wordshavepower | Recent Entries

I go home from Amsterdam tomorrow. These past three weeks have been hell--only one of them in Amsterdam, thank goodness.

Good enough isn't good enough, anymore.

Work is imploding. I've allowed them to pidgenhole me into a role I don't like and I'm not suited for. Fucking event planner, basically. Plus menopause does incredibly damaging things to a woman's body and mind. Since medicine assumes that women can be treated like men, and since men never suffer a debilitating loss of the most important hormone of their entire system, they assume that estrogen deprivation is just a natural thing that women should endure.

But I digress.

I've been suffering from the mental and physical symptoms of estrogen deprivation for a couple of years now. These past 12 months have been particularly horrid. I thought I was going to have to quit working. I'm being treated now, and though there are still mysteries and monsters to pursue, I'm feeling a little better.

All this to say, I should have advocated better for myself last year. I kept saying I didn't have the resources to put together these two symposia they want as part of their 50th anniversary. Big high level shit. I don't have it in me, I'm not a details person and I don't have anyone to help.

And everything else was so much more urgent.

So here I am, in Amsterdam, meeting with folks about the second symposium, which will happen in November, while scrambling to save the second symposium, in DC in June. I started eating again, this week. That's something, at least.

So the loud Judge in my head tried to make it All My Fault. But some well-timed conversations with our HR manager and the coach I hired has helped me untangle some things and start to question the mythology I hide behind. Why don't I believe I'm competent? Why do I think I am fooling everyone? That if someone lifts the curtain just a little bit they will find I'm a fraud and a sham? Whose voice is that and how can I shut it up?

I'm at an industry conference this week, as well. I walk into the room thinking, no one wants to talk to me. Why would they? I'm just the stratcomms manager. I need to fix that voice inside my head, too, or I'll never be able to open my own consultancy--if that's what I want to do. But it's all so hard and I'm so tired and all I really want to do is lay in bed and read all day until its time to go to sleep again.

I don't think that's depression. I think it's generalized anxiety, ADHD, and a post-COVID reality. Everything is difficult. My friends are worn thin by it. They haven't got much to give me at this utterly bleak point in my own life.

Do I want to stay in food security? Do I want to keep trying to be some small part of the global solution? Or is that just too much to expect of myself? Can I pull it in to blanket my own small circle with love and let the rest of the world sort it out for itself? Why me? Why do I have this burning need to serve a greater good?

I'm getting anxious just typing this all out. I am competent. Perhaps part of my insecurity is being in the wrong role. I should be big-picture teams, not in the weeds team. I should have a competent team to lean on to make the details work. I should be working to improve our systems and processes. Not planning a freaking party.

So I forced myself to apply for a new job at a cool international development shop with a focus on employee ownership and ethical capitalism. We'll see what it brings. A shitty commute, though. But the job description was written for me, it seems. And there is a team in place to support me. I'm not making it up all on my own.

And I have a coach who is teaching me how to be mindful and intentional about what would bring me joy in my work.

But oh, how I want to walk away. Just quit. Just leave this abusive miserable work I'm doing. Even if it brings me to places like Ghana, Ethiopia, Tanzania. Amsterdam, Senegal, Rwanda, Kenya.

I'm tired.

January 2, 2023. A nice day out, if you can ignore global warming. Delicious is out in the woods behind our house, pondering a workshop. I decide to go out, because I love wandering in the woods, and for once the ground is dry enough to do it.

We walk through the property and get to the little stream that meanders all over the place. There's no good way to cross it, so Delicious jumps over, and then I do.

POP.

Something in my left knee finally gives up the ghost. And for the first time in my life, my body won't do what I ask of it. I tried. I can't walk. Not just that it hurts, but any attempt to put any weight on it and I collapse. And we're out in the country in the woods. And it's really kind of wet out. Could I crawl 200, 300 feet back to the house?

We try to get home. Delicious with his arm around my waist, me with my hand on his shoulder. Nope.

"Wait here," he says, propping me up against a tree.

About ten minutes later, I hear him. He's got the ATV he just bought, and he's riding to my rescue. I hear a saw. I see a flash. There's my husband on his ATV, wearing his lumberjack protective gear--bright orange helmet, with built-in ear protection and a visor. I've managed, in the meantime, to get close to the stream again. He helps me across, and those three feet are all I can manage. We scoot me onto the back of the ATV and I clutch the chain saw with one hand and my husband with the other. We drive back through the route that he had cleared and up to the front porch.

