very different. I was awarded a Fulbright Classroom Teacher Exchange grant, and I’m moving to England for a year in about 10 days! So, add that to the cleaning out of the house, buying the apartment (which finally closed – more on that another time), work, well, you get the idea. I didn’t want to talk about it, not because of worrying about the grant, but rather the apartment. I didn’t want the board to be concerned about me being away, or think that somehow I couldn’t pay for the apartment. I am, some would say fortunately, in the position to pay for the apartment while living in London. Some would say fortunately, but the reason I’m in this financial position basically sucks.
But, I’m not going to dwell on that. The connection to Lou Reed is that he was on my flight to London in June to find an apartment. We were delayed 6 hours, and then they changed planes. Some people got bumped from first class (I had used miles to upgrade), and some guy who got bumped was furious (at 3 AM!) that Lou Reed and his band got their first class seats, and he didn’t. He started cursing out Lou Reed to the flight attendants (who was sitting across from me, and could hear everything). All any of us wanted was to take off already, and we had to sit there and listen to his tantrum. Me, my last 4 years have put a lot of things in perspective, and I just could not get upset about something as minor as a flight delay. So I laughed, drank my champagne, and listened to the tirade.
So, a week later, here I am writing the same blog entry – did I mention I suck at this? The week has been non-stop. Cleaning and prepping the house – 12 hours Saturday on the stuff from the attic. Ten hours Sunday on the stuff from the basement, and on and on. And, of course, other things mixed in – some good, some just more stressful. I had a great day Tuesday – Maria took me for a “Spa day.” Something I’ve never done before. And then, I hosted a really nice dinner at Sofrito. Not everyone who I wanted to be there could be, but it was a nice night. On one level, it was a chance to introduce Elizabeth (my exchange partner) to my friends so she’d have some people to contact if she needs anything. But, it was also a chance to see some people before I leave – which now is in 4 days!
This is a little scary – 4 days. It’s not just 4 days until I get on a plane to start an adventure in England. It’s 4 days until I truly put my old life behind me. Oh, I’ll be back in October to move in to my apartment (I’ll gripe about that another time, but I want to say “**** you Lou Reed” to a few people these days!). And I’ll be home for Christmas. And, the house will likely still be here, but it won’t be home anymore. I suppose it hasn’t really been home since Mom died. But, still, this house has been part of my life for my whole life, and it’s going to be really hard to close that book. At the same time, I need to close it, and pick up a new one – and I want to. But, letting go is really hard (even though holding on would actually be worse for me). So, on one level, I have a very healthy attitude toward moving on, and on another, I’m afraid I might be clinging to the doorframe when Keith is trying to take me to the airport on Tuesday. Yeah, that sounds about right for me.
Then there is the unknown about what to expect in London. I mean, it’s not like London is unknown, but the people of London are! I don’t know a soul in London, or England, the United Kingdom, Europe . . . OK, maybe there’s some people from A-100 in Europe somewhere, but still, I have to start fresh and make friends – I’m really bad at making friends. I’m good at keeping them, but not so good at making them. I become a shy twelve-year-old all over again, assuming people aren’t going to like me. But, unless I want to spend every night in the apartment (sorry, “flat”), watching DVDs with the dogs, I need to actually put myself out there and meet people. So, yeah, terrifying. I’m so much better with the written word but, alas, I can’t hand out little stories to people in pubs (I’m so not a pub crawler, by the way).
Adding to the stress/sadness is the fact that I went up to Friends Lake yesterday – that wasn’t sad, but knowing I won’t be there again for a year is. And then I got home tonight and all the stuff from the kitchen drawers was all out for me to sort, and my boxes were in the living room to ship to London, and I suddenly got hit hard by the finality of this week – I leave in 4 days!! Now, the hypocritical thing about this is that all that stuff was out because that’s exactly what I asked Keith to do. I didn’t realize it would make me sad (seriously, who gets sad over a pot with no handle or a scuffed Bundt cake pan?).
And, oh, yeah, it’s my birthday Sunday – the first one without either Mommy or Daddy. 36. Is that old? Sometimes I feel positively ancient. Other times I still feel like the 17-year-old girl who graduated from Ursuline with her whole life ahead of her. Never thought it would turn out the way it has – and that’s the good as well as the bad. It’s a rocky road, life. I used to think it wasn’t fair (OK, sometimes I still do), but the truth is, it’s just life. Sometimes it’s beautiful and sometimes it sucks. But it’s not what happens to us that defines us. Rather, it’s how we deal with it. Sometimes I feel like I’m holding on by my fingertips, but I think I’m handling it pretty well, all things considered. Check back in a few weeks when I can’t get my TV shows or my Yankee games, and it’s been raining for days, and see if I’m still saying that.
As anyone who knows me well knows, my “New Year” is September, the start of the new school year, so I’ll sign off now with a pledge – I will write more. I have to. This was an exercise to allow me to process things as I went through this time after Mommy’s death, and the lack of time maybe means more than a lack of writing. It may mean a lack of processing. So, more writing, more processing – and a more healthy outlook as I start the New Year. 2009-2010 is the year that was. 2010-2011 is the year that will be.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Bleh
Yeah, that about sum up how I've ben feeling of late. I'm way behind on writing entries because I've just not had the best few weeks. Of course, I do realize that's probably the best time to write - you get the meatiest stuff, and it has a cathartic effect. But if can't get motivated, I can't write. And, it's not like the last few weeks have been awful - they've just not been particularly great. Definitely more bug days than windshield days. It started at Friends Lake on May 2 - Keith and I had gone up to open the house, and I thought it would really bother me to b up there without both mom and dad. But I did fine for Friday and Saturday. Sunday, though, I was really depressed. By the time I got home, I had a terrible migraine on top of feeling depressed. I missed work that Monday, for the first time since coming back from bereavement leave.
Then came Tuesday 5/4. I had to send more papers to the realtor for the apartment, and I twisted my ankle in a pothole in Tuckahoe, and faceplanted in the street. I ended up with a sprained ankle, and am now sporting an aircast. Add to that a broken toe four days later (same foot), and that's how that week ended.
The next week was a mad dash of work to try and catch up, as my Juniors were hopelessly behind - it's amazing how many "indispensable" lessons become dispensable when the end of the year is looming. Through all that, my ankle throbbed, and I tried to figure out how I'm going to grade the hundreds (yes, hundreds) of things I need to grade by June 18th. Mix in a couple of seniors in danger of not graduating, and Juniors manipulating and taking advantage of my good nature, and it all becomes a bit much to deal with.
