Not that I actually had a four-day weekend, because I worked Friday, but it's still been a holiday full of company and games and turkey leftovers. Tomorrow it's back to the real world, only more so: Sam leaves for an overnight trip, so my mother is staying to take care of Eve, who doesn't go back to school until Tuesday. I have a meeting that didn't make it onto my Google calendar so I scheduled a conference call that conflicts and I don't quite know what I'm going to do about that. I made the mistake of looking at my work Email so I now have some idea what's waiting for me in the morning.
Deep breath.
I am grateful for the beautiful warm weather we had today, and for being close to the end of our renovation - we are back in our own bedroom, and our new bathroom was worth the wait. Nice big shower with dual showerheads (already put to the test. Great fun). So much storage space that most of it is empty at the moment. The lamps I've always wanted for reading in bed: swiveling long-arm lamps mounted on the wall, one on each side. We're still waiting for the furniture and we still have boxes of books with no place to go, but what we have now is wonderful.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Things I Could Do Without
~ by Jay
The artwork in the restaurant where we ate lunch. A series of paintings around the walls, each one illustrating a different cocktail. Each canvas has the correct glass for each drink - martini glass, champagne flute, highball - and in each glass there is a naked woman. None of these women have heads. They have instead whatever the garnish would be for the drink - an olive for the martini, a piece of lemon rind for the Cosmopolitan, a strawberry for the daiquiri. There's even a dark-skinned woman with a coconut on her shoulders; I presume that's the pina colada. Diversity. How nice.
The only picture of a woman with a head in the whole place is in the women's bathroom.
Delightful.
The only picture of a woman with a head in the whole place is in the women's bathroom.
Delightful.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Something New
~ by Jay
Noticing the patriarchy isn't exactly new for me. I notice the misogyny and sexism in advertisements, movies, books, pretty much everything in my surroundings. It's exhausting, and it makes me sad and scared and angry.
Expressing that fear and anger and sadness has never gone well for me. I've lost friends. I've lost a job. People step back from me, literally, when I start to talk. I can see that I'm confirming their stereotypes about wild-eyed, angry feminists (complete with the hairy legs). I know I have a right to my anger, but I also know myself well enough to know that I don't want to distance myself from people. I want to connect. My version of the terrible bargain is figuring out how I can be true to myself without alienating everyone around me. I am deeply grateful that I don't have to strike this bargain with Sam, but Sam is not the only man in my life. With most other men, I resign myself to seeing that step back, or to keeping my mouth shut.
That's what I figured would happen with John when we connected. And, sure enough, a week or so after we started Emailing, he forwarded me a mildly sexist joke. I deleted it and decided to let it go, but then he wrote to ask if I'd liked it - and I took a deep breath and said, well,
not really. Why? Well, I'll tell you. And I did, in an Email. Calmly and succinctly. No biggie, he said. Thanks for letting me know.
Well, that was different. Huh. A week or so later, when we were talking about 9/11, I sent John the link to this post. He read it, and then he started reading the blog's archives. Our Emails started to touch on feminism - when did I start to feel this way? what did it mean? why do I see the patriarchy everywhere? Eventually all those questions led to a long phone conversation. I don't remember precisely what we said, but I do remember how I felt, and it was not sad, or scared, or angry. I felt surprised - how could he not have known that girls were being pawed by boys in the halls of our high school? - and occasionally a little exasperated - couldn't he just take my word for it? - but we kept at it, and by the end he said "I never saw it that way before".
Well, that was really different. Why? John wasn't defensive. He didn't feel attacked, and so I didn't have to defend myself, either. And I trusted him not to step back. Maybe - just maybe - I can do this if I trust the relationship. Maybe it's not just John.
Two weeks later I found myself sitting with the Palliative Care section. The three other docs are all men; we also work with a nurse practitioner and social worker, who are women. We were reflecting on how we work together, and how to teach about group work and team participation for the fellowship that starts next July. One of the docs mentioned an exercise he'd done in his residency: everyone pick the doc on M*A*S*H that they identify with. Let's try that, he suggested.
Here we go, I thought. I took another deep breath and said - quietly - I can't do that. Blank looks. Why not? There's only one woman on that show, and she's not a doctor. I stopped. I watched. I saw some comprehension, and then I saw defensiveness - and I said I understand you didn't see it that way. I wouldn't expect you to. But that's how it feels to me. I didn't try to counter their defensiveness. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel sad. I was a little scared, but not so terrified that I felt compelled to keep talking. I waited, and in a few minutes they said something familiar: I never thought of it that way before. And the discussion opened out into what else don't we know? What voices aren't we hearing? How will we help the fellows learn the skills needed in cross-cultural encounters?
After the meeting, one of the men stopped me and said I never notice this stuff. I braced myself for the suggestion that I am oversensitive, but instead he goes on to say Please keep telling me about it. I need to know, and I don't see it.
That's definitely new.
This is a lesson I have to keep learning: it's all about the relationship. Real change and real learning happen when it's safe to take risks, and that requires that both people see and respect the other. When I read Melissa's post about the terrible bargain, and the stories in the comments, I can see that the men driving those bargains don't really see the women in their lives. They see Wife or Daughter or Girlfriend, not the individual being in front of them. That kind of invisibility is enough to make me feel sad and scared and vulnerable, even before I start trying to explain. That's not a relationship in the true sense.
A paradox: the men who most need to to hear our voices are the least capable of listening. John and my colleagues are already set apart from the norm. They see me as a whole person, and respect my voice enough to listen to me. So I haven't cracked the magic code that will suddenly eliminate the patriarchy, but I have had conversations that I would have believed impossible six months ago. Small steps. Not sufficient, but oh, so necessary.