***

So yeah. We were half-way to the urgent care place when we realized, there really wasn't anything they'd be able to do for me. Instead, we got a brace and crutches. I called the local sports medicine place the next day and made an appointment. Probably a torn meniscus, said they. But whatever they did to manipulate the joint made it feel so much better. The doc has a very special MRI he likes to have, so getting into a machine took a while.

Complex medial meniscus tear. Surgery on 10 April, because I've got to go to Rome for work in March. 4 weeks on crutches. Rehab will take a total of 14-16 weeks and starts the day after surgery.

Christina's Mulligatawny soup

In soup pot, melt:

1 tbs. coconut oil (or ghee)

When oil is hot, add and sautee until onion is translucent:

1c. chopped onion
3 cloves garlic, minced
2 tbs. grated ginger (keep your ginger in the freezer!)

Add to onion mixture and cook, stirring constantly, until fragrant (no more than a minute!):

2 tps. ground coriander
1 tsp. tumeric
1 1/2 tsp. cumin
1/4 tsp. cardamom (optional, start with a pinch and add more to taste)

Add to pot and simmer until flavors meld:

1/4 tsp. cayenne powder (I'd also recommend experimenting with a few chili peppers instead NOM)
1 tsp. salt (or to taste)
1 tbs. rice vinegar
5 cups chicken stock
1 sm. can unsweetened coconut milk

Make a roux and add to soup in a thin stream:

1 tbs. corn starch and 1 tbs. cold water

Here's where it gets fun. What veggies do you have on hand? Suggestions:

3 baby bok choy, sliced thin
2 carrots, grated
1/2 sweet red pepper, diced
1 cup snow peas

Toss in:

2 cups shredded, roasted chicken (no more wondering what to do with leftovers!)

Serve with cilantro sprigs (or Thai basil) and Sriracha sauce. Got rice? put that in, as well.

How cool is that, that I have children?

I was sad I'd only have one child. Lucked into a beautiful teenaged girl, too

What I want my children to know as they approach college and beyond:

Join the Peace Corps.
Look for schools that offer exciting opportunities to study in the field. So many universities run innovative programs in developing countries.

Study environmental conservation. Understand how the world works, how it knits together, and heal this Earth we have abused so much.

I wore a purple Calvin Klein dress with a portrait neckline and a gathered waist at Delicious' Christmas party
I gave Delicious a pasta maker, a cool wine opener, a handmade hat for Christmas

Armor. Our president has it, in the blue and grey suits he wears, the solid tie, the crisp white shirt. My son's therapist has it, in his graphic tees and Croc allstar knockoffs. Some people come in crystal clear in the symbols they choose to drape upon themselves, charms to ward against cruelty or derision. Charms to attract acceptance, wealth, happiness. Love. The newest kid in my son's class wraps himself in longer hair and a cool British accent. He was dropped into their midst, popularity assured, bulletproof in his otherness armor. The kids who come from India, from Palestine, from South America, are not afforded such coolness of place. Their color betrays them. My son befriends them.

My son has no outward wardings to protect him from the offhanded, cruel vagrancy of other children, no symbols to proclaim, "I belong!" He wears handmedowns and thrift store clothes, utterly uninterested in fashion or labels. The cool DCs lie forgotten in his closet as he grabs the closest, easiest shoes to hand. He wraps himself in whatever I shove at him in the mornings, and goes out to life open, unprotected, unwarded against the world.

No wonder he's so easily bruised.

Class was today. Late, me, because I'd been bound and determined to get decent brushes for the decoration I'm doing on my tea bowls.

I had eight porcelain tea bowls, a saki set, and various altered vases to trim and decorate before the bisque firing. And the residents had emptied the gas kiln, so eight of my teabowls from that process were waiting for me. I piled them up in front of my workspace and went to town on the porcelain. Everyone was touching the finished tea bowls. They really liked the bowls. One woman even stacked them up so they made a sort of totem of tea.

