Such a long, long time to be gone
and a short time to be there
If my sister hadn't died, she would have turned 50 today. Instead, she's been gone for 26 years--more years than she lived, which means I've lived more years without her than with her. And, of course, that's the case for life in general--we're dead for more years than we were alive, and pretty quickly, in the scope of the world's time. At this point, it's not just missing her qua her; of course I miss the stupid jokes we shared, and the rest of our shared childhood and adolescence, but the sadness, at this point, has at least as much to do with not knowing what she would have become, what she would have done, how she would have transformed into an adult. Would she have gone on to become a force in the world of international development? Would her budding feminism have grown? Or maybe she would have come home from the Peace Corps, gotten married, had a few kids, and had a boring office job somewhere. I kinda doubt that, but I also recognize that the work she might have done is my fantasy about her; there's no way to know what she really would have done. It's like reading a really wonderful novel, one of those big juicy ones with lots of interesting characters, and having the author quit writing after only a third of the novel, and it's not in any library anywhere, so you'll never know what might have happened to the characters.
And, of course, Chuck's mother and the mother of a close friend from college both died this year, and I knew them both reasonably well--the latter for as long as I've known my friend, which is coming up on 32 years; and Sara committed suicide. (I can't bring myself to erase her number from my phone. It'll go away when I switch phones eventually, as will the last call I received from her, but she lingers electronically.) (I have known three people who committed suicide: a cousin, a friend/lover in Philadelphia, and Sara. Is that a lot? Because it seems like it to me.)
On the other hand, my parents' health, despite a variety of bumps (some of them literal, in the case of my dad's rash; Ron, my mom doesn't have a plant, so it seemed easiest to recommend a jar of the goop, and the steroids are doing their thing), continues to be pretty good, all things considered; my mom got a kidney; my brother and I both have jobs (and I even got a promotion and raise); I saw more events this year, between concerts and hockey, than any other year in my life; and I had good company to share while I did it.
I guess, when it comes down to it, I don't know how to sum it up and reach a single evaluation: "good" or "bad" year. I try to go along with as much equanimity (and even joy) as possible, and I try to share as much of that as I possibly can, but it's not as though we can take any of it with us--which, for me, is all the more reason for dancing along as best we can, when we're lucky enough to have the basics. Not needing to worry about food and shelter and meaningful work and so on really is priceless. Given a sufficiency of the basics, it's the little things that improve our lives and that really make a difference.
For example, when I talked to my mom this morning, she was about to have a banana, and I suggested she put peanut butter on it as well. She was absolutely delighted at the prospect of the banana, with or without the pb. Why is that significant? Because, for those of you who haven't dealt with kidney issues, things like peanut butter and bananas are too high in forbidden elements. For several years now, my mom, who loves bananas, has had to limit herself to a few bites, and definitely not every day. Being able to eat whatever she damn well pleases, not needing to soak potatos overnight, not needing to go to dialysis three days a seek, is a radical realignment of her world. Knowing my mom, she won't go crazy--for her, it basically means she can have fruits and vegetables again, without having to worry that it will wreak havoc on her potassium or phosphates or whateverthehell. I realize that the kidney itself is a huge thing, rather than a small thing, but my point here is that the effect of the kidney is in how it alters a lot of small things about her everyday life.
Anyway. I don't have any grand conclusions today. I did manage to do the laundry and make the banana bread and clean up a tiny bit, plus I shlepped north and got some good chocolates and some collard greens. Friend and I are going out to an early dinner tonight, then heading to the sweatpants and the couch. Tomorrow we'll make pork (to make the spirit of my grandmother happy); I found a recipe for collard greens stuffed with a mixture of rice, currants, tomatos, pine nuts, and some other stuff, all of which I had around (except the greens); and I have some sweet potatos I need to use. If any (or all) of y'all were around, I say hey, come on over! That not being possible, may your new year be full of sweetness and light and joy and love.
Thursday, December 31, 2009
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Adverse Events
My back and hip are hurting again--between not exercising, and no acupuncture for a couple of weeks, and Wii bowling (don't ask), it's really pretty annoying. So did I come home and work out, which, as noted, I haven't done for a week and which helps? Of course I didn't--neither yesterday nor today. Yesterday I at least had the excuse of putting away crap from the weekend, sorting laundry, and generally dinking around, but tonight it was sloth, pure and simple.
I think one of the things on which I'd like to work this year is being more . . . focused, I guess is where I'm heading. I have a tendency to double or triple or quadruple any given list of things to do, and then, not surprisingly, I don't get to everything on the list. Take tomorrow, for example: the original list included doing a (as in "one") load of laundry, testing the Cooks Illustrated banana bread recipe (and I even have bananas, thanks to donations at work), returning a cooking scale that failed after only a few uses, going to the bank, working out, and maybe cleaning things up a little, though it's not too terribly bad in here. That's a manageable list: a few things to do, a couple of errands, nothing too taxing, especially given that I'll throw the laundry in as soon as I get up, maybe do the bread then too, and, voila, half the list is done before 9:00, and it's a nice day off.
So then I start . . . adding things. Clean a couple of pair of boots. Maybe pick up some polish while I'm out, and polish them, too. Repot some plants that desperately need it. Vacuum. Maybe make a batch of breakfast muffins while I have the oven on. And, oh, I really need to review the financials before Tuesday's Big Stressful Meeting, so maybe I can go to a coffee shop with my laptop and spend some time looking at that stuff. Suddenly, this relatively short, totally manageable list becomes this floppy unwieldy thing, something that will require Planning to even accomplish two thirds of it, and if I get all of it done, it will be because I raced around. That whole relaxing-on-a-day-off thing? Gone.
Unless I organize it really well, in which case, well, yeah, I maybe might could do it all.
I've realized, however, that the fundamental problem maybe isn't totally a lack of planning, or even the ever-expanding nature of my lists, it's that I don't spend enough time at my house to get things done AND relax. Some of it is the time I spend at Friend's house; some of it is that I don't take days off--so, really, what needs to change in the coming year are those two things, despite the complications inherent in both of them. In the latter case, I end up not taking off days to do errands because I know the work continues to sit on my desk--I could describe three major projects and two minor projects, other than the things I've already mentioned, that are time-critical and pressing down on me. Taking a day off isn't relaxing, it merely puts me even further behind, and more stressed, at work.
In the former case, Friend and I have gone around on this one somewhat, The short version is that he's not really willing to hang out at my place; let's leave it at that. But I have things I want to do, things that can't be done if I'm not here, so . . . more time here, less time there, and, therefore, less time with him. Not my ideal situation, but neither is spending a lot of time in a place where my chores aren't.
I wish I had accomplished more at work today. In addition to talking to a friend and generally fucking around, I ended up spending significant amounts of time on the phone, either with my mom or on behalf of my dad. His nearly-full-body rash has returned, for a third time, so he's taking steroids again. The doctors at Sloan-Kettering say they've never seen a rash as a reaction--and, indeed, it is listed as "rare"--but it's clearly a reaction to the chemo. Neither his urologist nor his internist have seen anything like it, and he's seeing a dermatologist in a couple of weeks, I think. I called the drug company today and talked to a pharmacist there, and ended up helping her submit an adverse reaction report to the FDA (patients and doctors can report or not, but drug companies must report them), but she really didn't have any treatment suggestions. I found a couple of articles on PubMed, which led me to some docs at UC SanFran, which I suggested to my mom that my dad's doc call, but who knows whether that'll happen or whether it would do any good. (I'd really like to talk to my dad's doctor, but I don't know if I can finagle that.)