Cleaning out the house has had its ups and downs. Coming across all of mom and dad's wedding cards, still in the little satin bag, as well as their response cards (yes, really), was both sweet and heartbreaking. The toys of my childood are being relegated to sell piles, as if I'm selling off those golden years. And, oh, yeah, we're tying to arrange a garage sale for this Saturday. Bags upon bags of stuff that needs to be sorted and priced. With 2 Yankee games this week, and graduation Friday, when is there time? In between trips to the post office (navigating around the pothole) to send more documents to the realtor and the mortgage people?
This week, my sadness is focused on the fact that I've sold my Jeep Wrangler. I love this car, but I had to sell it - I can't keep three cars, especially moving to the city. It's going to a good home (a 19 year old girl on Long Island), but this car is my baby. It's the first car I bought for myself. I had it in Mexico - drove it cross country twice! And, it's a really cool car - everyone oves it. I've never been cool in my life - it was kind of nice to have people look at my car and think how cool it was. I realize that I am more upset about this than a rational person should be, but I can't help it.
And, lest we think we're done, let's add some insensitivity to the mix. Today, while teaching the kids about analytic interviewing - and after yellng at them twice - I proceeded to give an example regarding a student's mother chaperoning a party. An instat after I spoke, I realized the student I chose (who sits right in front of me), is a student who lost her mother. I couldn't believe I could be so stupid. She didn't seem overly bothered by it, but I was horrified. And, in that perverse way we human beings have, the error led to hysterica laughter in the whole class. I was a complete wreck in front of them, unable to continue. It's like laughing at a funeral - something just gets into you and you can't stop. The kids must have thought I had fially lost it. It took me forever to regain my composure, and it wasn't something to laugh at - I actually think I started laughing in disbelief at what a complete moron I am, and then it just escalated out of control. A completely inappropriate response, and I feel like a complete ass.
So, yeah, bleh is about the best I can do right now. Now it's time to jump of the computer so I can strangle Brooke with her anti-bark collar (which, admittedly, would be more effective if she were actually wearing it right now).
Then came Tuesday 5/4. I had to send more papers to the realtor for the apartment, and I twisted my ankle in a pothole in Tuckahoe, and faceplanted in the street. I ended up with a sprained ankle, and am now sporting an aircast. Add to that a broken toe four days later (same foot), and that's how that week ended.
The next week was a mad dash of work to try and catch up, as my Juniors were hopelessly behind - it's amazing how many "indispensable" lessons become dispensable when the end of the year is looming. Through all that, my ankle throbbed, and I tried to figure out how I'm going to grade the hundreds (yes, hundreds) of things I need to grade by June 18th. Mix in a couple of seniors in danger of not graduating, and Juniors manipulating and taking advantage of my good nature, and it all becomes a bit much to deal with.
Cleaning out the house has had its ups and downs. Coming across all of mom and dad's wedding cards, still in the little satin bag, as well as their response cards (yes, really), was both sweet and heartbreaking. The toys of my childood are being relegated to sell piles, as if I'm selling off those golden years. And, oh, yeah, we're tying to arrange a garage sale for this Saturday. Bags upon bags of stuff that needs to be sorted and priced. With 2 Yankee games this week, and graduation Friday, when is there time? In between trips to the post office (navigating around the pothole) to send more documents to the realtor and the mortgage people?
This week, my sadness is focused on the fact that I've sold my Jeep Wrangler. I love this car, but I had to sell it - I can't keep three cars, especially moving to the city. It's going to a good home (a 19 year old girl on Long Island), but this car is my baby. It's the first car I bought for myself. I had it in Mexico - drove it cross country twice! And, it's a really cool car - everyone oves it. I've never been cool in my life - it was kind of nice to have people look at my car and think how cool it was. I realize that I am more upset about this than a rational person should be, but I can't help it.
And, lest we think we're done, let's add some insensitivity to the mix. Today, while teaching the kids about analytic interviewing - and after yellng at them twice - I proceeded to give an example regarding a student's mother chaperoning a party. An instat after I spoke, I realized the student I chose (who sits right in front of me), is a student who lost her mother. I couldn't believe I could be so stupid. She didn't seem overly bothered by it, but I was horrified. And, in that perverse way we human beings have, the error led to hysterica laughter in the whole class. I was a complete wreck in front of them, unable to continue. It's like laughing at a funeral - something just gets into you and you can't stop. The kids must have thought I had fially lost it. It took me forever to regain my composure, and it wasn't something to laugh at - I actually think I started laughing in disbelief at what a complete moron I am, and then it just escalated out of control. A completely inappropriate response, and I feel like a complete ass.
So, yeah, bleh is about the best I can do right now. Now it's time to jump of the computer so I can strangle Brooke with her anti-bark collar (which, admittedly, would be more effective if she were actually wearing it right now).
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Some days you're the windshield . . .
And some days you're the bug. Today was defiitely a bug day. It's not even that it was a particularly bad day, but it wasn't particularly good. One of those "I should never have gotten out of bed" days. I started the day with a headache, combined with a backache (too much heavy lifting lately, and not enough painkillers!). Add that to an inability to move faster than a glacial pace, and the need to attempt (unsuccessfully) to tame a completely unruly mop of hair, and you end up with me gliding into class at the last possible minute. Only to find out, of course, that I left my attendance and gradebook home. Cue utterly incomprehensible registration assembly for next year, and an inability to access the Virgin Atlantic website because our school censors categorize it as porn! Do you see where I'm going? All Iwanted to do all day was come home, relax, and watch Hamlet on PBS, which I've been waiting for forever. But, right in the middle of that, my lawyer is going to be here to complete some paperwork for the apartment. I'm going to call that "intermission," and try to convince myself that I'm at the theatre. Totally don't think it'll work. Totally want to take a mental health day but, after 3 weeks of bereavement leave, that's not happening. Bleh, I really hope tomorrow is a windshield day!
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Early bird specials, telenovelas, Irish plumbers, Julia Roberts and Yorkie-cide (oh, and 8306 pennies)
For the record, the seemingly random title of this post should not be taken as an indication of my state of mind - although my students, bless them, must have thought I was missing a few nuts and bolts today (wierd day, frustrating day - see Yorkie-cide below). These are simply the things that have made up the last week.