My teacher is pretty chill, and I like her personally, but our styles are very different. That being said, next week, we're going to put together some tea pots. I decided it's about time I started making complex forms again. On Friday, I'll throw some bodies and spouts, maybe pull a few handles, and see what we can make of it all next Wednesday.

I was late leaving class, and the director of the ceramics department came in, saw my pile o bowls, and said, "So you'.re the one making those. I saw them come out of the kiln and knew those had been made by a potter.':

squee.

He wanted to know all about what was going on, so I told him, black slip, white slip, black liner, shino... he loved it.

And asked if I was interested in being his TA.

Um. Yes.

But, it would mean no more date night with Delicious. I'd have to TA both his Friday classes to get full tuition break, because his classes are small, only five or so people in each, and in order to get the breaks and the perks, the class has to have ten. But dood. Blair Meerfeld called me a POTTER. Said it's good to see someone in the Studio with some maturity and creativity. or something to that effect. I was too busy squeeing in my head to actually listen.

He also strongly urged me to do the student pottery sale. So I did. I'm signed up and oh boy. Here we go.

Two nights ago, I'd pretty much had it. My kid is a prickly sort of kid. He's not easy to love if you're with him 24/7. He's argumentative, loud, in constant motion, won't pay attention, doesn't listen, explodes about little things and is basically a landmine. We've come such a long way since December. I was rereading my posts from back then and our lives have really improved with the medicine and the boundaries, with CTY camp giving him a glimpse of what other smart kids are like, and with another year together, age and maturity.

But the kid's nervous about his new school and still mad at his father. honestly, I don't know how much of that is an easy excuse he knows we won't argue with if he throws a fit and we ask what's bugging him... and how much is truly his anger at his father, and at me, for not being together.

Sunday afternoon was hard. Delicious has been riding KoE hard, not tolerating any of his PITA behavior, and basically finding fault with everything the kid does. Which makes me snippy and miserable. Which makes K hide in her room. Which makes the KoE even more desperate for attention of any kind, so he keeps doing the loud, inappropriate, angry, argumentative shit that kills any hope I ever had of a normal weekend.

Taking out the trash is his responsibility. I told him that there would now be consequences for arguing about doing anything we ask him to do, whether it's his chore, or whether it's his duty as a member of this household to pitch in and help. I will be taking computer time away for bad behavior. I will be taking Pokemon cards away, which he can earn back. There isn't much else in his universe that he cares about. My parents would punish me by taking away extra curricular activities, to a point where I almost stopped signing up for them. I won't do that to him.

He was arguing and angry when he hauled the first bag of trash out. When he saw there was a second pile, he hit the roof, but still had to do it. He tripped on something going down the stairs--something Delicious had specifically told him to move out of the way before he carried the trash down, but of course KoE didn't listen.

I hear him outside screaming at the top of his lungs. SCREAMING. "AAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHH! I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATE YOU!" I go outside to see what's going on and there he is, on his hands and knees, scooping dirt back into a little pot I'd thrown away. His little pot. With the tickle me plants he hadn't thought to take care of. Which had died. Which I threw away. This, coupled with the fact that he had seen, in the trash, the crumbled remains of something he'd made at CTY camp, set him up for a big blowout.

He was screaming, so I yelled back: "THEY WERE DEAD, DO YOU HEAR ME? DEAD." Delicious was behind me and starting down the stairs but no thanks, he'd done enough already. This was my kid, who was yelling I hate you, about me, and I was going to deal with it.

Poor KoE. I held him in my arms and rocked him as he sobbed. "If you don't feed a pet, he dies. If you don't water a plant, it dies." He was so angry at me. I told him it wasn't fair to expect me to take care of everything for him. If the CTY thing had been important, it should not have been crushed at the bottom of his school bag with half an eaten something or other and a bunch of other trash. But apparently, it's my fault I can't tell trash from treasure. It's my fault I told him he would have to look after his plants, and that I'd try to remember but it was his responsibility.