I also told my mom to get some aloe gel--pure aloe, not a cream of some kind--and use that on his skin; it won't hurt him, and very likely will help, and it's not more steroids. The only thing that really concerns me is that your skin is your biggest organ: if it's compromised too much, you can die, and tissue necrosis is a possible side effect of this drug. It's typically a result of touching the stuff rather than the contact dermatitis/allergic reaction dad clearly has, but still. And it agitates my mom, who really does not need to be agitated at this point. So, let's hope the steroids do their thing, and the aloe does its thing, and everyone gets through the weekend okay.
I think one of the things on which I'd like to work this year is being more . . . focused, I guess is where I'm heading. I have a tendency to double or triple or quadruple any given list of things to do, and then, not surprisingly, I don't get to everything on the list. Take tomorrow, for example: the original list included doing a (as in "one") load of laundry, testing the Cooks Illustrated banana bread recipe (and I even have bananas, thanks to donations at work), returning a cooking scale that failed after only a few uses, going to the bank, working out, and maybe cleaning things up a little, though it's not too terribly bad in here. That's a manageable list: a few things to do, a couple of errands, nothing too taxing, especially given that I'll throw the laundry in as soon as I get up, maybe do the bread then too, and, voila, half the list is done before 9:00, and it's a nice day off.
So then I start . . . adding things. Clean a couple of pair of boots. Maybe pick up some polish while I'm out, and polish them, too. Repot some plants that desperately need it. Vacuum. Maybe make a batch of breakfast muffins while I have the oven on. And, oh, I really need to review the financials before Tuesday's Big Stressful Meeting, so maybe I can go to a coffee shop with my laptop and spend some time looking at that stuff. Suddenly, this relatively short, totally manageable list becomes this floppy unwieldy thing, something that will require Planning to even accomplish two thirds of it, and if I get all of it done, it will be because I raced around. That whole relaxing-on-a-day-off thing? Gone.
Unless I organize it really well, in which case, well, yeah, I maybe might could do it all.
I've realized, however, that the fundamental problem maybe isn't totally a lack of planning, or even the ever-expanding nature of my lists, it's that I don't spend enough time at my house to get things done AND relax. Some of it is the time I spend at Friend's house; some of it is that I don't take days off--so, really, what needs to change in the coming year are those two things, despite the complications inherent in both of them. In the latter case, I end up not taking off days to do errands because I know the work continues to sit on my desk--I could describe three major projects and two minor projects, other than the things I've already mentioned, that are time-critical and pressing down on me. Taking a day off isn't relaxing, it merely puts me even further behind, and more stressed, at work.
In the former case, Friend and I have gone around on this one somewhat, The short version is that he's not really willing to hang out at my place; let's leave it at that. But I have things I want to do, things that can't be done if I'm not here, so . . . more time here, less time there, and, therefore, less time with him. Not my ideal situation, but neither is spending a lot of time in a place where my chores aren't.
I wish I had accomplished more at work today. In addition to talking to a friend and generally fucking around, I ended up spending significant amounts of time on the phone, either with my mom or on behalf of my dad. His nearly-full-body rash has returned, for a third time, so he's taking steroids again. The doctors at Sloan-Kettering say they've never seen a rash as a reaction--and, indeed, it is listed as "rare"--but it's clearly a reaction to the chemo. Neither his urologist nor his internist have seen anything like it, and he's seeing a dermatologist in a couple of weeks, I think. I called the drug company today and talked to a pharmacist there, and ended up helping her submit an adverse reaction report to the FDA (patients and doctors can report or not, but drug companies must report them), but she really didn't have any treatment suggestions. I found a couple of articles on PubMed, which led me to some docs at UC SanFran, which I suggested to my mom that my dad's doc call, but who knows whether that'll happen or whether it would do any good. (I'd really like to talk to my dad's doctor, but I don't know if I can finagle that.)
I also told my mom to get some aloe gel--pure aloe, not a cream of some kind--and use that on his skin; it won't hurt him, and very likely will help, and it's not more steroids. The only thing that really concerns me is that your skin is your biggest organ: if it's compromised too much, you can die, and tissue necrosis is a possible side effect of this drug. It's typically a result of touching the stuff rather than the contact dermatitis/allergic reaction dad clearly has, but still. And it agitates my mom, who really does not need to be agitated at this point. So, let's hope the steroids do their thing, and the aloe does its thing, and everyone gets through the weekend okay.
Tuesday, December 29, 2009
Whew
As you might imagine, it's been a rather eventful week. I talked to mom this morning--she came home from the hospital last night (!!), less than a week after she received the new kidney. She sounds pretty good, and the fact that they sent her home tells me that she's doing well; my brother told me she was sitting in a chair the day after the surgery, and I talked to her a little on Sunday as well. Meanwhile, my dad's full-body rash--a reaction to the chemo he had at the end of September--has returned, for the third time. He's already been through two courses of steroids (which helped each time, but steroids have their own risks, of course), and the doctors keep saying, oh, gee, they've never seen that reaction before. Well, be that as it may, it IS a listed side effect of the drug, and just look at his skin, ferchrissakes. The good news, though, is that Monday's exam of his bladder didn't show any spots, so that's a good thing.
So, no, I did not try to race to my parents' house. I asked my mom before she went into surgery when she wanted me to come out there, and she said, well, you were just here, so . . . so I'll probably go visit in February or March. If there had been some way for me to actually be useful, of course I would have done it,
I spent a few days with Friend's family, however, which was entertaining in its own ways. I'd met his siblings and their spouses before, so it wasn't as though I was meeting everyone for the first time. Mostly, I tried to be pleasant and helpful. I brought sticky buns, which came out WAY better than I'd hoped: I adapted my grandmother's recipe with some adjustments from a school recipe, and I made some other changes. In particular, I replaced some of the white flour with wheat flour, I added apples to the filling, because I needed to use them up, and I added some maple syrup to the sticky part of the recipe, and I will use all of those changes the next time I make this recipe.
On Saturday, I made crepes for everyone, which was fun, too; the fruit (raspberries, strawberries, and blueberries that Friend's sister and mother had in their freezers), a fruit compote I made with some of the berries, and powdered sugar were on the counter, and everyone assembled their crepe in whatever ways made them happy. Everyone had one, a few people had two, and there were a few left over (which made breakfast for a couple of people yesterday). The other nice thing about how it worked out was that, because the crepes were being made one at a time, people had to wander into the kitchen to get one, which kept people circulating, but there was no pressure for everyone to sit down together. And it was a way to make a contribution, so that was fun for me, especially because I hadn't brought presents for anyone. (Friend typically keeps people supplied with alcohol, including champagne and orange juice for mimosas on Christmas morning, and I contributed to that effort.)
Sweetly, Friend's sister got spice boxes (from Penzey's) for each of us--grilling spices for him, and baking spices for me--which was very thoughtful. I promised her she'd get them back, in a transformed state. I also told her that we'd make bread together at some point, either when we visited her or when she visited Friend--because she said she'd tried it but it didn't come out, so she's never tried again. And, really, if you've never done it, and never seen anyone else do it, you don't know what state you're trying to achieve; many baking (and probably cooking) things are easier to do if you've actually seen someone do it and have seen how each step along the way looks. Once you have a certain amount of experience, of course, you can extrapolate, but not everyone has had that.
