This week, dear friends of mine lost their son in a tragic car accident. (I'm sitting here frozen).
Where does one go after that statement. This blog will be scattered and careless and really just a reflection of observations of the week. I have had dreams that have seemed more real than my first sentence. I have woken up, startled and confused. I am waiting for the alarm clock to go off, any minute so that right can be restored and the mundane tasks of life can continue at a regular pace.
Sadly, my intelect is telling me otherwise. I never really knew before how powerful grief is as an emotion. If we could harness its energy, we could kiss our relationship with OPEC good-bye. I am gripped. At such a primal, deep level. For my friends first, but my own grief seems so palpable. The cliches become evidence. That life is short. That you must seize the day.
I have realized that the gifts we are honored with in family and in friendship are fragile and sometimes, fleeting. They are ours to borrow. And we must cherish them while we are so fortunate to have them in our grasp. I am heartbroken to the core. More than at any other time in my life. I was 17 when I met my friends. The child was 17 when he was taken from us. While I didn't know him personally as a big kid, he was barely weeks old when I held him on my chest, afraid of his smallness, and he nuzzled up and fell asleep. It had been years since I thought about that and this week, the tape keeps rolling, and rolling and rolling. Just to bring me back to my senses.
There is a (an?) heirarchy of grief, too. I had never really thought about. In this case, parents first. But who's hurts more? The mother or the father. And does the sister hurt any less...but what about grandparents, aunts, uncles and just friends, like me. And then there are my friends, who don't know this family, but have seen my own pain. And they have comforted me. Somehow, I don't feel deserving of it. But I'll take it.
I try to put life in rational, pragmatic format. That isn't happening now. Maybe someday it will. My friend stood next to me the other day. She cuddled up to me and buried her body in my arms. I felt so good that for that moment...that brief moment...I was strength for her. And believe it or not, she for me. I will continue my thoughts...I can't wait til it all comes into focus.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
Friday, September 25, 2009
Tipping is not a city in China
My friend in college, Morgan, used to work at St. Germains deli on Villa La Jolla Drive, near UCSD. She used to make sandwiches there. She kept a tip jar on the counter with a small sign that read "Tipping is not a city in China". I loved that sign.
Do you tip the people at Starbucks that pour your coffee? There must be something wrong with me. I really don't think I'm cheap but when you are paying nearly $5.00 for a cup of coffee, it seems odd to tip on top of that. It wouldn't bother me a bit if I was being served coffee, but standing at the counter, waiting 20 minutes at times for the Mocha to come out and having to push my way to get it, somehow feels like I should be tipped instead. Which leads me to my next point. This one was the best.
About a week ago, Max and I went to lunch followed by a quick stop by the Extreme Yogurt in Bressi Ranch. I'm loving frozen yogurt these days. Remember when it was on every corner in the 80's, and then it disappeared for years. Well, luckily for me, it's back and with a vengeance, I might add. In our truly automated, do-it-yourself world, there is now self serve frozen yogurt. This is great...try and taste all that you like. You can put 20 flavors in the same cup if you are so inclined and pour the toppings on until they overflow. Extreme Yogurt, it this kind of place. You pull the lever, load your toppings, get the cup weighed and pay. Great huh? I think so.
So back to a week ago, I fill, I weigh, I pay and I notice there is a tip jar next to the register. It actually had tips in it. They might have been planted but money none the less. Does this make any sense to you? I just offered myself my own tasters, filled my own cup, weighed my own yogurt and payed. What was I supposed to tip for? I know it's tough out there and I'm happy to see the college gal behind the register trying to make a couple bucks, but this seems so odd. I actually laughed about it all day.
I think I'm going to go back, take a picture and send it into Leno for his new it's-not-the-Tonight-show Tonight Show.
Do you tip the people at Starbucks that pour your coffee? There must be something wrong with me. I really don't think I'm cheap but when you are paying nearly $5.00 for a cup of coffee, it seems odd to tip on top of that. It wouldn't bother me a bit if I was being served coffee, but standing at the counter, waiting 20 minutes at times for the Mocha to come out and having to push my way to get it, somehow feels like I should be tipped instead. Which leads me to my next point. This one was the best.
About a week ago, Max and I went to lunch followed by a quick stop by the Extreme Yogurt in Bressi Ranch. I'm loving frozen yogurt these days. Remember when it was on every corner in the 80's, and then it disappeared for years. Well, luckily for me, it's back and with a vengeance, I might add. In our truly automated, do-it-yourself world, there is now self serve frozen yogurt. This is great...try and taste all that you like. You can put 20 flavors in the same cup if you are so inclined and pour the toppings on until they overflow. Extreme Yogurt, it this kind of place. You pull the lever, load your toppings, get the cup weighed and pay. Great huh? I think so.
So back to a week ago, I fill, I weigh, I pay and I notice there is a tip jar next to the register. It actually had tips in it. They might have been planted but money none the less. Does this make any sense to you? I just offered myself my own tasters, filled my own cup, weighed my own yogurt and payed. What was I supposed to tip for? I know it's tough out there and I'm happy to see the college gal behind the register trying to make a couple bucks, but this seems so odd. I actually laughed about it all day.