I got home Friday from Florida. It was a very nice visit, but I don't think I could have kept up the 4:00 supper times for much longer - 4:00! I haven't even gotten home from school most days by 4:00! I was very grateful to return to my usual 7:30 or later dinner. My visit to the fam in the sunshine state also necessitated some telenovela viewing with my aunts. I really missed American TV - I would have even sat through a Judge Judy, if it wasn't so reminiscent of Casos de Familias. Actually, that show is pretty hard core - the arrested some guy right on camera - he was a pretty sick dude. Anyway, I enjoyed spending the time with my aunts, but I was really happy to watch just about whatever my tivo had recorded for me while I was away.
Then, of course, came the clogged drain that acked everything up in the kitchen. I had to call in a plumber, which became a lesson in humility. Ironically, I had spent the day telling my kids about how good I am at deciphering accents. I told them about my friend in college, and the Scottish football (soccer) team that joined us on the train to Edinburgh. About 4 hours into the trip, she asked me, "What language are they speaking?" I looked at her in disbelief and said, "English, Hannah!" Well, pride does indeed goeth before a fall because I could barely understand 5 words in 10 that this plumber was saying (the select universal swear words when he had to cut open the pipe to retrieve a stuck tool came through loud and clear!). To be fair, I admitted my humiliation to my students the next day - I figure, if I'm going to brag about my skills, the least I can do is admit my failings too!
And Julia Roberts - no, I did not meet the Pretty Woman this week. Instead, I fantasized about having a Pretty Woman moment at the Verizon Wireless store. After having an appalling experience with them last week, I became a T-mobile customer. The short version is this: "My mom and I had a family share plan, and she passed away. I want to cancel her number and keep mine." "Well, what you need to do - oh, and sorry for your loss - is . . ." You can see where this is going. Apparently a death certificate is insufficient proof that I'm not going to somehow commit fraud by keeping my own phone number. With a death certificate, they could only cancel her number and keep mine under her name. "So, you're going to bill a dead woman?" I asked. "No," the rocket scientist of a clerk said. "You'll pay the bill." "So, why can't I have my name on the account?" I asked, reasonably, I thought. "It's to prevent fraud," she said, talking out of her ass. WTF? That doesn't even make sense!! They asked for executor's papers (which I didn't bring, since the rest of the world is OK with a death certificate, except for the highly classified world of cell phones, apparently). I said, neer mind, and walked 2 doors down toT-mobile.
Now for the Julia Roberts moment. I needed to go back to Verizon to cancel the service completely, and I really, really, really, wanted to reenact the scene where she walks in to the boutique and tells the woman, "Remember me. You wouldn't serve me . . . Big mistake! Huge!" And she raises the shopping bags. Well, in my vision, I would have walked up to the customer service counter, repeated similar lines, and waved my Blackberry over my head. Of course, I didn't do it. She was there, but I had another woman who served me (yes, I know, I could have kept the moment alive by saying, "No, I want her"). In the end it came down to this - I'm a total coward, and really did not want to cause a scene in the middle of a crowded store! I'm such a wuss. BTW, the other lady asked for not one bit of paperwork.
So, where am I on that strange list n the title? Ah, yes, Yorkie-cide. Well, my, shall we say eccentric, Yorkie, Brooke, kept me up all night, pacing the hardwood floor (which, by the way, she is doing right this minute, thus Yorkie-cide is still a possiblity). I wanted to chuck her out a window in the middle of the night , but settled instead for flinging her into her bed at one point (it's soft, she's fine). It made no difference - she just kept pacing, all night. I think she was punishing me for the new anti-bark collar I just bought her - hang on, she's barking at me right now - that thing's a piece of crap! Oh, this day just gets better and better! I believe sedation may be necessary tonight - not sure if it's for her or me. Anyway, that's what started my day off - hah, she just got sprayed! Serves her right! Ooh, she's mad. She's so going to back at me tonight.
Wow, if this is how easily entertained I am, I'm clearly overtired. So, I'd better address the last part of the list - 8,306 pennies (less a few English pence that got mixed in somehow). This is the number of coins (plus honorable mention to 209 dimes) that I spent 1/2 hour depositing into a Coinstar machine this afternoon, after the bitch of a school day I had. They were all in a bunch of jars that Mom had in closets and cabinets in the house. I admit to being a tad disappointed not to have cracked 10,000 after all that effort, but I comfort myself that the crazy woman with the cart full of pennies must have been the subject of some dinner table conversation around Yonkrs this evening. I aim to please. And, I am really, really, really tired. And Brooke is limping on her bum knee, trying to elicit some sympathy, so I should probably go see if she's OK, and then slip her a mickey. Until next time!
I got home Friday from Florida. It was a very nice visit, but I don't think I could have kept up the 4:00 supper times for much longer - 4:00! I haven't even gotten home from school most days by 4:00! I was very grateful to return to my usual 7:30 or later dinner. My visit to the fam in the sunshine state also necessitated some telenovela viewing with my aunts. I really missed American TV - I would have even sat through a Judge Judy, if it wasn't so reminiscent of Casos de Familias. Actually, that show is pretty hard core - the arrested some guy right on camera - he was a pretty sick dude. Anyway, I enjoyed spending the time with my aunts, but I was really happy to watch just about whatever my tivo had recorded for me while I was away.
Then, of course, came the clogged drain that acked everything up in the kitchen. I had to call in a plumber, which became a lesson in humility. Ironically, I had spent the day telling my kids about how good I am at deciphering accents. I told them about my friend in college, and the Scottish football (soccer) team that joined us on the train to Edinburgh. About 4 hours into the trip, she asked me, "What language are they speaking?" I looked at her in disbelief and said, "English, Hannah!" Well, pride does indeed goeth before a fall because I could barely understand 5 words in 10 that this plumber was saying (the select universal swear words when he had to cut open the pipe to retrieve a stuck tool came through loud and clear!). To be fair, I admitted my humiliation to my students the next day - I figure, if I'm going to brag about my skills, the least I can do is admit my failings too!