Because of the sheer number of people milling around--16 plus a baby, at the max--it was easy to fade into the background a little. Well, okay, maybe not that, exactly, but I definitely did my best to stay somewhat inconspicuous, or, at least, as inconspicuous as I'm capable of being. Of course everyone--especially Friend's mother, who hadn't met me before and who was madly curious about me, given that his siblings had met me--was probably a bit curious, but, really, what am I going to do at this point in my life? It's not like there's much I can change about my personality. I try to be aware of what I'm saying and doing, but, realistically, life is an ad hoc exercise, not a considered performance.
So today was back to work, in an effort to finish the proposal that's due on Monday; I'm hopeful that I can finish it completely tomorrow. I may need to add some bits--our most recent audit--but if I can leave work tomorrow with everything done except that, I'll be happy.
Meanwhile, thank you to all of you who sent good wishes my mom's way; I'll be getting back to each of you over the next few days.
So, no, I did not try to race to my parents' house. I asked my mom before she went into surgery when she wanted me to come out there, and she said, well, you were just here, so . . . so I'll probably go visit in February or March. If there had been some way for me to actually be useful, of course I would have done it,
I spent a few days with Friend's family, however, which was entertaining in its own ways. I'd met his siblings and their spouses before, so it wasn't as though I was meeting everyone for the first time. Mostly, I tried to be pleasant and helpful. I brought sticky buns, which came out WAY better than I'd hoped: I adapted my grandmother's recipe with some adjustments from a school recipe, and I made some other changes. In particular, I replaced some of the white flour with wheat flour, I added apples to the filling, because I needed to use them up, and I added some maple syrup to the sticky part of the recipe, and I will use all of those changes the next time I make this recipe.
On Saturday, I made crepes for everyone, which was fun, too; the fruit (raspberries, strawberries, and blueberries that Friend's sister and mother had in their freezers), a fruit compote I made with some of the berries, and powdered sugar were on the counter, and everyone assembled their crepe in whatever ways made them happy. Everyone had one, a few people had two, and there were a few left over (which made breakfast for a couple of people yesterday). The other nice thing about how it worked out was that, because the crepes were being made one at a time, people had to wander into the kitchen to get one, which kept people circulating, but there was no pressure for everyone to sit down together. And it was a way to make a contribution, so that was fun for me, especially because I hadn't brought presents for anyone. (Friend typically keeps people supplied with alcohol, including champagne and orange juice for mimosas on Christmas morning, and I contributed to that effort.)
Sweetly, Friend's sister got spice boxes (from Penzey's) for each of us--grilling spices for him, and baking spices for me--which was very thoughtful. I promised her she'd get them back, in a transformed state. I also told her that we'd make bread together at some point, either when we visited her or when she visited Friend--because she said she'd tried it but it didn't come out, so she's never tried again. And, really, if you've never done it, and never seen anyone else do it, you don't know what state you're trying to achieve; many baking (and probably cooking) things are easier to do if you've actually seen someone do it and have seen how each step along the way looks. Once you have a certain amount of experience, of course, you can extrapolate, but not everyone has had that.
Because of the sheer number of people milling around--16 plus a baby, at the max--it was easy to fade into the background a little. Well, okay, maybe not that, exactly, but I definitely did my best to stay somewhat inconspicuous, or, at least, as inconspicuous as I'm capable of being. Of course everyone--especially Friend's mother, who hadn't met me before and who was madly curious about me, given that his siblings had met me--was probably a bit curious, but, really, what am I going to do at this point in my life? It's not like there's much I can change about my personality. I try to be aware of what I'm saying and doing, but, realistically, life is an ad hoc exercise, not a considered performance.
So today was back to work, in an effort to finish the proposal that's due on Monday; I'm hopeful that I can finish it completely tomorrow. I may need to add some bits--our most recent audit--but if I can leave work tomorrow with everything done except that, I'll be happy.
Meanwhile, thank you to all of you who sent good wishes my mom's way; I'll be getting back to each of you over the next few days.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
It's In
My SIL called a little while ago. Apparently mom has a new kidney installed, and it's already doing kidney-type things, i.e., producing urine. SIL said my brother and dad talked to her in the recovery room, and she was waiting for an ICU room, where she'll be for a couple of days (to make sure it's not rejected, perhaps? dunno).
So, really, I have to avoid going out tonight, because I have this urge to grab complete strangers and tell them, which is probably a little excessive.
One thing that occurred to me today, though, is how technology has changed the way we live--and I don't even mean the installation of previously used organs. When my parents and grandfather were going to and with my sister as she was sick and dying, I basically sat near a phone as much of the time as possible. Transit times--to and from work, for example--were always fraught, because suppose someone called then (and, of course, no answering machine, either). And no call waiting, for that matter (though I don't have that on my land line now, I do have it on my cell), so no tying up the phone lines. For that matter, my mom didn't have to live her life next to a land line, either: she has a cell phone, and maybe a pager? I don't remember.
In any case, she also has a new kidney, so here's a big thank you to everyone who is and has been an organ donor, and to the doctors and researchers who figured out how to do this, and to the union that provided my parents' health insurance, so my parents could afford to do this. And thank you to all of you, because I know your good wishes have been sent her way, too.
So, really, I have to avoid going out tonight, because I have this urge to grab complete strangers and tell them, which is probably a little excessive.
One thing that occurred to me today, though, is how technology has changed the way we live--and I don't even mean the installation of previously used organs. When my parents and grandfather were going to and with my sister as she was sick and dying, I basically sat near a phone as much of the time as possible. Transit times--to and from work, for example--were always fraught, because suppose someone called then (and, of course, no answering machine, either). And no call waiting, for that matter (though I don't have that on my land line now, I do have it on my cell), so no tying up the phone lines. For that matter, my mom didn't have to live her life next to a land line, either: she has a cell phone, and maybe a pager? I don't remember.
In any case, she also has a new kidney, so here's a big thank you to everyone who is and has been an organ donor, and to the doctors and researchers who figured out how to do this, and to the union that provided my parents' health insurance, so my parents could afford to do this. And thank you to all of you, because I know your good wishes have been sent her way, too.
Waiting for . . .
If all has continued to go well overnight, my mom is getting ready to get a kidney.
Yeah; I know; wouldn't that be a great solstice present?
She called me yesterday morning and said she was second for a specific kidney and she couldn't eat or drink anything after noon. Last evening she said she was a match for it, and last I talked to her, about 10:30 last night, they were on their way to the hospital. The organ was coming from out of state and she was supposedly getting it this morning if all goes well. Obviously, there are any number of ways that things could fuck up--is it really truly a match for her? how will the surgery go if it is? will her body accept the kidney?--but in the several years she's been on the list, this is the closest she's ever gotten. And our grim sense of humor is intact--she was saying yesterday that they already had her blood, and I pointed out that they could have saved the sponges from cleaning up her hospital room a few weeks ago.
Friend and I took off on Monday to celebrate his 50th birthday--and by "celebrate" I mean we went out for breakfast, got the oil changed in his vehicle, got a couple of carpeting issues solved for him (a rug under his computer stuff, instead of the patchwork of throw rugs under various table legs and chairs, and a runner near the back door, rather than another patchwork of small rugs, and a couple of those draft-prevention thingies), took a long walk in the woods--at two different points, we were surrounded by about 15 deer, with the closest about ten yards away, and we easily saw 40 deer over the course of the walk--and then went out for a fabulous dinner at this little hole in the wall. Sunday we went to the hockey game, and Saturday night we went out to hear some live music. Last night we were out again--for the fourth night in a row, so how about a personal shout-out to my liver for hanging in there.
