Hmmm…

Since I have started writing again, I seem to be stuck in writing about myself. While the unexamined life is not worth living, perhaps there is such a thing as too much introspection. Besides, that’s what I have a Live Journal for.

I mean, I do not think I’ve written more than two non-me posts this year.

However, it is likely to continue for some time. I think I want to get the hang of writing again before I wade into political/social waters.

Although there are a couple of posts percolating…

Such as the things that the Supreme Court did right last term. (Including, suprisingly enough, at least to me, the gun control case from Chicago.) And what I think about the people in Utah who circulated that list of alleged illegal immigrants (although anyone even remotely familiar with my politics can probably guess what that one’s likely to be like).

But in the meantime, I guess it really is all about me. Hope it’s not too boring.

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Today’s mantra…

Be Here Now. Be present in the moment, and do not fear about the future. Do not ruminate about the past. Find what is good in your life and concentrate on that.

I have had a bad afternoon, and a sad one, even though the morning was quite charming. I have been reciting the Serenity Prayer, and it’s not working.

I wish I could freeze time. I wish…

Oh, hell.

One can intellectually understand that change is inevitable, even necessary, without being able to embrace it emotionally.

I have written about the job
. I am still employed. However, as I said in that post, the job is temporary. People are leaving. I am sad about that.

Several friends have or are going to shortly relocate out of the area. I am sad about that.

I am feeling ill, and will be unable to go to a dinner I was looking forward to. I am sad about that.

The physical pain I suffer from seems like it will never go away. I am sad about that.

It is summer, and I am sad about that.*

I need to remind myself of the things that I am grateful for, the ways in which my life is so much better than 90% of the people on the planet.** It’s a hard slog.

In the end, it comes down to: good coffee, and good people to share it with. The Pacific Ocean. Hummingbirds. Jane Austen. Really fresh corn on the cob. Rick’s Rather Rich (or Marianne’s) Ice Cream. Shakespeare in Love and Raiders of the Lost Ark. Terry Pratchett. Great Big Sea. Alfred Hitchcock. iTunes. The job, and the people I work with, while it lasts.

The color blue. Autumn afternoons. Art. Music.

Writing.

It may not be a long list, but it’s a start.

* People with Seasonal Affective Disorder are negatively impacted by having too little light. I (and a couple of other people I know) are negatively impacted by too *much* light. Summers are rough.

** Well, there are the very obvious facts that I have a roof over my head, food to eat and shoes and clothes to wear, and I do not fear soldiers with guns knocking on my door in the middle of the night. I need to remember and be grateful for those.

Posted in My life and times, Work! | Tagged | Leave a comment

Things I have learned at work

1. Good coworkers are more important than interesting work. At least in the short term. Especially coworkers who have good senses of humor.

2. I really can go several weeks without swearing. Other than an occasional “goddammit,” I have been very good about not saying anything that will get me written up.

3. I cannot go several weeks without at least occasionally turning sarcastic.

4. I get cranky in noisy situations. One of the reason I have been very aggressive about snagging computer work when it’s available is that I can sit quietly and work without having to feel that I need to join in the conversations around me. One of the nice side benefits is that I have been pretty proficient in the program we use, which means right now I have work. Which is nice.

5. The federal government can be completely shortsighted about the realities of workers, especially outside the Eastern time zone. Which is reflected in a computer system that shuts down at midnight EDT. My LCO is on the West Coast. So the computer shuts down at 9:00pm. Pooh.

6. I am extremely competitive. I keep finding myself repeating the Olympic motto: Citius Altius Fortius (Faster, Higher, Stronger).

7. Most importantly, I really like working.

Lastly?  A piece of knowledge that will stay with me a lifetime:  I really know how to spell “questionnaire” correctly.

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Hunting of the snark

I am naturally a rather snarky person. (“Nooooo,” you say. “We’re shocked, shocked! to find this out.”)

I am really working on this. It is, however, a measure of how comfortable I feel with a person or situation — or how hopeless I assess it or them to be.

As I have been feeling more comfortable at work (and as the time draws near for the Job to end, *sob*) my snark level has increased. This is not necessarily a good thing.