And Julia Roberts - no, I did not meet the Pretty Woman this week. Instead, I fantasized about having a Pretty Woman moment at the Verizon Wireless store. After having an appalling experience with them last week, I became a T-mobile customer. The short version is this: "My mom and I had a family share plan, and she passed away. I want to cancel her number and keep mine." "Well, what you need to do - oh, and sorry for your loss - is . . ." You can see where this is going. Apparently a death certificate is insufficient proof that I'm not going to somehow commit fraud by keeping my own phone number. With a death certificate, they could only cancel her number and keep mine under her name. "So, you're going to bill a dead woman?" I asked. "No," the rocket scientist of a clerk said. "You'll pay the bill." "So, why can't I have my name on the account?" I asked, reasonably, I thought. "It's to prevent fraud," she said, talking out of her ass. WTF? That doesn't even make sense!! They asked for executor's papers (which I didn't bring, since the rest of the world is OK with a death certificate, except for the highly classified world of cell phones, apparently). I said, neer mind, and walked 2 doors down toT-mobile.
Now for the Julia Roberts moment. I needed to go back to Verizon to cancel the service completely, and I really, really, really, wanted to reenact the scene where she walks in to the boutique and tells the woman, "Remember me. You wouldn't serve me . . . Big mistake! Huge!" And she raises the shopping bags. Well, in my vision, I would have walked up to the customer service counter, repeated similar lines, and waved my Blackberry over my head. Of course, I didn't do it. She was there, but I had another woman who served me (yes, I know, I could have kept the moment alive by saying, "No, I want her"). In the end it came down to this - I'm a total coward, and really did not want to cause a scene in the middle of a crowded store! I'm such a wuss. BTW, the other lady asked for not one bit of paperwork.
So, where am I on that strange list n the title? Ah, yes, Yorkie-cide. Well, my, shall we say eccentric, Yorkie, Brooke, kept me up all night, pacing the hardwood floor (which, by the way, she is doing right this minute, thus Yorkie-cide is still a possiblity). I wanted to chuck her out a window in the middle of the night , but settled instead for flinging her into her bed at one point (it's soft, she's fine). It made no difference - she just kept pacing, all night. I think she was punishing me for the new anti-bark collar I just bought her - hang on, she's barking at me right now - that thing's a piece of crap! Oh, this day just gets better and better! I believe sedation may be necessary tonight - not sure if it's for her or me. Anyway, that's what started my day off - hah, she just got sprayed! Serves her right! Ooh, she's mad. She's so going to back at me tonight.
Wow, if this is how easily entertained I am, I'm clearly overtired. So, I'd better address the last part of the list - 8,306 pennies (less a few English pence that got mixed in somehow). This is the number of coins (plus honorable mention to 209 dimes) that I spent 1/2 hour depositing into a Coinstar machine this afternoon, after the bitch of a school day I had. They were all in a bunch of jars that Mom had in closets and cabinets in the house. I admit to being a tad disappointed not to have cracked 10,000 after all that effort, but I comfort myself that the crazy woman with the cart full of pennies must have been the subject of some dinner table conversation around Yonkrs this evening. I aim to please. And, I am really, really, really tired. And Brooke is limping on her bum knee, trying to elicit some sympathy, so I should probably go see if she's OK, and then slip her a mickey. Until next time!
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Two Months
I have to keep this post short, because I'm on a borrowed computer, but I needed to acknowledge that today marks two months since Mommy died. In a wierd way, it seems like longer. I guess because it has been such a long two months, and because so much has happened in that time. It's kind of appropriate that I'm in Tampa right now, with Mommy's family, all of whom I know miss her too. So, being with family is good. It's all a little surreal. But, I wanted to say, on this two-month occasion, Mommy, I love you, and I miss you more than words can say.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Highest highs and Lowest lows
Emotion is a funny and capricious thing. Just when you think you have it figured out, it turns the tables on you. I've been riding a high of good feeling - even joy - for over a week now. A number of very positive things have happened, and I don't doubt that mom and dad had a hand it these things. One of these things is that I have signed a contract on a new apartment on the Upper East Side - finally, that Manhattan apartment I've always wanted. There are many stages of the process to go, but I feel cautiously optomistic that it will all work out. The other thing is pretty big, but I don't want to discuss it just yet for fear of jinxing anything.
These positive things have made me feel true joy, something I would not have thought possible two months ago, just before my mother's death. But, something happened in those last days - my mother gave me the greatest gift she ever could - the belief that I would feel joy, and live a happy life. That belief, and the inner strength she taught me my whole life, has made these two months bearable. In fact, it is very easy for me to respond that I'm OK when people ask me how I'm doing. Of course, the incredulous responses I get from some people ("Really?") make me want to ask, "Would you rather I were a babbling mess?" I know people mean well, but do they really have to assume I'm a basket case?
Now I'll grant you, the good feeling I have experienced lately has sometimes made me wonder if I'm actually simply nestled in a warm little cocoon of denial, but I know I'm not. I am fully aware of the loss - I just don't intend to dishonor my mother, and everything she believed I was capable of, by falling apart. She taught me better than that - it's stiff upper lip all the way (I totally should have been British).
Of course, then there's days like today, when I sit surfing the internet (scary place sometimes!), feeling inexplicably depressed. At least that's what I told myself - "Why are you depressed? Nothing happened!" Then, I feel like knocking myself upside the head - of course I feel depressed! My mother and best friend died less than two months ago, I just burned a bunch of her private papers (per her request), and I'm collecting many of her things for donation to my school's Nicaragua project. All of these things are naturally depressing things. Nothing inexplicable about it. Now, the old me would have downed a can of coke (I just had a glass), and eaten a sandwich or something (my size 12 Calvins can attest to how much of that I've done over the last 3 years). Instead, I bundled up, went out into the freezing downpour (another reason to be depressed - wettest March in history in NY!), and walked for 45 minutes. Even though it wasn't as carefree as my walks have been over the last week, the exercise, coupled with bit of Hair Band rock on the i-pod actually did the trick, and I came home not depressed.
I guess the thing I have to remember is that there will be days like this - you don't just get over something like this and move on. Having good days is good, but having bad days is not bad.
These positive things have made me feel true joy, something I would not have thought possible two months ago, just before my mother's death. But, something happened in those last days - my mother gave me the greatest gift she ever could - the belief that I would feel joy, and live a happy life. That belief, and the inner strength she taught me my whole life, has made these two months bearable. In fact, it is very easy for me to respond that I'm OK when people ask me how I'm doing. Of course, the incredulous responses I get from some people ("Really?") make me want to ask, "Would you rather I were a babbling mess?" I know people mean well, but do they really have to assume I'm a basket case?
Now I'll grant you, the good feeling I have experienced lately has sometimes made me wonder if I'm actually simply nestled in a warm little cocoon of denial, but I know I'm not. I am fully aware of the loss - I just don't intend to dishonor my mother, and everything she believed I was capable of, by falling apart. She taught me better than that - it's stiff upper lip all the way (I totally should have been British).
Of course, then there's days like today, when I sit surfing the internet (scary place sometimes!), feeling inexplicably depressed. At least that's what I told myself - "Why are you depressed? Nothing happened!" Then, I feel like knocking myself upside the head - of course I feel depressed! My mother and best friend died less than two months ago, I just burned a bunch of her private papers (per her request), and I'm collecting many of her things for donation to my school's Nicaragua project. All of these things are naturally depressing things. Nothing inexplicable about it. Now, the old me would have downed a can of coke (I just had a glass), and eaten a sandwich or something (my size 12 Calvins can attest to how much of that I've done over the last 3 years). Instead, I bundled up, went out into the freezing downpour (another reason to be depressed - wettest March in history in NY!), and walked for 45 minutes. Even though it wasn't as carefree as my walks have been over the last week, the exercise, coupled with bit of Hair Band rock on the i-pod actually did the trick, and I came home not depressed.
I guess the thing I have to remember is that there will be days like this - you don't just get over something like this and move on. Having good days is good, but having bad days is not bad.
Sunday, March 14, 2010
Happy Birthday Mommy (3/11)
Well, I would have liked to write a post on Mom's actual birthday last Thursday, but it was an exhausting and emotionally trying week. I started back at work this week. It was awkward because there was a lot of attention. And, since I'm used to being invisible, that was a little tough. It was also somewhat beautiful. The girls were so welcoming - they really seemed happy to have me back. Girls would shriek and run down the hall to hug me - I don't suppose that kind of thing is an act to get an A! The faculty were very welcoming too, although there are still a few pitying glances. Now that the overt attention has faded, hopefully those glances will too. I know it's all well meaning, but it's exactly what I had worried would happen as soon as people knew what was happening. As long as I can fade away into obscurity again soon, I can handle it in the meantime. As for the uncomfortable reception from the powers that be, well, par for the course.
The worst part of the week, though, was that Keith and I had a huge fight. It was over the cleanup again. He threw out some things I had set aside to save, and it deteriorated into a shouting match, which left me sobbing in my room, feeling like I had been torn apart. I can't seem to make him understand how lost I feel so much of the time, and how I can't just throw Mom and Dad's lives away. We are getting rid of a lot, but I need to save some things that I know seem irrational. That night, I felt like the world was spinning out of control, and losing those little bits of paper, made feel like I was losing everything. I know it's not really about the paper - those scraps of things are a connection. With every thing that gets thrown away, the connection seems to weaken. Yet, I'm reasonable, I think. I'm not trying to keep everything - not even close. But, it's 5 weeks, not 5 months or 5 years and, if I want to keep something in a bin for 30 years because knowing I have it comforts me, then I'll keep it in a bin. Keith can't make that decision for me. The fight did not linger - it was important to me that it be addressed before Mommy's birthday, so I sent Keith an email. I don't think he quite got what I was trying to say in the email, but it's fine now. And, in retrospect, I think I know why he got so upset so easily - last week was payroll week, which is always stressful.
We went to Harvest for Mom's birthday. It felt a little wrong being there without them, but it actually turned out to be a really nice evening - and just the celebration of her life we needed. And, though Tuesday night was the worst night I've had since she died (it's the first time I begged her to come back), Thursday might have been one of the best. And, yesterday, we all (Louie included) managed to spend the day cleaning without lunging at each other's throats, so, progress!
The worst part of the week, though, was that Keith and I had a huge fight. It was over the cleanup again. He threw out some things I had set aside to save, and it deteriorated into a shouting match, which left me sobbing in my room, feeling like I had been torn apart. I can't seem to make him understand how lost I feel so much of the time, and how I can't just throw Mom and Dad's lives away. We are getting rid of a lot, but I need to save some things that I know seem irrational. That night, I felt like the world was spinning out of control, and losing those little bits of paper, made feel like I was losing everything. I know it's not really about the paper - those scraps of things are a connection. With every thing that gets thrown away, the connection seems to weaken. Yet, I'm reasonable, I think. I'm not trying to keep everything - not even close. But, it's 5 weeks, not 5 months or 5 years and, if I want to keep something in a bin for 30 years because knowing I have it comforts me, then I'll keep it in a bin. Keith can't make that decision for me. The fight did not linger - it was important to me that it be addressed before Mommy's birthday, so I sent Keith an email. I don't think he quite got what I was trying to say in the email, but it's fine now. And, in retrospect, I think I know why he got so upset so easily - last week was payroll week, which is always stressful.
We went to Harvest for Mom's birthday. It felt a little wrong being there without them, but it actually turned out to be a really nice evening - and just the celebration of her life we needed. And, though Tuesday night was the worst night I've had since she died (it's the first time I begged her to come back), Thursday might have been one of the best. And, yesterday, we all (Louie included) managed to spend the day cleaning without lunging at each other's throats, so, progress!
Sunday, March 7, 2010
One month
I can believe it, but it's been one month. One month since my entire world changed. I don't know how a whole month could have passed. I always assumed life would stop when Mommy died - how was I supposed to go on without her? But, I've been functioning surprisingly normally this month. That's not to say it has been easy. Today was an exceptionally difficult day in terms of functioning like a normal human being. And, I do find myself occasionally crying hysterically in the car in a parking garage for no good reason (Wednesday's fun and excitement), but I actually get up everyday (I won't say morning - late nights make for late days) and I go about my business. That business has been very busy, andt's just going to get busier - I go back to school tomorrow. I have mixed feelings about that. They had hired someone to fill in until Easter Break, but she ended up taking another job. So, I got calls telling me to "Take your time," with the "we're really stuck without a sub" in parentheses. I can see it from their perspective, but I feel a little played. When Daddy died 3 1/2 years ago, the State Department was quite honest about being a heartless beaurocracy, calling me AWOL and ordering me back to Mexico. It was upsetting (and eye-opening), but at least I knew where I stood. Here, I get a bit of a feeling like the burden in being put on me - my sense of responsibility won't let me leave the students in the lurch (and they know it). I'm not saying the calls from school were not genuinely to see how I'm doing, but that they were not entirely to see how I'm doing. And I know I have an obligation to my job - and a need for my job! So back I go.
And, once I go back, the all-consuming world of school takes over, and there won't be time for anything else. I think I'm going to get really overwhelmed, and I don't know how I'm going to handle it all. I'm worried that Arabic class will take the brunt of it, and I really want to do well in that class. But, there's want and need, and I need to get my work done at school, and at home. Keith and I are now actually talking about putting the house on the market after Easter - way soon, but there have been developments. I've been looking for apartments, like Mom and I were before she died, and I'm waiting to hear on one I've offered on. I feel like, parting with the house will be difficult no matter when I do it - it will be no easier next year than now, and in the meantime, it's too much. Too much to take care of, too much to come home too, empty and alone. I need a fresh start. The apartment will give me that. I just hope Mommy doesn't think I'm moving too fast, or I'm forgetting her. I don't think she will - I know she wanted the apartment for me, that she thought it would be good for me, and she didn't want me burdened with this house. It will be tough, though, the day I know I can never enter this house again. And it's harder because I may be away for the entire fall, if the Fulbright goes through.
Well, anyway, despite the ups and downs of the last month, I'm actually doing pretty well. Now, if I can manage to do all my work, get the house ready for sale, close on apartment and lose 50 pounds by the end of August, I can fly off to England very content! Some of those things might be harder than others.
And, once I go back, the all-consuming world of school takes over, and there won't be time for anything else. I think I'm going to get really overwhelmed, and I don't know how I'm going to handle it all. I'm worried that Arabic class will take the brunt of it, and I really want to do well in that class. But, there's want and need, and I need to get my work done at school, and at home. Keith and I are now actually talking about putting the house on the market after Easter - way soon, but there have been developments. I've been looking for apartments, like Mom and I were before she died, and I'm waiting to hear on one I've offered on. I feel like, parting with the house will be difficult no matter when I do it - it will be no easier next year than now, and in the meantime, it's too much. Too much to take care of, too much to come home too, empty and alone. I need a fresh start. The apartment will give me that. I just hope Mommy doesn't think I'm moving too fast, or I'm forgetting her. I don't think she will - I know she wanted the apartment for me, that she thought it would be good for me, and she didn't want me burdened with this house. It will be tough, though, the day I know I can never enter this house again. And it's harder because I may be away for the entire fall, if the Fulbright goes through.
Well, anyway, despite the ups and downs of the last month, I'm actually doing pretty well. Now, if I can manage to do all my work, get the house ready for sale, close on apartment and lose 50 pounds by the end of August, I can fly off to England very content! Some of those things might be harder than others.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Blizzards and Bum Knees
Not having a grea night. I'm not even sure exactly why. I suddenly feel so down. I had a nice afternoon - went to Lunch with Luke. Didn't do much when I came home - watched the USA/Canada hockey game, created some assignments for my students todo this week while I'm out, did some laundry. Watched a bit of Dr. Who. Now I'm watching the closing ceremonies. Maybe that's part of it. The sense of ending - these games were a distraction for the last 17 days - I've had them to watch every night since I've had to be alone in this house. After tonight, they're done - and I go back to the regular routine. Only the regular routine is not the same anymore. When I sit and watch my regular shows, I'll be watching them by myself. It's no, of course, about the TV shows - it's about the little moments in life that I can no longer share with the most important person in my world.
And, as I write this, Brooke has just bounded up from bed and hobbled out of the room barking. I say hobbled, because she did have the knee surgery - in the middle of the blizzard on Friday (21 inches of snow, and I took my dog to the vet for orthopedic surgery). I think this has me a bit down, because I don't know if I'm taking good enough care of her. She's not resting the leg - she jumps up on the window seat and sofa and down again. Now it's a bit red and swollen. I'm afraid she's going to do permanent damage, and don't know how to stop her. She won't eat (except cookies and bully sticks) and I haven't seen her drink much water, except what I tried to get in with a syringe. She looks at me and whines, but I can't seem to give her what she needs. I feel like Mom would know what to do, and I'm totally lost. And, if I can't take care of a crazy Yorkie with a bum knee, and gloomy schnauzer with weight issues, how am I ever going to take care of human kids? I always assumed that Mommy would be here when I had kids - that she'd show me how to do it right (the way she did it). But, now I have to figure all of that out on my own. And I haven't got the first clue about raising kids (not that it's a pressing issue right now).
The sense of being overwhelmed is growing too. One more week before I go back to school, and then who knows what I'll do - there won't be time for anything. And, naturally, I haven't gotten a fraction of the things done that I need to - in part because it's just so much, and, honestly, in part because of a passive aggression that just doesn't want to do it. Oh, and I have Arabic homework to do. So, right now, I'll finish the Closing Cermonies (on TiVo), watch another 3 or so episodes of Dr. Who (what am I going to do without it when I'm done?), and continue my passive aggressive avoidance tactics.
And, as I write this, Brooke has just bounded up from bed and hobbled out of the room barking. I say hobbled, because she did have the knee surgery - in the middle of the blizzard on Friday (21 inches of snow, and I took my dog to the vet for orthopedic surgery). I think this has me a bit down, because I don't know if I'm taking good enough care of her. She's not resting the leg - she jumps up on the window seat and sofa and down again. Now it's a bit red and swollen. I'm afraid she's going to do permanent damage, and don't know how to stop her. She won't eat (except cookies and bully sticks) and I haven't seen her drink much water, except what I tried to get in with a syringe. She looks at me and whines, but I can't seem to give her what she needs. I feel like Mom would know what to do, and I'm totally lost. And, if I can't take care of a crazy Yorkie with a bum knee, and gloomy schnauzer with weight issues, how am I ever going to take care of human kids? I always assumed that Mommy would be here when I had kids - that she'd show me how to do it right (the way she did it). But, now I have to figure all of that out on my own. And I haven't got the first clue about raising kids (not that it's a pressing issue right now).
The sense of being overwhelmed is growing too. One more week before I go back to school, and then who knows what I'll do - there won't be time for anything. And, naturally, I haven't gotten a fraction of the things done that I need to - in part because it's just so much, and, honestly, in part because of a passive aggression that just doesn't want to do it. Oh, and I have Arabic homework to do. So, right now, I'll finish the Closing Cermonies (on TiVo), watch another 3 or so episodes of Dr. Who (what am I going to do without it when I'm done?), and continue my passive aggressive avoidance tactics.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Do they make yorkie-sized crutches?
Sometimes, I think they created the expression "kick me while I'm down" just for me. How else do you explain the last 3 1/2 years, in which I've lost almost everything? Not that I want to dwell on all that right now - I've done enough of that over the last week (a rough one at times). No, now I want to focus on the latest BS curveball that's been thrown at me - Brooke, my 2-year-old yorkie (she was my mom's actually) needs orthopedic surgery on her knee. The knee on her right rear leg keeps poppig out of the joint. It's an issue she had as a puppy, which we hoped she'd grow out of. She hasn't. Now, she runs with a little hitch in her step, and the doctor was able to just pop it in and out. She doesn't seem to be in much pain, but it is an issue nonetheless.
I feel for her, even as I have been wanting to wring her neck lately. Of the two dogs, she's had the roughest time adjusting since mom died. They were both in the room at the time, and were both rather subdued, but Cali seems to have largely bounced back. The first day after, when I let them into the room, they cried and whined, but Cali seems back in her (usual) mopey routine. Brooke is having barking fits again, and regressing by having accidents in the house. I try not to yell at her, but she pushes my buttons - she just doesn't listen. Part of it is her personality, and I guess part of it is the adjustment. Of course, I always thought she was a ghost whisperer - when she barks like she does, it's as if she sees something I don't. I always imagined that she would say, if she could, "Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there!"
Anyway, the maniac (as her favorite dog sitter, Michelle likes to call her) might have the surgery on Friday, depending on the snow. Hopefully she won't have any complications. I really can't take another loss so soon. We lost our other yorkie, Kacy, just a few months after my dad died and I don't really need a case of deja-vu all over again.
Mom always felt, after Dad died, that just as soon as she thought she could pick herself up, she got knocked down again, and I know how she felt. I've felt it too, and I feel it again - do I really need to deal with this right now?
I wonder if they have doggy PT? =)
http://www.woofagainstcancer.com/
I feel for her, even as I have been wanting to wring her neck lately. Of the two dogs, she's had the roughest time adjusting since mom died. They were both in the room at the time, and were both rather subdued, but Cali seems to have largely bounced back. The first day after, when I let them into the room, they cried and whined, but Cali seems back in her (usual) mopey routine. Brooke is having barking fits again, and regressing by having accidents in the house. I try not to yell at her, but she pushes my buttons - she just doesn't listen. Part of it is her personality, and I guess part of it is the adjustment. Of course, I always thought she was a ghost whisperer - when she barks like she does, it's as if she sees something I don't. I always imagined that she would say, if she could, "Just because you can't see it doesn't mean it isn't there!"
Anyway, the maniac (as her favorite dog sitter, Michelle likes to call her) might have the surgery on Friday, depending on the snow. Hopefully she won't have any complications. I really can't take another loss so soon. We lost our other yorkie, Kacy, just a few months after my dad died and I don't really need a case of deja-vu all over again.
Mom always felt, after Dad died, that just as soon as she thought she could pick herself up, she got knocked down again, and I know how she felt. I've felt it too, and I feel it again - do I really need to deal with this right now?
I wonder if they have doggy PT? =)
http://www.woofagainstcancer.com/
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Edible Emergency?
OK, I admit my tolerance level is pretty low right now, but if one more person says "We'll be there between x and y," and they don't arrive until z, I may hurt someone. Today's offender - Edible Arrangements. After a back and forth of phone calls to tell me they'd be here between 12 and 2 (after narrowing it down from 12-3), I get a call at 3, telling me they'd had an emergency. Really? A fruit basket emergency? Did the chocolate melt off one of the strawberries? Well, apparently it was an issue with the truck, and they assured me that they were on thir way to me "right now." Of course, they neglected to tell me they were coming from the frozen north, or something, because "right now" apparently meant "in an hour or so." They finally arrived at 4:15! My annoyance level was even higher as a car pulled into the driveway just as the delivery truck arrived - I was in no mood to entertain! Turns out, it was just my mom's friend, Bernie, bringing me some dinner (very sweet!). But, she was very emotional, and I couldn't really deal with that. She had to leave to go to work, so I could finally leave to make my much ballyhooed trip to Walmart.
Which brings me to the life lesson of the day - never, and I mean NEVER, go to Walmart on a holiday. WTF was I thinking? Oh, right - snow tomorrow (snow right now, actually) - the doggies need food. Circled forever to find parkin. I nearly threw down with the greeter over a shopping cart (they're never as nice as the commercials - "Can I help you? What I can do for you?" - yes, a direct quote from one commercial). I really shouldn't do things that try my patience when I don't have any. But, the dogs have food, and I have more plastic bins, and, well, who would have thought a trip to Walmart could be emotionally draining?
So, in sum, today was a day in which the petty annoyances got to me. The bright spot was a nice phone call with Annette, who has safely arrived back in Texas. Here's hoping there are no more edible emergencies!
Which brings me to the life lesson of the day - never, and I mean NEVER, go to Walmart on a holiday. WTF was I thinking? Oh, right - snow tomorrow (snow right now, actually) - the doggies need food. Circled forever to find parkin. I nearly threw down with the greeter over a shopping cart (they're never as nice as the commercials - "Can I help you? What I can do for you?" - yes, a direct quote from one commercial). I really shouldn't do things that try my patience when I don't have any. But, the dogs have food, and I have more plastic bins, and, well, who would have thought a trip to Walmart could be emotionally draining?
So, in sum, today was a day in which the petty annoyances got to me. The bright spot was a nice phone call with Annette, who has safely arrived back in Texas. Here's hoping there are no more edible emergencies!
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Home Alone 2
So, I had been doing pretty well today, after surviving the night. But, as the evening wore on, things got tougher. Too much time to think. Thinking sucks. And the dogs that are supposed to be comforting me, have pushed my buttons all day. Brooke has barely stopped barking all day, nd won't listen. And Cali is doing her best Madame Mopey routine. I guess I should cut them some slack, but I don't have a high tolerance right now.
As the house grows quiet in the late evening, and there ae fewer distractions, I begin to realize that the only noise is coming from the room I'm in - because there is no one in any other room. And that's not how it should be. It makes me very conflicted as I wonder what I should do with the house. I mean, I plan to sell - tht was always the plan, and Keith and I are in agreement about that. But, when he suggested that we try to put it on the market in afew months, I couldn't handle that - even though I may be gone for several months in the fall due to the Fulbright teacher exchange I'm supposed to go on. The thought of not being able to come home to, well, home, scares me - even though home is empty now. At the same time, the longer we take to sell, the longer it will be before I can afford to buy myself an apartment in the city. And, if we wait until I get home from the Fulbright, that will be a whole year. And the house shouldn't really sit for so long.