Tonight and tomorrow morning I have some baking to do, because we're heading up to his family (mom plus sister & family live there, and brother and family are coming in). I've met his siblings before, but not his mom, so no pressure there. He keeps telling me not to fuss too much trying to bake too many things, and I take his point, but I really cannot bring myself to show up to someone's holiday celebrations empty-handed. So tonight I'm going to make some kind of graham crackers--probably shaped as very small tart shells--that I can fill with chocolate ganache and top with some meringues, because who doesn't like little chocolatey snacky things. I'm also going to make a batch of "toast bread," as they called it in school, and probably do a loaf as cinnamon bread and part of it as pecan rolls, because the formula is close enough to my grandmother's sticky pecan rolls that I can adapt. The bread is a nice basic bread recipe and doesn't require any kind of preferment, so I can put it to multiple uses. I have a couple of apples I need to use up, so I could even use those as a filling for the rolls or something. We haven't decided whether we're going up tomorrow afternoon or Friday morning; that decision is weather-dependent, and, given that I'm not doing the driving, I'm also not the making the decision. Either way, I need to be prepared to head out tomorrow.
I'd really like to make the soft pretzels, but they're a Project, what with the boiling in baking-soda-infused water (because, no, I'm not going to be using lye at home, thanks so much). Maybe over new year's or something. And I want to make sure to bring the crepe recipe, in case I get an opportunity to whip up a batch for breakfast one morning. That's enough contribution to make me happy. If Friend and I get a chance to take over the cooking for a meal or two, hey, all the better, but showing up with a desserty thing and a couple of breakfasty things in hand will do.
I'm exhausted at the moment, however, not least because I woke up at 3:30 or so this morning, and my brain informed me that there would not be any more sleep. Work has been an annoying hassle: I have a few things that must be done in the next three work days (I'm taking off next Monday as well, and we get the Thursdays and Fridays off, so it's today, and next Tuesday/Wednesday), but of course actually getting to those things has been challenging, not least because our financial person is running around setting everyone's hair on fire--deficit! debt! problems!--but not providing any actual fucking detail for the panic, so I end up having to drop everything to deal with the fires s/he is setting. Whereas, you know, s/he could actually do some useful analyses, say, and determine just what the problem might be, if, in fact, there IS a problem, about which I have yet to be convinced. Because I actually review our financials, line by fucking line, and my hair has not combusted, spontaneously or otherwise. Also? This person does crap behind the scenes, doing accounting tricks, and then we're supposed to deal with them. Which, again, more pain in the ass for yours truly.
Not that I'm annoyed by this or anything.
So, today, I will try to get the proposal written, and I'll do the monetary things I need to do, and I'll carry my cell phone around, hoping that it rings and that the person on the other end is a family member telling me that mom has a new organ.
Yeah; I know; wouldn't that be a great solstice present?
She called me yesterday morning and said she was second for a specific kidney and she couldn't eat or drink anything after noon. Last evening she said she was a match for it, and last I talked to her, about 10:30 last night, they were on their way to the hospital. The organ was coming from out of state and she was supposedly getting it this morning if all goes well. Obviously, there are any number of ways that things could fuck up--is it really truly a match for her? how will the surgery go if it is? will her body accept the kidney?--but in the several years she's been on the list, this is the closest she's ever gotten. And our grim sense of humor is intact--she was saying yesterday that they already had her blood, and I pointed out that they could have saved the sponges from cleaning up her hospital room a few weeks ago.
Friend and I took off on Monday to celebrate his 50th birthday--and by "celebrate" I mean we went out for breakfast, got the oil changed in his vehicle, got a couple of carpeting issues solved for him (a rug under his computer stuff, instead of the patchwork of throw rugs under various table legs and chairs, and a runner near the back door, rather than another patchwork of small rugs, and a couple of those draft-prevention thingies), took a long walk in the woods--at two different points, we were surrounded by about 15 deer, with the closest about ten yards away, and we easily saw 40 deer over the course of the walk--and then went out for a fabulous dinner at this little hole in the wall. Sunday we went to the hockey game, and Saturday night we went out to hear some live music. Last night we were out again--for the fourth night in a row, so how about a personal shout-out to my liver for hanging in there.
Tonight and tomorrow morning I have some baking to do, because we're heading up to his family (mom plus sister & family live there, and brother and family are coming in). I've met his siblings before, but not his mom, so no pressure there. He keeps telling me not to fuss too much trying to bake too many things, and I take his point, but I really cannot bring myself to show up to someone's holiday celebrations empty-handed. So tonight I'm going to make some kind of graham crackers--probably shaped as very small tart shells--that I can fill with chocolate ganache and top with some meringues, because who doesn't like little chocolatey snacky things. I'm also going to make a batch of "toast bread," as they called it in school, and probably do a loaf as cinnamon bread and part of it as pecan rolls, because the formula is close enough to my grandmother's sticky pecan rolls that I can adapt. The bread is a nice basic bread recipe and doesn't require any kind of preferment, so I can put it to multiple uses. I have a couple of apples I need to use up, so I could even use those as a filling for the rolls or something. We haven't decided whether we're going up tomorrow afternoon or Friday morning; that decision is weather-dependent, and, given that I'm not doing the driving, I'm also not the making the decision. Either way, I need to be prepared to head out tomorrow.
I'd really like to make the soft pretzels, but they're a Project, what with the boiling in baking-soda-infused water (because, no, I'm not going to be using lye at home, thanks so much). Maybe over new year's or something. And I want to make sure to bring the crepe recipe, in case I get an opportunity to whip up a batch for breakfast one morning. That's enough contribution to make me happy. If Friend and I get a chance to take over the cooking for a meal or two, hey, all the better, but showing up with a desserty thing and a couple of breakfasty things in hand will do.
I'm exhausted at the moment, however, not least because I woke up at 3:30 or so this morning, and my brain informed me that there would not be any more sleep. Work has been an annoying hassle: I have a few things that must be done in the next three work days (I'm taking off next Monday as well, and we get the Thursdays and Fridays off, so it's today, and next Tuesday/Wednesday), but of course actually getting to those things has been challenging, not least because our financial person is running around setting everyone's hair on fire--deficit! debt! problems!--but not providing any actual fucking detail for the panic, so I end up having to drop everything to deal with the fires s/he is setting. Whereas, you know, s/he could actually do some useful analyses, say, and determine just what the problem might be, if, in fact, there IS a problem, about which I have yet to be convinced. Because I actually review our financials, line by fucking line, and my hair has not combusted, spontaneously or otherwise. Also? This person does crap behind the scenes, doing accounting tricks, and then we're supposed to deal with them. Which, again, more pain in the ass for yours truly.
Not that I'm annoyed by this or anything.
So, today, I will try to get the proposal written, and I'll do the monetary things I need to do, and I'll carry my cell phone around, hoping that it rings and that the person on the other end is a family member telling me that mom has a new organ.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
More Reviews
My personal favorite chef didn't get into the final of Top Chef, and my favorite of the final three didn't win, and the editing sucked in a major, major way. That said, one of the things I liked most about the last two shows is that all of the competitors wanted to beat the others at their best. One of the most telling scenes, for example, was when one of them told another that a sauce was boiling or burning or something. (Sorry; I forget who was involved in that interchange.) One of them--Jen, maybe--even said that; none of them wanted to win because one of the others screwed up.
