small hands

So I’m trying to figure out how to make this a fabulously groovy weekend, because work was a freaking grind this week.

I don’t get to go with the coolest chicks to Sebastopol because I’ve got too much shit to do when they’re leaving and by the time I got up there, their little ones will have peaked and they’ll be heading home. (I’m a mother, I know this)

I have TONS more Spring Cleaning to do, but I don’t want to be oppressed by it. I’ve got to get a new vacuum cleaner.

I don’t think I’m going to have a weekend like Chris’ January 11, 2003.

I think I’ll:

Get some noodles at Vi’s on Sunday
Dig up a lot of wild onions and work in the yard
Clean up the downstairs closet (shudder)
Try a new recipe from here
Watch (or tape) Six Feet Under

Friday Five

1. What is your favorite type of literature to read (magazine, newspaper, novels, nonfiction, poetry, etc.)?

I like it all. In descending order, most favorite to less favorite.

Magazine
Novel
Newspaper
Poetry
Nonfiction

2. What is your favorite novel?

I’ve probably read To Kill A Mockingbird more often than any other novel, but I haven’t picked it up in over 10 years. I think Their Eyes Were Watching God is one of the most satisfying novels I’ve ever read. It felt like my scalp had been greased and that there wasn't a wrong word in the entire novel.

3. Do you have a favorite poem? (Share it!)

I’m an English major, so no, not just one.

I love

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond
any experience, your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully, mysteriously) her first rose

or if your wish be to close me, i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;

nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the colour of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing

(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody, not even the rain, has such small hands

-- e. e. cummings


For me, it’s about my children.

And Lorena by Lucille Clifton is a special poem to me.

it lay in my palm soft and trembled
as a new bird and i thought about
authority and how it always insisted
on itself, how it was master
of the man, how it measured him, never
was ignored or denied, and how it promised
there would be sweetness if it was obeyed
just like the saints do, like the angels
and i opened the window and held out my
uncupped hand; i swear to god
i thought it could fly

4. What is one thing you've always wanted to read, or wish you had more time to read?

I wish I had more time to read everything. It helps to listen to recorded books. It's no coincidence that I have a job that is 90% reading and writing.

5. What are you currently reading?

The list to the left and tons of children’s books.

Mr. Rogers passed away. Rest in peace.

Yesterday evening I was getting the kids out of the car and some groceries* and I saw my girl take a piece of paper, but not her backpack, into the house. I told her to come back and get her backpack and I saw she was trying to hide the paper from me. I said What is that? She said Nothing. I said Okay, whatever. I figured, shoot, we're entering secretive adolescence already. I got the rest of the food and my girl said Mommy, you didn't get all of the mail out of the box. I looked in the mailbox and there was a love note my girl had written to me and had tried to surprise me with. I read it and then kissed and hugged my baby. So she's not turning into a secretive adolescent (yet). She is writing her mama love letters.

* I thought I should make a return to the grocery store, to have the hands on experience with shopping, just in case there was something I was missing by having my groceries delivered. Um, no, I'm not missing anything, except lugging an assload of groceries into the house. Back to safeway.com.

Three for Thursday

1. What are 3 things/situations that really stress you out?

My daughter's homework
Jury trials
Talking about mortgages

2. What are 3 things you can do that will de-stress you?

A professional massage
A hot bath with bubbles
Sex

3. Who are 3 people (first names only, please) that are a real pain in the butt but you love them anyway?

My son right now--we had a BIG FIGHT about him wearing some new pants this morning. I ended up carrying him to the car with the pants down around his ankles. He got embarrassed that the neighborhood was seeing his Thomas the Tank Engine underwear, so he let me pull them up.

BONUS: Was there a time in your life where you were so stressed out that you felt like you were headed for a melt down?

Well, I kinda regularly feel that way. But once, in college, I was wrangling mightily with the folks in the Financial Aid office, then I walked down Bancroft Avenue to my bank and I couldn't get any money from the ATM machine. I went inside to talk to the bank personnel and he looked at the computer and said that all record of my checking account had been erased. I had a moment, right then and there, and burst into tears. It was too much.

If I
Wanna take a guy
Home with me tonight
It's none of yo business

If she
Wanna be
A freak
And sell it on the weekend
It's none of yo business

---Salt n Pepa

Thank you all for the comments on yesterday's entry.

The whole question of bug-chasers had been definitively answered by my boyfriend, jhames, long before Dan Savage got around to it.

would that be Fire as in the main character in colin channer's "waiting in vain"? if so, what a lovely way to burn ;-)

Though I drink at your pool
I burn for you, I burn for
You and I are lovers
When night time folds around our bed
In peace we sleep entwined
And your love flows through me
Though an ocean soothes my head
I burn for you, I burn for
Stars will fall from dark skies
As ancient rocks are turning
Quiet fills the room
And your love flows through me
Though I lie here so still
I burn for you, I burn for you
I burn...

---Sting

And while most folks can't point to a certain number of sexual partners and say, "Yeah, beyond this point right here, that's HFS territory," they think they know it when they see it. Maybe it's all just state of mind. Maybe I'm just projecting.

That's really the point, isn't it? Once a line is crossed, one becomes/is labeled something negative. And the line is defined by what one already is in many ways. For example, if one is a woman, or a teenager, or gay, then there are certain labels that some people automatically attach and certain "rules" are placed on the conduct of the person. Right?

life's too short to be defined by labels

Absolutely.

I will read The Ethical Slut, but isn't that just a label too? It's taking ownership of the word, to take the sting out of it. But there are still rules which apply in order for one to be considered ethical.

he's made some really fucked-up biphobic comments a few years back.

I remember that. I also seem to recall that he's a bit transgender phobic as well.

Obviously Dan Savage did not call me a HFS. But it stung. Why? It reminds me of a quote from Andy Warhol (I think): Either everyone is beautiful, or no one is.

Either everyone is a slut, or no one is. I imagined that at my advanced age--37--I would be impervious to labels. Obviously, calling a teenager a slut is more powerful than calling a grown woman a slut. But I'm the same person who once was a teenager. All of my former, younger selves are still in there.

There is a lot of negative stereotyping and labeling that I can shake off or walk away from. But some shit I have to overcome, after it has stuck to me. Like all the negative stereotypes about being an African American single mother: while I think the popular wisdom is in the process of changing/evolving the stereotypes, it is still in the process, with both positive and negative ideas still in vogue.

My father asked me this weekend if I was seeing anyone and I told him no. Why? Because it's none of his business. Because he and I don't roll like that. Because I don't want an inquiry into whether I am seeing this person to be part of his checking in with me. Yes, I am still seeing him, so my life is good? No, I am not seeing him, so my life sucks? Because it felt like my father was asking my much younger self, and would judge the answer on that basis, rather than seeing me as who I am today.