Because, really, people do not like being the target of snarky or sarcastic comments. Or most people, anyway. Tuesday, my annoyance at a particular coworker boiled over, and I said something I immediately regretted. He took it as a sign of affection. Definitely a mixed blessing.

I also was snarky to my supervisor (or one of my supervisors) on Wednesday. I later apologized, saying “I wish I could say this was out of character, but I’d be lying.” The supervisor in question seemed amused rather than offended (at least as far as I could tell), but I as I get further along, I can see that I am testing my luck.

And again, I like my coworkers. I do not want to be cruel or sarcastic, but things just … slip out.

I’m working on this.* I’ll let you know how I do.

*along with that swearing thing. In fact, now that I think of it, the less I can swear in a situation, the more I am likely to be sarcastic and somewhat nasty.

Posted in Who I am, Work! | 2 Comments

Two more things about me….

For an icebreaker at the “Hurrah! NRFU is done” party, a co-worker distributed questionnaires for us to fill out with interesting tidbits about ourselves. Most of what I filled out is found in my previous two posts on this subject, but a couple were not. So, for completeness sake, as an add on to a previous post….

22. I have a geographical feature named after me. Pat’s Cove is a small and remote glacial inlet on Devon Island, Nunavit, Canada. My husband, who was the first to find a path over there and lead a traverse there, named it after me. He has since told me that names are not immutable, and that over time can be forgotten if not used or referenced, but for now, it’s mine, so to speak. Pity it is in such an inconvenient location, otherwise I’d like to visit sometime.

23. Long-time readers of this blog know this, but I have had work featured on the cover of a nationally distributed magazine. Okay, so it was a back cover ad for Fire Mountain Gems, but still… for a beader, getting your work in the FMG ad on the cover of Beadwork magazine is really hot stuff.

So, maybe I’m not as boring as I think I am.

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Well, he finally did it.

Echidna boy broke one of our rules for his continued use of the computer. Fortunately, not the one involving the FBI.

He downloaded Blender, an open source 3D graphics software package. He was teaching himself 3D graphic design. All well and good.

He did a few small pictures. We should have known something was going on because he started to complain that the machine was getting slow.

He then decided to do a larger — screen-saver sized — picture. And ended up overwriting the entire hard drive, including the operating system. He may also have overheated the CPU, we don’t know yet. And he cannot find the proper OS X release to reboot the system. Apparently, a trip to the Apple Store is in order.

I am terribly conflicted. On the one hand, he fried the computer. This a serious inconvenience. (Not for me, I write on my laptop anyway, but for his brothers.)

On the other hand … he was trying something new, and creative. He was showing initiative. He was being curious. All of these are things I am extremely proud of him for. (I’ve actually told him this.)

On the first hand, he still trashed the computer. We have a large, sleek paperweight on our counter. This is a very bad thing. (I have also told him this, and that he’d better not do it again.)

So, as I said… conflicted. When people said parenting teenagers was hard, I never expected this.

Posted in Kids in all their glory | Tagged | 2 Comments

I must down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call and may not be denied

John Masefield, “Sea Fever”

Sometimes, there is a story which hits so close to home that following it simply hurts, and there is a temptation to go around with fingers in your ears saying “la la la, I can’t hear you.”

The BP oil spill fiasco is one such story for me.

I have spent more years of my life in Northern California than anywhere else. But for all of those twenty-two years, I have never been a Californian.

I am a Floridian. A Western Floridian at that.

The Gulf of Mexico was my first ocean. It is a great starter ocean, with manageable waves and warm waters ripe for swimming. Not wild and exciting, like the cold and forbidding Pacific, my current ocean. It nonetheless beckons, promising adventure in its own way, and the gateway to the exotic Caribbean. It has its own dangers, mainly in the form of hurricanes that come sweeping through in the summer months.