Side note--one does not "cook" a cake. One BAKES a cake. Yeah, I know, what can you expect from a bunch of people who aren't pastry chefs or bakers. Speaking of which, apparently one of the spin-off series they're putting together is one that's just desserts. (Any guesses on what they'll name it?) Needless to say, I'm looking forward to that one.
The other movie I watched this week was "Imagine Me and You," the plot of which is this woman gets married (to a man) and, at her wedding, sees and falls and love with the woman who does the flowers for the wedding. There's lots of backing and forthing and so on, of what is supposed to be the usual romantic comedy drama, I think, and in the end--pretty quickly, like in less than six months, it seemed--she leaves her husband and goes racing after the florist.
Gotta say, it annoyed the fuck out of me. Let's enumerate the reasons, shall we?
First, I absolutely do not believe in love at first sight, and I say this as someone who arguably experienced it at least once in my life (many many years ago--like, 30+). More accurately, while I think that attraction can be immediate, any real relationship--with a lover OR with a friend--takes time. And it's not the big stuff, it's the everyday bullshit. A thunderbolt of attraction isn't going to get you through the crap. Thus, to me, the notion that she was willing to declare herself sufficiently in love with someone she'd barely met, someone she'd spent fewer than 24 hours with, someone she barely knew, was really pretty appalling.
Second, she seemed to regard her marriage as all but irrelevant. Oh, sorry, darling; I met this person--at our wedding, no less--for whom I'm leaving you, even though I've only been around her a few times, and I've suddenly realized I love her. Some of my puzzlement here is the notion of leaving one person to be with another person. I know that it happens, of course, and I am not judging other people's experience of that. (I do know that, for me, I really could not have lived with myself if I thought or felt that I was somehow leaving Chuck to be with Friend. I think Chuck believes that I did that, but he is simply wrong about it--and not just because Chuck moved out and left me. It's also worth pointing out that, although Friend and I have obviously continued to see each other, "baby steps" doesn't even begin to describe the circumspection with which both of us proceeded, and there's no guarantee at all that we would have ended up still seeing each other four years later.)
I have known other people whose marriages had difficulties in their first year, and it's nothing but agony, no matter the circumstances. If you really think you're going to leave Person A for Person B, mere months after you marry Person A, and you think you're going to live happily ever after, then you are a fucking fool. It's also worth pointing out that Person B should be worried--it means you're just as likely to leave Person B as you were to leave Person A, on some level.
So, third, I think the notion that she was leaving her husband for a woman is merely a senseless plot twist, and one that trivializes the crap that gay men and women have to deal with. I also find it it a bit odd that she apparently had never given any thought at all to whether she was attracted to men or women. I am sure that people's experiences differ greatly on this, and I have known a number of men and women whose recognition of their gayness took some time (and possibly some therapy), but even the people who came out later in life didn't have a whole lot question about it. They may have hoped it would go away; if it occurred 25 years ago, they may have suppressed it; they may have been in denial about it; they were maybe attracted to both men and women, but the notion that, in this day and age, in Great Britain, it would never have occurred to someone that oh, yeah, actually, I prefer to play on the other team, just seems unlikely to me.
I'm still slogging through crap at work. Tomorrow I'm locking myself in my office and chaining myself to my desk so I can write the proposal that's due on the 4th; cross your fingers that I can get 85% of it done tomorrow and thereby enjoy the holidays.
Side note--one does not "cook" a cake. One BAKES a cake. Yeah, I know, what can you expect from a bunch of people who aren't pastry chefs or bakers. Speaking of which, apparently one of the spin-off series they're putting together is one that's just desserts. (Any guesses on what they'll name it?) Needless to say, I'm looking forward to that one.
The other movie I watched this week was "Imagine Me and You," the plot of which is this woman gets married (to a man) and, at her wedding, sees and falls and love with the woman who does the flowers for the wedding. There's lots of backing and forthing and so on, of what is supposed to be the usual romantic comedy drama, I think, and in the end--pretty quickly, like in less than six months, it seemed--she leaves her husband and goes racing after the florist.
Gotta say, it annoyed the fuck out of me. Let's enumerate the reasons, shall we?
First, I absolutely do not believe in love at first sight, and I say this as someone who arguably experienced it at least once in my life (many many years ago--like, 30+). More accurately, while I think that attraction can be immediate, any real relationship--with a lover OR with a friend--takes time. And it's not the big stuff, it's the everyday bullshit. A thunderbolt of attraction isn't going to get you through the crap. Thus, to me, the notion that she was willing to declare herself sufficiently in love with someone she'd barely met, someone she'd spent fewer than 24 hours with, someone she barely knew, was really pretty appalling.
Second, she seemed to regard her marriage as all but irrelevant. Oh, sorry, darling; I met this person--at our wedding, no less--for whom I'm leaving you, even though I've only been around her a few times, and I've suddenly realized I love her. Some of my puzzlement here is the notion of leaving one person to be with another person. I know that it happens, of course, and I am not judging other people's experience of that. (I do know that, for me, I really could not have lived with myself if I thought or felt that I was somehow leaving Chuck to be with Friend. I think Chuck believes that I did that, but he is simply wrong about it--and not just because Chuck moved out and left me. It's also worth pointing out that, although Friend and I have obviously continued to see each other, "baby steps" doesn't even begin to describe the circumspection with which both of us proceeded, and there's no guarantee at all that we would have ended up still seeing each other four years later.)
I have known other people whose marriages had difficulties in their first year, and it's nothing but agony, no matter the circumstances. If you really think you're going to leave Person A for Person B, mere months after you marry Person A, and you think you're going to live happily ever after, then you are a fucking fool. It's also worth pointing out that Person B should be worried--it means you're just as likely to leave Person B as you were to leave Person A, on some level.
So, third, I think the notion that she was leaving her husband for a woman is merely a senseless plot twist, and one that trivializes the crap that gay men and women have to deal with. I also find it it a bit odd that she apparently had never given any thought at all to whether she was attracted to men or women. I am sure that people's experiences differ greatly on this, and I have known a number of men and women whose recognition of their gayness took some time (and possibly some therapy), but even the people who came out later in life didn't have a whole lot question about it. They may have hoped it would go away; if it occurred 25 years ago, they may have suppressed it; they may have been in denial about it; they were maybe attracted to both men and women, but the notion that, in this day and age, in Great Britain, it would never have occurred to someone that oh, yeah, actually, I prefer to play on the other team, just seems unlikely to me.
I'm still slogging through crap at work. Tomorrow I'm locking myself in my office and chaining myself to my desk so I can write the proposal that's due on the 4th; cross your fingers that I can get 85% of it done tomorrow and thereby enjoy the holidays.
Monday, December 14, 2009
Take Away My Pants
Did you know that clothing can be cursed? Neither did I, but there's no other explanation. I have this pair of green winter-weight gramiccis, and last spring, as I ran to catch a train, I tripped and fell, landing hard enough to rip the knee out of the pants and rip open my knee as well. I got around to patching them this week, so I've been wearing them. Early yesterday morning I zipped up to the bakery to see about an order for Friday (even though it was 6:30 am, I knew Bossman would be there), intending to head over to Peet's afterwards to stock up on Winter Solstice tea. So after I leave the bakery, I'm at the corner and I hit a patch of black ice and fell; bruised my hand pretty badly, but otherwise mostly ended up with dirt on my coat and, yes, the green pants. I have fallen twice in the past four years, and both times I was wearing these pants. What other conclusion makes sense?