I read Savage Love every week. A few weeks ago, Dan wrote about a response to the bug chasers stories. In his response, he wrote "Taking stupid sexual risks--even if risk turns you on--is reckless; anal sex on the first date--even with condoms--is a bad idea; giving someone HIV--even if he wants it--is immoral; being a huge fucking slut--as popular as that might make you--has physical and emotional consequences."

He was then taken to task for using the phrase "huge fucking slut" and responded in the next week's column.

But when I read the phrase, I was taken aback. I read Savage Love because it is sex positive. (I also read it because it's gay positive.) And it felt like he was calling me a HFS. Because I'm not married (while Dan is in a committed, ostensibly monogamous relationship) and I have sex. And Dan's name calling was coupled with a discussion on contracting HIV. Which triggered the whole The Wages of Sin is Death business in my head, as well. (Not that I believe in the concept of sin, but I was raised Catholic and went to Catholic school for seven years.)

And I'm still working at dismantling this sex negative shit in my head. I got Zaftig, by the most excellent Hanne Blank. Reading Chris helps. I tried reading a book bellis mentioned Slut by Leora Tanenbaum, but it was more about girls being called the word by their peers, which doesn't really apply to me at this point in my life.

Then I remembered that one also has to put out in the world what one needs. So I'm writing this entry.

Because here's the thing. I don't intend to get married again. But I intend to have sex as long as I possibly can. So I need to form a new consciousness of what that means about me. And what I call myself under these circumstances. And what names I allow to stick to me when they're put out in the world. Huge Fucking Slut just doesn't feel like a label I'm comfortable wearing.

It's interested that it's okay in my mind to talk about how good it is to be a single mother, to describe the challenges of being a working mother, but I have mentally drawn the line about describing being a single mother who is sexual.

I suppose the first step would be to give my "friend" a handle, huh? Let's call him FIRE from now on, shall we? Anyway, he spent the night and we laughed and talked about how much my job sucks right now.

I'm listening to Shirley Horn's I Remember Miles and all I can say is Where the hell have I been? This woman is amazing. I am so going to see her at Yoshi's.

setting: my office wearing: salt and pepper blazer, black skirt, white blouse, black nylons, black flats hair: bun make up: none drinking: vanilla diet coke eating: 8 M & Ms pilfered from my friend S. listening: Shirley Horn with Strings Here's to Life ('cause james recommended her) watching: tv? I wish stalking: Frankie is back pimping: j is back too, wahoo


D. and I went shopping at lunch time. I really needed to get out of the office, because I had participated in a hellish deposition in the morning. Hellish = deponent who thinks she is smarter than me, giving bullshit, nonresponsive answers, her lawyer is making nonsensical objections, and terrible facts. It's like pulling teeth. I won't go into details, but it's not sounding good for my client. I was supposed to depose the plaintiff's brother this afternoon, but he's in jail.

So D. wanted to look for a portable DVD player. There had been one on sale at Target this weekend, but we had to go and shop around. She didn't find what she wanted in her price range, and the one at Target is now no longer on sale and it's $150 more than it was 2 days ago. I just went from one electronics store to the other, while we talked about the case. The electronics were so pretty, so shiny and sleek. But I wouldn't spend the kind of money they want on any of them.

She gave me some good angles, based on her prosecutorial background.

sanguine: adj. cheerful, hopeful or confident.

D. is sanguine about this case. I am going to do my best and cover my ass, since my boss will blame me if anything goes wrong.

I picked up some shoes for my kids and a Vanilla Diet Coke.

My boy says that I am his sweet girl. He also calls his sister honey bunny when he wants to annoy her. And she shrieks in outrage every time he does. But when he was missing her while she was on her snow trip, he say Where's my pumpkin.

My boy turned three yesterday. We got up and he helped me grind coffee beans. He put his hand on top of mine to activate the grinder and I thought about how much he has given me in the last three years. It was a big day, but I have to run to a meetin', so I'll blog more later.

LATER

Sunday was lovely. I got to see Anna and Beth and their two babies and fabulously gorgeous toddler.

We had a casual birthday party for my boy. I realized that I do not have a photo album of his baby pictures. Must correct this. I think it's because I was in such failing marriage/divorcing fog during his first years on earth and it didn't occur to me that I was not doing this until...yesterday.

It was so nice to have people come and celebrate. We got a mixed fruit cake from Delicious Foods in Oakland Chinatown. Light, not too sweet, full of strawberries, pinapple, kiwi and mandarin oranges, topped with whipped cream. [As we were walking to get the cake, we passed Vi's Restaurant. Since it was 11AM on a Sunday morning, it wasn't crowded and I thought it would be cool to have noodle soup on a Sunday morning. I plan to go, without my children, next weekend.] There was pizza and caesar salad and garlic bread and grapes and ice cream to go with the cake.

There was no pinata. I thought there would be a pinata, but I owned up to the fact that I don't like them and decided to skip the pinata.

I've decided that although she has rocked the house and gotten into two killer library schools, and even though Berkeley is lame as hell for not having a library school, I don't want milk to move. I am rooting for her to get accepted in her third library school, but I don't want her to move.

I was talking to Robin and Teo about my plan to rototill in the back yard and they recommended against it. In the fight against wild onions, rototilling would not kill them dead and forever. I have to get out there with a shovel and dig them up. So, I will do that. Slow and steady wins the race, eh?

I still owe them dinner. I've got to think of something really good.

My family showed up quite late for the party, which is typical of them. It was actually a surprise to see them at all.

I was very tired last night; so tired that I didn't watch the Grammys. (Rant: It annoys me when anyone sweeps an award show. Norah Jones' rendition of Don’t Know Why and Come Away are lovely songs. Lord knows I’ve made love to them playing in the background. But the album itself I found extremely uneven, and from the git go it was clear that she was benefitting from a very, very tight jazz ensemble.) I lay on the bed with my son while he watched An Extremely Goofy Movie. My girl decided to sleep with us last night, reasoning that she had missed us so much on her snow trip that she needed to be close to us. My son lay spread eagle in the bed in an unsuccessful attempt to prevent her reentry. It was part of his surge of obnoxiousness before bedtime and we squashed it like a bug.

So this meeting I referred to earlier ; it was with my mortgage broker. [I know there's nothing less interesting to blog about.] Anyway, entering the world of mortgages makes me want to kill myself, no matter what the professionals on the other side of the desk have to say. Positive or negative, it all sounds the same, it all feels the same. Shitty. I hate talking about, scrutinizing things like credit scores, credit history, grant deeds, escrow accounts, et cetera. Hate. The only comfort this morning was the three part realization that (1) the process so far is not nearly as unspeakable as it was when we were first time buyers, (2) interest rates are down which eases the pain, and (3) this is the price I have to pay to get this person out of my life, so it's worth it.