It was on the beaches of the Gulf that I first learned about shuffling your feet to avoid stingrays. Where I first saw the breathtaking majesty of a thunderstorm at sea. Where I first walked along the tide-line looking for scallop shells and whelks. My first exposure to sand. (I was in my teens before I learned that not all beaches have sands the color and consistency of cane sugar.) Where I saw my first gulls, my first pelicans, my first cormorants.

The thought of all of that being drenched in black, sticky crude oil almost makes me weep.

Have you ever seen a bird covered in oil? I have. Many, many years ago my brother brought home a bird that had been fouled in a small spill in Tampa Bay. The volunteers were cleaning the oil off the birds and then keeping track of them until they could be released. The bird lasted less than 24 hours, a victim not of the oil on its feathers (which had mostly been cleaned off) but poisoned by the oil it had ingested. It was a terrible way to die.

Even though veterinary medicine has come a long way since then, the toll on wildlife will be enormous. Not to mention the beaches despoiled.

I could go on a rant about how this represents the failure of the free market to create and maintain adequate environmental safeguards because they are far too focused on the bottom line, or how the dismantling or refusal to create meaningful governmental regulation of the oil industry led to this mess.

To tell the truth, I am too heartsick. I have seen the satellite images of the spread of the slick, and it makes me want to cry. While there is some hope that the beaches I grew up in near St. Petersburg may be spared, almost certainly the beaches along the Northwest coast, in places like Destin, will not.

I know for a lot of people the fate of animals matters less than people. That issues such as the Proposition 8 case now winding its way through the course are far more involving and immediate. I get that, I really do: it matters very much to me, too.

But this… I feel like I may lose the best part of what was in very many ways a difficult youth and adolescence. Those beaches go, and a part of me will, too.

Posted in My life and times, Who I am | Leave a comment

Yesterday was a freaking bear.*

A person I was looking forward to having coffee with flaked. I did spend the time blogging and talking on IM, though, so it was not a complete loss. No, the trouble began fifteen minutes after I got to work.

I was in the most pain I’ve been in at work yet. I contemplated going home. I tried my best to keep a smile on my face and do a good job of pretending. (It helped that I had had a good night’s sleep beforehand. Today, on only a few hours of sleep broken by pain, might be quite a bit more difficult.) I didn’t want pity, and I did not want anyone — such as a supervisor — suggesting I would be better off if I went home. Because I would have. And thus far, after over two months, I have only let my disability get the better of me once (when I got sick enough from the meds that I was throwing up — I ended up going home for three hours until I felt better). I was certainly not going to start now.

Work helps amazingly. It keeps my mind occupied, and makes me feel competent in spite of my disability. Yesterday, pain not withstanding, I kicked ass. I was one of if not the most productive production clerks in the office. (We were filling binders that will be sent out to the field over the next few days. At the end of the day I was in a virtual dead heat with another clerk for most binders assembled.) And by the end of four hours, the pain had abated somewhat so that I was able to complete the day without too much trouble.

I can’t take the fibromyalgia drugs now on the market. They interact with other drugs I have to take, and have side effects that would be difficult for me to deal with. I can take pain meds — except for ibuprofen, which my doctor has taken me off of out of conern for my stomach. Pity, because ibuprofen is the drug that works most effectively (even better, in many situations, than Vicoden, although that is better if I want to sleep).

If I go home, if I give into the pain, then I become an invalid. I’ve done that, and the hit to my self-esteem is in some ways worse than the pain. It certainly does not make me feel better.

Have I ever mentioned exactly how much I hate this disease?

*See? I really am trying to work on the swearing thing.

Posted in Health, Work! | Tagged | Leave a comment

Nobody’s going to die….

I was planning this morning to blog about the BP oil spill, and my reaction to it.

But you know what? It is a lovely day here in Northern California (albeit with a promise of serious heat later) and blogging about something that causes me such pain on a personal level would be a waste of a perfectly good mood that I seem to have woken up with.

So… fluff. Or maybe not, depending upon how seriously you take your television.