There's not a whole lot else to report, really. Work goes along. I have some crap to submit by the end of the year--at least one budget modification, next year's budget for one grant, a workplan, a proposal--and I have to figure out how to submit this other mountain of data, but whatevs. I didn't get much done this past week, because I had off on Tuesday (a personal day used for doctors' appointments), 3,472 meetings on Wednesday, and ended up taking off on Thursday as well (a dentist appointment in the morning, but I've been dealing with an annoying cold all week, so I just took a sick day). I should be able to crank out a few things this week, and I'm planning on working over the holidays, mostly, as well. I'll take off next Monday, and we have off both Thursdays and Fridays, but going in to the office at this time of year means I can get work done without people wanting things from me every damn minute. It would be nice to start the new year with a bunch of little crap (and some big stuff, too) off my desk.
I even made a dent today--and in more than one pile! It was very exciting.
Okay, maybe not so exciting, but still.
Friend and I watched two movies yesterday, one of which was "Into the Wild," which neither of us had seen and which I kind of wish we hadn't watched, not least because it gave me some bad dreams. I didn't know (or didn't remember, in any case) that the kid died, but it did not change my annoyance at him, at his willingness to burn his money, at his lack of compassion or consideration for his family and friends. Near the end, you see him writing, "happiness is only real when it's shared," and I, ever the sympathetic person, thought, "Well, duh; did you really need to go to Alaska and starve to death to realize that?" And, apparently, the answer is yes, which is sad.
Having been raised without religion or deities, and in a family that had and has a strong sense of responsibility, on one hand I never questioned the notion that we--broadly understood, not just my family--must take care of one another. Of course we must; the libertarian mindset is a quasi-nietzschean notion of personal invincibility for the elite few, and, of course, the proponents all think they are among the few. But it wasn't until I found Wittgenstein that I had a way of explaining it clearly, to myself or to anyone else.
One of the basic tenets of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations is that there is no private language. The very definition of language is that it is a means of communication--with others. And I came to conceptualize our connections to each other as related to that--communication is a fundamental act. I realize it's several steps from that to a public health care option, and I don't feel like detailing those steps at the moment, but I do see the path.
Or think about it this way: the kid in the movie wandered off to Alaska by himself, ostensibly on some kind of journey of purity, but he brought with him both books and a means of communication (the notebook and writing implements). He brought language with him; he brought other humans with him, even as he thought he was leaving them all behind.
Anyway. The other movie was "Bad Santa," which I'd only seen once but ended up buying this year when I saw it on sale somewhere for $6. Friend was grumpy from his cold, and i thought the movie would make him laugh, and it did, and I found it to be every bit as gloriously profane as the first time I saw it. A perfect antidote to the sticky-sweet offerings of the "season."
Especially as this has been a rough several months in the air around me--my own parents' health issues; two friends losing their mothers this year (and I knew both of them; hell, one was my mother-in-law for awhile); a coworker dealing with some serious health issues (which reared their head again today with another hospitalization, and now he's out of sick time, which is a whole other drama waiting to happen, because he's basically going to have to retire and he can't really afford to do that, even though he's 67); a friend committing suicide; and the general malaise of the economy, which affects my brother and his family pretty significantly. I have to admit that I look forward to the winter solstice, and not because it's Friend's birthday; that's just an extra bonus. I look forward to it because it means the days are going to start getting the tiniest bit longer again, and it won't start getting dark before 4:00 in the afternoon.
And just to show you that, freedom from religion notwithstanding, I still have my superstitions. I was going to wear those green pants yesterday afternoon to go to Friend's house, and I just couldn't bring myself to wear them again. Frankly, I think I have to get rid of them, which kinda sucks, as they're in pretty good condition. I don't even want to offer them to anyone else, in case the curse isn't specific to me.
There's not a whole lot else to report, really. Work goes along. I have some crap to submit by the end of the year--at least one budget modification, next year's budget for one grant, a workplan, a proposal--and I have to figure out how to submit this other mountain of data, but whatevs. I didn't get much done this past week, because I had off on Tuesday (a personal day used for doctors' appointments), 3,472 meetings on Wednesday, and ended up taking off on Thursday as well (a dentist appointment in the morning, but I've been dealing with an annoying cold all week, so I just took a sick day). I should be able to crank out a few things this week, and I'm planning on working over the holidays, mostly, as well. I'll take off next Monday, and we have off both Thursdays and Fridays, but going in to the office at this time of year means I can get work done without people wanting things from me every damn minute. It would be nice to start the new year with a bunch of little crap (and some big stuff, too) off my desk.
I even made a dent today--and in more than one pile! It was very exciting.
Okay, maybe not so exciting, but still.
Friend and I watched two movies yesterday, one of which was "Into the Wild," which neither of us had seen and which I kind of wish we hadn't watched, not least because it gave me some bad dreams. I didn't know (or didn't remember, in any case) that the kid died, but it did not change my annoyance at him, at his willingness to burn his money, at his lack of compassion or consideration for his family and friends. Near the end, you see him writing, "happiness is only real when it's shared," and I, ever the sympathetic person, thought, "Well, duh; did you really need to go to Alaska and starve to death to realize that?" And, apparently, the answer is yes, which is sad.
Having been raised without religion or deities, and in a family that had and has a strong sense of responsibility, on one hand I never questioned the notion that we--broadly understood, not just my family--must take care of one another. Of course we must; the libertarian mindset is a quasi-nietzschean notion of personal invincibility for the elite few, and, of course, the proponents all think they are among the few. But it wasn't until I found Wittgenstein that I had a way of explaining it clearly, to myself or to anyone else.
One of the basic tenets of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations is that there is no private language. The very definition of language is that it is a means of communication--with others. And I came to conceptualize our connections to each other as related to that--communication is a fundamental act. I realize it's several steps from that to a public health care option, and I don't feel like detailing those steps at the moment, but I do see the path.
Or think about it this way: the kid in the movie wandered off to Alaska by himself, ostensibly on some kind of journey of purity, but he brought with him both books and a means of communication (the notebook and writing implements). He brought language with him; he brought other humans with him, even as he thought he was leaving them all behind.
Anyway. The other movie was "Bad Santa," which I'd only seen once but ended up buying this year when I saw it on sale somewhere for $6. Friend was grumpy from his cold, and i thought the movie would make him laugh, and it did, and I found it to be every bit as gloriously profane as the first time I saw it. A perfect antidote to the sticky-sweet offerings of the "season."
Especially as this has been a rough several months in the air around me--my own parents' health issues; two friends losing their mothers this year (and I knew both of them; hell, one was my mother-in-law for awhile); a coworker dealing with some serious health issues (which reared their head again today with another hospitalization, and now he's out of sick time, which is a whole other drama waiting to happen, because he's basically going to have to retire and he can't really afford to do that, even though he's 67); a friend committing suicide; and the general malaise of the economy, which affects my brother and his family pretty significantly. I have to admit that I look forward to the winter solstice, and not because it's Friend's birthday; that's just an extra bonus. I look forward to it because it means the days are going to start getting the tiniest bit longer again, and it won't start getting dark before 4:00 in the afternoon.