I think I'm going to go back, take a picture and send it into Leno for his new it's-not-the-Tonight-show Tonight Show.
I'm back
It's been so long.
I'm trying to embrace Facebook. I'm even going to post a link to this blog on my page. I still don't really get it, but if the rest of the world is using it, I've got to figure there's something to it. Sometimes, I'm a little slow with this stuff. I will hold on to the most comfortable, out of style shoes for the longest time. When I finally say my tearful good-byes and run them to the nearest Goodwill, the fashion is back. My husband says the technology is more of FacePAGE because I'm not really using it right. He has an issue with my use of technology as a whole. I think it kills him to think there are applications on my devices (ie phone, ipod Touch) that I am not maximizing. In contrast, I use technology as I need to. I really am not interested in all the functions a device posesses, simply the features that work for me. I learn as I need to. I suppose I could see his point. Wasted is what he is thinking. But I'm not going to change. It is simply too much for me to manage.
One thing about Facebook (PAGE?) that really has me baffled is this friend suggestion business. I am suggested to make friends with people whom I may know or just may know from work or may not know at all, but how does it know that I know them or not? There are suggestions about people that I may have exchanged an email with or maybe only interact wtih tangentially but somehow it tracks me down. Is it reading my emails? This scares me. Not because there is anything particularly interesting in them, but just because there is some technology that is actually designed to waste time reading others' boring exchanges.
You know after 9/11 when the government started talking about monitoring phone conversations and bank accounts? While I wasn't for it, I actually felt sorry for the guy who would have gotten assigned to me. Could you imagine? Spending all day having to listen to chick chat or read emails about swimming lessons, what's for dinner, and how I managed to walk 9 miles last Saturday. If he were to record the ins and outs of my bank account, he would wonder how anyone survives in Southern California without winning the lottery. He would be stunned at the possiblity that one actually needs something from Target three or more times a week and can't survive without the morning McMuffin (hold the Canadian bacon). I guess the truth is, where there's smoke, there's fire. In my house, there's not even an oven. (And that isn't an actual true reference to the fact that I hate to cook).
I scared Kristi a couple weeks ago. I called her to tell her I found a recipe I wanted to try out. Would she come to dinner. She thought it was cryptic for a ransom call. She knew it couldn't actually be me on the other end of the phone. She thought I'd been abducted and was trying to send a secret code. Fact is, I actually cooked some recipe I found in People and it wasn't half bad. Fact is also, that I haven't cooked anything since. That was August 21. Don't get me wrong, I feed my kids, but I mostly heat food, not cook food. And I've fallen in serious LOVE with my outdoor grill. You could actually cook food without having to be present and better still, not have to wash pots and pans. Max said it needed repair. It was on our "list" (you know...the list of all things that need repair or replacement). Once I started using the grill (grilling, I thought was the boy's job), the repair moved way up.
I'm back.
I'm trying to embrace Facebook. I'm even going to post a link to this blog on my page. I still don't really get it, but if the rest of the world is using it, I've got to figure there's something to it. Sometimes, I'm a little slow with this stuff. I will hold on to the most comfortable, out of style shoes for the longest time. When I finally say my tearful good-byes and run them to the nearest Goodwill, the fashion is back. My husband says the technology is more of FacePAGE because I'm not really using it right. He has an issue with my use of technology as a whole. I think it kills him to think there are applications on my devices (ie phone, ipod Touch) that I am not maximizing. In contrast, I use technology as I need to. I really am not interested in all the functions a device posesses, simply the features that work for me. I learn as I need to. I suppose I could see his point. Wasted is what he is thinking. But I'm not going to change. It is simply too much for me to manage.
One thing about Facebook (PAGE?) that really has me baffled is this friend suggestion business. I am suggested to make friends with people whom I may know or just may know from work or may not know at all, but how does it know that I know them or not? There are suggestions about people that I may have exchanged an email with or maybe only interact wtih tangentially but somehow it tracks me down. Is it reading my emails? This scares me. Not because there is anything particularly interesting in them, but just because there is some technology that is actually designed to waste time reading others' boring exchanges.
You know after 9/11 when the government started talking about monitoring phone conversations and bank accounts? While I wasn't for it, I actually felt sorry for the guy who would have gotten assigned to me. Could you imagine? Spending all day having to listen to chick chat or read emails about swimming lessons, what's for dinner, and how I managed to walk 9 miles last Saturday. If he were to record the ins and outs of my bank account, he would wonder how anyone survives in Southern California without winning the lottery. He would be stunned at the possiblity that one actually needs something from Target three or more times a week and can't survive without the morning McMuffin (hold the Canadian bacon). I guess the truth is, where there's smoke, there's fire. In my house, there's not even an oven. (And that isn't an actual true reference to the fact that I hate to cook).
I scared Kristi a couple weeks ago. I called her to tell her I found a recipe I wanted to try out. Would she come to dinner. She thought it was cryptic for a ransom call. She knew it couldn't actually be me on the other end of the phone. She thought I'd been abducted and was trying to send a secret code. Fact is, I actually cooked some recipe I found in People and it wasn't half bad. Fact is also, that I haven't cooked anything since. That was August 21. Don't get me wrong, I feed my kids, but I mostly heat food, not cook food. And I've fallen in serious LOVE with my outdoor grill. You could actually cook food without having to be present and better still, not have to wash pots and pans. Max said it needed repair. It was on our "list" (you know...the list of all things that need repair or replacement). Once I started using the grill (grilling, I thought was the boy's job), the repair moved way up.