My current favorite show is, bar none, Criminal Minds. In spite of the occasionally graphic violence, it has a humanistic view of people that fits very well with my own. There are few monsters, and even many of the UNSUBs (the “unknown subjects,” i.e. serial killers) are shown to be human, albeit damaged and very dangerous humans. The death of prostitutes, junkies and homeless people is treated as being as worthy of the same consideration as that of blond teenagers. The main characters are human, themselves occasionally capable of horrendous acts, which the writers do not excuse even as they show how people can be driven to do them.

And it has strong, strong women characters. It routinely passes the Bechdel Test.* (And yes, I am extremely unhappy at the network decision to jettison one of those strong women characters and reduce the screen time of the other.) The women are treated as being equivalent to their male counterparts.

Except the technical analyst Penelope Garcia. She is head and shoulders above the other characters, and is probably the main reason I keep watching the show.**

Garcia is probably the first character I have ever seen on television that caused me to say — “Wait, I know her!”*** Not someone exactly like her, of course, but she is an amalgamation of a number of women I know in technical fields: uber-competent, unique, and utterly secure in their own abilities. Unafraid women, for whom a major annoyance is the failure of those around them to take them seriously.

Every time I see Garcia on CM, I think of my friend, the fabulous Sarah Huffman.

Sarah is not exactly like Garcia — they dress differently, for one thing. But I can see in Garcia some of the attitude I came to love about Sarah.

I first really got to know Sarah on a trip to Spain. She was a sysadmin for a NASA project which my husband was running, having been hired as a last minute replacement two days before she left for Madrid. With nothing but the most general knowledge of the project. She was hired based on an interview done via Internet while she was on a Greenpeace ship off the shore of Alaska. She was able to conduct said interview by virtue of swiping wireless from various fishing villages with the help of an antenna made from, if I recall correctly, coat hangers. [Edited to add: Sarah has corrected me on this. She did in fact use an actual antenna — hanging off a broomstick.]

When we got to Spain, chaos ensued. The scientist responsible for seeing that all the equipment got to Spain had decided, against all advice to the contrary, to go with the government shipping office rather than FedEx. With the probably foreseeable result (at least by most people) that said computer and telecommunications equipment was sitting gathering dust in California rather than in the offices of the Spanish branch of the European Space Agency in Madrid. There was panic. The project looked doomed! doomed I tell you!

And then Sarah entered the picture. She figuratively bitch-slapped people into the next week, handing out what would become a mantra for that trip for everyone: “Nobody’s going to die, Nobody’s going to jail.” (I think we should have had t-shirts made.)

Sarah later explained to me that that philosophy had come about from working with Greenpeace, where people dying — or certainly going to jail — was an actual possibility. That people went out on actions with the name and number of the local legal representative written in Sharpie marker on their forearms, so that they would have someone to call when they were arrested.

After injecting a sense of reason into the proceedings, Sarah then proceeded to save their collective asses. Trips to the Corte Inglese (a large shopping center type place) and the local Ikea (yes, they have Ikeas in Spain — except for the language spoken, they are identical to any Ikea I have been to in the States) resulted in enough equipment for her to cobble together an impromptu communications system that allowed the project to head to the field. (The government equipment later arrived, and was integrated, but it was Sarah’s system that saved the day.)

The end result was that a many-hundred thousand dollar NASA project was saved from complete collapse. And there was much rejoicing.

This is a woman who is capable of cobbling together computer systems, replacing sparkplugs on malfunctioning ATVs and cooking a mean salmon with blueberry sauce. Who once went to the Canadian Arctic as a joint sysadmin and cook (not your usual combination of job responsibilities).

Sarah has moved to Arizona now, and I miss her. I am very bad at keeping in touch with people. But I think of her every Wednesday evening, when I watch Criminal Minds, and see one of her fictional counterparts shining on the screen.

It’s not the same, but it’s something.

*The Bechdel test requires that there be at least two women, who have a conversation, which does not revolve around a love interest. CM passes this in spades.

**Although the high proportion of handsome men does not hurt: Thomas Gibson, Shemar More and Matthew Gray Gubler are eye candy, and Joe Mantegna’s voice has a tendency to make me go a little weak at the knees.

*** I have yet to see a character in either television or film that reminds me of me, unless you want to count Princess Fiona (after dark) from Shrek. Which is not exactly acccurate either, because I do not have …. red hair.