And just to show you that, freedom from religion notwithstanding, I still have my superstitions. I was going to wear those green pants yesterday afternoon to go to Friend's house, and I just couldn't bring myself to wear them again. Frankly, I think I have to get rid of them, which kinda sucks, as they're in pretty good condition. I don't even want to offer them to anyone else, in case the curse isn't specific to me.
Sunday, December 6, 2009
Canned Goods
I'm feeling deeply grateful today, and not just because it looks like mom will be around for awhile longer. This whole episode definitely took a toll on her, and it will take her some time to get her strength back, and the tourniquet seems to have done some injury (nerve damage, maybe?), but she's still with us, and she sounds pretty good.
The other reason I'm feeling grateful, though, is that (a) I was able to go grocery shopping yesterday, (b) I had a vehicle to transport me and the groceries afterwards (I traded breakfast for a ride from K), and, most tellingly, (c) I didn't have to keep a running tally in my head of what I was spending. Given that there are millions of my fellow citizens who aren't sure exactly how they're going to be feeding themselves or their families this week, that felt like a huge luxury to me. It shouldn't--that is, everyone should be able to feed their families--but the economy being what it is, I know that it's not an experience everyone shares. At different times in my life, I've had to keep an estimate in my head as I wandered the aisles--sometimes more exact an estimate than others--so it does, indeed, feel luxurious to throw things into the cart without considering what's already there or what it will do to my budget for the week or month.
I was able to rein myself on some things, but in general I didn't. For example, I have cans of beans (pinto, black, great northern) and tomatos in the cupboard, and I knew that, but they were on sale; so, channeling my mother, I bought more. Same with pasta and a few other things. I'm determined to make some stews and freeze things in lunch-size batches. Which, really, I'm going to have to do, because there's no room in the damn cupboard for everything, and the stand-alone freezer is jam-packed. (The freezer over the fridge is empty, but it's frost-free, so it tends to suck the life out of everything so I try not to use it.) Several loaves of bread, cut into chunks and wrapped tightly; 10 pounds of blueberries divided into small bags; some cooked black beans; some chicken breasts from who-knows-when; a whole shelf of newly purchased frozen vegetables (spinach and broccoli); almond and hazelnut flours, in case I decide to get ambitious and do some baking; slow-roasted tomatos from last year; pesto; and some chicken broth in little one-cup containers.
I bought a delicata squash, even though I have three butternuts sitting on the floor, because I've never had a delicata and I've been wanting to try one. A bag of onions. Two bunches of beets (which are roasting at the moment, and the greens are cut up and frozen). Toothpaste. Shampoo, even though I have several unopened bottles, because one that I like was on sale, and, hey, shampoo doesn't go bad. Crackers (two kinds, two boxes of each). Three kinds of cheese, even though I have three or four kinds in the fridge, for those nights when cheese and bread or crackers sounds like a fine meal. Cookies (Ginger Newman-Os!). Some chocolate. Wine. Buttermilk, butter, and eggs, for baking. Sugar. I already had barley and farro in the cupboard, because I was going to bring it to my parents' but ended up not doing so, and I have quinoa and rice as well.
So, yes, I could eat for several months without buying more than the occasional onion, and, if I motivate properly, I'll use this stuff to make some of the stews I haven't made in a zillion years. Almost nothing that I bought will go bad any time soon, which is part of how I justify stocking up like that. It'll be something of a pain to move--yes, Larry, despite the fibrillation, I am nearly sure that I'm going to do that--which is even more motivation to make a dent in it. The one thing I should not have bought was almond flour, because it's expensive and I already had some (and it wasn't on sale, I just forgot I had some); guess I'll have to start doing some baking. My mom said they sent back my box of stuff--recipes, silpats, more recipes, a scale--so I'll have what I need by the end of the week; I should have asked her to send some motivation in the box while she's at it.
The other reason I'm feeling grateful, though, is that (a) I was able to go grocery shopping yesterday, (b) I had a vehicle to transport me and the groceries afterwards (I traded breakfast for a ride from K), and, most tellingly, (c) I didn't have to keep a running tally in my head of what I was spending. Given that there are millions of my fellow citizens who aren't sure exactly how they're going to be feeding themselves or their families this week, that felt like a huge luxury to me. It shouldn't--that is, everyone should be able to feed their families--but the economy being what it is, I know that it's not an experience everyone shares. At different times in my life, I've had to keep an estimate in my head as I wandered the aisles--sometimes more exact an estimate than others--so it does, indeed, feel luxurious to throw things into the cart without considering what's already there or what it will do to my budget for the week or month.
I was able to rein myself on some things, but in general I didn't. For example, I have cans of beans (pinto, black, great northern) and tomatos in the cupboard, and I knew that, but they were on sale; so, channeling my mother, I bought more. Same with pasta and a few other things. I'm determined to make some stews and freeze things in lunch-size batches. Which, really, I'm going to have to do, because there's no room in the damn cupboard for everything, and the stand-alone freezer is jam-packed. (The freezer over the fridge is empty, but it's frost-free, so it tends to suck the life out of everything so I try not to use it.) Several loaves of bread, cut into chunks and wrapped tightly; 10 pounds of blueberries divided into small bags; some cooked black beans; some chicken breasts from who-knows-when; a whole shelf of newly purchased frozen vegetables (spinach and broccoli); almond and hazelnut flours, in case I decide to get ambitious and do some baking; slow-roasted tomatos from last year; pesto; and some chicken broth in little one-cup containers.
I bought a delicata squash, even though I have three butternuts sitting on the floor, because I've never had a delicata and I've been wanting to try one. A bag of onions. Two bunches of beets (which are roasting at the moment, and the greens are cut up and frozen). Toothpaste. Shampoo, even though I have several unopened bottles, because one that I like was on sale, and, hey, shampoo doesn't go bad. Crackers (two kinds, two boxes of each). Three kinds of cheese, even though I have three or four kinds in the fridge, for those nights when cheese and bread or crackers sounds like a fine meal. Cookies (Ginger Newman-Os!). Some chocolate. Wine. Buttermilk, butter, and eggs, for baking. Sugar. I already had barley and farro in the cupboard, because I was going to bring it to my parents' but ended up not doing so, and I have quinoa and rice as well.
So, yes, I could eat for several months without buying more than the occasional onion, and, if I motivate properly, I'll use this stuff to make some of the stews I haven't made in a zillion years. Almost nothing that I bought will go bad any time soon, which is part of how I justify stocking up like that. It'll be something of a pain to move--yes, Larry, despite the fibrillation, I am nearly sure that I'm going to do that--which is even more motivation to make a dent in it. The one thing I should not have bought was almond flour, because it's expensive and I already had some (and it wasn't on sale, I just forgot I had some); guess I'll have to start doing some baking. My mom said they sent back my box of stuff--recipes, silpats, more recipes, a scale--so I'll have what I need by the end of the week; I should have asked her to send some motivation in the box while she's at it.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Eat Me
Mom finally came home from the hospital on Tuesday. I didn't really get to talk to her until yesterday, but she sounded much much better. At this point, of course, the only thing that will make a dramatic improvement in her health--and even that is (a) not a sure thing and (b) still only a way to stave off death a while longer--is a new kidney. But she's still in much better shape than a week or so ago, so yay for that.