And here we have it folks. When Delicious and I went to bed, he asked me why I was so miserable on the weekends. Gee. Let me think. I've ( married a man with no improv skills ) and have inherited a girl who eats six things and doesn't do anything exciting. And a son who is bonx most of the time. I laid it out for Delicious one more time. I have given up. I'm trapped in a house with people who can't improv. In order to do ANYTHING, we have to plan it weeks in advance. I reminded him that, whenever I make a suggestion, his first reaction is 'No.' I reminded him that, of all the people in this house, I'm the only one who actually seems to give a shit, and whenever I do, I get hurt and disappointed. Birthday cakes failed and unappreciated, Slobs sitting around the television watching Wipeout recordings. Doing the same old brand of nothing every fucking weekend. I'm over it. This house is a prison of apathy on the weekends. I also told him that it is abundantly clear that Delicious doesn't care for KoE right now, in fact, it's pretty obvious Delicious doesn't want to have anything to do with the kid. I reminded him that KoE doesn't have any friends. He's all sharp angles trying to fit into an obtuse world, is my kid, and he's hurting. He told me on Sunday he wishes he were 'normal.'

KoE is normal, in that who the fuck decides what is normal and what isn't? Fuck you very much, society. My son conforms to the rules as much as he can. Yes, I see a lot of his father's disconnectedness, his sneaking idea that some of the rules don't apply to him. I'm hoping having a normally fucked up mother, as opposed to the Wicked Witch of Paris, will count a long way towards tethering KoE to the world at large.

But Fuck them all. I am going to come up with a list of things I want to do on the weekends. And I'm going to do them. And if anyone wants to join me, tra lala.

All this to say, ( KoE's nervous about school )

My passport arrived on Saturday morning, thank goodness! Everything else about the trip is gravy, now.

I am also thrilled by the fact that my library has Mango language lessons online, so I am learning some basic Italian, although I'm having a hard time actually memorizing anything. I'll have to listen to it constantly, I guess. Too bad I can't download it to iTunes, but I think I've found an audio recording I can check out from the library. From my living room. That I can burn to CD or put on my mobile to listen to it while I wander around. Sweet!

My only editing client has at least three documents for me in the next two weeks. That is happy-making. I need more clients like them.

My son is being rebellious, obstreperous, and so many other not-so-good adjectives that end in -ous. And plain old WTF? So he's on short rations vis a vis Pokemon, screen time, and so help me, I'll ground him so he can't play with his friends across the street this week. It's going to suck, but he will stop yelling at us if he wants to see the back side of eighteen.

Last week, it started off innocently enough. "Mama, what's chlorophyll?" I started to explain, but then took out my Blackberry. Called up Wikipedia, and spent the next three blocks reading out loud as we walked. We followed links for things we didn't understand. We gawked at the information. We laughed out loud.

By the time we reached the office, we had traveled the breadth of space and washed up, defeated, against the shores of Dark Energy.

Tonight, we wondered out loud if zero was even or odd. We explored prime numbers, figured out somebody's algorithm for finding primes, and by the time Delicious came home, we were talking about squares, square roots, and the idea of the infinitely divisible, approaching but never reaching the terminus.

Last night, the husbandcreature asked me what I wanted for my birthday.

inasmuch as I'd had to ask him, "Is my birthday next week?" I haven't given it much thought.

Today, I hoisted my ridiculously heavy laptop bag onto my shoulder and said, "I've got to find a rolling computer case for this thing if I don't want to end up in traction." I spent a few minutes looking on line today and damn, everything I liked was way too expensive.

But Delicious asked which ones I was looking at, and I showed him, and he said, "I know this isn't very romantic, but we were talking about birthday presents last night..."

And I'm thinking, hey, my love... it's beautiful. It's practical. It will save my poor back another four weeks at the chiropractor's office. It's on sale on Overstock. It's even detaches from the rollers if I want to be all swank, and not a forty-something broad with back trouble and a pet computer. What's not to love about a present like this? Now, do I want it in black or red?

When i was a little girl, I had a red, lucite doll house. I was fascinated by it. Translucent. Red. No normal people could live in that house, but oh the adventures we had. I think it was mostly a home on the moon, or in outer space, to me. Very Courbusier in its lines.

I remember retreating to that doll house when my mom had a 'friend' over. I had lots of places in which to escape when that nasty man came over. All of those places were in my head.

I do remember a lovely man, Uncle Paul, I called him. I don't think my mom ever dated him, though I'm sure he had a crush on her. He gave me a play vacuum. I loved it. He was a very kind person.

I also loved loved loved that push-toy with the popcorn bubble of rattling colored balls. I could run around with that for hours.