Someone whose opinion I respect says she doesn't like reading blogs because it's all too Days of Our Lives. The ups, the downs, the romances, the breakups. And I understand that. But, I thought y'all would be interested to know that I'm done with the 28 year old (done like dinner, babe) and I'm really liking the fire fighter. That is all.

An absolutely beautiful Saturday. I got up and drank coffee and read the newspaper, then took a shower and got dressed and went out and cut the front lawn. My son had called me at 7:40AM to say that he wanted to come home--he's not feeling the one-on-one with his father since his sister is in the snow. So my boy arrived at 9:00AM and we reunited in the house--nursing, holding, taking his shoes off. Then we put his shoes back on and went back to the front yard, weeded the flower bed and cleaned the front sidewalk. Then we went to the back and he let me mow the back lawn. He has always objected to the sound of the lawn mower and not let me do it--except for that time when he was preoccupied with his Halloween candy. But this time, he was cool, playing with some Meyer lemons we harvested off the two trees. The grass was terribly long and there were rocks and things hidden in it. But I got it done and it smells like fresh cut grass and eucalyptus. The Temescal Creek used to run behind the house, so there are lot of eucalyptus trees in the creek bed.

There were other mowers going in the neighborhood and propeller planes flying overhead. A perfect spring day in February. Bonus: the big truck that had been parked for three weeks across the street, with the junked out appliances in the back, about which I called the Abandoned Vehicles department; the owner came and drove it away this morning. Yes.

We had lunch--penne with chicken, mushrooms and marsala, and garlic bread. Then he experimented with worms and I raked and weeded more. I think I'm going to rent a rototiller next weekend and turn up the very back of the yard, then roll out sod back there. I had a vision and I am very excited.

I watched My Son the Fanatic last night and this morning. This is a very good movie, much better than East is East (also starring the great and greatly pockmarked Om Puri) although the end is a bit ambiguous. It's not as ravishing as Monsoon Wedding, but it’s very good. And it has Rachel Griffiths, who plays Brenda on Six Feet Under. Check it out.

I was so exhausted from work last night. As I drove home I thought, all I do is put little black marks on white sheets of paper. That is my life’s work. It’s not as bad as all that, and it pays for my real life, and I feel greatly rested today.

Friday Five

1. What is your most prized material possession?

None. There are things that I like, but I don’t prize any material possession.

2. What item, that you currently own, have you had the longest?

I have no idea.

3. Are you a packrat?

No. Thank God.

4. Do you prefer a spic-and-span clean house? Or is some clutter necessary to avoid the appearance of a museum?

I prefer it spic and span--like all the house porn that I consume. I have clutter, however. I love to sort through the stuff and purge (throw out, donate, recycle).

5. Do the rooms in your house have a theme? Or is it a mixture of knick-knacks here and there?

Yes. The theme of my house is Two Kids Live Here And Nothing Is Sacred.

But on a similar note: Big Up The Mothership. This morning, on Highway 80, she turned 200,000 miles. You Go Girl!!

My daughter has gone to the snow.

This is an expression of the snow-less. We have to travel somewhere to experience snow.

In my girl’s case, she is on Winter Break–I don’t remember getting a Winter Break. There was Christmas vacation and Easter vacation. Anyway, she has gone with my mother and her cousins to my mother’s cabin in Calaveras County in the Sierra Foothills. Because of the elevation 3200 feet, there will be snow. Her brother and I are staying put. I considered taking a couple of days off and going too, with my little dude, but my daughter said that she needed a break from her brother. And I could see her point, since he was harassing her at the time she said it. So, in ever increasing strides, my baby is asserting her independence. She also slept again in her bed last night. Everything changes. Sigh.


A new source of meme’s. Bitchen.

Three for Thursday

1. What are 3 things that you can't start your day without?

A shower
Coffee
My car and house keys

2. What are the last 3 things you do before you climb into bed at night?

Put on pajamas/sleepwear
Take off my glasses
Brush my teeth

3. Who are 3 people that you talk to every day?

My son
My daughter
Myself

4. What are your 3 favorite TV shows of all time?

Six Feet Under
Sex and the City (although Season 5 was weak)
Northern Exposure

Honey Glazed Tarragon Carrots

I think this recipe is from this cookbook.

3 pounds medium carrots, peeled and sliced on the bias 1/4 inch thick
8 tablespoons (1 stick) buter, diced
3/4 cup honey
1/2 cup water
Kosher salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
Juice of 1 lemon
2 tablespoons chopped fresh tarragon

Preheat the oven to 350 degrees F.

Place the carrots in a large casserole that has a lid. Add half the butter, half the honey, and the water, salt, and pepper. Stir and bake, covered, for 20 minutes, or until the carrots begin to tenderize and turn bright orange. Remove the cover and stir. Bake 20 to 40 minutes more, until the carrots are done and most of the water has evaporated. Remove the casserole from the oven and place it one top of the stove.

The carrots should be tender and be sitting in a creamy, syrupy glaze. Adjust the consistency of the liquid, if necessary, by removing the carrots and cooking a bit more to thicken or by adding a little water to thin. Return the carrots to the pan, add the remaining butter and honey over medium heat, then add the lemon juice and tarragon. Stir, adjust the seasoning, and serve hot.


Baked Macaroni and Cheese

1 8-ounce package of penne
4 tablespoons butter (½ stick)
1 small onion, minced
1 tablespoon all-purpose flour
½ teaspoon salt
1/4 teaspoon dry mustard
1/8 teaspoon pepper
1-1/2 cups milk
½ pound Cheddar cheese, shredded (2 cups)

Prepare pasta as label directs, drain.

Preheat oven to 350F. Grease 2-quart casserole. In small saucepan over medium heat, melt 2 tablespoons butter; add bread crumbs and toss to coat. Set aside.

Meanwhile, prepare cheese sauce: In 2-quart saucepan over medium heat, melt remaining butter, add onion and cook until tender, about 5 minutes. Stir in flour, salt, mustard, and pepper until blended; cook 1 minute. Gradually stir in milk; cook until mixture thickens slightly and is smooth, stirring constantly. Remove saucepan from heat and stir in cheese until melted.

Place drained macaroni in casserole. Pour cheese sauce over macaroni. Sprinkle reserved crumb mixture over top. Bake macaroni 20 minutes or until bubbly and crumbs are golden.


My younger sister said that she didn’t like the bread crumbs on top, so I left them out the next time I made the recipe. Instead of just using cheddar cheese, I added gouda to the sauce and the top. The sauteed onion and the dry mustard make all the difference in the world. Also, a box of pasta is 16 ounces, so I usually boil a whole box and just expand the sauce–not quite double, but just generous portions of everything, ya know?

I got this recipe from some very pedestrian all-purpose cookbook from the 1970s that I checked out of the Richmond Public Library. The paradox is that it has some really good recipes in it. The original recipe did not call for penne--it had elbow macaroni. But I believe in penne, dammit.

My girl slept in her bed last night. Okay, she’s seven so this shouldn’t be a big deal. But it’s such a big deal.