Posted in Culture (popular and otherwise), Feminism, Personal Relationships | Tagged | 1 Comment

Twenty [More] Statements about me. Plus one.

I’ve done this before, but what the heck, I’m bored.

More things you should know about me (or not, as the case may be):

1. I don’t eat fish. My father fished a great deal when I was growing up — both as a hobby and a way to feed a household of seven — and I got spoiled: I only ate fish that had been frozen within an hour of being caught, or fresh fish that was less than half a day old. I do like fish chowder, and clam chowder, and I adore shrimp, crawfish, crab and lobster.

2. I like to read or recite poetry aloud, although I have not been called upon to do this in public since I was in high school.

3. I used to read in church. I was very, very good at it. So good at it that at one point when I was lector coordinator I would hold workshops on how to read in church.

4. I love to travel. The number of countries I have visited now stands at either fifteen or sixteen, depending upon whether you classify Scotland as a separate country. (In my last list I forgot to include the Bahamas, which I visited on my honeymoon.) I have visited forty-four of the fifty states (everything but the Dakotas, Montana, Idaho, Wisconsin, and oddly enough, Arkansas). [ETA: Alaska! How could I forget Alaska! Although I have now gone to Hawaii.] I have also visited the U.S. Virgin Islands. Yes, I count myself fortunate to have had the opportunity to travel this much.

5. I have a cookbook signed by Alton Brown. (“Pat, don’t run with kitchen shears! Alton”.) At the time I went to the book signing, I had no clue who Alton Brown was (I was simply keeping a friend company) but I have since become a big fan. AB is even cuter in person than he is on tv.

6. Red beans and rice is a comfort food for me, and it grieves me that no one else in my household will eat it. Three of them are vegetarians, and proper red beans and rice is not vegetarian (seeing how it contains both bacon and andouille sausage).

7. I have trouble remembering whether my anniversary falls on July 2 or July 3, but I can recall with ease which scientific term first appeared in a work by James Joyce, and which child’s toy was created by the son of a famous architect.*

8. I hate Scotch. Passionately. Various attempts to get me to drink it have generally met with failure (with the exception of some Highland single malt I drank at the bottler’s). When I drink, which is rarely these days, I drink wine or mixed drinks (I like rum-based drinks best of all).

9. In law school, my best grades were in Criminal Procedure, Advanced Criminal Procedure, Appellate Advocacy, and Evidence. Which is, of course, why I went into … land use and real property law.

10. A man who would go on to run for vice-president (albeit on a third-party ticket) once gave me a photocopied booklet of short stories by J.D. Salinger. Matt Gonzalez is a very sweet guy.

11. I have a soft spot in my heart for Marines. I am the daughter and niece of Marines who served honorably in the Pacific during World War II, and I have never met a Marine I didn’t like. My dad used to sing the Marine Hymn as a lullaby.

12. My very favorite t-shirt was a gift a few years ago and reads “Certifiable Mad Genius. I have a Death Ray and know how to use it. Better living through merciless experimentation.” Unfortunately, it seems to have disappeared around the house. My favorite t-shirt that I don’t own (yet) is from ThinkGeek.com, and says “You read my t-shirt. That’s enough social interaction for one day.”

13. My kids are messy and disorganized. They inherited this. Sadly, from their mother. Unfortunately, they did not also inherit my clear handwriting — theirs is almost illegible.

14. I have been known to swear like a sailor, although I have been really working on this lately. Mainly because swearing a lot in my workplace can get you written up.

15. It says something about the crowd I used to run with, but for one ten-year period (1995 – 2005) I attended more ordinations than weddings.

16. Until I was forty, I pretty much dressed only in black, and shades of green and blue. At some point after that, I ended up owning six pink shirts, as well as several in shades of magenta, peach and salmon. I seem to look better in brighter colors. As the song goes, I was so much older then, I’m younger than that now.

17. I firmly believe that life is too short to eat bad ice cream.**

18. I once typeset an entire press ready publication in Word. In 1990, when it was much more difficult to do so. (I was the managing editor of the Stanford Environmental Law Journal at the time.)