I'm back.
Thursday, August 13, 2009
My Bat Mitzvah - Becoming a woman
Kristi and I were at dinner tonight. We were sharing our normal banter of covering every detail that has transpired since we last caught up about three days earlier. She shared with me an interesting "call to readers" in "Real Simple" magazine. The open-ended question was, "At what point did you know that you were an adult"...or something to that effect.
Of course it prompted so much thought and conversation to follow. There are pivotal moments for all of us.
What seems so funny is that as a Jewish girl, I celebrated my Bat Mitvah within days of my 13th birthday. Somehow, our religion belives this magical age to be a rite of passage into adult hood. What in reality it became was a lot of Hebrew classes, reading (or in my case MEMORIZING) a portion of the Torah and reading a Haftarah, which I admittedly still don't know what it is. I got a big party at the Sportsman's Lodge, many gold charms for my charm holder, and a lovely leatherette photo album which I haven't seen since. While I love my rich culture, I'm not sure turning 13 prepared me for anything that 12 or 11 hadn't already done. I was no more able to face the world than a kitten, timid and small.
At 16, I could drive. This surely meant I had snuck over the line to adulthood. Wheels ='d freedom. I went to sleep on December 17th, still a mere child. I woke up on December 18th, and mysteriously was now ready to have 3000 pounds of high-powered steel beneath my clutches. On the morning of December 18th (it was a Friday), I got up early. Got dressed in my favorite jeans, my I Love Lucy t-shrit and my brand new red Nine West shoes with the stacked wood heals and the bronze trim (it was 1981, remember). My so-called father took me to the DMV to be the first one in line in my brand new opal white Volvo Turbo 240 GLT. I drove a block, perfected a three-point turn, and alas, was given enough rope to hang myself. At 16, sweet or not, I somehow thought I was an adult. That was until Monday, December 21. I was hit broadside by the guy that worked for GTE (aka The Phone Company). I totalled the new car, broke my collar bone, collected a massive concussion with an adult dose of amnesia, and could do nothing for myself or anyone else for that matter all of Christmas vacation and for some time after that. Adulthood was off to a rip roaring start.
I went to college at 17. Now THIS is adulthood. No calling to say when I'd be home. Go to class or not...that was up to me. I could schedule the classes I wanted to take, at the times I wanted to take them. Pretty adult of me to schedule all early morning classes so that I could spend the rest of the day at the beach. College and all it's fun was financed by my generous parents. OK...this adult thing isn't so bad after all.
At 18, I was allegedly truly emancipated. Only, I was still completely bank rolled by the folks. Doesn't quite work well when you are in this limbo sort of phase. I mean, it's nice and all, but deep down, I knew that adulthood meant being independent and I was anything but.
At 21 I could drink alcohol. It was very mature of me to pour the poison down my throat as fast as I could and spend the next 12 hours barfing it up. Afraid that I might die. Or worse, that I might not. Making deals with God while hugging the delicious white porcelain of the toilet, pressing my face so tightly to the bowl just to stay cool. Yeah...this adult thing is great!
And so went the 20s...At 28 Europe at 29 I met my husband, I got married I had kids.
None of these things had the impact it did until the realization at 42, that this is my life. This is MY life. There are kind friends and my dear family. But it finally struck me, something my mother had told me my entire life. When you go to bed at night, you sleep alone.
I never really knew what this meant. What I have come to learn, is that no matter what is going on in the world outside, or who is laying beside you, your life, your happiness, your sadness, your thoughts, your worries, your grit, your dreams...they are exclusively yours. This is when I truly knew I was an adult. When I knew that my heart could break in a million pieces and my parents could pick up those pieces, one at a time, but putting it back together could only be done by me. That's when I knew.
When I stopped coveting the lives of others and started to be inherently, consciouly grateful for every gift I'd been given. When looking at my children play at the beach, chasing the waves seemed like enough to fill my entire world, I knew I was an adult. When knowing that an uneventful day is an event in and of itself. And that that makes a wonderful day, that's when I knew. When I tuck my children safely in their beds every night and I am thankful for their saftey and I am totally conscious of how fragile that moment is. When I was thrilled that my Life Insurance exam came back with a Super Plus rating. These are the moments that I know I'm truly an adult. I don't take a single laugh for granted and I stopped wishing away time. Every bit of good news is GREAT news. I stopped thinking in and started thinking out. When I weathered a very difficult time, day by day, and came out still standing. When I was able to objectively evaluate my own worth in this world, and I liked my score. That's when I knew. It wasn't one event. It was a series of events. But it wasn't at 13, or 16 or 18 or even 21. I don't really believe I became an adult until I knew and truly trusted that I could stand on my own two feet. That didn't happen for me until the most recent of times.
Of course it prompted so much thought and conversation to follow. There are pivotal moments for all of us.