This weekend I cleaned her room, put together a desk, chair, chest of drawers and bookcase for her, and rearranged the room to fit everything in. I don’t know about feng shui, but I do know that I set up the furniture in a way to make the room feel like a haven and putting the bed against a different wall improved the overall effect. I was nervous about her reaction, because my babygirl hates change. She cried when I got a new garden hose, because she didn’t want to stop using the old one. If I’m lying, I’m flying.

Cleaning my girl’s room always makes me sad. In part, it’s because she has pictures of me and her father and her as a baby/toddler. And I feel bad for her that she doesn’t have that parental configuration any more. And she has a fair number of mementos from her grandmother, including a pair of her grandmother’s purple socks. So I really get a sense of her loss. And when I am cleaning up her room, which I can only do when she’s gone, I really miss her and feel weird like I’ll never see her again.

She came home Sunday night and went into her room. She was delighted. She looked around and thanked me for the new furniture. I pointed out how I had put her delicate things on a high shelf, so that her brother couldn’t get them. She wanted to make sure none of her posters and artwork were gone, and, except for a Muppets in Space poster she won at the Solano County Fair, it was all still there.

Then she climbed into my bed, as usual, and we snuggled and went to sleep.

Monday night, she sat at her new desk, which she said was a good place for her to do her homework (Hallelujah!), and drew pictures. I told her it was story time, the prelude to bedtime, but she stayed in her room. Then she turned on a small lamp on her chest of drawers and said she was going to sleep in her bed. She read herself a few books and then went to sleep.

I was shocked. I was/am delighted and I don’t want to undermine this change. But I am a little verklempt too. Of course, I still have my snuggly pillow hogging little dude. I cleaned up and arranged his room too, but it will be a while before he sleeps in there.


sagemama says my page is slow to load. Is that your experience?

Okay, all this cleaning up is starting to feel like house arrest.

I'm heading out to Home Depot to get some stainless steel electrical outlet covers and to Goodwill to donate some of my kids' clothes. If my girl sees the bag of clothes when she gets back from her father's house she won't let me donate ANY of them.

The thing I really hate about massive reorganizing/cleaning is how much more disorganized and messy it gets when you start and stays until you finish. Then you have mounds of recycling, donations and garbage!!!

Please, please send me some music suggestions.

Music to entertain and motivate while cleaning up.

The party went extremely well. I got off work at 3:00PM and picked up my children. It took a lot longer to get home than I expected, in part because my girl was at the tail end of her Cooked Art class when I picked her up, so she dawdled even more than she usually does. We got home at 4:30 and I hit the ground running. I had two hours before the first guests were supposed to arrive, but that’s nothing when you have two kids to contend with as well.

We decorated the house with red streamers and red balloons and I could tell that my children really enjoyed it. I cooked.

Menu:

Spinach dip
Baby carrots
Sour dough French bread pieces

Chicken wings in hoisin, honey ginger sauce
Roast chicken with Asian spices
Honey tarragon carrots
Macaroni and cheese with penne and gouda
Caesar salad
Garlic bread

Lemon pound cake
Chocolate cupcakes decorated by my children
Vanilla ice cream

Champagne--Domaine Chandon
Cabernet sauvignon
Sparkling apple cider

My brother arrived at 6:15, just in time to forestall a meltdown by my son: Pick me up, whine, whine. He helped me move things around and, since he does catering in his spare time, he was very helpful in the kitchen.

N’s husband had called me at work earlier in the day and said he understood I was having a Valentine’s Day open house. I said he was most welcome and we would all be happy to see him.

My sister and her three kids arrived about 5 minutes before everything was cooked, which was perfect timing.

Everyone ate a ton and talked a lot, with the CDs I had burned playing in the background.

V-Day CD Number One:

You Love Me by Jill Scott
Lately by Tyrese
No Ordinary Love by Sade
Open Up My Heart by Yolanda Adams
Where Are You Going by Dave Matthews Band
All The Man I Need by Whitney Houston
Spend My Life With You by Eric Benet and Terry Dexter
Let’s Take A Walk by Jill Scott
More Than A Woman by Angie Stone
Brown Skin by India Arie
Red Light Special by TLC
Come Away With Me by Norah Jones
Butterflies (Remix) by Michael Jackson and Eve

V-Day CD Number Two:

Pocketbook by Michelle NDegeochello
Sign Your Name by Terence Trent Darby
Get To Know You by Maxwell
Don’t Let Go by En Vogue
Blues For Mama by Nina Simone
Girl You Know What’s Up by Donnel Jones and Left Eye
Is It A Crime by Sade
Do You Wanna Funk by Sylvester
Be With You by Mary J. Blige
Southside by Moby and Gwen Stefani
Water by Lauryn Hill

I sat eating the food and drinking a lot of champagne and just let the feelings of love wash over me. I love my family, I love their company. My sister asked what was the best Valentine’s Day any of us had ever had, and I said this one was. I’ve never had the commercialized version of Valentine’s Day, so when I spend a V-D my way, it’s the most satisfying.

They left en masse at 9:30 and I put away the perishable stuff, leaving an enormous mess, even though I had already washed two sinkfuls of dishes.

My kids had been running around all evening with their cousins, so they were tired and went to sleep after one story. I woke up at 3:00AM, which is my witching hour. I always wake up then. I lay in bed and thought about the mess downstairs, then got up and went down to clean it. It was nice, except for some idiotic propagandistic radio program on NPR, to be up in the wee hours of the morning. I turned to a radio station that plays dance/remix music, which made cleaning up much more festive. I got 98% of the dishes washed, all the food put away, all the garbage thrown away, the dining room and living room straightened up. I started flagging at 4:30AM, so I went back to bed.

Today is the start of a massive Spring Cleaning effort. My daughter’s room is first. Oy.

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY

I went for a massage last night, a Valentine’s present to myself. It was lovely. The masseuse is very gifted, calm, and has a sweet spirit. She asked if there was any particular reason I was getting a massage. I said no, I am healthy, I just wanted to give myself a Valentine's Day present.

The most intimate part of the massage was when she massaged my hands. As you can imagine, I type all day, cook a lot, garden a lot, et cetera, so my hands need some tender loving care. It was odd when she massaged them–because I type my thoughts, they feel like an extension of my brain and feelings. And I use them to express my most tender love to my children, when I hold their hands as we walk or sleep, or when I take one of their hands and kiss it. She laced her fingers in mine and pulled my hand back and I felt all shy and kept my eyes closed.

I thought about life and death as I got the massage. It helps to have music with sitars being played. When I felt some moments of self-consciousness about my almost naked body, I thought I have two children. This body has carried and fed two children.

The next most intimate part of the massage was when she massaged my face, starting with the heel of her hand on my forehead. But it was so relaxing. I felt this wonderful surge of joy and serenity when the massage was over.