19. I have had one professional singing lesson. For one of my birthdays, I was given a voice lesson with Elissa Weiss, a gifted professional musician and wonderful singing teacher (and good friend) in New York, who taught me to sing “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” and suggested that I get more lessons when I get back home to California. I never followed up (sorry, Elissa). I regret this sometimes.

20. I have a fondness for underdogs and losers, which explains my devotion to the Tampa Bay Buccaneers and the Democratic Party. (Sorry, I could not resist that last one.)

21. I’m much nicer in person than I am on the Internet, although I have still been told that I intimidate people. This confuses me no end.

Anything else you want to know?

* The answers, in case you are even slightly interested, are quark (which first appeared in the pages of Finnegan’s Wake, where Murray Gell-Mann saw it, although he had previously decided on the sound that the word should have, based on the sound ducks make), and Lincoln Logs, which were created by John Lloyd Wright and based on the foundation supports created by his father Frank for the Imperial Hotel in Tokyo. See, don’t you feel smarter already?

**Bad chocolate, on the other hand, is occasionally a necessity.

Posted in My life and times, Who I am | Tagged | 4 Comments

The way to a girl’s heart…

Is through bad puns.*

As a public service, we here at WWF would like to pass along the most recent bits of (ahem) humor that we have run across….

First as, seen in a Criminal Minds fanfiction** at Live Journal:

A cop pulled over Werner Heisenberg. The cop walked up to the driver’s window and said “Sir, do you have any idea of how fast you were going?” “No,” replied Heisenberg, “but I know where I am….”

Secondly, a conversation between me and a coworker, R., yesterday morning:

R: “So why do they want us to write the CLD*** number in pen, not pencil? That makes no sense.”

Me: “Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do or die….”

R: “Yeah.”

Me: “Of course, that worked out so well for the Charge of the Light Brigade….”

R: “Yep, that was a real Turkey shoot.”

Me: *groan*

R: “A lot of war crimea were committed there.”

Me: “Stop! Please! Or I’ll be laughing too hard to work!”

(R did stop, which was fortunate from a productivity standpoint, even if it was much less amusing.)

We will, of course, be passing along any other stellar examples of the punster’s art as we come across them.

*Or chocolate, of course.

**Don’t ask. Seriously. I have gotten to reading slash on the CM fan community on LJ. Why, I cannot fathom.

***Crew Leader District. R and I are census clerks. Again, don’t ask. It’s all pretty boring.

Posted in nothing special | Leave a comment

Who Am I?

I have been rereading this blog lately, from the beginning. And I keep running smack dab against an overwhelming question:

Who is this woman?

I have changed so much in the past two years that in many ways the woman I was seems a stranger, light-years away from the me that lately has been feeling so old, so empty, so ….

Me.

I am no longer involved in my church. The story behind that is a long, painful, and odd one, which I do not have the fortitude the discuss here. I am still devastated by that loss, even as I recognize that most of the culpability lies with me. Perhaps as a result of this, I have been undergoing a profound crisis of faith: in spite of the fact that deep down, I do believe there is a God, I have trouble believing that He gives a damn about what has happened or what will happen to me.

My children are rapidly becoming adults. The Not-So-Little Drummer Boy (who now no longer plays the drums, sadly) is nearly twenty, and will be entering his sophomore year in college this fall. I am afraid for him: this is a dangerous time of life. At the same time, I have to stand back and let him fall on his own, if for no other reason than he has to learn how to pick himself up again without my help.

My middle child, a wrestler no longer, will be a junior in high school. He continues to struggle with his Asperger’s, although he is getting much better. He has shown an interesting love of entertaining, and organizing social events for his friends. He is an extrovert — something I marvel at all the time. (Being an introvert of the first order, I have a great deal of trouble understanding extroverts, even though my husband and two of my children fit that description.)