What seems so funny is that as a Jewish girl, I celebrated my Bat Mitvah within days of my 13th birthday. Somehow, our religion belives this magical age to be a rite of passage into adult hood. What in reality it became was a lot of Hebrew classes, reading (or in my case MEMORIZING) a portion of the Torah and reading a Haftarah, which I admittedly still don't know what it is. I got a big party at the Sportsman's Lodge, many gold charms for my charm holder, and a lovely leatherette photo album which I haven't seen since. While I love my rich culture, I'm not sure turning 13 prepared me for anything that 12 or 11 hadn't already done. I was no more able to face the world than a kitten, timid and small.
At 16, I could drive. This surely meant I had snuck over the line to adulthood. Wheels ='d freedom. I went to sleep on December 17th, still a mere child. I woke up on December 18th, and mysteriously was now ready to have 3000 pounds of high-powered steel beneath my clutches. On the morning of December 18th (it was a Friday), I got up early. Got dressed in my favorite jeans, my I Love Lucy t-shrit and my brand new red Nine West shoes with the stacked wood heals and the bronze trim (it was 1981, remember). My so-called father took me to the DMV to be the first one in line in my brand new opal white Volvo Turbo 240 GLT. I drove a block, perfected a three-point turn, and alas, was given enough rope to hang myself. At 16, sweet or not, I somehow thought I was an adult. That was until Monday, December 21. I was hit broadside by the guy that worked for GTE (aka The Phone Company). I totalled the new car, broke my collar bone, collected a massive concussion with an adult dose of amnesia, and could do nothing for myself or anyone else for that matter all of Christmas vacation and for some time after that. Adulthood was off to a rip roaring start.
I went to college at 17. Now THIS is adulthood. No calling to say when I'd be home. Go to class or not...that was up to me. I could schedule the classes I wanted to take, at the times I wanted to take them. Pretty adult of me to schedule all early morning classes so that I could spend the rest of the day at the beach. College and all it's fun was financed by my generous parents. OK...this adult thing isn't so bad after all.
At 18, I was allegedly truly emancipated. Only, I was still completely bank rolled by the folks. Doesn't quite work well when you are in this limbo sort of phase. I mean, it's nice and all, but deep down, I knew that adulthood meant being independent and I was anything but.
At 21 I could drink alcohol. It was very mature of me to pour the poison down my throat as fast as I could and spend the next 12 hours barfing it up. Afraid that I might die. Or worse, that I might not. Making deals with God while hugging the delicious white porcelain of the toilet, pressing my face so tightly to the bowl just to stay cool. Yeah...this adult thing is great!
And so went the 20s...At 28 Europe at 29 I met my husband, I got married I had kids.
None of these things had the impact it did until the realization at 42, that this is my life. This is MY life. There are kind friends and my dear family. But it finally struck me, something my mother had told me my entire life. When you go to bed at night, you sleep alone.
I never really knew what this meant. What I have come to learn, is that no matter what is going on in the world outside, or who is laying beside you, your life, your happiness, your sadness, your thoughts, your worries, your grit, your dreams...they are exclusively yours. This is when I truly knew I was an adult. When I knew that my heart could break in a million pieces and my parents could pick up those pieces, one at a time, but putting it back together could only be done by me. That's when I knew.
When I stopped coveting the lives of others and started to be inherently, consciouly grateful for every gift I'd been given. When looking at my children play at the beach, chasing the waves seemed like enough to fill my entire world, I knew I was an adult. When knowing that an uneventful day is an event in and of itself. And that that makes a wonderful day, that's when I knew. When I tuck my children safely in their beds every night and I am thankful for their saftey and I am totally conscious of how fragile that moment is. When I was thrilled that my Life Insurance exam came back with a Super Plus rating. These are the moments that I know I'm truly an adult. I don't take a single laugh for granted and I stopped wishing away time. Every bit of good news is GREAT news. I stopped thinking in and started thinking out. When I weathered a very difficult time, day by day, and came out still standing. When I was able to objectively evaluate my own worth in this world, and I liked my score. That's when I knew. It wasn't one event. It was a series of events. But it wasn't at 13, or 16 or 18 or even 21. I don't really believe I became an adult until I knew and truly trusted that I could stand on my own two feet. That didn't happen for me until the most recent of times.
Monday, July 13, 2009
MJ - My thoughts from June...never posted
So I know this is a big point of controversy...did he? didn't he? molest those kids. Personally, I don't really think so. I think he made horrible choices and was a very confused and tragic person. I have watched every minute of Jackson coverage that I could possibly fit into my tv viewing schedule. Mind you. I'm not a huge Jackson fan. But I beleive that he is more a tragedy and the result of crazy, exploitive parents. Most people as adults could not handle the life he was forced to live at 5...but I digress. This really isn't about him. This is about the crackpot Mayor of LA. Is it possible to be more stupid than that guy? I'm glad to say although I'm from LA, I have not lived there for 26 years. I am not skilled enough with the English language or any other language for that matter to come up with the adjectives my gut is begging for.
The city is underwater to the tune of a billion and half dollars at least. People are losing their jobs right and left and this moron thinks that it is the obligation of the city ie the taxpayers to pay for MJ's funeral and compared it to the presidency? What? Additionally, chastised his staff for soliciting money to help defray expenses. I don't know politics or the heirarchy of things, but is there some one above the philandering whore that can over ride him. The sales tax in LA is at nearly 10 %. If I was living in LA right now, struggling to pay my bills, I think it simply time to cash in the chips. God help us all if this guy has the same devil spawn that ends up in politics and any other position of power.