Yesterday, D. succumbed to my brow beating and whining and we took a mid-workday trip to IKEA. Of course it was the perfect time to go, on a Thursday before a three day weekend, in the middle of a work day. Plus, she loves shopping, so it didn’t take too much pursuading. I got my girl a chest of drawers, a desk and chair, and a bookshelf. I got my little dude a desk and chair and a bookshelf. This weekend I do not have my children and the weather’s going to be cruddy (overcast and raining), so I can stay home and assemble furniture and get some of my spring cleaning done. [The first day of Spring in March 21. I know. But my daffodils are blooming, so I gotta clean my house.]

Friday Five:

1. Explain why you started to journal/blog.

I read judy’s journal and it was such an amazing expression of motherlove that it inspired me. I loved the way she talked about mothering and knitting and life in Paris and books and music. It was a combination of stuff I am interested in. That was my inspiration. I think, in retrospect, I wanted to create something that I needed to read. A way of encouraging myself. It also enabled me to connect to other people.

2. Do people you interact with day to day or family members know about your journal/blog? Why or why not?

No, they don’t. One blogging paradox is that you can write intimate details that anyone can read, but you don’t want the people who know you to read it. It’s like, my intimates would, by reading my blog, be able to connect the dots in me in a way that I am not comfortable with.

3. Do you have a theme for your journal/blog?

Nope. Maybe the folks who read my blog think I do. I write about the life I live. There are certainly recurring themes: coffee, hatred of Republicans/Bush, gardening, Oakland is beautiful, books/reading/libraries, cooking, lawyering.

4. What direction would you like to have your journal/blog go in over the next year?

My blog is spontaneous. I don’t have a plan. I would like it to be interesting and as non-repetitive as possible.

5. Pimp five of your favorite journals/blogs.

Look to the left and pick five.

So, it’s Valentine’s Day. Here’s my plan: I got the massage–genius. I bought roses and tulips. I bought some food, I’m buying more at lunch time. I’m leaving work early, picking up my two Valentines, and we’re going back to my house to decorate for a Valentine’s Day dinner with my extended family. If no one shows up, that’s cool too, because I just want to be with my kids and feel the love with them. We’re going to eat and drink and listen to good music about love.

I adore these quizzes. I filled this one out yesterday afternoon. Thanks Payla.

1) Last dream: I met Chris at a college back east and she was college-aged and flustered, but very sweet
2) Last car ride: This morning to work. I drove 300 miles in 2 days.
3) Last kiss: Last night. And I’m planning some yummy 2 year old boy kisses in a few hours. Wa-hoo.
4) Last person you kissed: I haven’t named him on this blog yet.
5) Last good cry: My ex-MIL’s memorial service. I felt erased and humiliated, then my sister asked how I was doing and I burst into tears and couldn’t stop.
6] Last Missing Library Book: Good question, but I always return them.
7) Last movie seen: The Road Home
8) Last Book Read: I don’t remember. I’ve always got several in the works. For example (Super Dork Alert) I am right this minute listening to Great Expectations by Charles Dickens. Is it because Valentine’s Day is coming and Great Expectations is a dating service? No, it’s because this is one of the Dickens that I haven’t sat down and read, so I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone: get it read to me and have a reading voice keep me company in the boredom/quiet of my office.
9) Last curse word uttered: I referred to an opposing counsel a “Stanky Ho” because she is. But if that’s not actually a curse word, I most certainly said “Fuck” today.
10) Last beverage drank: Diet Coke
11) Last Food consumed: Hunan Chicken with steamed rice. I must admit that as of late, my diet has been dominated by some kind of stir fried chicken and rice. Are you in a rut, A.J.? Yes, I do believe that I am.
12) Last Crush: It's a secret
13) Last phone call: my colleague and claims adjuster
14) Last TV show watched: Six Feet Under on DVD. It’s not a telecast, I’ll admit, but I don’t watch a lot of that kind of TV.
15) Last Item Bought: Valentine’s Day party supplies from Costco.
16) Last time showered: this morning, every morning, babe.
17) Last shoes worn: Salvatore Ferragamo flats
18) Last CD played: Phrenology by the Roots.
19) Last MP3 Downloaded: I don’t think I know how to download an MP3
20) Last annoyance: Picking up my girl from school when she wasn’t sick, after sending in her enrollment contract and witnessing in a lump sum how much I pay to send her to that school.
21) Last disappointment: Not winning a Motion for Summary Judgment because the opposing counsel lied. Same one I called a “Stanky Ho”
22) Last soda drank: Diet Coke
23) Last thing written: Demurrer. It’s a brief that says “Throw this tired ass lawsuit out before we go any further ‘cause there’s nothing here.”
24) Last key used: Key to get into the office.
25) Last word spoken: Thank You.
26) Last trip to the bathroom: This morning.
27) Last sleep: last night
28) Last IM: It’s been awhile. Hey, where is the love?
29) Last song you listened to: Forever, For Always for Love by Luther Vandross. I am burning CDs of love songs for my V-Day party.
30) Last time you yelled at someone: Probably my son to stop hitting his sister.
31) Last weird encounter: Any encounter with my ex is weird.
32) Last Store Shopped at: Costco
33) Last ice cream eaten: Mixture of Ben and Jerry’s Making Whoopie Pie and One Sweet Whirled. Hey, did you know you could mix them? Orgasmic.
34) Last time amused: I was taking a candlelit bath last night and listening to the BBC World Service on the radio and the commentator said something that made me laugh. I can’t remember what.
35) Last time wanting to die: Die for real? Not since I had my children. When I was pregnant with my daughter and on 20 weeks of bed rest I wanted to go to the Golden Gate Bridge and jump off. I didn’t think I could make it.
36) Last time in love: I love my children. In love in that free of cynicism way? With a grown up man, like standing in front of me and being a living, breathing flawed human being? Not since I met my ex. Will it ever happen again? I don’t know if I want it to.
37) Last time hugged: Last night. And I’m getting some hugging from my little dude quite soon.
38) Last time scolded: By someone else? HAHAHAHA!!! Well, my mother gave me disapproving looks when my son made so much noise at N’s memorial service. And I got this letter yesterday from this LOSER attorney with the worst reputation in the County, and he said that in the next few days he was going to call my boss about my "chronic arrogance and unprofessionalism." And I was desperate, desperate I tell you, to call him up and tell him to go fuck himself, that he could eat shit and die, and what was this, third grade, he was gonna tell on me?
39) Last time resentful: See 21. I am no longer married, so resentment is not as big a part of my emotional diet as it used to be.
40) Last chair sat in: Desk chair
41) Last lipstick used: It’s been so long I couldn’t tell you.
42) Last underwear worn: Hanes purple cotton bikini cut
43) Last bra worn: Your basic cream colored satin
44) Last shirt worn: White silk blouse
45) Last class attended: (Brace yourself the boredom may kill you) The Role of Past Practice in Employment Relations
46) Last Final taken: May 1991–I can’t remember which law school topic it was (Corporations, Federal Tax??), and I should remember because it’s a big thing to be done forever with finals.
47) Last time dancing: I dance all the time with my boy. I did a little dance for him as he grabbed me in the kitchen, to let him know that it wasn’t freaking me out at that moment that he was clinging to me.
48) Last poster looked at: George O’Keefe, Red Poppy No. VI, 1928
49) Last concert attended: I saw the Gap Band at the Solano County Fair last year. Great singers, old school hits that I knew all the words to, and fair food. Who would I like to see in concert? Keith Jarrett, Jill Scott, Sade, Lauryn Hill...
50) Last web site: Payla’s to steal this quiz