Echidna Boy (who still does love echidnas) is turning out to be … an interesting kid. He starts high school in the fall. On his Facebook, he has friends who are girls at high schools in different cities who are two to three years older than him. He had a crush on a young woman, and wrote her a sonnet. An actual honest-to-God sonnet, with the proper rhyme scheme and everything, and which included phrases such as “thou art brighter than starlight’s face in june” (okay, so capitalization and spelling are not his forte) and “for one tender kiss, a mountain I would wring.” I did not even know what a sonnet was at thirteen. Did I mention that he has red curls and is really cute? Personally, I think we should just ship him to a monastery NOW and save all of us a world of trouble. He likes to watch documentaries, discuss politics and physics, and has read all the way through Goedel, Escher, Bach, which is more than than I can say.

He is also trying to learn to be a computer programmer. Our rules are simple: don’t do anything that will screw up the operating system so that we’ll have to reload or that will result in permanent damage or loss of data, and don’t do anything that will result in the FBI showing up at our door with a search and/or arrest warrant. He rolls his eyes at that last one, but I know my kid: he will go after anything because, in the words of Sir Edmund Hillary, it is there.

To see them grow up creates such conflicting emotions that I don’t know what to do. I am pleased with the people they are becoming, yet a large part of my raison d’etre for the past twenty years is deserting me. If you identify yourself primarily as a mother, finding out who you are beyond that is a frustrating and bewildering task.

I am in pain a great deal of the time. Fibromyalgia is not my friend, although it is my constant companion. I have not yet hit a point where I cannot work, and work helps keep me from fixating on how much everything hurts. I cannot hide the pain from my face, however, with the result that last Saturday, two different supervisors asked me if I was okay. “I’ve worked through worse,” was my answer, which satisfied one of them, although she did remind me that I could take however many breaks I needed provided I accounted for them on my timesheet.

The other gently replied “But we don’t want you to have to,” when I mentioned that I had worked through worse pain. “Do you need to go home?” “If I go home, I’ll just ruminate.” “Okay, then! Pull up a comfortable chair!” (That comfortable chair is often his chair, which I swipe whenever I can, because it hurts less than any of the others in the office.)

I am currently temporarily employed by the federal government as a census clerk. I love the people at my job, although the work is often not, how shall I put it, the most engaging endeavor I could be involved in. Pulling in a paycheck, even if it is a relatively modest one, helps as well, as does the realization that, yes, I am capable of working full time outside the home,* something which has not happened for eighteen years before this summer.

I used to write better than this, I think. A lot of that had to do with simple experience: I wrote a great deal more in 2006 and 2007. Practice may or may not make perfect, but it sure does help one improve.

Yet, looking through those old blog posts, some things still resonate: my politics are about the same, even if I have been overcome by “outrage fatigue” over the past few years. (Do not get me started on the current Republicans, or the Tea-Party people, or the ways in which the Democratic Party has failed to make real change.) My belief, too, that we need to recognize the humanity of those on the other side — even when they are acting like unmitigated horses’ asses — and make some attempt to try and understand them remains intact. My pro-choice and anti-death penalty** beliefs are, if anything, more deeply held.

My hatred of torture, by whatever name you call it, and my fury at those who espouse it, stand unabated.

Art matters.
*** Poetry matters. Music matters.

And I am still here.

That matters, too.

*Yes, stay at home mothers do a lot of work, too. My blog is not the place to engage in the mommy wars.

** Some of the law in that link is outdated, but the general point is not.

** Not too long ago, I found a list of the top ten art museums in the world. I have been to seven of them. This makes me irrationally happy. I might have a chance to pick up another — the Vatican museums in Rome — this fall, and I am trying to figure out a way to go to Florence to see the Uffizi. And I will get back to London some day to see the Tate Modern. (I had a brief visit to the older Tate, to see the pre-Raphealites.) As I said, art matters.

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To everything there is a season, and
a time to every purpose under heaven.

Ecclesiastes 3:1
 
The last two Enumerator Questionnaires rolled into the office today. NRFU (Non-Response Follow Up) is done.
 
It is bittersweet.
 