Expressing that fear and anger and sadness has never gone well for me. I've lost friends. I've lost a job. People step back from me, literally, when I start to talk. I can see that I'm confirming their stereotypes about wild-eyed, angry feminists (complete with the hairy legs). I know I have a right to my anger, but I also know myself well enough to know that I don't want to distance myself from people. I want to connect. My version of the terrible bargain is figuring out how I can be true to myself without alienating everyone around me. I am deeply grateful that I don't have to strike this bargain with Sam, but Sam is not the only man in my life. With most other men, I resign myself to seeing that step back, or to keeping my mouth shut.
That's what I figured would happen with John when we connected. And, sure enough, a week or so after we started Emailing, he forwarded me a mildly sexist joke. I deleted it and decided to let it go, but then he wrote to ask if I'd liked it - and I took a deep breath and said, well,
not really. Why? Well, I'll tell you. And I did, in an Email. Calmly and succinctly. No biggie, he said. Thanks for letting me know.
Well, that was different. Huh. A week or so later, when we were talking about 9/11, I sent John the link to this post. He read it, and then he started reading the blog's archives. Our Emails started to touch on feminism - when did I start to feel this way? what did it mean? why do I see the patriarchy everywhere? Eventually all those questions led to a long phone conversation. I don't remember precisely what we said, but I do remember how I felt, and it was not sad, or scared, or angry. I felt surprised - how could he not have known that girls were being pawed by boys in the halls of our high school? - and occasionally a little exasperated - couldn't he just take my word for it? - but we kept at it, and by the end he said "I never saw it that way before".
Well, that was really different. Why? John wasn't defensive. He didn't feel attacked, and so I didn't have to defend myself, either. And I trusted him not to step back. Maybe - just maybe - I can do this if I trust the relationship. Maybe it's not just John.
Two weeks later I found myself sitting with the Palliative Care section. The three other docs are all men; we also work with a nurse practitioner and social worker, who are women. We were reflecting on how we work together, and how to teach about group work and team participation for the fellowship that starts next July. One of the docs mentioned an exercise he'd done in his residency: everyone pick the doc on M*A*S*H that they identify with. Let's try that, he suggested.
Here we go, I thought. I took another deep breath and said - quietly - I can't do that. Blank looks. Why not? There's only one woman on that show, and she's not a doctor. I stopped. I watched. I saw some comprehension, and then I saw defensiveness - and I said I understand you didn't see it that way. I wouldn't expect you to. But that's how it feels to me. I didn't try to counter their defensiveness. I didn't feel angry. I didn't feel sad. I was a little scared, but not so terrified that I felt compelled to keep talking. I waited, and in a few minutes they said something familiar: I never thought of it that way before. And the discussion opened out into what else don't we know? What voices aren't we hearing? How will we help the fellows learn the skills needed in cross-cultural encounters?
After the meeting, one of the men stopped me and said I never notice this stuff. I braced myself for the suggestion that I am oversensitive, but instead he goes on to say Please keep telling me about it. I need to know, and I don't see it.
That's definitely new.
This is a lesson I have to keep learning: it's all about the relationship. Real change and real learning happen when it's safe to take risks, and that requires that both people see and respect the other. When I read Melissa's post about the terrible bargain, and the stories in the comments, I can see that the men driving those bargains don't really see the women in their lives. They see Wife or Daughter or Girlfriend, not the individual being in front of them. That kind of invisibility is enough to make me feel sad and scared and vulnerable, even before I start trying to explain. That's not a relationship in the true sense.
A paradox: the men who most need to to hear our voices are the least capable of listening. John and my colleagues are already set apart from the norm. They see me as a whole person, and respect my voice enough to listen to me. So I haven't cracked the magic code that will suddenly eliminate the patriarchy, but I have had conversations that I would have believed impossible six months ago. Small steps. Not sufficient, but oh, so necessary.
Friday, November 27, 2009
There's Really Nothing To Say
~ by Jay
I can't think of anything coherent to say about this.
In a Florida middle school, a number of kids apparently decided it was Kick a Jew Day.
Nothing.To.Say.
In a Florida middle school, a number of kids apparently decided it was Kick a Jew Day.
Nothing.To.Say.
Banned Books Meme
~ by Jay
The Top 20 banned or challenged books in the US during the 20th century. The ones I 've read are in bold.
1. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
2. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
3. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
4. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
5. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
6. Ulysses by James Joyce
7. Beloved by Toni Morrison
8. The Lord of the Flies by William Golding
9. 1984 by George Orwell
10. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
11. Lolita by Vladmir Nabokov
12. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
13. Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White
14. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
15. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
16. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
17. Animal Farm by George Orwell
18. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
19. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
20. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
Charlotte's Web? Really? Why?
(taken from isabelthespy, who may or may not have intended it to be a meme, but it looks like a meme to me)
I am grateful that no one ever challenged my right to read whatever I wanted. I read all of these in high school (except the Hemingway and Faulkner), some for classes but mostly just because I wanted to. I also read Fear of Flying, a whole lot of John O'Hara, Valley of the Dolls and something by Jacqueline Susann. Not all great fiction, but no one ever told me what to read or what not to read. The only reading material that was forbidden was my father's medical journals. Make of that what you will.
1. The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald
2. The Catcher in the Rye by J.D. Salinger
3. The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck
4. To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
5. The Color Purple by Alice Walker
6. Ulysses by James Joyce
7. Beloved by Toni Morrison
8. The Lord of the Flies by William Golding
9. 1984 by George Orwell
10. The Sound and the Fury by William Faulkner
11. Lolita by Vladmir Nabokov
12. Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck
13. Charlotte’s Web by E. B. White
14. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man by James Joyce
15. Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
16. Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
17. Animal Farm by George Orwell
18. The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway
19. As I Lay Dying by William Faulkner
20. A Farewell to Arms by Ernest Hemingway
Charlotte's Web? Really? Why?