Work has been really tediously heinous this week. I have a list of things that have to be done Right! Now! that is seriously long. I cannot actually get to that list, however, because there's handholding to do. One of my coworkers is used to having people to do stuff for him/her--people to take care of this or that bunch of details--but here in the non-profit world, we don't have that in our budgets. Thus, for example, although I have put nearly everything relevant to some questions this person must answer on our shared drive, s/he still barges into my office every time s/he has a question, rather than wading through the shared drive folders and actually looking shit up. And when something becomes urgent--e.g., money must be spent within a certain time frame--this person goes flying around like a whirling dervish, demanding that everyone drop everything so s/he can deal with it. I finally lost it at one point earlier in the week.
We have to spend our federal dollars within certain types of categories; deviations require conversations with project officers and so on (which isn't impossible, mind you, but yours truly is the person who has to do all of the contacting and supporting budget modifications and paperwork, i.e., still more work for me). We also get items from two different categories from the same supplier--that is, we get things from the widget category AND things from the mergatmacater category from Hank's House of Widgets and Mergatmacaters. If these things aren't invoiced separately, then all of the bills may get lumped into, and show up on the financials in, the widget category, which means it looks like we're underspending on mergatmacaters and overspending on widgets.
So, I said, can't these things be separated somehow? Oh, no, I'm told, that would mean someone has to go through the invoices line by line, figuring out which goes in the widget category and which goes in the mergatmacater category. Well, I point out (a bit testily, at this point), if s/he doesn't have someone do that, then I end up having to do it after the fact, and our accounting people have to reclass expenses on top of it, so put widgets on one invoice and mergatmacaters on a different goddamned fucking invoice, already, because I don't have anyone at all to help me.
This person is also late for every. fucking. meeting. Which I really, really, really hate. Unless you are taking a dump, stitching up someone's bleeding flesh wound, or performing CPR (and s/he wouldn't be doing the latter two, because s/he isn't qualified to do so), it will fucking wait.
I had a revelation yesterday, though, so there's that. It's a pretty tiny one, but it's important for my daily life. In particular, I've been realizing that several things are simultaneously true:
1. I cannot eat as much as I used to eat, unless I would like to go out and buy clothes that are three sizes larger than the current batch.
2. I'm actually not as hungry as I used to be, either (say, 15 years ago), or, more to the point, just don't need as much food to keep going.
3. I really enjoy food--not as a pure comfort thing, per se, but all of the textures and colors and, especially, smells and flavors. I find eating to be a wonderful, sensual pleasure. I also really enjoy eating--I've been eating with a book in front of me for decades (living alone for many years will do that to a person), and it's one of the true pleasures, though that's more about the whole experience of meal time rather than eating, per se.
What this all means, when taken together, is that I can't, and don't want to, eat as many calories as I once did, but I end up missing the experience, because there's so much less of it. I've been experimenting with focusing more on the actual eating part of the experience (instead of chowing as I read, paying less attention to the food), and that helps some, but I still end up feeling like I'm missing something. It's really not part of my nature or habits to sit there and stare at my food and eat it a tiny morsel at a time, but I'm trying to figure out how to rethink the experience so it doesn't require big wads of food, either. Slowing down definitely helps.
The other necessity is something sweet. It doesn't have to be very much, mind you, and I don't even need or want it all the time (and I have to make sure i don't start eating sugar mindlessly, either, because it's very easy for me to do that), but I definitely have a sweet tooth. I have learned how to modulate that over the years, in that I've discovered that I really don't need or want very much sugar to feel satisfied, and I've also discovered that higher-quality sugar (e.g., really good chocolate, rather than a piece of grainy, sugary stuff, though the latter will definitely do in a pinch) is more satisfying and tastes better.
See? I told you it wasn't very big. Or that interesting, either, I imagine.
Work has been really tediously heinous this week. I have a list of things that have to be done Right! Now! that is seriously long. I cannot actually get to that list, however, because there's handholding to do. One of my coworkers is used to having people to do stuff for him/her--people to take care of this or that bunch of details--but here in the non-profit world, we don't have that in our budgets. Thus, for example, although I have put nearly everything relevant to some questions this person must answer on our shared drive, s/he still barges into my office every time s/he has a question, rather than wading through the shared drive folders and actually looking shit up. And when something becomes urgent--e.g., money must be spent within a certain time frame--this person goes flying around like a whirling dervish, demanding that everyone drop everything so s/he can deal with it. I finally lost it at one point earlier in the week.
We have to spend our federal dollars within certain types of categories; deviations require conversations with project officers and so on (which isn't impossible, mind you, but yours truly is the person who has to do all of the contacting and supporting budget modifications and paperwork, i.e., still more work for me). We also get items from two different categories from the same supplier--that is, we get things from the widget category AND things from the mergatmacater category from Hank's House of Widgets and Mergatmacaters. If these things aren't invoiced separately, then all of the bills may get lumped into, and show up on the financials in, the widget category, which means it looks like we're underspending on mergatmacaters and overspending on widgets.
So, I said, can't these things be separated somehow? Oh, no, I'm told, that would mean someone has to go through the invoices line by line, figuring out which goes in the widget category and which goes in the mergatmacater category. Well, I point out (a bit testily, at this point), if s/he doesn't have someone do that, then I end up having to do it after the fact, and our accounting people have to reclass expenses on top of it, so put widgets on one invoice and mergatmacaters on a different goddamned fucking invoice, already, because I don't have anyone at all to help me.
This person is also late for every. fucking. meeting. Which I really, really, really hate. Unless you are taking a dump, stitching up someone's bleeding flesh wound, or performing CPR (and s/he wouldn't be doing the latter two, because s/he isn't qualified to do so), it will fucking wait.
I had a revelation yesterday, though, so there's that. It's a pretty tiny one, but it's important for my daily life. In particular, I've been realizing that several things are simultaneously true:
1. I cannot eat as much as I used to eat, unless I would like to go out and buy clothes that are three sizes larger than the current batch.
2. I'm actually not as hungry as I used to be, either (say, 15 years ago), or, more to the point, just don't need as much food to keep going.
3. I really enjoy food--not as a pure comfort thing, per se, but all of the textures and colors and, especially, smells and flavors. I find eating to be a wonderful, sensual pleasure. I also really enjoy eating--I've been eating with a book in front of me for decades (living alone for many years will do that to a person), and it's one of the true pleasures, though that's more about the whole experience of meal time rather than eating, per se.
What this all means, when taken together, is that I can't, and don't want to, eat as many calories as I once did, but I end up missing the experience, because there's so much less of it. I've been experimenting with focusing more on the actual eating part of the experience (instead of chowing as I read, paying less attention to the food), and that helps some, but I still end up feeling like I'm missing something. It's really not part of my nature or habits to sit there and stare at my food and eat it a tiny morsel at a time, but I'm trying to figure out how to rethink the experience so it doesn't require big wads of food, either. Slowing down definitely helps.
The other necessity is something sweet. It doesn't have to be very much, mind you, and I don't even need or want it all the time (and I have to make sure i don't start eating sugar mindlessly, either, because it's very easy for me to do that), but I definitely have a sweet tooth. I have learned how to modulate that over the years, in that I've discovered that I really don't need or want very much sugar to feel satisfied, and I've also discovered that higher-quality sugar (e.g., really good chocolate, rather than a piece of grainy, sugary stuff, though the latter will definitely do in a pinch) is more satisfying and tastes better.
See? I told you it wasn't very big. Or that interesting, either, I imagine.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)