I watched The Road Home last night. I didn’t quite finish it, but it blew me away. I am a cinematography junkie, and this film is lushly filmed. On top of that, I love the director, Zhang Yimou, and my children and I watched another of his films, Happy Times, on Monday night. They had me read the subtitles to them and we didn’t finish the movie, so my daughter wondered if the girl got her sight back. I finished watching Happy Times last night and I won't give away the ending; it was heart rending. I loved that the very voluptuous Chinese woman was the object of desire.

In The Road Home, the main female character is played by Zhang Ziyi, the fierce female warrior in Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon. While I think one of the selling points of the actress is her cuteness youthful petite beauty, I am most impressed with her athleticism. That young woman can run.

When my daughter was around two years old, we watched To Live over and over again, because she loved the part where the brother spills his noodles on the boy teasing his deaf sister. We would rewind that part and my girl would laugh and laugh. I always cry at the last part of To Live, when the grandfather and grandson are talking and, despite everything, the grandfather says “When you grow up you will fly in an airplane and life will get better and better all the time.”




Yesterday was crazy. I had just arrived at work when I received a call from my daughter’s school, informing me that my girl was coughing and listless and I needed to come and get her. This call came on my cell phone at the exact moment I was on the phone with my secretary, who was telling me that the federal court could not find the Answer that I filed on January 31. So I told her to print up another copy of the Answer and I would drive it (northeast) to Sacramento after I went (southwest) to pick up my girl.

I went to the school office to get my girl, who had slept for 10-1/2 hours, eaten a good breakfast, arrived at school early and ready for a day of learning. She looked up at me from the couch, bright eyed and perfectly healthy. On the way to Sacramento, I explained to her that when I was in first grade, my mother was in law school. My mother told me that it was very important that I not miss any school because if I missed school, she would have to miss school and it would be harder for her to become a lawyer. So I got the message that it was very important to do my best to go to school, even though I understood that you could still do a good job even if you didn’t go to school every single day. I told my girl that I had picked this school to send her because I wanted her to be happy and to learn as much as possible. Therefore, when she went to school, she had to do her best to get her work done and learn. She asked if I was angry. I said I was irritated with her teacher, because I felt that she had overreacted to my girl’s coughing. We concluded that she had.

We arrived in Sacramento and entered the federal courthouse. The security men were extremely friendly to my girl, because they never see children in their building. One of them gave her a piece of candy. They’ve never given me a piece of candy. We got the Answer filed, then picked up some lunch for my girl on the way back to the office. She never coughed. I didn’t eat any lunch because the irritation of my girl being out of school killed my appetite.

Back at the office with my girl, I tried to get some work done. I finally reached my ex, but my girl didn’t want him to pick her up, so I said I’d keep her and drop her off at his house at 5PM. She played some Tom and Jerry Cheese chase on cartoonnetwork.com at my desk and I did research on a brief. On the way to my ex’s house, she fell asleep in the car. When we got there and she woke up, she started to cry that she didn’t feel well and wanted to stay with me. She had been fine the whole day, so I comforted her for a moment and then left.



It is raining this morning and it’s very beautiful. The rain makes the colors more intense and my daffodils are blowing up and the cherry tree next door is blossoming. I opened the front door and standing on the sidewalk, underneath a tree to escape some of the rain, were three Oakland police officers. Apparently, someone called the police because my new neighbors were engaged in a domestic dispute. I said good morning to the officers. Then my neighbor on the other side came over to ask what was going on. I told her that I had been worried because I hadn’t seen her in a while. She said she was on a teaching sabbatical and would be gone March and April. She goes on long, long bicycling trips (400+ miles) and she will probably be doing something like that. I didn’t pry, just remarked that she looked well. I told her I didn’t know much about the neighbors or what was going on and then got in The Mothership and headed to work.

This was a rare Monday morning when I didn’t wish I could stay home during the day to get more household stuff done. This weekend was full to the brim with laundry and yard work and a trip to the library, a picnic next to Lake Merritt, a memorial service, Sunday breakfast with my mom and stepfather, a weekend long visit from my older brother.

Saturday I dropped my daughter off at her grief counseling appointment and took my son to the East Bay Nursery. I wanted to get a Colette climbing rose. On the way there he was babbling in his sweet little voice and I looked at him and he said “I love you mama.” He loved looking at the plants and we strolled down the aisles in the warm sun and checked everything out. He is especially enamored of the outdoor fountains, but the one he liked best, with the lions’ heads spouting water, is $425. We got the rose and then went and picked up my girl. The counselor says she doesn’t need to go anymore.

We went home and my brother arrived for his weekend visit. The first thing we did was run out and get a mattress set for my son’s new bed. Then we picked up a chocolate cake from the new Merritt Bakery store on 51st and Telegraph. I am delighted that they located a bakery there, since that commercial property has only been used for junk like a check cashing store or a beeper store. But the strawberry cake was $33.50–which is outrageous. For that kind of money I could get a crate of strawberries from Costco and make 6 cakes.

Then we went home and got ready to go to my mother’s best friend’s memorial service. We arrived just as it started, my mother on the podium speaking about N. Very shortly after we sat down, in the pew behind my ex, my daughter wanted to go and be with my mother. So she walked up to the front of the church and stood next to her at the podium. The service was very informal, but my son was making too much noise by any standard, so I took him and my niece for a walk to the gas station to get something to drink. By the time we got back, and I took my son to the bathroom and he ran around and nursed, the service was over. N’s husband has belonged to a men’s chorus for years, so there was AMAZING singing.

I didn’t go back to N’s house for the reception because she lives lived in the Berkeley hills where there is NO PARKING and I had to get back home to take delivery of the mattress set. So my brother and my kids went to the reception instead and I went home.

I have funeral fatigue. I suppose I would have more stamina if I hadn’t watched all 13 episodes of Six Feet Under, but...

The mattresses were delivered, I cooked dinner–roast chicken, mashed potatoes, garlic bread, and green beans braised in soy sauce, rice vinegar, sugar, scallions, garlic, chicken stock and ginger. My brother and my children returned and we ate dinner, then my niece came over and we had a house full of family. My brother and I put my son’s bed together–I found this very beautiful oak full size bed with rose carvings from the 1920s at an antique shop in Martinez a few weeks ago. It immediately transformed my son’s room into a full fledged bedroom, although he is not going to sleep away from me for a while yet.

I put my son to sleep in my bed at 9PM as he was spent from a day full of activities and exercise. He slept like a log, barely moving all night.

Sunday I made buttermilk waffles and chicken apple sausage for breakfast. Then I worked in the front yard, weeding more wild onions from the lawn and planting the new rose bush. I took the children and my brother to the library to get books and then we had a picnic next to Lake Merritt. My son was starting to reach his crazy man threshold, so we went home and hung out. My brother left a bit later and it was nice to be in the house with just my kids.

I love the privacy we have, just the three of us.

I tried to start my girl on her homework early so we could get it all done, but she started really resisting and her brother wasn’t helping the situation by grabbing her papers, so I took him downstairs to make dinner.

When we came back upstairs twenty minutes later, she was asleep. I was tempted to wake her up to feed her dinner and finish her homework, but I decided to let her sleep.

My son and I watched the Simpsons. I laughed a lot and he wanted to know what I was laughing at, but Simpsons humor is impossible to explain to a 2 year old. Then we went to bed.

This morning, I looked at my daughter’s notices from school and I saw that today is a Staff Work day and she doesn’t have school. All of a sudden we had a one day reprieve from the homework, more time to get it all done. I called her downstairs and told her there was no school today and she started singing. It made me realize home much pressure school exerts on us. I had that realization last night as I started setting up to do her homework and I dropped the electric pencil sharpener on my foot. She has care at her school all day, but it’s art and playing and hanging out.

I am formulating plans for a massive spring cleaning, which is going to involve donating tons of dishes and old clothes. My closets are ridiculously full of junk and disorganized and I’m sick of them.

Friday Five

1. What did you have for breakfast this morning? If you didn't have breakfast, why not?

I had a really big cup of coffee, a mixture of Italian Roast and Organic something or another. And two breath mints. Why didn’t I have something more? Well, I had to be in court at 8:30AM and I was very nervous, because this particular judge is extra mean. But he was great today and did exactly what I wanted and needed him to do, which I didn’t expect. His case management hearings take FOREVER so by the time I picked up the coffee all the good things to nibble on were sold out.

2. What's your favorite cereal?

Favorite? Of all time or current favorite? I like granola. Trader Joe’s has a nice pumpkin spice one. If we’re talking about all time favorite, it would have to be Life cereal.

3. How often do you eat out? Do you want that to change?

Eat out as in buy something to eat? Or dine in a restaurant?
Buy something to eat–5 times a week.
Dine in a restaurant–once or twice a week.

Would I like it to change? Not really. I leave the office and get something to eat so I can have a break from the computer and get some fresh air.

I like to bring leftovers and warm them up for lunch and I would do it more often if I got my act together to prepare leftover-friendly meals.

4. What do you plan on having for dinner tonight? Got a recipe for that?

Well, I don’t have my children tonight, so I think I’ll try a tofu and bitter greens recipe from Martha Stewart Living Magazine.

5. What's your favorite restaurant? Why?

The Martini House in St. Helena. The decor is beautiful and the food is WONDERFUL.

I also like Boulevard in San Francisco because the food is phenomenal, the service is really friendly and professional and the restaurant is beautiful.


Hey, I, the Super Dork Queen of the Universe bought a CD yesterday: Phrenology by the Roots. I feel so cool.

Work it diva!!!

I was in a seminar yesterday, so I couldn’t blog and wish Tee a big old giant

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!

I am definitely calling her when I get to New York. I am not taking the kids with me; I'm going with my sister.

I picked up the Six Feet Under DVD set on Tuesday night. I watched 5 hours on Tuesday, none last night as I had my children and I had to comb my girl’s hair (90 minutes of drama). The set is exquisite. Trust me.

Last night, my girl brought a cookbook home from school and cooked for the first time on the stove (with tons of supervision). She made a fried egg, cooked in the center of a piece of bread, also known as Egg in a Basket. She was delighted and wanted to make a strawberry chocolate creation next, thereby discovering the limiting factor in trying out new recipes: having the ingredients on hand.

My boy had the biggest meltdown of his life on the way home. I picked the children up early because of the seminar and we were on our way home when it happened. My girl had a piece of candy, my son had an identical piece of candy. But he wanted my daughter’s piece of candy, too. Wanted her not to have it. So he starting grabbing at her, got hysterical with shouting and crying. On Highway 80 in Emeryville he reached the high point of his tantrum: he blew out all the snot in his nose (a considerable amount as he has been struggling with a cold) and refused to let me wipe it with tissue. Instead he rubbed it on his car seat, crying inconsolably, kicking and flailing, and trying to talk. It really, really pissed me off.

It also made me wonder how in the world I am going to raise this boy.

By the time we got home, as long as his sister did not look at him, he was serene, not crying at all. The rest of the evening he was happy.

On Sunday evening my girl and I were on the bed and she was reading to me. My baby girl was reading to me. I was very close to crying, to bursting into tears of relief and happiness and pride. I am so relieved that she can read. She has wanted to since she was four and she started first grade determined to learn how in the first week. Sunday night, she read five books, then we had story time (with me reading).

Reading saved my life. It saved my sanity. It was an escape from a difficult path to adulthood. It gave me my profession, which enabled me to get out of a miserable marriage.

Check it out: my trip, my first trip, to New York City is booked. It’s going to be a quick trip this time–June 3 to June 7. But I’m over the moon with excitement.

Please, send me suggestions on what to do/see/eat and I’ll do it (you know I will) time permitting.


This or That

1. Morning or night person?
Morning. I always have been.

2. Heavy or light sleeper?
Light sleeper since I had children. Before, I could get up and answer the phone and still be asleep.

3. Remember your dreams or not?
Remember.

4. Do you need a lot of sleep, or just a little?
A lot. At least 8 hours. I’m not like Moby, staying up until 5AM.

5. Do you need something like a nightlight or TV to sleep, or do you prefer complete darkness?
Darkness. But there is always ambient light shining through.

6. Flannel sheets or some other kind?
Flannel in the winter, cotton the rest of the year.

7. One pillow, or more?
Four pillows. One for each person in the bed, and one extra to get kicked on the floor.

8. Bedroom door opened or closed at night?
Open, though, in terms of fire safety, it should be closed. [See what interesting tidbits one picks up when kicking it with a fire fighter?]

9. Wrap yourself into blankets like a cocoon, or just cover yourself with them?
Just cover. The shoulders have got to be covered. My children kick the blankets off of everyone ALL NIGHT.

10. Alarm clock: wake to music or buzzer?
I have an internal alarm clock. I like to wake to NPR.

Neighbors and African American Women Gardening

another mom asks: So how do you like the Foster's Cookbook?

Cookbooks are in four criteria for me. (1) The terrible ones with unappetizing recipes and no or insufficient photographs; (2) The ones which don’t have any recipes that inspire me; (3) The good ones which have recipes that I photocopy and put in one of the six-3-ring binders that I have of recipes, and (4) The ones which have too many fabulous recipes to photocopy and is very beautiful, so I have to buy the cookbook.

Foster’s Cookbook is in the third category.

gwen asks: how much time do *you* actually spend out in the garden? how much time are you knelt down or bending over so someone cruising by won't even see you?

Well...I spend some part of every weekend in my front garden. And in the warm months with longer days, I spend two or three weekday evenings in my front yard doing something like watering or mowing or weeding.

Here’s the thing. I’ve always gotten a reaction to the sight of me working in my garden. Always. It’s either a craning of the necks or a comment from a passerby. When I was big pregnant with my daughter and working in the front of the house to dig up the St. Augustine grass and a jade plant which had become a snail apartment building, I could understand folks’ curiosity. But I also get it now, in my decidedly non-pregnant state, when I’m pushing the lawn mower, or planting bulbs, or weeding the flower bed. And here’s the other gap: when I go to Magic Gardens, or Berkeley Hort, or East Bay Nursery on San Pablo, I see very, very few sistahs. Even a sure thing like the Emeryville Home Depot–not very many in the garden department.

I am writing about what I have seen, not what actually is.

Here’s a neighbor update: I come home yesterday from Home Depot. I’ve got a project in the works. I bought a Skil, 5.0 Amp Jigsaw and I’m making a box for the recycling in the kitchen. I was walking up the steps and my neighbor was talking to the new owner. He interrupted his conversation to say “Hey. What’s up with your roof?” I said “It needs to be replaced.” He said “I’ll come over later in the week and take a look at it?”

Excuse me?

Huh?

Who. The. Fuck. Are. You?

And who the fuck am I that you think I need you to come over and look at it?

I know, I know, he’s just being nice, neighborly. But the presumptuousness of it took my breath away.

My theory is that he thinks that I am competent to take care of myself, my children and my house, but there is some area that he can help me with: my roof. And, if he comes to help me, I can explain myself to him, expand on whatever information the neighbor across the street has provided.

I don't think so.

I am just in from the garden in the back yard. It is a magnificent Sunday morning and perfect gardening weather. Not a rain cloud in sight. I am thankful to be healthy and mobile and to have the strength to work in my yard.

I got up this morning and made pumpkin bread from the Foster’s Market Cookbook. Then I cleaned up the kitchen, made a pot of coffee, and read the Sunday New York Times and San Francisco Chronicle. The news about the space shuttle is terribly sad, but I think we all have a bit of national mourning fatigue. It feels like we’re on overload, with all of the war mongering and the economy is such a terrible state.

After reading the paper I got dressed and took the last of the exterior Christmas lights down. Yeah, I know it’s February. Then I cleaned up the back yard, weeded and pruned and dug up. So lovely.

I have new neighbors. The old ones, who had lived in the duplex for 29 years and 7 years, were given 30 days notice to quit by the old owner, because he wanted to sell an empty building. (Asshole). The new owners made interior repairs, doubtless maintenance deferred by the slum lord previous owner, and then rented one of the units to a family comprised of a couple, a daughter and a granddaughter. The husband is very civil, waves whenever we see each other, offered jumper cables one day as my brother was helping me replace my car battery. The women are not so friendly, not speaking at all. That’s fine, except that I feel the weight of their curiosity on me and it’s a little uncomfortable.

I know they are pondering not just my marital status, which is easy enough to discern after a few days‘ observation. But I think they are also wondering how it is that my children and I afford to live in this house.

Sidenote: I was listening to All Things Considered interviewing people from Mobile, Alabama on their reactions to the State of the Union address. The interviewer went to a community college in Mobile which caters to adults who have been out of high school for a while and are seeking professional training. The commentator made several references to the students as single parents. He used the term as a short hand, but the question is short hand for what? Poor, struggling, experiencing more hurdles in getting their education, beleagured, busy, distracted...what do you think?


Anyway, I think it is extremely curious to them to see me gardening at 10AM on a Sunday morning or climbing up on the ladder to hammer in Christmas lights or whatever.

In some ways I feel like Miss Maudie in To Kill A Mockingbird, working with great relish in my yard, fighting the disgusting wild onions that spring up in my lawn and the St. Augustine grass.

It occurs to me that I haven’t seen that many African American women gardening. It is different where you live? Are there more? Of course, I am aware of Jamaica Kincaid’s passion for gardening, but she lives in New Hampshire. (I didn’t enjoy her book on gardening, because there were no photographs.)

One reason I find their curiosity uncomfortable is that I will be in my garden, talking to myself a little bit (mostly cursing the geraniums that are growing over from my neighbor’s yard and blocking the sun on my raised beds or reminding myself what I wanted to do next) and I will see someone peeking at me from next door.

Ah well.

I went to see The Hours yesterday afternoon. I enjoyed it mostly, but there were some things I must quibble about.



WARNING SPOILERS AHEAD.





While the women actors are rightly praised for their performances, I thought Ed Harris was outstanding. I loved Nicole Kidman’s portrayal of Virginia Woolf (enough about the prosthetic nose already) and thought she really captured Woolf’s intelligence. I also thought the portrayal of her marriage to Leonard Woolf was wonderfully nuanced. Their scene at the train station was powerful. Julianne Moore was so tightly strung it was like she was going to spontaneous combust. And Meryl Streep--it was like a great slugger taking the mound. It’s electrifying just to see them do the wind up.

Here are my problems: (1) The last scene, in the dining room...um I don’t remember that in the book; (2) Is Sally, Clarrisa’s lover, supposed to be cheating on her? Is that what the first scene means? I don’t remember that in the book. And finally (3) Sally and Clarissa’s apartment should have been a lot more spectacular. In the book, it is the object of envy. In the film, the art directors got it wrong, the cramped apartment, and especially with the visual clutter in the kitchen.

But the flowers were glorious.

It's odd, because the message was (to me) Don't live a half life. Do not endure the pain, but change it. That was the message from the Virginia, Laura part of the trilogy. But then Clarissa is in bed with her daughter lamenting that she didn't recognize and optimize happiness and now much of her life is over; she's in the third act already and Richard is in his final act. I have a hard time having sympathy with that. It's like, these people who have so much are unhappy, and it's important to respect that people can be unhappy even when they have so much, but it's hard to countenance them complaining about it so expansively.





What is good is that Virginia points out that the death of the poet enables the others to live life more mindfully. I am sure that is why I enjoyed my Sunday morning so much.

Six Feet Under is coming out on DVD on Tuesday. I am beside myself with anticipation.

Thank you for the tofu recipes. Keep ‘em coming, and stay tuned.