(taken from isabelthespy, who may or may not have intended it to be a meme, but it looks like a meme to me)
I am grateful that no one ever challenged my right to read whatever I wanted. I read all of these in high school (except the Hemingway and Faulkner), some for classes but mostly just because I wanted to. I also read Fear of Flying, a whole lot of John O'Hara, Valley of the Dolls and something by Jacqueline Susann. Not all great fiction, but no one ever told me what to read or what not to read. The only reading material that was forbidden was my father's medical journals. Make of that what you will.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Official Gratitude Day
~ by Jay
Those of us in the US are giving thanks today. That is, if we have time when we're not cleaning up, traveling to the place where someone else cleaned up, setting the table, baking another pie, realizing that we're missing the crucial ingredient for Grandma's special sweet potato casserole, watching the parade, thinking that we shouldn't have bothered cleaning the oven before putting the turkey in, making gravy, counting napkins, polishing silverware, arguing with our mothers, giving up on any screen time limits for our children, wondering how everyone has time to be on Facebook on Thanksgiving, and wondering what happened to the nice white platter that was big enough for the sliced turkey.
But in the midst, I am grateful for what I'm in the midst of: my healthy family, the daily joys of my marriage, the amazing gift that is my daughter, work that sustains me and a circle of friends stretching back to my childhood and forward into what looks to be a wonderful future.
Happy Thanksgiving.
But in the midst, I am grateful for what I'm in the midst of: my healthy family, the daily joys of my marriage, the amazing gift that is my daughter, work that sustains me and a circle of friends stretching back to my childhood and forward into what looks to be a wonderful future.
Happy Thanksgiving.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Sunday, November 22, 2009
And We're Back!
~ by Jay
Wow, that was fun.
Now we're back and headed into Thanksgiving. The contractor is hard at work (yes, it's Sunday) so we can be back in our bedroom Tuesday night. My mother, my father-in-law and my father-in-law's girlfriend* arrive Wednesday while Sam and I are at work. My brother and sister-in-law will drive down on Thursday. We'll feed 9 adults (local friends will join us) and 3 kids on Thursday. Squash soup, turkey, stuffing (two: one vegetarian for the lone non-meat-eater among us, one with sausage), mashed potatoes, braised scallions in mustard sauce, sweet potato casserole, salad, pumpkin pie with cinnamon meringue topping, sour cream apple pie, pumpkin gingerbread, pecan pie.
Sam's comment on this whole thing: Our goal is to get through the holiday without needing more therapy.
I am grateful for family (even though), and for the wonderful supermarket where we'll shop later today, and the free-range turkey farm from which we'll pick up the turkey on Wednesday.
Happy Thanksgiving.
____
It seems odd to use the word "girlfriend" when they're in their 70s. Alternate suggestions accepted.
Now we're back and headed into Thanksgiving. The contractor is hard at work (yes, it's Sunday) so we can be back in our bedroom Tuesday night. My mother, my father-in-law and my father-in-law's girlfriend* arrive Wednesday while Sam and I are at work. My brother and sister-in-law will drive down on Thursday. We'll feed 9 adults (local friends will join us) and 3 kids on Thursday. Squash soup, turkey, stuffing (two: one vegetarian for the lone non-meat-eater among us, one with sausage), mashed potatoes, braised scallions in mustard sauce, sweet potato casserole, salad, pumpkin pie with cinnamon meringue topping, sour cream apple pie, pumpkin gingerbread, pecan pie.
Sam's comment on this whole thing: Our goal is to get through the holiday without needing more therapy.
I am grateful for family (even though), and for the wonderful supermarket where we'll shop later today, and the free-range turkey farm from which we'll pick up the turkey on Wednesday.
Happy Thanksgiving.
____
It seems odd to use the word "girlfriend" when they're in their 70s. Alternate suggestions accepted.
Friday, November 20, 2009
Into The Woods
~ by Jay
Sam and I are headed off for a weekend by ourselves. A pretty little inn, a pretty little town, a cozy room for two. Good wine, good food - and no cellphone or internet access.
The suitcase is packed. Just have to work my half-day and we're off.
I am grateful for vacation.
The suitcase is packed. Just have to work my half-day and we're off.
I am grateful for vacation.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Flood of Warm Feelings ~ by Tigermom
Background: In my city there is a shortage of internal medicine doctors.
In addition, when I send one of my patients to an internist, I want that doctor to be patient, kind, non-judgmental about my patient's psychiatric issues, smart, an effective problem solver, a good communicator with my patient, and, ideally, with me.
I do not think I am asking too much. But sometimes you can get all the ingredients except for the part about being sensitive to my patients' mental health.
I have developed a list of my favorite internists. It is a short list and not geographically diverse. So I was not surprised when sitting with a relatively new patient who needed a referral, I did not know one in the right part of town.
But I had an idea and searched within a hospital system I trusted using the patient's zip code.
Up popped one of my favorite friends from residency! I could hardly breathe. So I gave the found name to to my patient along with the list of good-but-incovenient names.
Though we have not kept in touch since residency, I have a good feeling about this referral. Going through training together lets you really know the good, the bad, and the ugly about someone because you see them at their most overworked and sleep-deprived. Well, anytime I was overworked and sleep-deprived with this person, we still had a great time and practiced cheerful great medicine together.
I hope he takes insurance...
In addition, when I send one of my patients to an internist, I want that doctor to be patient, kind, non-judgmental about my patient's psychiatric issues, smart, an effective problem solver, a good communicator with my patient, and, ideally, with me.
I do not think I am asking too much. But sometimes you can get all the ingredients except for the part about being sensitive to my patients' mental health.
I have developed a list of my favorite internists. It is a short list and not geographically diverse. So I was not surprised when sitting with a relatively new patient who needed a referral, I did not know one in the right part of town.
But I had an idea and searched within a hospital system I trusted using the patient's zip code.
Up popped one of my favorite friends from residency! I could hardly breathe. So I gave the found name to to my patient along with the list of good-but-incovenient names.
Though we have not kept in touch since residency, I have a good feeling about this referral. Going through training together lets you really know the good, the bad, and the ugly about someone because you see them at their most overworked and sleep-deprived. Well, anytime I was overworked and sleep-deprived with this person, we still had a great time and practiced cheerful great medicine together.