And, while I have so much empathy for MJs children, if the rest of his family had any class, they would have stepped up and paid the mere pennies it would be to them to cover the costs. Additionally, the cheap, elitest Hollywood types who entertain me yet I still can't stand, would certainly be looked upon more favorably if they pitched in. Truly, a couple of bucks is what it would amount to for 100 of the most visible. They'd truly shine as stars if they did that. Funny...all of a sudden...the impossible to shut up politically correct Hollywood, went silent.
The city is underwater to the tune of a billion and half dollars at least. People are losing their jobs right and left and this moron thinks that it is the obligation of the city ie the taxpayers to pay for MJ's funeral and compared it to the presidency? What? Additionally, chastised his staff for soliciting money to help defray expenses. I don't know politics or the heirarchy of things, but is there some one above the philandering whore that can over ride him. The sales tax in LA is at nearly 10 %. If I was living in LA right now, struggling to pay my bills, I think it simply time to cash in the chips. God help us all if this guy has the same devil spawn that ends up in politics and any other position of power.
And, while I have so much empathy for MJs children, if the rest of his family had any class, they would have stepped up and paid the mere pennies it would be to them to cover the costs. Additionally, the cheap, elitest Hollywood types who entertain me yet I still can't stand, would certainly be looked upon more favorably if they pitched in. Truly, a couple of bucks is what it would amount to for 100 of the most visible. They'd truly shine as stars if they did that. Funny...all of a sudden...the impossible to shut up politically correct Hollywood, went silent.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Memories...light the corners of just about everything
My friend Kristi thinks that I'm somehow connected to everyone on the planet. Here's the plain truth. I have this crazy memory for details. They can be important or insignificant, and if the topic involves numbers, it's usually stuck in my head for good.
So, I remember the names of people whom I met in passing at nearly every instant of my life. I remember friends of friends and boyfriends of friends whom I'm sure would never remember me. No significant event needs to happen either. It's just the way my head works, to no fault of my own.
One evening at Kristi's, we were hooked on the most guilty pleasure of all, The Millionaire Matchmaker. It was better than that. The Millionaire Matchmaker Marathon. By about the 10th epsiode, I recognized a guy that a friend of mine dated in junior high school. I met him one time. Kristi, I'm sure, thought I was on drugs, until he started spouting details that I already knew and said out loud before he did.
In college, I was often able to close my eyes, and picture my notes, color coded of course, to recall the data for the final. It wasn't that I necessarily remembered the material, it's just that I memorized what my notes looked like. I have a confession...remember in that blog, a few ago, in which I spoke of the A+ I received in a physics class. Here's the truth. I memorized the practice quizes and homework sets so at test time, all I did was repeat the solutions with the new numbers. I still understand nothing about that silly, elusive charge always labeled "q", but at final time, I memorized the practice final and regurgitated the answers, simply calculating off the new parameters offered that day.
I remember almost every birthday of everyone whom I ever knew. And, I remember their kids birthdays too. If I heard it once, it gets stuck in my head. Then, I end up in conflict. Come birthday of said party, do I call and wish them a happy day, or do I appear like a stalker with an overinterest in an acquaintance's life, someone whom I no longer have regular contact with? Do people like to hear from their pasts on their birthday? Or are those chapters closed and required to stay that way? I call my dear friend, Lori every year on her birthday. This is my longest friend and by my calculation, that's 36 phone calls. I now call her on my birthday too, to remind her to call me. I don't get hurt feelings anymore, now that I know that most people don't have this affliction.
I have emotional memory too. That's a term that Kristi used the other day and I thought it was perfect. I can remember exactly how I felt on a certain day, so vividly that I can relive it many years later. It's not like remembering feeling happy or sad. It's more that my entire state can become that state again while recalling or reminiscing about a certain event.
I'm sure my family, (read Husband) HATES my memory. I try not to use it for evil causes but honestly, who can resist the temptation of relaying every detail and punctuation mark of a conversation from eight years ago, when you know it projects you in a beam of light? (read I was right, he was wrong.)
So, I remember the names of people whom I met in passing at nearly every instant of my life. I remember friends of friends and boyfriends of friends whom I'm sure would never remember me. No significant event needs to happen either. It's just the way my head works, to no fault of my own.
One evening at Kristi's, we were hooked on the most guilty pleasure of all, The Millionaire Matchmaker. It was better than that. The Millionaire Matchmaker Marathon. By about the 10th epsiode, I recognized a guy that a friend of mine dated in junior high school. I met him one time. Kristi, I'm sure, thought I was on drugs, until he started spouting details that I already knew and said out loud before he did.
In college, I was often able to close my eyes, and picture my notes, color coded of course, to recall the data for the final. It wasn't that I necessarily remembered the material, it's just that I memorized what my notes looked like. I have a confession...remember in that blog, a few ago, in which I spoke of the A+ I received in a physics class. Here's the truth. I memorized the practice quizes and homework sets so at test time, all I did was repeat the solutions with the new numbers. I still understand nothing about that silly, elusive charge always labeled "q", but at final time, I memorized the practice final and regurgitated the answers, simply calculating off the new parameters offered that day.
