Oh, there are so many things I Ought to be doing (copyediting; yoga; writing), and I do not care.
I've been working my ass off at the bakery this week--10 hours Tuesday, and 9+ hours yesterday and today. One of the things that's interesting to me is how much more I know than I did when i started. Because I take care of the laminated doughs (and the funeral cakes--which we now also make as muffins, and they sell like hotcakes), and because we're still making a bunch of them (and more on that in a minute), my time for other things is still somewhat limited. I cranked out a batch of funeral muffins today (along with a half-dozen cakes; we're selling more of the muffins), along with the usual 500 croissants and the dough for tomorrow's croissants. But I still have a few minutes here and there, and it's much easier for me to find something to do than it was then (today I filled muffin tins with paper muffin cups, because Artie was going to be making a lot of muffins once I finished my batch; other times I'll give Phil a hand rounding dough or making rolls or whatever). It's nice to feel useful.
Okay, first I have to bitch (again?!) for a minute, then to the good stuff. Can i just say that I cannot wait for menopause? I used to have periods that were like clockwork. They changed a little over the years (the cycle shortened by a couple of days over the past 35 years), and the fibroids made things interesting for awhile (if you're averse to lots of blood and pain, then fibroids aren't for you), but the embolization from three years ago helped with the fibroids quite a bit. This year, though, has been nuts. Every time I turn around I'm bleeding again, and I think the fibroids have been growing again. This can probably all be explained by impending menopause: I'm probably not ovulating regularly, and my hormones are probably fluctuating somewhat, which means the periods would become irregular, and there's often an estrogen surge as menopause approaches, which would feed the fibroids. Yeah, fine, I have reasonable explanations for it all, but I haven't had three regular cycles in a row since the beginning of the year, and it's annoying the shit out of me. I was never one for regarding my period as Wonderful Moon Days that Confirm My Womanhood or some such shit, and I was also not one for getting wrapped up in misery, either; it seemed like a simple fact of life--inconvenient sometimes, but not that big a deal. Lately, though, it's just been even more of a pain--the not knowing when it's going to show up, plus the random spotting, are tedious. If I had the money, I'd go see my acupuncturist, but I'm not nearly bothered enough to shell out a grand for it. If I had my old salary I probably would, but I'm working way too hard for it these days. (That's not a complaint, incidentally, merely an observation about how one's calculus changes according to one's situation.) The other thing that makes it a little difficult is that I don't have many people I can discuss it with--you know, who can tell me what they went through, so I can figure out what's "normal." I mostly hang out around men, and several of the women I know are way too young for menopause. Jane is pretty much it, among the people I see regularly, and she already has to hear me bitch about every other damned thing (you people have it easy compared to her).
The good stuff is pretty cool, actually. Another guy who has a small shop wanders into our bakery on occasion; he's competing for the national team that Bossman was on. Another Guy is annoying as all hell; he NEVER SHUTS UP. He apparently sent samples of his croissants to Brazen Tart's hotel, and she tells me they weren't good, but AG doesn't know we know any of that. So today AG shows up--and while he's there, the guy at Brazen Tart's hotel calls and wants to know when we're sending our samples! Bossman explained (out of AG's hearing) that we had some crappy flour this week and we're bringing stuff next Wednesday (actually, Bossman is bringing it). So Bossman and I spent some time today discussing what to make, and we'll do more of that tomorrow, and we're making a practice batch of everything on Saturday. Also on Saturday, our web guy is coming by to pick up more stuff to photograph for our website, which means I need to get cracking on that writing, too. Nothing like making yourself even more useful to the boss.
One of the things I like about the whole thing--and will like even more if it's successful--is that Bossman is clearly interested in my opinion on these things. Of course, I always throw in my two cents (the people who know me well snorted when they read that), but it's sure nice to be working with someone who wants to hear it.
Meanwhile, Brad has his shorts in a bunch about something--he's been crabby the last two days. And you know what? He has to get over it. I wouldn't be surprised if the stuff I'm doing with Bossman is part of it, but I really don't care.