I hope he takes insurance...
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
And The Wall Falls Down
~ by Jay
It was a bad day. I'd been the attending on call with a resident who didn't like me, and didn't like his work, and wasn't very good at it. The long, painful day had ended with a public confrontation in the ER. When I called home, I felt and sounded like a limp dishrag.
Sam said "Come home. You'll watch the news and you'll feel better".
I said "The news is going to make me feel better"?
He said "I think watching people dance on top of the Berlin Wall before they tear it down might just improve your mood".
It did, too.
Hadn't thought of that in years until I read this post at Tenured Radical.
Sam said "Come home. You'll watch the news and you'll feel better".
I said "The news is going to make me feel better"?
He said "I think watching people dance on top of the Berlin Wall before they tear it down might just improve your mood".
It did, too.
Hadn't thought of that in years until I read this post at Tenured Radical.
Gratitude
~ by Jay
It's nice that no one yells at me if I don't do the dishes at night. I still have to do them, but at least no one is giving me a hard time about it.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Gratitude
~ by Jay
I am grateful that Mama isn't tired of these posts.
And, like Mama, I am grateful for my healthy child.
And, like Mama, I am grateful for my healthy child.
Monday, November 16, 2009
Home Cooking
~ by Jay
Must've been in the air yesterday.
I made Cajun Chicken Stew for dinner while Sam smoked a pork shoulder in his homemade flowerpot smoker. Last night's dinner: cajun chicken stew with rice, followed by homemade applesauce. Tonight: pulled pork sandwiches with coleslaw and baked beans, followed by homemade applesauce.
After dinner tonight I'll make lasagna to bring to work tomorrow. The directors and managers are serving dinner to the weekday staff for National Hospice Month. If I feel inspired, I'll also make apple cake and use up some of the apples left from Eve's apple-picking adventures. Not all of them; must save some for the sour cream apple pie that's a feature of our Thanksgiving.
Mmm. Home cooking. I am grateful to have such abundance.
I made Cajun Chicken Stew for dinner while Sam smoked a pork shoulder in his homemade flowerpot smoker. Last night's dinner: cajun chicken stew with rice, followed by homemade applesauce. Tonight: pulled pork sandwiches with coleslaw and baked beans, followed by homemade applesauce.
After dinner tonight I'll make lasagna to bring to work tomorrow. The directors and managers are serving dinner to the weekday staff for National Hospice Month. If I feel inspired, I'll also make apple cake and use up some of the apples left from Eve's apple-picking adventures. Not all of them; must save some for the sour cream apple pie that's a feature of our Thanksgiving.
Mmm. Home cooking. I am grateful to have such abundance.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Home cooking ~ by Tigermom
Inspired by having fresh chicken in the house and an hour to kill before dinner and cubs in front of the TV, I cracked open an Italian cookbook and made chicken Marsala.
Chicken Marsala is one of my favorite restaurant dishes. I love the warmth of the wine and the simmering that has taken place. But I am sometimes disappointed, especially when the dish comes out too floury masking the rich flavors of the mushrooms and wine.
I skimmed the list of ingredients and the recipe itself and luckily had everything I needed in the cupboard. I got going. Predictably, the recipe was somewhat more involved than I had realized on initial skim. But armed with my new electric skillet, I prepared and cooked everything in the right order before the kids started dogging me for something food.
I knew I might have a challenge with the kids since the end result looked brown and was accompanied by an optional side of mushrooms. To make matter worse, I roasted brussel sprouts and parsnips for the veggie tonight. I did think to add carrots which turned out to be a good call since I alone ate the sweet delicate brussels and parsnips.
Well, I and my kids surprised me. The chicken came out perfectly. It was juicy, flavorful, and made me say "Mmmmm" out loud. Better than any restaurant version to date. I gave the kids small pieces to start so they could see if they liked it. And all three opted for more. No one joined my in the mouthwatering brussels and parsnips, but that left enough for me to have thirds.
Next time I will follow Mrs. Forty-Two Roads' lead and take a picture.
Chicken Marsala is one of my favorite restaurant dishes. I love the warmth of the wine and the simmering that has taken place. But I am sometimes disappointed, especially when the dish comes out too floury masking the rich flavors of the mushrooms and wine.
I skimmed the list of ingredients and the recipe itself and luckily had everything I needed in the cupboard. I got going. Predictably, the recipe was somewhat more involved than I had realized on initial skim. But armed with my new electric skillet, I prepared and cooked everything in the right order before the kids started dogging me for something food.
I knew I might have a challenge with the kids since the end result looked brown and was accompanied by an optional side of mushrooms. To make matter worse, I roasted brussel sprouts and parsnips for the veggie tonight. I did think to add carrots which turned out to be a good call since I alone ate the sweet delicate brussels and parsnips.
Well, I and my kids surprised me. The chicken came out perfectly. It was juicy, flavorful, and made me say "Mmmmm" out loud. Better than any restaurant version to date. I gave the kids small pieces to start so they could see if they liked it. And all three opted for more. No one joined my in the mouthwatering brussels and parsnips, but that left enough for me to have thirds.
Next time I will follow Mrs. Forty-Two Roads' lead and take a picture.
How'd That Happen?
~ by Jay
Eve wanted Uggs.
Now, Eve already has a pair of very fashionable slouchy black suede boots. These didn't even come out of her school clothes budget; she had an extra-special shopping trip with my mother in August and scored a bunch of clothes that didn't count against her limit. The black suede boots replaced last winter's quilted brown leather boots. She wears skinny jeans tucked into the boots with long tunics or layered T-shirts. Current favorite accessories: the silver chains and pendant that she bought with Grandma, and the black-and-crystal bangles that were a gift from her aunt last year.
Did I mention she's 9?