I remember almost every birthday of everyone whom I ever knew. And, I remember their kids birthdays too. If I heard it once, it gets stuck in my head. Then, I end up in conflict. Come birthday of said party, do I call and wish them a happy day, or do I appear like a stalker with an overinterest in an acquaintance's life, someone whom I no longer have regular contact with? Do people like to hear from their pasts on their birthday? Or are those chapters closed and required to stay that way? I call my dear friend, Lori every year on her birthday. This is my longest friend and by my calculation, that's 36 phone calls. I now call her on my birthday too, to remind her to call me. I don't get hurt feelings anymore, now that I know that most people don't have this affliction.
I have emotional memory too. That's a term that Kristi used the other day and I thought it was perfect. I can remember exactly how I felt on a certain day, so vividly that I can relive it many years later. It's not like remembering feeling happy or sad. It's more that my entire state can become that state again while recalling or reminiscing about a certain event.
I'm sure my family, (read Husband) HATES my memory. I try not to use it for evil causes but honestly, who can resist the temptation of relaying every detail and punctuation mark of a conversation from eight years ago, when you know it projects you in a beam of light? (read I was right, he was wrong.)
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
I'm an unlicensed MD
I'm medically curious. I can't help it. I can't stand to think there's a disease, a procedure, a condition, or an affliction that I don't truly understand. I am best friends with WebMD. I have enough knowledge to be truly dangerous. Going back to previous thoughts...my frienship with the internet...I "Google" every medically related topic I can think of. I don't even know why I do this, and it doesn't even have to be a condition of MINE. All I need to do is hear about it and I get that panicy feeling until I've consulted my sources. Maybe this is a form of OCD...maybe psychosis...ok, at least nerosis. You see what happens. I'm like a junkie needing a fix. My friend Annette calls me for my unlicensed medical advice. She knows, that if I DON'T know the answer, I'll be looking it up in mere moments. And then all the related topics.
Yet, I could have never been a doctor. I hated the lab classes. I avoided them like the plague (another disease) until I could no longer hide. It's pretty tough to avoid lab classes when you are at UCSD as a Biology major with an emphasis in Biochemistry. So, here's what I did. I opted for the least invasive class I could. It was called Biochemical Techniques. It didn't involved fetal pigs or pregnant frogs. There was no cutting involved at all. All we had to do, was mix chemicals and chart the results. Simple enough. Here's what happened during that quarter in hell! I barely survived. I hated that class and whined and complained every Tu/Th for 10 weeks. I hated washing those beakers and felt entitled to a lab assistant to do it for me. I never cared enough to get all the soap out so while everyone else's "product" - (that's what they called the result of mixing chemicals) turned orange, mine would be black. If they got black, mine would be clear. If their chart was a straight line up, mine was some sort of parabolic arc. Thank goodness for the written final. It saved me. Honestly, the difference between a ml or 2 mls...not enough for me to lose sleep over. But it was five hours, twice a week and that was just for prep. Then, you had to come back at some ungodly, dark hour, lurking through the building to check your results. I was scared to death every time I had to walk across that dark plaza, past the big fountain and into the catacombs of hell that they called Biochem Techniques.
How did we ever survive without the internet? I don't know if I have a single thought that I don't run by my sources. How's that for conviction?
Yet, I could have never been a doctor. I hated the lab classes. I avoided them like the plague (another disease) until I could no longer hide. It's pretty tough to avoid lab classes when you are at UCSD as a Biology major with an emphasis in Biochemistry. So, here's what I did. I opted for the least invasive class I could. It was called Biochemical Techniques. It didn't involved fetal pigs or pregnant frogs. There was no cutting involved at all. All we had to do, was mix chemicals and chart the results. Simple enough. Here's what happened during that quarter in hell! I barely survived. I hated that class and whined and complained every Tu/Th for 10 weeks. I hated washing those beakers and felt entitled to a lab assistant to do it for me. I never cared enough to get all the soap out so while everyone else's "product" - (that's what they called the result of mixing chemicals) turned orange, mine would be black. If they got black, mine would be clear. If their chart was a straight line up, mine was some sort of parabolic arc. Thank goodness for the written final. It saved me. Honestly, the difference between a ml or 2 mls...not enough for me to lose sleep over. But it was five hours, twice a week and that was just for prep. Then, you had to come back at some ungodly, dark hour, lurking through the building to check your results. I was scared to death every time I had to walk across that dark plaza, past the big fountain and into the catacombs of hell that they called Biochem Techniques.
How did we ever survive without the internet? I don't know if I have a single thought that I don't run by my sources. How's that for conviction?
Monday, June 15, 2009
Lists and lists of lists
Have you ever realized how it seems much more likely to get something done if you can go through the ritual of physically checking it off a list?
Even though I know what I have to do, I am much more likely to do it and much less likely to procrasitinate if I actually write it down and cross if off.