Sweet, because this was what we were working towards. All those days reviewing hundreds upon hundreds of EQs. All the evenings when I left late because I was frantically entering information into the Census databases before the system went down at nine o’clock (my nominal ending time).
 
Tonight I left on time. I felt… odd.
 
Bitter, for me, because it threw into sharp relief the transitory nature of this work. It will be done before too long. I will say goodbye to the good people whose company I have come to enjoy so much over these past two months. Work which has been fulfilling will be over.
 
This job has been a godsend. It has let me hear adult voices other than my own; voices full of warmth, humor and intelligence. It has given me common purpose with others.
 
It has let me be part of something larger than myself; something that matters. A job which I originally took on because I desperately needed the money became so much more than that.
 
I have been useful. I have been competent. Through all the many months of unemployment, I had forgotten how satisfying that feels. It soothed a craving in my soul I didn’t even really know I had.
 
And now…
 
Once this is over, it is back to the depressing round of resume after resume being sent out, usually with no evidence that human eyes have ever seen them. Of emptiness. Of loneliness.
 
I am determined to enjoy the next few weeks. If I have to lose this so soon, I will at least have gotten every ounce of benefit it has to offer. And then, its season done, it will become only a memory of a time in my life full of purpose and companionship.
 
I’m going to miss it.
 
 
 
 
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The wisdom of Yoda …. yeah, right.

My youngest son graduated from middle school last week. It made me feel old, and odd, to think that from here on out, I will never be the mother of small children. On the back page of their graduation booklet, they included the famous quote from Yoda: “Try not. Do or do not. There is no try.”

 
Other than the bizarre fact that they are looking to a fictional character for guidance ….. What the hell sort of advice is that to give to anyone, let alone thirteen-year-olds?
 
Just think of the message. No race should ever be run unless it can be completed. No project or experiment should be undertaken without certainty of success. Trying is for losers.
 
Wrong. Trying — and failing — is how we learn things. We gain insight into ourselves, and we learn skills to help us do better next time. At the very least, we learn that perhaps we shouldn’t have tried that in the first place, which, if we stop to figure out why, can be enlightening indeed. More often, we learn what it is to strive, to work towards a goal, and that value lies in the journey, not merely in the destination.
 
Much better is Samuel Beckett’s take on these things: “Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.”
 
Best of all is Robert Browning: “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?”
 
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Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States which may be inclyded within this Union, according to their respective numbers…. The actual Enumeration shall be made within three Years after the first Meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent Term of ten Years, in such Manner as they shall by Law direct. Article 1, Section 2, United States Constitution.

It’s census time! Or actually, it’s past census time — the actual deadline for filing the forms was, perhaps unfortunately, April 1.

Then it was time for the long hard slog as enumerators — the people charged with going door to door and tracking down households that didn’t return their questionnaire — were out in the field.

This matters to me because, as of April 26, I have been a temporary employee of the Census Bureau. I’m a fed. Yay. Unfortunately, my job is almost up. It’s been, well, sort of fun.

I am not an enumerator, which is just fine with me: they have to face dogs, and people yelling at them, and the occasional firearm (not in our area, thank God). I’m a clerk, just one of the small army of clerks and other office workers who support their effort in the field: preparing binders, affixing labels to questionnaires, double-checking — triple-checking — to make sure that every household who did not return their form gets counted.

It’s not rocket science. It’s not even remotely glamorous.
There are, however, compensations. I work with and for good people (Hi Mike, Karen and Beth, in the extremely remote chance you are reading this! And Roger and Roger and Karen and Tom and Kristi and… well, everybody else!) And, deep down, I do feel significant.
What I am doing matters. The Census matters. It will affect the life of the country in very real ways. And I am a part of that. A small and probably insignificant part of that (I do recognize that I am fungible), but a part of that nonetheless.
In it’s way it’s as important as the voting work I used to do. Or more so. Voting changes things. The Census makes voting accurate and fair — or at least as fair as it can be in this messy thing we call democracy.
So if an enumerator comes to your door, or if they or a Quality Control person calls you on the phone, please be nice to them. They’re only fulfilling the Constitution’s requirements.
It’s your patriotic duty.
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