OK, so she wanted Uggs. This is the first time she's requested a specific brand, and I thought carefully about my response. I told her that she already had a pair of boots, and I didn't think she really needed another pair. I reminded her that she'd used up her school clothes budget. We also talked about how much the Uggs cost compared to other, similar boots. She said she didn't care if they were Uggs or not, she just liked the look. No whining, no fussing. I figured that deserved some reward. We decided that if we could find a pair of boots that were $20.00 or less, I would buy them for her.
Yesterday we went sneaker shopping. Eve has been telling me for two weeks that her sneakers were too small, and at first I didn't believe her - they're less than two months old - but when I looked, it was clear she was right. Payless had a pair of skater-style sneakers with stylized skulls and two shoelaces on each shoe. Eve was in love. Payless also had a buy one/get one half off sale and Ugg-like boots in the window, but no Ugg-like boots in the girl's size 3 1/2 section.
The salesman noticed our dejected shopping party. "You know", he said, "a girl's size 3 1/2 is also a women's size 5 1/2". And there, right on the display stand, was a pair of women's size 5 1/2 tan Ugg knockoffs. Total for both: $39.99. Happy girl wore the boots out of the store.
Startled Mommy realized she now has a child who wears women's size 5 1/2 shoes. How the hell did that happen? And how will I keep her away from the high heels now that she knows?
Now, Eve already has a pair of very fashionable slouchy black suede boots. These didn't even come out of her school clothes budget; she had an extra-special shopping trip with my mother in August and scored a bunch of clothes that didn't count against her limit. The black suede boots replaced last winter's quilted brown leather boots. She wears skinny jeans tucked into the boots with long tunics or layered T-shirts. Current favorite accessories: the silver chains and pendant that she bought with Grandma, and the black-and-crystal bangles that were a gift from her aunt last year.
Did I mention she's 9?
OK, so she wanted Uggs. This is the first time she's requested a specific brand, and I thought carefully about my response. I told her that she already had a pair of boots, and I didn't think she really needed another pair. I reminded her that she'd used up her school clothes budget. We also talked about how much the Uggs cost compared to other, similar boots. She said she didn't care if they were Uggs or not, she just liked the look. No whining, no fussing. I figured that deserved some reward. We decided that if we could find a pair of boots that were $20.00 or less, I would buy them for her.
Yesterday we went sneaker shopping. Eve has been telling me for two weeks that her sneakers were too small, and at first I didn't believe her - they're less than two months old - but when I looked, it was clear she was right. Payless had a pair of skater-style sneakers with stylized skulls and two shoelaces on each shoe. Eve was in love. Payless also had a buy one/get one half off sale and Ugg-like boots in the window, but no Ugg-like boots in the girl's size 3 1/2 section.
The salesman noticed our dejected shopping party. "You know", he said, "a girl's size 3 1/2 is also a women's size 5 1/2". And there, right on the display stand, was a pair of women's size 5 1/2 tan Ugg knockoffs. Total for both: $39.99. Happy girl wore the boots out of the store.
Startled Mommy realized she now has a child who wears women's size 5 1/2 shoes. How the hell did that happen? And how will I keep her away from the high heels now that she knows?
Gratitude
~ by Jay
I am thankful for the magnetic connection that holds the power cord to my MacBook. The dog just walked into the cord for the umpty-upmth time. The little magnet just pulls away from the computer and the computer stays nicely on the table.
Friday, November 13, 2009
Missed One
~ by Jay
No gratitude post yesterday. The day and the evening sort of got away from me.
Today I am grateful, yet again, for Shabbat and for the rhythm and rest found in our tradition.
Today I am grateful, yet again, for Shabbat and for the rhythm and rest found in our tradition.
Thursday, November 12, 2009
You'd Think I'd Know Better
~ by Jay
After 20 years in medical practice, you'd think I'd know better than to assume that an on-call night is going to be quiet.
You'd think I'd know better than to even think the q-word, let alone publish the assumption for all the world to see.
Result of my naivete? Four phone calls after midnight and a patient that needed to be transferred to the inpatient unit at 3:00 AM.
You will never see another post like that on this blog. Ever.
You'd think I'd know better than to even think the q-word, let alone publish the assumption for all the world to see.
Result of my naivete? Four phone calls after midnight and a patient that needed to be transferred to the inpatient unit at 3:00 AM.
You will never see another post like that on this blog. Ever.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Good Night
~ by Jay
I am grateful that all the admissions have arrived at the inpatient hospice unit before I got into bed.
'night.
'night.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Military Time
~ by Jay
In the past two months, I have spoken to men who flew battle missions over Berlin, landed at Omaha Beach, served on Iwo Jima, and marched from Strasbourg to the Eastern Front.
He's on the ship again, said one patient's daughter. He keeps saying "Let me shoot them, Mikey. Let me take the gun. They're gonna blow our heads off if we don't". Her brother stood with his back to us so we wouldn't see him cry. He never talked about the war.
Yesterday I stood at a bedside in a nursing home with a patient's son. I thought I was ready, he said, but I guess you never are. I'll be OK. We learn from our fathers how to go on. I asked him what he learned and he smiled. My father was a lieutenant colonel and a football coach. I learned that you suited up and marched onto the field of battle. That's how I ended up in Vietnam. My mother was so worried the whole time I was gone. I've spent the last 40 years trying to make it up to her.
They were soldiers once, and young.
I am grateful to those who serve, and will continue to work for a world in which they don't come home wounded.
He's on the ship again, said one patient's daughter. He keeps saying "Let me shoot them, Mikey. Let me take the gun. They're gonna blow our heads off if we don't". Her brother stood with his back to us so we wouldn't see him cry. He never talked about the war.
Yesterday I stood at a bedside in a nursing home with a patient's son. I thought I was ready, he said, but I guess you never are. I'll be OK. We learn from our fathers how to go on. I asked him what he learned and he smiled. My father was a lieutenant colonel and a football coach. I learned that you suited up and marched onto the field of battle. That's how I ended up in Vietnam. My mother was so worried the whole time I was gone. I've spent the last 40 years trying to make it up to her.
They were soldiers once, and young.