I'm not fully evolved. I'm an old pen and paper girl. I tried keeping track of the things I need to do electronically through Outlook and even more primatively on an early Palm Pilot. The sheer idea of having to go to a device for my list, somehow leaves me cold. It won't surprise you to know that I keep an actual datebook as well. I prefer the one that starts in August, I think they call it an Academic Calendar and I love the month view. I like my scribbles and my notes and I don't need free wi-fi to know who I'm having lunch with. I'm getting a little romantic for an Iphone but I won't sacrifice my current cell service with Verizon for AT&T. No offense AT&T, just doesn't have as wide coverage. When AT&T and Apple severe the bond, I might be in.
But here's the funny thing. I can't live without my laptop and an internet connection. I research my every thought just to know if I'm right. My eight year old swears that a dophin is a whale. I'm sure he's right as he usually is about such things, so as soon as I am finished here, I will do the next two things on my list:
1. Look up the relationship between whales and dolphins
2. Research the length of the AT&T contract with Apple, so I can get the Iphone.
Even though I know what I have to do, I am much more likely to do it and much less likely to procrasitinate if I actually write it down and cross if off.
I'm not fully evolved. I'm an old pen and paper girl. I tried keeping track of the things I need to do electronically through Outlook and even more primatively on an early Palm Pilot. The sheer idea of having to go to a device for my list, somehow leaves me cold. It won't surprise you to know that I keep an actual datebook as well. I prefer the one that starts in August, I think they call it an Academic Calendar and I love the month view. I like my scribbles and my notes and I don't need free wi-fi to know who I'm having lunch with. I'm getting a little romantic for an Iphone but I won't sacrifice my current cell service with Verizon for AT&T. No offense AT&T, just doesn't have as wide coverage. When AT&T and Apple severe the bond, I might be in.
But here's the funny thing. I can't live without my laptop and an internet connection. I research my every thought just to know if I'm right. My eight year old swears that a dophin is a whale. I'm sure he's right as he usually is about such things, so as soon as I am finished here, I will do the next two things on my list:
1. Look up the relationship between whales and dolphins
2. Research the length of the AT&T contract with Apple, so I can get the Iphone.
Hard Times - Hard Questions
I find that during difficult times, the truth is told. Suffice it to say, I sent 2008 out with a "see you, wouldn't want to be you" sentiment.
Here are several things I learned...
Strength comes from the least expected places.
Friendships prove themselves under the weight of the world.
Even those who appear strongest, need help at times.
Those whom you thought you could count on, often crack under pressure.
Fair weathered friends are sometimes just not equipped to handle life's challenges, but it doesn't make them evil.
When you have a life preserver floating next to you, in the form of a dear friend, or a kind stranger, you generally don't need to use it. But, knowing it's there, is often enough to keep you from drowning.
It's imperative to thank EVERYONE who pitches in, in whatever manner they are able.
If you are lucky enough to be alive, you still have to live, have fun and enjoy the gifts of the day.
No stressing allowed on Friday through Sunday. Stress deserves a weekend too.
Here are several things I learned...
Strength comes from the least expected places.
Friendships prove themselves under the weight of the world.
Even those who appear strongest, need help at times.
Those whom you thought you could count on, often crack under pressure.
Fair weathered friends are sometimes just not equipped to handle life's challenges, but it doesn't make them evil.
When you have a life preserver floating next to you, in the form of a dear friend, or a kind stranger, you generally don't need to use it. But, knowing it's there, is often enough to keep you from drowning.
It's imperative to thank EVERYONE who pitches in, in whatever manner they are able.
If you are lucky enough to be alive, you still have to live, have fun and enjoy the gifts of the day.
No stressing allowed on Friday through Sunday. Stress deserves a weekend too.
Posting that profile photo - and insights
So, help me out here. I keep trying to post that profile photo and every time, it crashes my computer and blows my internet connection. Happens this way with Facebook too. I can't figure out why.
"Here's what you gotta do" This is how most of my thoughts begin. I'm not so arrogant to think that anything I have to say is of interest to anyone else, but if you are here, you are searching for if nothing more, fun conversation. So here are some insights into me. Do any of you agree with the following?
I think it's strange to post your every move on Facebook. I have maybe 7 "friends". I only join to keep up with my nearest and dearest "invitations", and I have to admit that it's been fun reconnecting with some old high school buds. In fact, it was rumored that one of those people was dead and it turns out, he's alive and well and posting on Facebook. But truly, when I open my page now and then and I see what someone did 10 minutes ago, I somehow find that strange and it's usually something rather mundane like "washed the dishes". Whew!! There's some Earth Shattering news.
I'm a bargain hunter, but I'm not cheap. Simply challenged by the economy. I just don't want to pay more for what I could get for less with a little extra effort during these tough times. I like to believe it's one for our team.
I'm challenged by the Secret. I read it. I re-read it. And I'm having a hard time understanding the "like attracts like" principal. I'm no physicist, but I went to a fairly respectable school (UCSD), I majored in biology...I got an A+ in Physics - Elecricity and Magnetism...and what I recall is that Opposites attract, and Like forces repel. So, fill me in...what am I missing? Nonetheless, I visualize the future...mine includes but is not limited to monetary wealth and I'm still not realizing the results. Not at all like the folks on Oprah.