Today Artie and I had a brief interchange about something, and he told me he likes it when I smile because I remind him of someone in his life, that it brings a good memory for him. As you might imagine, I completely hate it when men tell me to smile, but this was so not that kind of comment. The crew is getting lasagna this week, rather than pizza . . .
Thursday, November 30, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
More Rambling
Bad news: On my way into my building tonight, I managed to catch my headphones in the door, neatly separating the part that goes on your ears from the part that plugs into an iPod or radio or whatever. I have another set of headphones (though they're starting to die, too; they require constant fiddling with/holding one of the earpieces), but I'm pretty sure I gave my iPod-supplied ear buds to Chuck, because I've never had a set of in-ear listening devices that worked for me. Mutant ear canals, I guess. This gets slightly more complicated, in that my iPod is starting to go, too; the battery won't hold a charge. I don't think I want to buy a new one, to the tune of $249 plus tax, even though I'd get new earphones AND a new remote; they'll "refurbish" one (i.e., send me a refurbished one and keep mine) for about $70, I think, plus headphones and a remote, and we're talking about another $65, maybe. So, $135 versus $275 is a pretty easy calculation, unless I wanted to spend an extra $140 for the most up-to-date iPod, versus the several-years-old model I own (and love, mind you; it doesn't have pictures or movies or anything like that, but it plays music, which is what I want it to do). I think I'm going to use the failing headphones for awhile and ponder this.
But the good news: I bought a new, $75 30-day transit pass last week in anticipation of needing it today, but I could not find it in my wallet this morning. I had to get out of here, so I paid the fare with a cash transit card, then bought a 7-day pass, figuring either I'd find the 30-day pass at home, in which case I'm out a couple of bucks extra for getting that pass, or I wouldn't find it, in which case I'd have six more days to use this one and get a replacement or get the automatic-loading transit card, which I've been resisting for years (because I don't like the trackability of it) but which will be replaced if you lose it or it's stolen. But I found the 30-day pass when I got home, so I can defer that decision a little longer.
I still don't have health insurance. Bossman is trying to solve that for me, or, rather, his wife tried but has not yet been successful; he was going to call the agent and try to figure out what was going on. I try not to get too anxious about it, but it's completely anxiety-provoking. I think we need to put that in the "bad news but . . ." column.
In the "might be good news column," the bar to which I go every Tuesday night is also open for breakfast--they have pastries and coffee and free wi-fi, but I don't know how much business they do. Last night I asked the bartenders who did their breakfast stuff, and it turns out they're looking for some new stuff. Turns out we do all kinds of breakfast stuff and we already deliver to a place not all that far from the bar. And it turns out the fancy downtown hotel (where the Brazen Tart works) that has been getting their dinner rolls from us for a little while now might maybe could use some help with their breakfast pastries. I don't think they've mentioned anything to Bossman, but hey, a little box of samples might not be a bad idea. And the more of this stuff I do, the more valuable I become.
We're not going to do any samples until we get new flour, however. We couldn't get our regular flour for some reason, so this week we've been using some bleached, bromated shit that has neither elasticity nor extensibility. Yesterday's dough was an interesting exercise, too: Brad mixed it for me Monday afternoon. All day yesterday I was picking shreds of paper towel out of it; a piece must have gotten into the flour or the mixer or something, and it was well-distributed through the dough. What a pain in the ass--probably added an hour and a half to my day yesterday. Today was long, too, not least because Brad asked me to do some sweet trays (which, okay, no problem, even though they wanted the Good Stuff) but then also told me to help Phil with some dinner rolls, which took probably 45 minutes. I don't mind helping Phil, in practice or in principle--when I'm not trying to get my own damned work done. Brad offered to stay and help me with my croissants later in the afternoon, but I sent him on his way; he was getting on my last nerve today, and I just wanted to do them properly and get out of there. (Despite my multiple requests that he place a newly shaped croissant directly onto a sheet pan--because you're supposed to minimize the number of times you handle them--he insists on rolling them all and then putting them on pans, meaning you touch each piece an extra time.)
Even when I get health insurance, Bossman said it's pretty basic coverage, which means I'm going to be spending some money for health care. I haven't been to the dentist in about two years, and I can tell I need new glasses/contacts, so I got me some health care expenses coming up, no matter what.