I am grateful to those who serve, and will continue to work for a world in which they don't come home wounded.
Monday, November 9, 2009
The First Death
~ by Jay
You always remember your first.
In elementary school, Joanna was one of the popular girls. She was never a Queen Bee, but she was fun and pretty and in the thick of whatever was going on, at least until fifth grade. Sometime that year she disappeared. I was not one of the popular girls, and I didn't know where she was until I heard my parents talking one night and realized she was in the hospital in New York City being treated for cancer.
In the fall of sixth grade, Joey came back to school looking smaller and thinner, especially in comparison to our blossoming classmates. Her curly hair was gone, replaced by a wig, and it seemed her popular friends had vanished, too. She'd kept up with some of her schoolwork while she was ill but found herself struggling with a full load of classes and homework, and one of the teachers suggested that we study together. By October, we were spending afternoons together at her house and Friday evenings in front of the TV in my den. Joey introduced me to bowling (I even had my own ball) and soap operas. She fit right in to my small group of friends with our card games and Scrabble tournaments. She rarely talked about her illness, and never let on if she was bothered by the change in her social status from the cheerleader set to the nerd girls.
Joey loved to sew; she hung out in the home ec room the way I hung out in the theater. She wrote funny doggerel for her friends, and always had to choose the perfect birthday card. You could spend all day in the card store while she compared and contrasted and considered. She was the only kid I knew who had her own color TV in her room (a gift from someone during her convalescence) and a canopy bed. She was also the only teenage girl I knew who loved to watch golf on TV.
We started high school, and still did our homework together. Joey's parents took us to the Rainbow Room for lunch for our sixteenth birthdays, which were a week apart. We talked about everything - school, our parents, college plans, boys, music, movies - except the obvious: while the rest of us were getting taller and developing into women, Joey still looked 10 or 11, and still wore a wig. She watched golf on TV because she longed to play but her vision and coordination had been permanently damaged. She had crushes on boys but never once had a date. Even so, when my Friday nights changed from TV with Joey to dates with John, she offered me advice and never complained. She came to every show and every choir concert I was in, and we picked out fabric for her sewing projects together.
And then in the spring of our junior year, the cancer came back. That summer and fall I planned and wrote and submitted my college applications, did volunteer work at the local hospital, took my SATs and achievement tests, and visited Joey as she grew weaker and sleepier. I didn't have to ask what was happening. I could see she was dying. I do remember asking my mother what I should do, and she said "Just keep being her friend". So I did. I told her what was happening in school, and who was breaking up with whom, and how rehearsals were going for the fall musical. I sat in her room and watch "One Life To Live" and "All My Children" and ate her mother's homemade beef soup. John picked me up after those visits and held me as I cried in his car.
At school, shows and plays and labs and lectures went on. Eventually, my classmates stopped asking me when Joey would come back. I edited the yearbook and made sure the pictures of her were flattering. In December, I woke up early one morning to find my parents standing in my room looking down at me, and I knew. We were 17.
Joey and I never acknowledged her illness or impending death. I don't know if she found meaning in her journey, or knew peace. We talked a lot about God and religion - Joey was my first close non-Jewish friend - and I know she would have loved that final church service, full of sunlight and music and flowers. Joey told me once that she was sure I'd make it to medical school and become a doctor, and she was confident that I would be the kind of doctor she'd want taking care of her. If I am, it's partly because she taught me that people who are dying are also still living, and that sometimes the best thing we can do is simply be who we were are to them for as long as we can. I never doubted my ability to be present for death and dying; if I could do it for Joey, who was as close to me as a sister, I could do it professionally for people I barely knew. I am not grateful that Joey died; I am still angry, 30 years later, at the loss. I am grateful for her loving friendship, and the lessons learned.
Joey died just before our final yearbook deadline, and we were able to add in a special dedication page with her picture. I chose the accompanying quotation by taking out the copy of Bartlett's that Joey gave me for Christmas one year and looking up "laughter". This one suited her best.
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blessed. - William Butler Yeats
In elementary school, Joanna was one of the popular girls. She was never a Queen Bee, but she was fun and pretty and in the thick of whatever was going on, at least until fifth grade. Sometime that year she disappeared. I was not one of the popular girls, and I didn't know where she was until I heard my parents talking one night and realized she was in the hospital in New York City being treated for cancer.
In the fall of sixth grade, Joey came back to school looking smaller and thinner, especially in comparison to our blossoming classmates. Her curly hair was gone, replaced by a wig, and it seemed her popular friends had vanished, too. She'd kept up with some of her schoolwork while she was ill but found herself struggling with a full load of classes and homework, and one of the teachers suggested that we study together. By October, we were spending afternoons together at her house and Friday evenings in front of the TV in my den. Joey introduced me to bowling (I even had my own ball) and soap operas. She fit right in to my small group of friends with our card games and Scrabble tournaments. She rarely talked about her illness, and never let on if she was bothered by the change in her social status from the cheerleader set to the nerd girls.
Joey loved to sew; she hung out in the home ec room the way I hung out in the theater. She wrote funny doggerel for her friends, and always had to choose the perfect birthday card. You could spend all day in the card store while she compared and contrasted and considered. She was the only kid I knew who had her own color TV in her room (a gift from someone during her convalescence) and a canopy bed. She was also the only teenage girl I knew who loved to watch golf on TV.
We started high school, and still did our homework together. Joey's parents took us to the Rainbow Room for lunch for our sixteenth birthdays, which were a week apart. We talked about everything - school, our parents, college plans, boys, music, movies - except the obvious: while the rest of us were getting taller and developing into women, Joey still looked 10 or 11, and still wore a wig. She watched golf on TV because she longed to play but her vision and coordination had been permanently damaged. She had crushes on boys but never once had a date. Even so, when my Friday nights changed from TV with Joey to dates with John, she offered me advice and never complained. She came to every show and every choir concert I was in, and we picked out fabric for her sewing projects together.