I TiVO Oprah and Dr. Phil every day. I'm not really interested in what they have to say, but more their guests. And not the Hollywood types. I delete those shows, mostly, before I ever watch them. The real people with real lives and real courage. Those are the ones I hang my hat on. I'm always amazed at the strength of the most ordinary people. I admire them. But what Gail thinks is the country's best hamburger...about as much interest as the Facebooker washing the dishes.
"Here's what you gotta do" This is how most of my thoughts begin. I'm not so arrogant to think that anything I have to say is of interest to anyone else, but if you are here, you are searching for if nothing more, fun conversation. So here are some insights into me. Do any of you agree with the following?
I think it's strange to post your every move on Facebook. I have maybe 7 "friends". I only join to keep up with my nearest and dearest "invitations", and I have to admit that it's been fun reconnecting with some old high school buds. In fact, it was rumored that one of those people was dead and it turns out, he's alive and well and posting on Facebook. But truly, when I open my page now and then and I see what someone did 10 minutes ago, I somehow find that strange and it's usually something rather mundane like "washed the dishes". Whew!! There's some Earth Shattering news.
I'm a bargain hunter, but I'm not cheap. Simply challenged by the economy. I just don't want to pay more for what I could get for less with a little extra effort during these tough times. I like to believe it's one for our team.
I'm challenged by the Secret. I read it. I re-read it. And I'm having a hard time understanding the "like attracts like" principal. I'm no physicist, but I went to a fairly respectable school (UCSD), I majored in biology...I got an A+ in Physics - Elecricity and Magnetism...and what I recall is that Opposites attract, and Like forces repel. So, fill me in...what am I missing? Nonetheless, I visualize the future...mine includes but is not limited to monetary wealth and I'm still not realizing the results. Not at all like the folks on Oprah.
I TiVO Oprah and Dr. Phil every day. I'm not really interested in what they have to say, but more their guests. And not the Hollywood types. I delete those shows, mostly, before I ever watch them. The real people with real lives and real courage. Those are the ones I hang my hat on. I'm always amazed at the strength of the most ordinary people. I admire them. But what Gail thinks is the country's best hamburger...about as much interest as the Facebooker washing the dishes.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Who wants to chat?
It's funny, in the past two weeks, I was twice told that I should have a column called "Cindy Says". Two separate friends told me that "Dear Abby" has nothing on me. Well, this is what's evolved. Truth be told, I try to look at the practial side of everything. OK...everything in YOUR life. My life is filled with the emotional roller coasters of regular life for a wife and a mother of two (and sometimes 3, if you know what I mean). But in reality, I am a very practical person and have practical thoughts on practically everything. I can usually look at both sides of any issue and see the truth. I am registered Independet for that reason. I can't go with a party, I always vote on the issue. If I can at all understand it from what little yellow book says.
I was also told about a year ago that I am terrible to shop with. Why? Because I am fast, but practical. It was suggested by my dear friend and fashion guru Celeste that if you are fast, you must be impulsive. If you are slow, you are allowed to be practical. So here's the cunnundrum for her. I am FAST yet Practical. She says it doesn't work that way. She always looks adorable so she must be right. When I try something on, I wonder how it will look at the park...since that's the general level of formality of my life. And I don't want flat ass. So, "park cute" with a high hiney and I'm good to go. Why is that so difficult to accomplish? And in case you are wondering, I am not fat. I am about 5 ft. 9 inches and waiver between 135 where I'm really happy and 140 where I'm not at all happy. And of course, post two kids, I don't have the flat tummy I used to. But there is absolutely no reason why my ass should have fallen below my knees. I was pregnant in the front and that was five years ago. Why oh why does this happen?
Well, this is the beginning. But ask me questions, and talk to me. This was born from my friend Wendy. She seems to think that I can come up with the answers to everything from "what to make for dinner," (I hate to cook) to "how do I fix my marriage?" I figure, from a practical perspective, the more we talk about you...the less we talk about my issues. It's a very sneaky, yet practical way of getting my mind off my own challenges. So, bring it on...let's chat.
I was also told about a year ago that I am terrible to shop with. Why? Because I am fast, but practical. It was suggested by my dear friend and fashion guru Celeste that if you are fast, you must be impulsive. If you are slow, you are allowed to be practical. So here's the cunnundrum for her. I am FAST yet Practical. She says it doesn't work that way. She always looks adorable so she must be right. When I try something on, I wonder how it will look at the park...since that's the general level of formality of my life. And I don't want flat ass. So, "park cute" with a high hiney and I'm good to go. Why is that so difficult to accomplish? And in case you are wondering, I am not fat. I am about 5 ft. 9 inches and waiver between 135 where I'm really happy and 140 where I'm not at all happy. And of course, post two kids, I don't have the flat tummy I used to. But there is absolutely no reason why my ass should have fallen below my knees. I was pregnant in the front and that was five years ago. Why oh why does this happen?
Well, this is the beginning. But ask me questions, and talk to me. This was born from my friend Wendy. She seems to think that I can come up with the answers to everything from "what to make for dinner," (I hate to cook) to "how do I fix my marriage?" I figure, from a practical perspective, the more we talk about you...the less we talk about my issues. It's a very sneaky, yet practical way of getting my mind off my own challenges. So, bring it on...let's chat.
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