But the good news: I bought a new, $75 30-day transit pass last week in anticipation of needing it today, but I could not find it in my wallet this morning. I had to get out of here, so I paid the fare with a cash transit card, then bought a 7-day pass, figuring either I'd find the 30-day pass at home, in which case I'm out a couple of bucks extra for getting that pass, or I wouldn't find it, in which case I'd have six more days to use this one and get a replacement or get the automatic-loading transit card, which I've been resisting for years (because I don't like the trackability of it) but which will be replaced if you lose it or it's stolen. But I found the 30-day pass when I got home, so I can defer that decision a little longer.
I still don't have health insurance. Bossman is trying to solve that for me, or, rather, his wife tried but has not yet been successful; he was going to call the agent and try to figure out what was going on. I try not to get too anxious about it, but it's completely anxiety-provoking. I think we need to put that in the "bad news but . . ." column.
In the "might be good news column," the bar to which I go every Tuesday night is also open for breakfast--they have pastries and coffee and free wi-fi, but I don't know how much business they do. Last night I asked the bartenders who did their breakfast stuff, and it turns out they're looking for some new stuff. Turns out we do all kinds of breakfast stuff and we already deliver to a place not all that far from the bar. And it turns out the fancy downtown hotel (where the Brazen Tart works) that has been getting their dinner rolls from us for a little while now might maybe could use some help with their breakfast pastries. I don't think they've mentioned anything to Bossman, but hey, a little box of samples might not be a bad idea. And the more of this stuff I do, the more valuable I become.
We're not going to do any samples until we get new flour, however. We couldn't get our regular flour for some reason, so this week we've been using some bleached, bromated shit that has neither elasticity nor extensibility. Yesterday's dough was an interesting exercise, too: Brad mixed it for me Monday afternoon. All day yesterday I was picking shreds of paper towel out of it; a piece must have gotten into the flour or the mixer or something, and it was well-distributed through the dough. What a pain in the ass--probably added an hour and a half to my day yesterday. Today was long, too, not least because Brad asked me to do some sweet trays (which, okay, no problem, even though they wanted the Good Stuff) but then also told me to help Phil with some dinner rolls, which took probably 45 minutes. I don't mind helping Phil, in practice or in principle--when I'm not trying to get my own damned work done. Brad offered to stay and help me with my croissants later in the afternoon, but I sent him on his way; he was getting on my last nerve today, and I just wanted to do them properly and get out of there. (Despite my multiple requests that he place a newly shaped croissant directly onto a sheet pan--because you're supposed to minimize the number of times you handle them--he insists on rolling them all and then putting them on pans, meaning you touch each piece an extra time.)
Even when I get health insurance, Bossman said it's pretty basic coverage, which means I'm going to be spending some money for health care. I haven't been to the dentist in about two years, and I can tell I need new glasses/contacts, so I got me some health care expenses coming up, no matter what.
Monday, November 27, 2006
The Next Day
My Monday chores include, in addition to whatever housecleaning I can motivate myself to do, making vats of tea. Thanks to Chuck, I have four 1000-ml bottles and one 500-ml bottle, made of some hard plastic (they're designed for use in a lab, so they're pretty sturdy). I generally drink about 1500 ml of tea a day, so I fill the four big bottles on Monday, and then fill the 500-ml bottle each day. I prefer Assam black, made by Honest Tea, changed up occasionally with some Jiangxi China Green or some Kashmiri Chai. I didn't like the latter as much as I thought I would, but I'm working my through the batch I bought; I go through at least 15 bags of the Assam each week (I put two bags in the 1000-ml bottles). I've never really liked Earl Grey or mint, and I didn't like the Honeybush at all when I tried it. I do like the Chamolime, and it turns out that it is an incredible sleep aid for several people I know, including Chuck (really: they drink a cup and crash), but I don't go through much of it. I have to order the tea online, because I've never been able to find their tea bags--only their bottled tea--in stores. Anyway, I shlep a big bottle and the small bottle to work every day, refilling the latter from the former and keeping the former in the walk-in. It's handy, because I like tea (obviously), and the bottles don't spill when they get knocked over, unlike, say, styrofoam coffee cups.