I don't know - I know people would say I don't have to decide this right now - but, I feel like I have to decide everything at once. There's so much to do, and I feel like I can't put anything off. And, I don't know how much help I'll really get when it all fades from people's minds. Maybe that's not fair, but I feel like I have to do it all myself, and I don't know where to start.
I know one thing, though. Tomorrow I'm going out. Nothing fancy - just toWalmart to buy dog food and stuff. But, I need to get out into the "real" world for an hour or two. Maybe that distraction will carry me over through the quiet evening hours. We'll see . . .
As the house grows quiet in the late evening, and there ae fewer distractions, I begin to realize that the only noise is coming from the room I'm in - because there is no one in any other room. And that's not how it should be. It makes me very conflicted as I wonder what I should do with the house. I mean, I plan to sell - tht was always the plan, and Keith and I are in agreement about that. But, when he suggested that we try to put it on the market in afew months, I couldn't handle that - even though I may be gone for several months in the fall due to the Fulbright teacher exchange I'm supposed to go on. The thought of not being able to come home to, well, home, scares me - even though home is empty now. At the same time, the longer we take to sell, the longer it will be before I can afford to buy myself an apartment in the city. And, if we wait until I get home from the Fulbright, that will be a whole year. And the house shouldn't really sit for so long.
I don't know - I know people would say I don't have to decide this right now - but, I feel like I have to decide everything at once. There's so much to do, and I feel like I can't put anything off. And, I don't know how much help I'll really get when it all fades from people's minds. Maybe that's not fair, but I feel like I have to do it all myself, and I don't know where to start.
I know one thing, though. Tomorrow I'm going out. Nothing fancy - just toWalmart to buy dog food and stuff. But, I need to get out into the "real" world for an hour or two. Maybe that distraction will carry me over through the quiet evening hours. We'll see . . .
Saturday, February 13, 2010
First Night Alone
It's been some week. I hope that I have honored my mother's legacy with the wake and funeral. The weather did not cooperate, as we had a big snowstorm Wednesday. Mommy hated the snow. In a way, it worked out, because we had only the immediate family there, and we had an impromptu memorial service of our own. Big difference from Tuesday, which was wall-to-wall people. The line never ended. It meant the world to me to see my coleagues and students, but especially my students. They didn't have to come, but so many of them did. It's going to make it easier to go back to work when the time comes.
The funeral went well Thursday, even with some weather glitches, and Father Connolly not coming. Highlight was Vivi arriving from the Sudan, with her suitcase, in the middle of the mass, just as the nieces were reading the prayer of the faithful. It was a perfect moment. I was so happy she made it, even though she couldn't bring herself to read. I'm so grateful to Annette for staying with me throughout everything, too.
Last night Edna arranged a dinner at Sofrito for about 35 family members. It was a happy night - one mom would have loved. She would not want us mourning her death, she would want us celebrating life. And that's what we did.
Then there's tonight. It's my first night alone in the house since Mommy died. Annette, JR and Albert left today, and I'm on my own. It's not as if I haven't lived alone - it's the reason I'm alone that is weighing on me. Realizing she truly is gone. Knowing I have to find a way to continue on with my life without my best friend. It was a bit too much in the first hour or so, and I had to call Keith. He stayed on the phone with me and talked me through it. He surprises me sometimes with his insight and understanding. Maybe I haven't given my big brother enough credit in the past. I've been pretty good for the last few hours, and Annette called to check on me. Keith said he'd call before bed.
At least I have Cali and Brooke, my dogs, who are currently sleeping on me as I type this and watch the Olympics. I considered not watching, as that was something Mommy and I did together, but I realize that I can't start doing that - I owe Mommy more than that. I owe it to her, and Daddy, to live my lfe, and to try to enjoy those things I enjoyed in the past. My heart may not be totally in it, but I'm trying.
So, a few more hours and I'll have to try to go to sleep. Either that, or it's going to be a Dr. Who marathon with that new DVD I bought afer our London trip. Right now, I'd prefer sleep. Here's hoping . . .
The funeral went well Thursday, even with some weather glitches, and Father Connolly not coming. Highlight was Vivi arriving from the Sudan, with her suitcase, in the middle of the mass, just as the nieces were reading the prayer of the faithful. It was a perfect moment. I was so happy she made it, even though she couldn't bring herself to read. I'm so grateful to Annette for staying with me throughout everything, too.
Last night Edna arranged a dinner at Sofrito for about 35 family members. It was a happy night - one mom would have loved. She would not want us mourning her death, she would want us celebrating life. And that's what we did.
Then there's tonight. It's my first night alone in the house since Mommy died. Annette, JR and Albert left today, and I'm on my own. It's not as if I haven't lived alone - it's the reason I'm alone that is weighing on me. Realizing she truly is gone. Knowing I have to find a way to continue on with my life without my best friend. It was a bit too much in the first hour or so, and I had to call Keith. He stayed on the phone with me and talked me through it. He surprises me sometimes with his insight and understanding. Maybe I haven't given my big brother enough credit in the past. I've been pretty good for the last few hours, and Annette called to check on me. Keith said he'd call before bed.
At least I have Cali and Brooke, my dogs, who are currently sleeping on me as I type this and watch the Olympics. I considered not watching, as that was something Mommy and I did together, but I realize that I can't start doing that - I owe Mommy more than that. I owe it to her, and Daddy, to live my lfe, and to try to enjoy those things I enjoyed in the past. My heart may not be totally in it, but I'm trying.
So, a few more hours and I'll have to try to go to sleep. Either that, or it's going to be a Dr. Who marathon with that new DVD I bought afer our London trip. Right now, I'd prefer sleep. Here's hoping . . .
Sunday, February 7, 2010
Day One - The Day the World Stopped Turning
My name is Kristen. My mother passed away today at 4:45 PM. I promised her I would be all right, and through this blog, I hope to make that true. I don't what I will write, or where this will go, but it will be honest, and it will hopefuly be a a fitting tribute to the best person the world has ever seen.
I love you Mommy, and I always will. I'll never forget you, ever.
I love you Mommy, and I always will. I'll never forget you, ever.
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