And then in the spring of our junior year, the cancer came back. That summer and fall I planned and wrote and submitted my college applications, did volunteer work at the local hospital, took my SATs and achievement tests, and visited Joey as she grew weaker and sleepier. I didn't have to ask what was happening. I could see she was dying. I do remember asking my mother what I should do, and she said "Just keep being her friend". So I did. I told her what was happening in school, and who was breaking up with whom, and how rehearsals were going for the fall musical. I sat in her room and watch "One Life To Live" and "All My Children" and ate her mother's homemade beef soup. John picked me up after those visits and held me as I cried in his car.
At school, shows and plays and labs and lectures went on. Eventually, my classmates stopped asking me when Joey would come back. I edited the yearbook and made sure the pictures of her were flattering. In December, I woke up early one morning to find my parents standing in my room looking down at me, and I knew. We were 17.
Joey and I never acknowledged her illness or impending death. I don't know if she found meaning in her journey, or knew peace. We talked a lot about God and religion - Joey was my first close non-Jewish friend - and I know she would have loved that final church service, full of sunlight and music and flowers. Joey told me once that she was sure I'd make it to medical school and become a doctor, and she was confident that I would be the kind of doctor she'd want taking care of her. If I am, it's partly because she taught me that people who are dying are also still living, and that sometimes the best thing we can do is simply be who we were are to them for as long as we can. I never doubted my ability to be present for death and dying; if I could do it for Joey, who was as close to me as a sister, I could do it professionally for people I barely knew. I am not grateful that Joey died; I am still angry, 30 years later, at the loss. I am grateful for her loving friendship, and the lessons learned.
Joey died just before our final yearbook deadline, and we were able to add in a special dedication page with her picture. I chose the accompanying quotation by taking out the copy of Bartlett's that Joey gave me for Christmas one year and looking up "laughter". This one suited her best.
We must laugh and we must sing,
We are blest by everything,
Everything we look upon is blessed. - William Butler Yeats
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Where Did The Weekend Go?
~ by Jay
Seems like it hasn't really been two whole days since I last went to work, but it's Sunday evening already.
I feel like I didn't get anything done, but I know the dishes are done and the groceries are purchased and meals planned for the week. Eve now owns a winter coat, snow boots and ski pants (which will probably ensure we have no snow at all). I have a nice new pair of slippers and two new pairs of shoes, including an amazingly comfortable pair of gray suede clogs that are officially my new go-to shoes. Sam is slowly recovering from his cold. We've made headway on planning our anniversary party (more on that later). The bills are paid.
Hmm. Perhaps that list explains why I don't feel like I really had a weekend.
I am grateful for quiet Sunday nights.
I feel like I didn't get anything done, but I know the dishes are done and the groceries are purchased and meals planned for the week. Eve now owns a winter coat, snow boots and ski pants (which will probably ensure we have no snow at all). I have a nice new pair of slippers and two new pairs of shoes, including an amazingly comfortable pair of gray suede clogs that are officially my new go-to shoes. Sam is slowly recovering from his cold. We've made headway on planning our anniversary party (more on that later). The bills are paid.
Hmm. Perhaps that list explains why I don't feel like I really had a weekend.
I am grateful for quiet Sunday nights.
Saturday, November 7, 2009
Hot Buttered Rum
~ by Jay
I am grateful that we had some hot buttered rum mix (brown sugar creamed with butter and spices) left in the freezer from last winter.
Good for what ails you. Or at least what ails me.
Good night.
Good for what ails you. Or at least what ails me.
Good night.
Friday, November 6, 2009
With Minutes to Spare
~ by Jay
I have just three minutes to get my daily post up.
I am grateful that we had hot buttered rum mix in the freezer (labeled, of course, Adult Cold Medicine).
I am grateful that we had hot buttered rum mix in the freezer (labeled, of course, Adult Cold Medicine).
Thursday, November 5, 2009
Number 27
~ by Jay
All day yesterday I was a little anxious. Not about my actual life - everything's fine there, except that Sam has a bad cold - but about the Yankees. Could Andy Pettite pitch well on three days rest? Who would be the bridge to Mariano? Would Ryan Howard finally start hitting? Would Pedro look great again?Turns out the answers are: Yes, at least well enough; Chamberlain and Marte; no; and hell, no. Last night the Yankees won their 27th World Series - and the first one Eve got to witness. I woke her up when Mariano took the mound for the top of the 9th. He's the best that ever lived, I said. Watch history. She curled up with her pink fuzzy blanket around her shoulders, over her Derek Jeter shirt, and watched intently as Rivera got one out, then walked a batter, then retired the next two on ground balls. Big grin, eyes wide open. Token arguing about staying up to watch the interviews, and then back to bed.
A new tradition for me. Until last night, every World Series win I watched was followed immediately by a phone call from my father. They did it again, he'd say, and I could hear the smile in his voice. Around dinnertime last night I realized that I wasn't just anxious about the depleted Yankee bullpen. I was also under a wave of grief: a Yankees World Series that I wouldn't share with the man who taught me to love the Yankees. A World Series I would watch alone.
But even before I got Eve out of bed, I wasn't alone. This was my first World Series with Facebook, and I discovered a universe of Yankee fans and Yankee haters in the comments on my status updates. And after it was all over, when I was getting ready for bed, I looked down at my cellphone and there was a text message from my assistant in the old practice: GO YANKS! WE DID IT! Not alone at all. I am grateful for my friends.
Last night the Yankees won their first World Series in the new Yankee Stadium. The names change, but the balls keep flying over the fences. Last night I watched my first World Series with my daughter, and without my father. This is joy. This is grief. This is tradition. This is family.
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
In Which My Faith in Humanity is Renewed
~by Jay
I often drive through Starbucks in the morning on my way to work (yeah, yeah, yeah, corporate coffee, self-indulgent, expensive, I know, but I like it. So there). Mmm, decaf vanilla latte. And maybe a piece of lemon loaf.
This little luxury is facilitated by the fact that Starbucks takes VISA, so even if don't have cash I can still have my treat. Yesterday they were crowded and slow and someone called me while I was waiting for my coffee to be handed through the window, so I was juggling the card and the coffee and the phone. I ended up with my purse open and my wallet on the seat as I drove off. When I stopped for gas last evening en route home, I couldn't find my VISA card. Not in the car. Not stuck somewhere else in my purse. Not in the wrong slot in my wallet.
Damn.
Got home, got sucked into the busy-ness of the evening and everything that needed to be done that Sam couldn't do because he was ill. Forgot about the card until I pulled into Starbucks this morning. Couldn't hurt to ask, could it?
The barista behind the window lit up. Yes! they had my card. She'd tried to call me back yesterday and even had the next person in line honk at me. She was so relieved! that I'd come back. Did I mind waiting just a minute while the store managed opened the safe? Of course no. I pulled into a parking spot and sipped my peppermint mocha (yeah, yeah, yeah, but I like it) and she came out and handed me my card - and thanked me.
I am grateful for honest baristas and conscientious managers, and even that I was too distracted last night to cancel the card.
This little luxury is facilitated by the fact that Starbucks takes VISA, so even if don't have cash I can still have my treat. Yesterday they were crowded and slow and someone called me while I was waiting for my coffee to be handed through the window, so I was juggling the card and the coffee and the phone. I ended up with my purse open and my wallet on the seat as I drove off. When I stopped for gas last evening en route home, I couldn't find my VISA card. Not in the car. Not stuck somewhere else in my purse. Not in the wrong slot in my wallet.
Damn.
Got home, got sucked into the busy-ness of the evening and everything that needed to be done that Sam couldn't do because he was ill. Forgot about the card until I pulled into Starbucks this morning. Couldn't hurt to ask, could it?
The barista behind the window lit up. Yes! they had my card. She'd tried to call me back yesterday and even had the next person in line honk at me. She was so relieved! that I'd come back. Did I mind waiting just a minute while the store managed opened the safe? Of course no. I pulled into a parking spot and sipped my peppermint mocha (yeah, yeah, yeah, but I like it) and she came out and handed me my card - and thanked me.
I am grateful for honest baristas and conscientious managers, and even that I was too distracted last night to cancel the card.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
Things I Could Do Without
~ by Jay
The illustration at the top of Eve's reading calendar for November
and the conversation I overheard between Sam and Eve after she hung this on the refrigerator.
S: That's a pretty sexist drawing.
E: What's sexist about that?
S: Well, the woman is serving the men, as if getting dinner ready was all her responsibility.
E: So? She's pretty.
_____
I need a drink.
and the conversation I overheard between Sam and Eve after she hung this on the refrigerator.
S: That's a pretty sexist drawing.
E: What's sexist about that?
S: Well, the woman is serving the men, as if getting dinner ready was all her responsibility.
E: So? She's pretty.
_____
I need a drink.
At Long Last
~by Jay
Tomorrow they will remove the carpet from our stairs and upstairs hallway.
You have no idea how much I hate this carpet. It was worn when we moved in, 8 years ago. It is now stained, ripped and smelly (Nature's Miracle can only do so much). We're not carpet lovers to start with, and even if we were, this carpet needs to go.
And with the departure of the carpet, the placement of the cabinets in the bathroom and the progression of grouting, we may - perhaps - we hope - see the beginning of the end of this renovation. 14 weeks and counting, but maybe approaching completion.
There is (of course) a fully loaded bookcase in the upstairs hallway that needs to be packed up before tomorrow. I have to do this myself because Sam is ill. I don't even mind - that's how much I hate this carpet.
Tomorrow when I come home there will be a roll of off-white carpeting in the dumpster in the driveway.
Happy dance!
You have no idea how much I hate this carpet. It was worn when we moved in, 8 years ago. It is now stained, ripped and smelly (Nature's Miracle can only do so much). We're not carpet lovers to start with, and even if we were, this carpet needs to go.
And with the departure of the carpet, the placement of the cabinets in the bathroom and the progression of grouting, we may - perhaps - we hope - see the beginning of the end of this renovation. 14 weeks and counting, but maybe approaching completion.
There is (of course) a fully loaded bookcase in the upstairs hallway that needs to be packed up before tomorrow. I have to do this myself because Sam is ill. I don't even mind - that's how much I hate this carpet.
Tomorrow when I come home there will be a roll of off-white carpeting in the dumpster in the driveway.
Happy dance!
Monday, November 2, 2009
How Time Flies
~ by Jay
I am grateful that Eve can get herself ready for bed.
I keep telling myself this so I won't grow too nostalgic for the days when she was a cuddly toddler who crawled in my lap for bedtime reading, but who also needed to be supervised every second she was in the bathroom. Independence is good. Right? Right?
I keep telling myself this so I won't grow too nostalgic for the days when she was a cuddly toddler who crawled in my lap for bedtime reading, but who also needed to be supervised every second she was in the bathroom. Independence is good. Right? Right?
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Sleepy
~ by Jay
The time change really walloped me this year, probably because I've been staying up so late watching baseball (which should be played in the afternoon, really, especially on weekends. Grrr).
So at 9:40 PM Standard Time, it's been dark for four hours and my eyes are closing as I sit and stare at the computer. The Yankees have coughed up the lead and I may not make it to see if they can come back and win.
I am grateful for TiVo, which allows me to leave the TV on ESPN, fast-forward through the football (and basketball and soccer and who knows what-all) and watch all the baseball recaps while I get dressed.
Good night.
So at 9:40 PM Standard Time, it's been dark for four hours and my eyes are closing as I sit and stare at the computer. The Yankees have coughed up the lead and I may not make it to see if they can come back and win.
I am grateful for TiVo, which allows me to leave the TV on ESPN, fast-forward through the football (and basketball and soccer and who knows what-all) and watch all the baseball recaps while I get dressed.
Good night.
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