I'm finding that, now that I've said my piece to Chuck, I'm mostly sad. For me, for him. Neither of us wanted to get to this point, and, you know, despite everything, he's not a bad person, and all of the good things about him are still there, and some of them are better than when we met. He got in the habit of lying, in part because he doesn't believe anyone will love him the way he is, in part because he's smart, and he found it easier to lie (to most people) than to tell the truth. Between his disorder and his addiction (and they often go hand in hand), it's a testament to him that he's not in even worse shape than he's in.
I think he's capable of making (and really wants to make) the changes he needs to make, and he certainly knows he's got to do it for him, not for anyone else. And, as I said to him, if he gets it together, he deserves to be with someone who can trust and love him in a way that I simply cannot at this point. I would like to be able to be friends with him--though I think he really doesn't want that, and I'm not going to push it. I can still work up some anger and fear over the tens of thousands of dollars this relationship has cost me, but I also know that, if he does make those changes, he's going to want to make amends to me, too. And if not, well, there's nothing I can do about it. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it sometimes, because I've done this before, i.e., found myself in a financial hole and had to dig my way out of it. Jane and I have talked about this a lot; she saw me dig myself out of the last one, too. As I said, I can work up a good fury about it, but other times, I'm more "whatever" about it. Sitting around whining about it isn't going to help one little bit, so I can only do that for so long. Similarly, castigating Chuck or myself for the situation isn't going to put food on the table or pay the rent.
I'm determined to get out of the house today. I'll do some more copyediting, seeing as how the next batch just showed up in my inbox, but I have to get out. And probably taking a shower first would be good.
I'm finding that, now that I've said my piece to Chuck, I'm mostly sad. For me, for him. Neither of us wanted to get to this point, and, you know, despite everything, he's not a bad person, and all of the good things about him are still there, and some of them are better than when we met. He got in the habit of lying, in part because he doesn't believe anyone will love him the way he is, in part because he's smart, and he found it easier to lie (to most people) than to tell the truth. Between his disorder and his addiction (and they often go hand in hand), it's a testament to him that he's not in even worse shape than he's in.
I think he's capable of making (and really wants to make) the changes he needs to make, and he certainly knows he's got to do it for him, not for anyone else. And, as I said to him, if he gets it together, he deserves to be with someone who can trust and love him in a way that I simply cannot at this point. I would like to be able to be friends with him--though I think he really doesn't want that, and I'm not going to push it. I can still work up some anger and fear over the tens of thousands of dollars this relationship has cost me, but I also know that, if he does make those changes, he's going to want to make amends to me, too. And if not, well, there's nothing I can do about it. It makes me sick to my stomach to think about it sometimes, because I've done this before, i.e., found myself in a financial hole and had to dig my way out of it. Jane and I have talked about this a lot; she saw me dig myself out of the last one, too. As I said, I can work up a good fury about it, but other times, I'm more "whatever" about it. Sitting around whining about it isn't going to help one little bit, so I can only do that for so long. Similarly, castigating Chuck or myself for the situation isn't going to put food on the table or pay the rent.
I'm determined to get out of the house today. I'll do some more copyediting, seeing as how the next batch just showed up in my inbox, but I have to get out. And probably taking a shower first would be good.
Sunday, November 26, 2006
And . . .
I just found out that a handball friend died this weekend, while visiting his daughter and son-in-law. He was one of the people who got me into handball. I had my graduation party at the wonderful old victorian house he and his wife used to own. He was generous, and kind, and funny, and I loved him.
Clarity
and sadness.
Wednesday night I had a long talk with Peter, a friend who knows quite a bit about about addiction and recovery (and mental illness, for that matter). I told him that Chuck's latest move--as of Wednesday, again--is to say that seeing me makes him too angry and upset, and therefore I can't see his son any more. I told Peter about the health insurance fiasco (still unsolved), as well. Peter pointed out that Chuck has had every opportunity to do the right things, to make amends, to show himself to be honest and trustworthy, to be fiscally responsible and transparent. He has done the exact opposite, on every count, Peter pointed out. And that clarified things for me. On some level, Chuck desperately doesn't want any of that to be true, and he especially doesn't want it to be true that our marriage is over, and he extra-especially doesn't want it to be true that his actions have been the biggest contributor to that. I think, on some level, he's even desperately sorry for what he's done, even if he can't quite get his brain around what it would take to make amends for that. But he's been telling me that he doesn't want to be my friend, that he doesn't want to see me or talk to me any more than necessary, and that our relationship is "dead." Apparently, from that I'm supposed to see that he really means, "I want to reconcile with you."
Frankly, I'm not seeing it. What I am seeing is someone who has fucked things up. What I'm also seeing is someone who doesn't want to (and maybe right now is not able to) deal with the enormity of what he's done. And what I'm seeing is someone who maybe didn't find me as compatible as he wanted to, but who couldn't envision life without the structure and stability and cash I provided. I don't think Chuck wants to reconcile, though I think he would be happy if we were magically reconcileD. For awhile, anyway.
So there's been a lot of bile and vitriol this past week or two. He made it a point to scan, and send me the photo of, the handwritten version of the words that his son spoke at our wedding, and he informed me that finding that scrap made him sob for two hours. But my tears at "Elf"? His comment was "Boo-fucking-hoo."
I've spent the last two days writing him a long response to his latest version of the "is this really it?" question, and it's not been fun. I finally sent it off this afternoon, and my stomach is still knotted. I didn't want to get to this point, but I realized, as I've worked away at the bakery for the past two days, that, bottom line, I don't trust him. It's possible that he may become trustworthy at some point, but, given what's happened between us, I will never trust him, and, if he does become trustworthy, then he should be with someone who can trust him. And with someone who can love him, and that's not me any more, either. And I can't begin to tell you how sad that makes me, and how much I feel like I've failed--failed him, failed me, just failed. And I'm sure he feels the same way.
I'm sure you can see why I decided writing this at the old place was probably not a good idea.
Wednesday night I had a long talk with Peter, a friend who knows quite a bit about about addiction and recovery (and mental illness, for that matter). I told him that Chuck's latest move--as of Wednesday, again--is to say that seeing me makes him too angry and upset, and therefore I can't see his son any more. I told Peter about the health insurance fiasco (still unsolved), as well. Peter pointed out that Chuck has had every opportunity to do the right things, to make amends, to show himself to be honest and trustworthy, to be fiscally responsible and transparent. He has done the exact opposite, on every count, Peter pointed out. And that clarified things for me. On some level, Chuck desperately doesn't want any of that to be true, and he especially doesn't want it to be true that our marriage is over, and he extra-especially doesn't want it to be true that his actions have been the biggest contributor to that. I think, on some level, he's even desperately sorry for what he's done, even if he can't quite get his brain around what it would take to make amends for that. But he's been telling me that he doesn't want to be my friend, that he doesn't want to see me or talk to me any more than necessary, and that our relationship is "dead." Apparently, from that I'm supposed to see that he really means, "I want to reconcile with you."
Frankly, I'm not seeing it. What I am seeing is someone who has fucked things up. What I'm also seeing is someone who doesn't want to (and maybe right now is not able to) deal with the enormity of what he's done. And what I'm seeing is someone who maybe didn't find me as compatible as he wanted to, but who couldn't envision life without the structure and stability and cash I provided. I don't think Chuck wants to reconcile, though I think he would be happy if we were magically reconcileD. For awhile, anyway.
So there's been a lot of bile and vitriol this past week or two. He made it a point to scan, and send me the photo of, the handwritten version of the words that his son spoke at our wedding, and he informed me that finding that scrap made him sob for two hours. But my tears at "Elf"? His comment was "Boo-fucking-hoo."
I've spent the last two days writing him a long response to his latest version of the "is this really it?" question, and it's not been fun. I finally sent it off this afternoon, and my stomach is still knotted. I didn't want to get to this point, but I realized, as I've worked away at the bakery for the past two days, that, bottom line, I don't trust him. It's possible that he may become trustworthy at some point, but, given what's happened between us, I will never trust him, and, if he does become trustworthy, then he should be with someone who can trust him. And with someone who can love him, and that's not me any more, either. And I can't begin to tell you how sad that makes me, and how much I feel like I've failed--failed him, failed me, just failed. And I'm sure he feels the same way.
I'm sure you can see why I decided writing this at the old place was probably not a good idea.
Thursday, November 23, 2006
Thanks
As you guys know, it's been a difficult year, and there's every reason to believe that it's going to get more difficult. Nevertheless, when I'm not freaking out about not having health insurance OF ANY KIND right now, and when I'm not consumed with anger, and when I'm not overwhelmed in one way or another, I actually feel quite grateful.
I'm grateful that I have skills with which I can support myself, and I'm grateful that so many people (like Bossman, and like a certain publishing company employee I know) have been willing to take a chance on me.
I'm grateful for the unbelievable array of friends I have. It was wonderful (and, in retrospect, heartbreaking) to have so many of them gathered around us for our wedding last year, and it has been even more wonderful to have so many people supporting me through the hell that chunks of this last year have been. Jane (also known as J in the previous blog; I'm going to continue with anonymity, so that's not her name), in particular, has made life bearable. I do not know what I would have done without her.
I'm grateful for my family, especially my brother. Even though my mother is, and always has been, difficult, she and my father have done the very best they could for me, for my brother, and for my sister. Do you like what you see or read here? Thank my parents, because they provided the foundation.
I'm grateful for my yoga practice, even though I haven't practiced much lately. Thanks to my yoga teachers, and to the wisdom of yoga, I have a resource that is literally embodied for me.
I'm grateful for my senses, for the smells and tastes and sounds and sights, for the pictures and words.
I'm grateful to my teachers, and to the people who continue to teach me, generously sharing of themselves. They reinforce the notion that you have to teach it to pass it along, and they inspire me.
Meanwhile, I've got pie dough in the fridge; if you're a baker, you're always bringing dessert (I've been invited to a dinner at Ann's house, along with Jane and another friend of Jane's). I'd thought of taking the pumpkin flan I've made in previous years and putting it on top of some gingerbread, blah blah blah, but it turn's out that Ann wants pie--apple pie, in particular. Now, Ann is a gourmet cook, and I suspected (and Jane confirmed last night) that Ann has been planning for weeks, going through various gourmet food magazines, composing an elaborate menu. So, the way I see it, she wants pie, she gets pie, and I'm happy to provide it.
I also have football on the television--because my high school and the rival high school across the river are playing on Thanksgiving Day for the 100th time, so it's on ESPN2. (Yes, I went to that game when I was in high school.) The head coach for my high school was the other 6th grade teacher when I was in 6th grade. One of the people they interviewed was my high school algebra teacher (and, after I'd left, the head coach). The quarterback for my high school is, I suspect, a relative (son? nephew?) of someone with whom I went to grade school and high school. In a little blow for changing times, they showed the family of one of the kids they just profiled (from the rival school) . . . and the kid's parents are of different races, which, when I was a kid, not so much. Unfortunately, my team is getting shellacked at the moment, despite their unbeaten record. I'll see what they show at halftime--if they profile the towns, which they're likely to do, I'll see my past parade before my eyes on my tv.
I have no idea what's going to happen with the health insurance. Chuck was sullen last night, for the 30 seconds I talked to him. I merely asked if he'd heard back from the company, but he hadn't. He's really screwed--he's got somewhere around a thousand dollars a month of medical expenses, what with his disorder and so on, and he's already living on the edge of financial ruin. So I didn't yell, scream, fulminate, or anything else--I merely asked him to let me know what I needed to do to facilitate reinstatement, then called back the friend to whom I'd been talking. (I'll tell you about that conversation later.)
And you guys? I'm grateful for you, too. Your presence has made this year much more bearable, and your online and offline support has meant a great deal to me. Thanks, friends.
I'm grateful that I have skills with which I can support myself, and I'm grateful that so many people (like Bossman, and like a certain publishing company employee I know) have been willing to take a chance on me.
I'm grateful for the unbelievable array of friends I have. It was wonderful (and, in retrospect, heartbreaking) to have so many of them gathered around us for our wedding last year, and it has been even more wonderful to have so many people supporting me through the hell that chunks of this last year have been. Jane (also known as J in the previous blog; I'm going to continue with anonymity, so that's not her name), in particular, has made life bearable. I do not know what I would have done without her.
I'm grateful for my family, especially my brother. Even though my mother is, and always has been, difficult, she and my father have done the very best they could for me, for my brother, and for my sister. Do you like what you see or read here? Thank my parents, because they provided the foundation.
I'm grateful for my yoga practice, even though I haven't practiced much lately. Thanks to my yoga teachers, and to the wisdom of yoga, I have a resource that is literally embodied for me.
I'm grateful for my senses, for the smells and tastes and sounds and sights, for the pictures and words.
I'm grateful to my teachers, and to the people who continue to teach me, generously sharing of themselves. They reinforce the notion that you have to teach it to pass it along, and they inspire me.
Meanwhile, I've got pie dough in the fridge; if you're a baker, you're always bringing dessert (I've been invited to a dinner at Ann's house, along with Jane and another friend of Jane's). I'd thought of taking the pumpkin flan I've made in previous years and putting it on top of some gingerbread, blah blah blah, but it turn's out that Ann wants pie--apple pie, in particular. Now, Ann is a gourmet cook, and I suspected (and Jane confirmed last night) that Ann has been planning for weeks, going through various gourmet food magazines, composing an elaborate menu. So, the way I see it, she wants pie, she gets pie, and I'm happy to provide it.
I also have football on the television--because my high school and the rival high school across the river are playing on Thanksgiving Day for the 100th time, so it's on ESPN2. (Yes, I went to that game when I was in high school.) The head coach for my high school was the other 6th grade teacher when I was in 6th grade. One of the people they interviewed was my high school algebra teacher (and, after I'd left, the head coach). The quarterback for my high school is, I suspect, a relative (son? nephew?) of someone with whom I went to grade school and high school. In a little blow for changing times, they showed the family of one of the kids they just profiled (from the rival school) . . . and the kid's parents are of different races, which, when I was a kid, not so much. Unfortunately, my team is getting shellacked at the moment, despite their unbeaten record. I'll see what they show at halftime--if they profile the towns, which they're likely to do, I'll see my past parade before my eyes on my tv.
I have no idea what's going to happen with the health insurance. Chuck was sullen last night, for the 30 seconds I talked to him. I merely asked if he'd heard back from the company, but he hadn't. He's really screwed--he's got somewhere around a thousand dollars a month of medical expenses, what with his disorder and so on, and he's already living on the edge of financial ruin. So I didn't yell, scream, fulminate, or anything else--I merely asked him to let me know what I needed to do to facilitate reinstatement, then called back the friend to whom I'd been talking. (I'll tell you about that conversation later.)
And you guys? I'm grateful for you, too. Your presence has made this year much more bearable, and your online and offline support has meant a great deal to me. Thanks, friends.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Welcome
Greetings, all. No idea whether or how this will differ from the other place, but I've been feeling lots of pressure--basically, I know that mention of any of a number of topics, events, feelings, etc., will unleash a torrent of nastiness in my direction, and I'm tired of that. I also didn't want to stop writing, though, and I didn't want to stop writing for you guys.
Tonight's news? "Chuck" didn't get the health insurance payment in on time (a day late), and they've cancelled the cobra coverage. He's trying to get them to reinstate--and he'd better succeed, because he has nearly a grand of expenses in the past month--but no news on whether it'll work. Meanwhile, I'm going to try to get some through the bakery, because this is nuts.
Tonight's news? "Chuck" didn't get the health insurance payment in on time (a day late), and they've cancelled the cobra coverage. He's trying to get them to reinstate--and he'd better succeed, because he has nearly a grand of expenses in the past month--but no news on whether it'll work. Meanwhile, I'm going to try to get some through the bakery, because this is nuts.
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