Somehow, I'm thinking of all the things I lost somewhere along the way, tonight. I can't remember all the CDs I'd burned to my computer/external drive that are now gone forever... but these lost toys are tangible, today.

I'm on my way back from dropping KoE at school, with a detour to the mall to pick up an app store gift certificate.

There's a good chance that Apple didn't let us down and KoE's iPod Touch will arrive today. Not that I'm home to receive it. I have faith.

I sold the glass-fronted cabinets that housed a mountain of junk but were wrong for our dining room.

My folks are coming over for dinner tonight. I have a metric ton of stuff to shift in a house without room.

Then I have to get dinner into the crock pot. Make a birthday cake. Clean the house.

And somehow get two pots of soup to the church this afternoon for the simple supper, without a car. Maybe I'll get a Zip car for an hour.

And that's just today'a madness. There are three websites to design tis week.

My angel. Mine. He's back. We handed him over to my folks on Wednesday after school and got him at three on Saturday. No school on Friday, and administrative day for the school already on the books before little mr. fourth grader brought coke to school on Thursday.

KoE was a total sweetheart. helpful, sweet, cooperative. lovey. Didn't lose his shit when he found out K would be home late on Saturday. Helped with chores, was a gem in church on Sunday, oh he was such a sweetie. And then he had some cookies and threw a temper tantrum.

O

Didn't I mention? We went gluten-free this weekend.

Gods, wouldn't that be amazing if his behavior improves this much just by eliminating wheat???

Just finished:

The Windup Girl-- Paolo Bacigalupi Another in the cyber-punk social commentary vein as Altered Carbon. But not as well written
Interworld - Neil Gaiman. I think it's a good book for the Kid...
Chill - Elizabeth Bear. I love her books. finis.
Worldwired - ditto and ditto
Scardown -- need I say more?
Kill the Dead: a Sandman Slim novel by Richard Kadrey. If you like punk noir, this and Sandman Slim might be right up your alley
Thirteen -- Richard K. Morgan If you've read this, you will laugh to know I was reading Scripture and The Language of God at the same time

Reading:

The Language of God by Francis S Collins, head of the Genome Project. My kind of argument for God.
The Childhood Roots of Adult Happiness by Edward M Halloway. Self-explanatory and worth reading
We've Got Issues: Children and Parents in the Age of Medication by Judith Warner. A must-read for any parent, grandparent or educator who is contemplating medication for a child, or facing a medicated child or the hostile relative of a child who should be medicated.
A slew of Melody Beattie titles on recommendation. Small doses, but she's helping sort out interdependencies
The Miracle of Mindfulness in tree form, so I don't have the author. Some Master.
Mindfulness in Plain English by Bhante Henepola Gunaratana.
Sensational Meditation for Children by Sarah Wood Vallely
Smart but Scattered: The Revolutionary 'Executive Skills' Approach to Helping Kids -- there's more to the title, but that's all Amazon can show me! by Peg Dawson and Richard Guare
The Gospels, read Luke, reading John, and have to go to Delicious's office today to pick up the Annotated Oxford Bible, plus some books Delicious picked out on religion, God, Christianity et al for me to read. Us to read.

What's on deck:

More Elizabeth Bear, my happy escape quality time
Words to Live By -- CS Lewis
The Mindful Child -- Susan K Greenland
ADHD workbooks for me and the kid
The Mindful Path to Self Compassion: Freeing Yourself from Destructive Thoughts and Emotions -- Christopher K Germer (This one looks like something I should just go ahead and buy)
Learned Optimism by one of the guys listed above somewhere.

Names to keep in mind:
Kristin Neff - research psychologist into self-kindness

I would like to find a classic modern, sectional sofa with chaise and loveseat. No more than 74" long. Whose loveseat folds out to become, along with the chaise, a convertable bed.

Why is that so hard to find? I have a small home. I have guests coming. I want to maximize the space we have. Harumph.

I need a treatment.

Alexandria's public schools have a lottery program

I am driving around to schools next week. If the Kid is game, we will put him in a new school. Next week if we have to. If we can. If he wants to.

Fuck this. In all his five years in school, he has NEV ER said he didn't want to go to school. I'm taking this seriously. I want to find my kid were he'll be happy. Gonna get on that.

Dear, Beloved Authors,

Please do not get prickly when you do not agree with my suggested corrections. They are merely that, suggestions, and I have no ego in this project. My only purpose is to make you look good, so if you wish to write a report that spouts two or three statistics (and often four or five) in a single sentence... indeed, in each sentence... exact, to the decimal point, and bristling with % across the page... AND include the Annex and Table Number in which each set of statistics might be found, right there in the body of your report, in demure parentheses, far be it from me to move these parenthese'ed references to the footnotes, or try to suggest that, in a report, a more narrative approach would better serve your audience.

And if you are writing about something in a country whose language of diplomacy is still French, but the main client of your report is British, might I suggest that, even though you yourself are French Canadian, the use of commas to mark the radix point, rather than the British standard point, might be a bit annoying for the people interested in funding your further research into this program?

But as I said, this isn't my work. This is yours. I have agonized for hours over each Franglais phrase you've mangled into your report. I've offered you three and four different interpretations of a single sentence, where the placement of a comma radically alters the intended meaning. These are the details I wish for you to approve or not, with the understanding that I am sympathetic to your situation. I myself could not have written a sentence of this report in French. I am here to make you look good.

So please, do not get snooty and pissy with me about anything I have suggested. Simply go through the document and accept or reject items as you will.

Not that there will be a next time for us, but next time? Don't accept all changes to a document and THEN find issue with my suggestions. I now have to cross reference your submitted document with my original changes and painstakingly verify, myself, that the meaning is accurate, or write yet another comment asking you that you do this, yourself. You know. That thing you were supposed to do two weeks ago?

Thanks,

C

I'm struggling to remember anything about Saturday, it went by in a blur. Let it be noted that my mother stopped speaking to my father by the time we got to the rendez-vous point, Delicious called in a very calm state of not-panic to say he'd been swept off into another state due to bad traffic and construction and didn't know if he could get back to Virginia, let alone to the venue, in time, and the kid spilled hot chocolate all over his pants before we got to Glen Gardens. I refused to let my mom's crazy ruin my mood; ditto weird traffic and hot chocolate. Delicious actually arrived at our appointed Starbucks in time to race to Glen Gardens if we'd wanted to hit it, but I'd already spoken to Bonnie, who assured me everything was fine, their noon wedding had canceled, so we had plenty of time and to just get there safe. So he got a chance to catch his breath, so to speak, while I dabbed at hot chocolate that miraculously hadn't soaked into his pants and came out like it had never happened, and well... there's nothing I can do about my mom.

Bonnie and Dick were wonderful, their Glen Gardens wedding venue was so charming and perfect.... I got big hugs from them, strangers both. I wasn't at all nervous, I was so ready for this. Got dressed in their little lovely dressing room, hung the pearls around my neck (Delicious's Christmas present to me last year) and mom did up the zips and snaps of my dress. Bonnie came in and the three of us chatted for five minutes until I finally declared we should get this road on the show.

The cottage was just lovely, and our kids looked so beautiful. Dick began the ceremony but Bonnie interrupted, insisting that there be music. She fiddled with the stereo, which by the way took its sweet time working... we were finally ready to get married and all I can remember was looking into Delicious' eyes, willing him not to let those tears well up and over, or I wouldn't be able to keep from crying. As it was, I just stood there grinning like an idiot, marveling at the beauty of the ceremony and the vows we exchanged.

The photos are up on Facebook, if you don't have me over there, look me up. Comments are screened just in case you don't know my real name and need it.

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
					1	2
3	4	5	6	7	8	9
10	11	12	13	14	15	16
17	18	19	20	21	22	23
24	25	26	27	28	29	30
31

Absolute Beginners

Secret thinker sometimes listening aloud

It's transition time again

I guess i'm officially middle aged

Christina's mulligatawny soup

What I want to tell my children

Remember for next year: Christmas crap

Realizations

at the pottery studio today

Back to school anxiety

Italy is coming up!

life with KoE

A birthday present for my back

Snatches of childhood

Stress? what stress?

best weekend so far

What I'm reading

Do you know what I would like??

May I go now? If you like

YES!!!

For the sake of my sanity and yours

It's like a dream

Profile

March 2024

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags